n, steadfastly cleaving the waves and tearing breaches in
the mountains of water. New York was its goal, and it was hastening
onward.

Frederick wanted to go on deck, but it looked bad there, and he remained
on the upper step under the protection of the companionway penthouse. The
level of the sea seemed to have risen, so that the warrior _Roland_
appeared to be making his obstinate way through a deep defile. One could
not help succumbing to the impression that each instant the defile would
close overhead and settle the faithful vessel's fate forever. Sailors in
oilskins were climbing about to make fast every loose thing. Great waves
had already swept overboard. The salt water was trickling and flowing
over the deck. As if that were not enough, the heavens were driving down
rain and snow. The rigging was howling, groaning, booming, and whistling
in every pitch and key. That severity, that awfulness of the elements,
that eternal rushing and roaring and seething of great masses of water,
through which the steamer was staggering forward as if in mad, blind
intoxication, that mournful, raging tumult kept up hour after hour. By
noon it had even grown worse.

Very few responded to the trumpet-call for luncheon. There were about ten
men beside the woman physician and the woman painter. Hahlstroem seated
himself at Frederick's and Wilhelm's empty table. The ladies' places were
not far away.

"No wonder," said Frederick, "that sailors are superstitious. The way
this awful weather dropped out of a clear sky is enough to make a man
believe in magic."

"It may even grow worse," Wilhelm observed.

The women heard his remark, looked up, and made horrified eyes.

"Do you think there is danger?" one of them asked.

"Danger is always imminent in life," he replied, and added with a smile:
"It is merely a question of not being frightened."

Incredible to relate, the band began to play as usual, and, what is more,
played a piece entitled _Marche triomphale_. The effect on all was at
first a slight shudder; then nobody could resist a smile at the apparent
irony of it.

"The musicians are heroes," said Frederick.

"In general," remarked Hahlstroem, "our grim humour nowadays is a great
asset. If those musicians were to receive the order, they would play 'A
Country Girl,' and 'My Hannah Lady,' in the jaws or the belly of a whale.
If they didn't, they'd fare just as badly."

"O Lord, anything for a steady table, a steady seat, a st