Frederick wondered who would have the phlegm or the courage or the desire to go to dinner.  But Wilhelm cried, “Come, gentlemen,” and since Rosa appeared, wet and courageous, to attend to the children, it was out of place for him to remain in the cabin, and there was nothing for him to do but join Doctor Wilhelm and Hahlstroem.  The cockatoo was screeching and Ella was crying.  The child was refractory.  Ingigerd was trying to console her, while Rosa reprimanded her rather energetically.

“Would you like me to stay near here?” Frederick asked before leaving.  “It would mean a great deal to me if you would let me be entirely at your disposal, Miss Ingigerd.”

“Thank you, Doctor von Kammacher, you will be coming again.”

Frederick marvelled at the naturalness with which he had made the offer and she had accepted.

Now an unexpected change set in, which allayed everybody’s excitement and went through Frederick’s muscles and nerves like a soothing stream.  The walls and floors of the Roland began to quiver faintly, a sign that her heart and pulse were beating again.  It was the rhythm of its strength, the rhythm of its race to its goal.  Ingigerd shouted with joy, like a child, and Frederick set his teeth.  Renewed life, renewed prospects and hopes, the reassumption of system, the relaxation of his nerves made him so weak that the tears almost started to his eyes.  Choking down his emotion, he stepped out on deck.

Here the scene had changed.  Blithely, in all its might, the Roland was leaping forward again into the roaring darkness.  That monstrous, seething witch’s cauldron of the boiling waters was now welcome to him.  Again the Roland was tearing breaches in dark mountains, was rising to mountain heights, and madly plunging into deep valleys; during which, for many seconds at a time, the screw would whirl wildly in the turbulent air.

Mr. Rinck was sitting on the threshold of his cabin, which was brightly lighted, smoking and petting his spotted cat.

“It’s good we’re under way again,” Frederick could not refrain from saying as he walked past.

“Why?” said Rinck phlegmatically.

“I for one,” said Frederick, “would rather be running under full steam than drifting helplessly.”

“Why?” said Mr. Rinck again.

In the gangways below, even though the ship was pitching, the atmosphere was fairly pleasant and lively.  Everybody seemed to have forgotten his fear.  The passengers, cracking jokes and clinging to the nearest stationary thing, reeled and stumbled into the dining-room.  The rattle of china near the kitchen was deafening, especially when, as frequently happened, some of the plates broke.

Frederick’s clothes were pretty well soaked, and he mustered up the courage to go to his cabin to dress.  Adolph, his steward, came to help him, and told Frederick of a panic that had broken out in the steerage when the engines stopped.  Some of the women with their babies on their arms had wanted to jump right into the water.  It was with difficulty that the other emigrants had restrained them.  One of the stewards and a sailor had clutched a Polish woman by her feet just as she was taking the downward plunge.