Doctor Wilhelm pointed out to Frederick a Russian-Jewish girl of about seventeen.  The expression of her face was sombre.  Her features were most delicately chiselled, and she was as transparent as an image of wax.  Doctor Wilhelm, observing the defiant air with which she glowered at Frederick, remarked that he must have conquered at first sight.

On passing farther, Frederick heard a voice bawl his name.  It was Wilke, but a very different Wilke from the one he had met on deck the morning before.  He was cursing and scolding at everybody and everything, while trying to raise himself from his mattress; a feat rather difficult for him to accomplish, because, in the first place, the rolling of the vessel in the steerage was fearful, and in the second place, he had evidently been trying to counteract the wretchedness of his condition by the imbibing of whisky.  Doctor Wilhelm gave him a sharp berating.  Wilke, very clearly, was a nuisance, perhaps even a danger, to everybody about him.  In his intoxication he fancied he was being pursued.  The rags from his open bundle lay spread on his mattress mixed with cheese and bread-crumbs, and in his right hand he held open a large pocket-knife.

Doctor Wilhelm had not been aware that he was dealing with a particular acquaintance of Frederick’s.  His admonitions were of no effect.  Wilke shouted that his neighbours had robbed him, and so had the stewards, and the sailors and the captain.  Frederick took his knife away from him, spoke to him in a military tone, and unceremoniously touched a scar on the rough fellow’s hairy neck to recall to him the fact that he had already sewed one knife wound, from which he had barely escaped with his life.  That worked, and Wilke seemed to be repentant.  Frederick gave him some money, but not for whisky, as he told him, and added he would try his best for him, but only if he heard that he had been behaving like a decent human being.

XVII

The physicians ascended on deck again.  On breathing in the ocean’s pure breath after the foul odours of the steerage, Frederick felt as if he had escaped from a hideous, suffocating hell.

With difficulty they made their way across the wet, empty deck, ever and again washed by waves sweeping overboard.  To keep their footing they had to cling to the railing.  Not a soul was on deck.  The ship, restlessly rolling and pounding, seemed to have been left to fight its fight alone.  But this was an awful scene that relieved and refreshed Frederick.

He went to the ladies’ parlour, there to read the letter from home, which he had nearly forgotten.  A few women, who were not seasick, were scattered through the room, lolling in their chairs in a state of limp exhaustion.  The saloon smelled of plush and varnish.  It was decorated with a number of mirrors in gold frames, there was a grand piano, and the sound of footsteps was muffled by the soft carpet covering the floor.  The prevailing colour was blue.