ed
and we have been growing as a world power.

For half an hour at a time, when possible, I watched the work of the
English dredger, whose engineer, an old Scotchman by the name of
Macdonald, was a special friend of mine. Who could have told then
that, a generation later, I should make a tour of his Scottish clan
and, under the guidance of a Maedonald, should visit the spot on the
island of Icolmkill, where, according to an old fiction, King Macbeth
lies buried.

I watched also, with as much interest as the dredging, the mooring of
ships, when they came home from long voyages, some of them, such as
the Queen Luise, a marine trading vessel, from their voyages around
the world, which signified something in those days. My main vessel,
however, was the Mentor, which was said to have won the victory in a
fight with Chinese pirates. The pirates carried a long-barreled bronze
cannon which shot better than the rough cast-iron cannons of which the
Mentor had a few on board. Besides, the pirate boat was much swifter,
so that our Swinemuende trader soon found itself in a bad position. But
the captain was equal to the emergency. He had all his heavy cannons
moved to one side of the ship, then purposely moderated his speed, in
order to make it easier for his pursuers to catch up with him. And now
their boat was really alongside, and the pirates were already
preparing to climb over the side of the ship, when the captain of the
Mentor gave the preconcerted signal and the cannons rolled with all
force and swiftness from the one side of the ship to the other and the
weight of the heavy guns, carrying the thin wall before them, crushed
to pieces the boat lying below, already certain of victory, so that
every soul on board was lost.

Such stories were always in the air and were associated, not only with
the ships lying along the "Bulwark," but occasionally also with the
houses on the opposite side. Further down the river both the houses
and the stories lost their charm, until, at the very end of the city,
one came to a large building standing back from the street, which
again aroused interest. This was the recently erected "Society House,"
the meeting place not only for the summer bathers, but also, during
the season, for the leading people of the city, of whom no one,
perhaps, was more often seen there than my father. To be sure, his
frequent visits were really not made on account of the "Society House"
itself, least of all on accoun