A very young naval cadet, who had been sent down to the engine-room from the Prince-Admiral’s conning-tower with an order, met Heideck on the narrow, suffocatingly hot passage.  He was a slender, handsome youth with a delicate, boyish face.  The blood was streaming over his eyes and cheeks from a wound in the forehead.  He was obliged to lean with both hands against the wall for support, while, with a superhuman effort of will, he compelled his tottering knees to carry him forward, his sole thought being that he must keep upright until he had fulfilled his errand.  When Heideck inquired sympathetically after the nature of his wound, he even attempted to wreathe his pale lips, quivering with pain, into a smile, for in spite of his seventeen years he felt himself at this moment quite a man and a soldier, to whom it was an honour and a delight to die for his country.  But his heroic will was stronger than his body, wounded to death.  In the attempt to assume an erect military bearing before the Major, he suddenly collapsed.  He had just strength enough to give Heideck the Admiral’s order and ask him to carry it out.  Then his senses left him.

In another battery the store of ammunition had been exploded by a shell.  Not a man had escaped alive.  Heideck himself, although since the beginning of the engagement he had recklessly exposed himself to danger, had hitherto, by a miracle, escaped death that threatened him in a hundred different forms.  He had been permitted, by express command of the Prince, to stay a considerable time in the upper conning-tower, from which the Imperial Admiral directed the battle, and the deliberate calmness of the supreme commander, steadily pursuing his object, had filled him with unshaken confidence in a victory for the German fleet, in spite of the numerical superiority of the English.

Ever since Heideck had heard the news of Edith Irwin’s death from Brandelaar, all purely human feelings and sensations that connected him with life had died in his heart.  He was no longer anything but the soldier, whose thoughts and efforts were filled exclusively with anxiety for the victory of his country’s arms.  All personal experiences were completely forgotten as if they had taken place ten years ago.  At this moment, when the existence or extinction of nations was at stake, his own life was of so little importance to him that he was not even conscious of the foolhardy intrepidity with which he risked it at every step.

Majestic and powerful, sending forth death-dealing flashes from her turrets and portholes, the Wittelsbach had hitherto proceeded on her way, not heeding the wounds which the enemy’s shot had inflicted in her hull.  An almost thankful feeling for the glorious ship which carried him arose in Heideck’s breast.