"Blimy, I thought I was 'avin' me eyes tested," said one of the
sailors. "It's a bloomin' wonder they don't clap a pair o' blinders on
yer and be done with it!"

Tom had not expected to hear any English spoken and it had never sounded
so good to him before. The sailor did not seem to be at all awed by the
grim surroundings, and his freedom from restraint was comforting to Tom
who had felt very apprehensive. He was soon to learn that the most
conspicuous and attractive thing about a British sailor or soldier is
his disposition to take things as he finds them and not to be greatly
concerned about anything.

"Hi, Fritzie," he added, addressing one of the soldiers, "are we for
Wittenberg or carn't yer s'y?" The guard paid no attention.

"It's no difference," said one of the men in oilskins.

"It's a bloomin' lot o' difference," said the sailor, "whether you're
civilian or not, I can jolly well tell you! It's a short course in
Wittenberg--there and Slopsgotten, or wotever they calls it. And the
Spanish Ambassador, 'e calls to inquire arfter yer 'ealth every d'y. Hi
there, Fritzie, 'ave we long to wite, old pal?"

As there seemed to be no objection to this freedom of speech, Tom
ventured a question.

"Is this Germany?"

"Germany? No, it's the Cannibal Islands," said the sailor, and everyone
except the guard laughed.

"You're not from Blighty,[3] eh?" the sailor asked.

"I'm American," said Tom; "I was ship's boy on a transport and I fell
off and a U-boat picked me up."

"You're in Willlamshaven," the sailor told him, expressing no surprise
at his experience.

"He's civilian," said one of the men in oilskins. "He's safe."

"Mybe, and mybe not," said the sailor; "'ow old are yer?"

"Seventeen," said Tom.

"Transports aren't civilian," said the sailor.

"Ship's boys are not naval in American service."

"It's the ige of yer as does it," the sailor answered. "I'll wiger you
me first package from 'ome 'e goes to Slopsgotten."

"What is Slopsgotten?" Tom asked.

"It's the ship's boys' 'eaven."

"I guess it ain't so good," said the man.

"It's a grite big rice track," said the sailor. "Me cousin was there
afore the Yanks came in. Mr. Gerard 'e got him exchinged. They got a
'ole army o' Yanks there now--all civilian."

"Is it a prison camp?" said Tom.

"A bloomin' sailors' 'ome."

"Were you captured?" Tom asked.

"We're off a bloomin' mine l'yer," the sailor answered, including his
companion; "nabbe