“Noah’s ark,” he said, “has not yet become superfluous.  Two-thirds of the earth’s surface is still covered with water.  But if a vessel here and there is swallowed up in the flood, the ark of humanity cannot sink, since God has set his rainbow in the heavens.  The ocean is the cradle of heroism, it is the unifying, not the dividing element.”

The name of Captain von Kessel resounded in the hall.  Frederick saw the dead hero tossing about in the great black waters under a starless heaven.  Above the performer’s shrill voice, he heard the captain’s voice saying: 

“My brother has a wife and children.  He is an enviable man, Doctor von Kammacher.”

Frederick was roused from his recollections by the frantic applause that greeted the conclusion of the brilliant speech.

Arthur Stoss now seated himself on one of the seats, and Bulke, the hero and life saver in red livery, laid a violin on another and proceeded to draw off his master’s shoes.  Stoss’s feet were clad in black stockings leaving his toes bare.  With the toes of his right foot, he took the bow and with his left foot, deftly rosined it; a spectacle that sent a whisper of astonishment rippling through the audience.  The orchestra struck up Bach’s “Prelude,” to which Stoss played Gounod’s “Ave Maria.”  The tones he produced were beautiful, and the vast crowd was enraptured.  Remembering the awful disaster, they were transported into a sentimental, religious mood.  Frederick shuddered with disgust.  The sinking of the Roland was being exploited.

It was a relief when Stoss finally took up the pea-rifle.  Bulke in the part he now played aroused as much admiration in Frederick and the artists as Stoss, if not more.  While his master shot off the rifle, he stood at a distance of fifteen feet, with total unconcern holding up cards for Stoss to aim at.  Stoss put a hole through the middle of the card every time.

V

When he awoke rather late the next morning, Frederick was astonished to find everything about him standing still.  The bed was not pitching, the glasses and water basin were not rattling, the floor was not sloping downward, nor were the walls tumbling on his head.  The grey light of a cloudy winter day coming through the window by no means made an unpleasant or cheerless impression.

He rang, and Petronilla appeared.  The young lady, she said, had awakened, looking well and rosy, and had already breakfasted.  She handed him a note from Willy Snyders, saying exactly where he could be found at different times during the forenoon and that he would be back for lunch at quarter past twelve.

Frederick took the second bath he had had within twelve or fourteen hours.  They had laid out fresh underwear and several perfectly new suits of Bonifacius Ritter’s for him to choose from; and he sat down to breakfast a “newborn” man.  Petronilla herself brought in breakfast.  While serving, she told him everybody, even all the servants, had gone out.  She left the room, and returned a few moments later to ask if there was anything else he wished.