He reached the door leading to the after deck, but could not open it.
From the position of the ship, he realized that something irretrievable
had happened. On the port side, the steamer was lying high, on the
starboard side, it was only ten or twelve feet above the level. As the
stern was also much lower than the bow, it would have been a practically
hopeless venture to clamber forward across the deck, especially with the
heavy seas that were constantly sweeping it.
Willy-nilly, he must return through the mole's gallery he had traversed
to the forward part of the boat.
Scarcely fifteen seconds later, 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, and a tremendous swell raised and
turned and twisted the colossal vessel. Frederick in vain tried to rouse
himself from the leaden indifference that had come upon him in view of
the incomprehensible drama. Suddenly, he was seized with horror, but he
fought it down. At no cost was he to show cowardice either to himself or
to others. Nevertheless, he followed Doctor Wilhelm, who stuck close to
Max Pander's heels.
"We must get into one of the boats," said Doctor Wilhelm. "There's no
doubt we are sinking."
The next moment Frederick found himself in Ingigerd's cabin.
"Hurry!" he cried. "The people are already jumping into the boats."
He had left the cabin door open, and close by they could see Pander and
two sailors hacking away with axes at the frozen tackles by which a
life-boat was suspended.
Ingigerd asked for her father. She asked for Achleitner.
"There's no time now for you to think of anybody but yourself. It's
impossible to go below deck. It would mean sure death," Frederick
explained. "Get dressed! Get dressed!"
Ingigerd mutely hastened to carry out his orders. It was not until then
that one of the stewards passing her cabin called in his brief message,
"Danger!"
"Danger! What's the matter? Are we sinking?" she cried.
But Frederick had already picked her up and carried her over to the boat,
which the next instant gave way under the axe and fell into the misty
turmoil below.
"Women and children on the other side!" the third mate shouted
commandingly.
His order referred not only to Ingigerd, but also to the maid Rosa, who,
fiery-red with her exertions, appeared on deck dragging her mistress and
both the children, with the air of a housewife loaded with purchases,
afraid of missing a street car.
"Women and children on the other side!" the third mate repeated in
somewhat too Prussian a manner. Fortunately his presence was now required
for the next boat, over which the struggles were already commencing.
There was no time to be lost, and despite the determined resistance of
two sailors, Frederick, Pander, and Doctor Wilhelm let Ingigerd safely
down into the boat. In doing so, Frederick also turned somewhat too
loud-voiced and Prussian. Through his iron energy, which hewed down
resistance as the sailors had hewed at the life-boat tackles, he
succeeded in having the children, Mrs. Liebling, and finally Rosa lowered
into the boat. It was no easy matter. Frederick heard himself shouted at,
roared at, and commanded, and he, in turn, shouted at the sailors,
commanded, and roared. He fought, he worked, though without a gleam of
hope and with the positive consciousness that the situation was beyond
salvation. All was over, all was lost. If he had not thought so before,
the next occurrence would have convinced him.
A second boat had been lowered, and three sailors had jumped in. It
rolled from side to side and rose on a wave. About eight or nine other
persons leapt for it--Frederick thought he recognised familiar figures.
It filled and disappeared. As if by sleight-of-hand, the spot where the
boat with the dozen people in it had been dancing turned into empty sea
with mist and spray driving over it.
Slowly the dark grey of the early dawn turned into the lighter grey of
the day, approaching coldly and indifferently. When the fog lifted a
little, Frederick for seconds at a time had a dismaying illusion that he
was in a green valley with glorious, flowery meadows, through which a
snowstorm of blossoms was sweeping. But then the mountains came, driven
by the ferocious spirits of the hurricane, and closed down on the valley.
The heavy, glassy heights broke, and with the weight of their fluid
masses, snapped away two of the _Roland's_ masts like reeds.
With its boilers quenched, the poor wreck could no longer send up a cry
for help. Its sad body was still towering upward at the bow in colossal
majesty. Rockets flew, signals of distress fluttered briskly from the
foremast; a futile language in that merciless raging of the elements.
In the steerage it had grown still. But from the port side came a
peculiar, persistent, unbroken sound, resembling the shouting and
screaming of a crowd on toboggan-slides and merry-go-rounds at a village
fair. A buzzing as of swarming bees pierced distinctly through the
roaring of the tempest, while above it rose the shrieking of infuriated,
frenzied women. Frederick thought of his dark-eyed Deborah. She, too, was
doomed. He thought of Wilke.
Bulke, the faithful valet, appeared, leading Arthur Stoss by his coat
collar. Within the next few moments, Wilke also appeared. He had been
drinking, and was shouting as if the whole thing were a frolic; but he
was half dragging, half carrying on deck an old, wheezing working woman.
Thrusting Stoss and Bulke aside, he landed her safely in the boat.
Ingigerd was clamouring incessantly for her father and Achleitner.
Instead of either of these, Stoss, whom Bulke and Wilke had lowered by
a rope, dropped down beside her.
About thirty feet from Frederick, a man was standing in a cabin door,
carefully hooked back. With incredible calm he was smoking a cigarette
and inhaling, and stroking a yellow cat on his arm.
"It looks pretty bad, doesn't it, Mr. Rinck?" Frederick said, going up to
him.
"Why?"
"Well, don't you think we're lost?"
Mr. Rinck shrugged his shoulders without answering.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" somebody bellowed in his ear.
"Nothing," he said, stroking his cat.
In the meantime Bulke and Wilke had lowered Doctor Wilhelm into the boat.
"That girl down there is giving herself a sore throat screaming for her
father," said Bulke.
Frederick decided, cost what it might, to take a look around below deck.
Perhaps fortune might favour him; he might discover Hahlström and perhaps
Achleitner, too, and help one or both into the boat. There was danger, to
be sure, that the boat would put off before he returned.
He had worked his way as far as the unused smoking-room. It was empty.
Suddenly Wilke was standing beside him.
"If you're looking for somebody, I'll help," the peasant declared.
The two together descended the rest of the companionway. The space in
front of the dining-room was empty and so was the dining-room. It was
tilted at an acute angle. A heap of dishes and silverware blocked the
doorway.
"Hahlström! Achleitner!" Frederick shouted again and again.
Wilke pushed a short way down the long corridor, on which the cabins
gave. But the spot closed off by the rising waters was only too clearly
distinguishable.
"Come away, come away!" Frederick cried, and ran. He ran for his life. He
ran in wild fear of missing the boat.