when he had reached the forward entrance
to the deck, at the head of the companionway leading up from the
dining-room, he could not have told how he succeeded in making his
way through the corridor jammed with panicky passengers without having
been beaten to death, strangled, or trodden underfoot. His hands and
forehead were bruised, and he was clinging to the door-post with all
his might, parleying violently with Doctor Wilhelm. Doctor Wilhelm
clutched him, and the two physicians, in defiance of death, climbed up to
the bridge, where they huddled in the shelter of the deck-house on the
port side. They saw something huge rise high up in the morning twilight
and fly madly above their heads. The next instant they were drenched up
to their waists, and would have been washed overboard, had they not
clung to the railing with all their strength.

On the bridge it looked pretty much as usual. Captain von Kessel,
apparently quite composed, was leaning forward, and the giant Von Halm
was searching the ever-thickening fog with spy-glasses. The siren was
howling, and rockets were being shot off from the bow. On the captain's
right stood the second mate. The third mate had just received the order:

"Cut the falls. Get the boats away."

"Cut the falls. Get the boats away," he repeated and disappeared to
execute the order.

To Frederick, it all seemed unreal. Moments such as this, to be sure, had
entered his imagination as within the realm of the possible; but now he
realised that he had never reckoned with them seriously. He knew the fact
confronting him stood there inexorable; nevertheless, he was unable to
grasp it in convincing reality. He was telling himself he ought to try
to get into a boat, when the captain's blue eyes glanced at him, but
apparently with no recognition in them. The captain's commands were
uttered in his beautiful voice, remotely suggesting the clinking sound
of colliding billiard balls.

"Women and children starboard."

"Women and children starboard," came like a near, word-for-word echo.

Now Max Pander stepped up to the captain. He had the noble idea of
proffering him a life-belt. Von Kessel's hand found its way for an
instant to his cap.

"No, thank you, my boy, I don't need it. But here--" he took a pencil
from his pocket, wrote a hasty line on a piece of paper, and handed it
to Pander. "Jump in a boat and, if you can, bring this greeting to my
sisters."

A heavy sea swept over the port side, a