“Ass!” Frederick mentally exclaimed, disgusted with himself for what he again believed was his illusion.  Yet the silence weighed upon him dreadfully.  Seized by a wild instinct, he could not help but suddenly rush forward, merely to be on deck.

Somebody came toward him from the opposite direction, and asked him where he was going.

“Get out of my way,” said Frederick.  “It’s none of your business.”

But the hideous, half-dressed, corpse-like creature, besmirched by the traces of seasickness, would not make way.

“Are the stewards here all crazy?” he cried.

Hard by Frederick’s ear an electric bell began to hammer noisily, and the next moment the tottering phantom that barred his way was multiplied by ten, twenty, a host of similar phantoms.

“What’s the matter!  What’s the matter!  We’re sinking!”

“Steward!  Steward!” a voice commanded; and another, “Captain!  Captain!”

“Wretched service!” a man scolded in a voice that broke.  “No stewards about.  What do they mean by it?” The call bells began to rage.

Frederick turned, and ran down the endless corridor to the after part of the vessel.  Nobody intercepted him.  He passed the windows of the engine-room.  The cylinders and pistons were not stirring.  From the depths of the ship, from the boilers and furnaces, a sound of rushing, splashing water penetrated above the creaking and grinding of the walls.

“Did a boiler burst?” Frederick thought, forgetting that there would have been the report of an explosion and the hiss of escaping steam.

But he hastened on without stopping, past the post office, on his way through the second cabin to the stern.  In his flight it occurred to him how happy he had been in Paris when at Cook’s office they had told him that by great haste he could still make the Roland at Southampton.  Why had he been in such a fever of impatience, in such dread of missing the boat and rushing into the open arms of doom?  For there was no veiling the fact that something fearful had happened to the Roland.

At the door of the second cabin, he encountered the barber.

“The fires are out,” said the barber.  “A collision.  The water is pouring into the hold below my shop.”

The hammering of the bells never ceased.  The barber was dragging two life-preservers.

“What do you need two for?” Frederick asked, and took one and sped on.

XLVII

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.