“Doctor, if only the screw doesn’t snap.”

Finally, all the machinery of the vessel seemed to be turning in his brain.  Sometimes one engineer in the engine-room would call out to another, and the clang of the metal shovels when the stokers fed the furnace penetrated to the deck.

All of a sudden Frederick jumped to his feet; he thought he saw a ghost, or a dead-alive corpse, reeling up the companionway and making for him.  It was the clothing manufacturer whom he had met at Southampton, looking more like a man in his death throes than one already dead.  He gave Frederick a ghastly glance of unconsciousness and let a steward support him to the nearest steamer chair.

“If that man,” Frederick thought, “is not to be reckoned among the heroes, then there never have been any heroes in the world.”

“Each time I cross,” the clothing manufacturer had said, “I suffer from seasickness, from the moment I set foot on the ship until I leave it.”

And what horrible extremes of suffering he had to go through!

Opposite Frederick, at the entrance to the companionway, stood a cabin-boy.  From time to time at the signal of a whistle from the bridge, he would disappear to receive orders from the first or second mate, or whatever officer happened to be on duty.  Often an hour and more would pass without the summons, and the handsome lad had plenty of time to meditate upon himself and his lot in life.  Frederick felt sorry for him as he stood there on guard, bored and chilly; so he spoke to him.

He learned that his name was Max Pander and that he came from near the Black Forest.  The next logical question to put to him was whether he liked his work.  The boy answered with a resigned smile, which heightened the charm of his handsome head, but showed he had none too much passion for the seaman’s calling.

“There is not much in travelling on steamers,” he observed.  “A real sailor belongs on board a sailing vessel.  There is a mate of mine here on the Roland,” he added in a tone of great admiration, “who is only eighteen years old and has already been on two long, dangerous trips on a schooner.”

To Frederick, it seemed as if lasting passion for the sea—­the sea, which was already making him miserable—­must be a conventional myth.  It was three o’clock.  He had been on board only nineteen or twenty hours, and already found it a petty hardship.  “If the Roland doesn’t make better time,” he calculated, “I shall have to go through the same difficulties of existence eight or nine times twenty-four hours.  But I will get back to land and remain there, while Pander, the cabin-boy, will have to return across the ocean a few days after landing.”

“If someone were to find you a good position on land,” Frederick asked, “would you give up your position here?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Pander, emphasising his reply with a decided nod of his head.