And now, suddenly, the world seemed to Frederick to have gone mad. The
_Hamburg_ was entering the narrow harbour, the basin surrounded by
skyscrapers, veritable towers of Babel, and alive with numberless
grotesquely shaped ferry-boats. The scene, perhaps, would be a ridiculous
monstrosity, were it not so truly gigantic. In that crater of life
civilisation bellows, howls, screeches, roars, thunders, rushes, whizzes
and whirls. Here is a colony of white ants, whose activity is staggering,
bewildering, stupefying. It seemed inconceivable that in that intricate,
raging chaos, a single minute could pass without a collision, or a
collapse, or a killing. How could one possibly pursue one's own affairs
quietly amid that shrieking, that hammering, that clanging, that mad
uproar?
During these last moments together, the involuntary passengers of the
_Hamburg_ had become as one in heart and soul. Frederick had not lost his
cash in the disaster, and he persuaded Ingigerd Hahlström not to reject
his services during her first days on land. All agreed not to lose sight
of one another in New York. Naturally enough, there had been much lively,
genuinely heartfelt leave-taking and well-wishing for more than an hour
before the _Hamburg_ was secured to the dock.
The dithyrambic noise of the mighty city, where millions of men were at
work, exercised a renewing, transforming influence. It was a whirlpool
into which one was drawn unresistingly. It suffered no pondering, no
immersion in an unalterable past. Everything in it urged and impelled
forward. Here was the present, nothing but the present.
Arthur Stoss seemed already to have one foot planted on Webster and
Forster's stage. There was much parleying in regard to Ingigerd's
appearance in theatre. She and Stoss had been engaged for the same time,
which was already past. With the uncertainty in her heart as to her
father's fate, she said she could not possibly dance; while Arthur Stoss
declared if he got there in time, he would appear for his number that
very evening.
"I've already lost two evenings," he said, "at a round five hundred
dollars an evening. Besides, I must work, I must get among people."
He advised Ingigerd for her own advantage to do the same, and cited
instances of persons who had not allowed the greatest griefs to keep them
from the exercise of their calling. He knew of a scholar, he said, who
delivered his lecture while his wife was dying, of a clown who cracked
his jokes on the stage, though his wife had eloped with another man and
his heart was bleeding.
"That's our profession," Stoss continued, "and not only our profession,
but everybody's profession--to do his duty, whether with liking or
disliking, whether with happiness or with anguish in his soul. Every man
is a tragi-comic clown, although he doesn't pass for one, perhaps, as we
do. To me it is a triumph, after what I have gone through, to stand on
the stage this evening without trembling, among three thousand
sensation-seeking spectators, and shoot the middle out of an ace."
By degrees Stoss fell more and more into a lively strain of boasting,
which, though not disagreeable, utterly lacked wit. "If you haven't
anything better to do," he said, turning to the physicians, "you
might come to Webster and Forster's and see me cut my capers. Work!
Work!"--this was meant for Ingigerd--"I very much wish you would make up
your mind to dance. Work is medicine, work is everything. To lament the
past is of no use. Besides," he said, turning serious, "don't forget,
stocks in us are booming. Actors must not reject such an opportunity.
Just wait and see how we'll be surrounded by reporters the moment we set
foot on land."
"How so?" said Frederick. "Don't you suppose that all the details of
the sinking of the _Roland_ have been telegraphed to New York from
quarantine? Look at those great skyscrapers, that one with the cupola is
the _World_ building. We have already gone to press, and millions of
newspapers have spun us out, in the greatest detail. The next four or
five days there won't be a man or woman in New York who can vie in
celebrity with the survivors of the _Roland_."
Amid similar talk, the _Hamburg_ reached its pier, and leave-taking began
in earnest. It was truly remarkable to see what emotion suddenly seized
these people, who at bottom were strangers to one another. Mrs. Liebling
wept, and Frederick and Doctor Wilhelm had to submit to her overflowing
kisses of gratitude. Rosa kissed Bulke; she kissed Doctor Wilhelm's and
Frederick's hands again and again, amid veritable howls. It goes without
saying that the ladies also exchanged endearments. Praises were bestowed
upon Flitte; and Captain Butor and Wendler, in fact the entire crew of
the _Hamburg_, were extolled as brave, noble rescuers. The physicians and
Stoss called the sailors of the _Roland_, "Our dear comrades! Our
heroes!"
It was agreed that all should meet again, and Doctor Wilhelm made an
appointment with Captain Butor, Wendler, and even the tattered painter,
Fleischmann, for noon of the day after next. The place chosen for the
meeting was the Hoffman House bar. From there, they would go together on
a jaunt through the city.
Poor Jacob Fleischmann, the painter, was somewhat perplexed by the mad
city, and turned rather mealy-mouthed. He could not speak English, he had
little cash, and he had lost his only capital, his paintings. He tried
delicately, though with evident anxiety, to attach himself to the men
with whom fate had thrown him, and they did not withhold the support he
sought. They agreed to look out for him. Even Arthur Stoss proffered his
services and good advice.
"Should you have trouble with the company's agent," he said, "call on me,
and I'll introduce you to my friend, the owner of the _Staats-Zeitung_."