onse to curious questions, he always said that this was his main
purpose in crossing the ocean. His delight at seeing him in a dream, in
the setting of the white tropical town, after a separation of eight or
nine years, was a surprise to himself. How was it possible that he had
only occasionally and superficially remembered so magnificent a man, so
dear a youthful companion?

Peter Schmidt was a Friesian. He and Frederick had sat together on the
same school bench; later, they had spent two years together in the
gymnasium at St. Magdalene at Breslau and several semesters in the
universities of Greifswald, Breslau, and Zuerich. Owing to a combination
of common sense, many-sided knowledge, and humanitarian enthusiasm, Peter
Schmidt had exerted great influence on his friends. There was also an
adventurous streak in his nature, inherited from his father, a Friesian
colonist, who lay buried in a churchyard in Meriden, Connecticut.

"It is good that you have come," said Peter Schmidt. Frederick felt as
if he had been long expecting him. "Your wife, Angele, just arrived in
a skiff."

His friend silently led him to an inn near the harbour. A sense of
security such as he had never before felt came over him. While he took
a little luncheon in the dining-room, where the host, a German, stood
opposite, twirling his thumbs, Peter Schmidt explained:

"The town is not large, but it will give you an idea of the country.
You will find people here that are contented and have made their last
landing."

It was taken as a matter of course that there, in that strange, silent
city in the dazzling sunlight, the fewest possible words were to be
spoken. Some new, mute inner sense appeared to make meanings clear.
Nevertheless, Frederick said:

"I've always taken you for the mentor in unknown depths of our
predestination." By which he meant to express his awe at his friend's
mysterious being.

"Yes," said Peter Schmidt, "but this is only a small beginning, though
enough to indicate what is hidden under the surface here."

Peter Schmidt, born in Tondern, now led Frederick out to the harbour. It
was a very small harbour. There were a number of ancient vessels lying
half-sunk in the water.

"Fourteen-ninety-two," said Peter Schmidt. That was the year the four
hundredth anniversary of which was being much discussed by the Americans
on board the _Roland_. The Friesian pointed to both the half-submerged
caravels and explained that one of them