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.