During the silent meal in the hotel, the news came that the Roland probably would reach the Needles at five o’clock, two hours earlier than was expected.  Frederick took his coffee and smoked some Simon Arzt cigarettes with the German, who at the same time tried to do some business in his trade, which was ready-made clothing.  The two men, carrying their luggage, then went to the tender together.

Here they had an uncomfortable hour’s wait, while the low smoke-stack belched black vapours into the dirty drab mist that lay oppressively upon everything about the harbour.  From time to time the sound of the shovelling of coal arose from the engine-room.  One at a time five or six passengers came on board, porters carrying their luggage.  The saloon was nothing more than a glass case on deck, inside of which, below the windows, a bench upholstered in red plush ran around the sides.  At irregular intervals the bench was heaped with disorderly piles of luggage.

Everybody was taciturn.  No one felt reposeful enough to settle in any one place for a length of time.  What conversation there was, was conducted in a subdued, frightened sort of whisper.  Three young ladies, one of whom was the Englishwoman of the reading-room, unwearyingly paced up and down the full length of the saloon.  Their faces were unnaturally pale.

“This is the eighteenth time I have made the round trip,” suddenly declared the clothing manufacturer, unsolicited.

“Do you suffer from seasickness?” somebody asked in reply.

“I scarcely set foot on the steamer when I turn into a corpse.  That happens each time.  I don’t come back to life until shortly before we reach Hoboken or, at the other end, Bremerhaven or Cuxhaven.”

Finally, after a long, apparently vain wait, something seemed to be preparing in the bowels of the tender and at the wheel.  The three ladies embraced and kissed, and an abundance of tears were shed.  The prettiest one, the lady of the reading-room, remained on the tender; the others returned to the pier.

Still the little boat refused to move.  Finally, however, at nightfall, amid pitch-black darkness, the hawsers were loosened from the iron rings of the dock, a piercing whistle burst from the tender, and the screw began to churn the water slowly, as if merely to test itself.

At the last moment three telegrams were handed to Frederick, one from his old parents and his brother, who wished him a happy voyage, one from his banker, and one from his attorney.

Though Frederick had left neither friend nor relative nor even an acquaintance on the quay, yet, the instant he perceived the tender in motion, a storm assailed him, whether a storm of woe, misery, despair, or a storm of hope in endless happiness, he could not tell.  All he felt was that something burst convulsively from his breast and throat, and seethed up, boiling hot, into his eyes.