Still the forward part of the vessel and, along with it, the dining-room
with all its dishes, plates, and bottles, with its gentlemen guests and
lady guests and the steward-waiters, with its fish and vegetables and
meats and drinks and brass band, were lifted high on the mountain top of
one wave and plunged deep in the trough of the next. The mighty working
of the engines quivered through the ship. The dining-room walls had to
cope with the onslaught of the opposing element.

The electric lights were turned on full. The grey of the cloudy winter
day did not suffice to illuminate the room, especially since what
brightness there was outside was every instant shut off by the water
splashing against the port-holes.

Frederick enjoyed the daring of it--to be dining in festivity to the
accompaniment of frivolous music in the illuminated bowels of this
monster, this _Roland_. From time to time the mighty ship seemed on the
point of encountering invincible resistance. A combination of opposing
forces would rise up against the stem, producing the effect of a solid
body, a veritable mountainside. At such moments the noise of the talking
would die down, and many pale faces would exchange glances and turn to
the captain or to the prow of the vessel. But Captain von Kessel and his
officers were absorbed in their meal and paid no attention to the
phenomenon, which for moments at a time brought the _Roland_ to a
quivering standstill. They never looked up, but kept to their eating and
talking, even when, as often happened, tremendous masses of water hurled
themselves against the walls, threatening to crash through what seemed
like pitifully thin partitions for excluding that mighty, wrathful
element, thundering and roaring with suppressed hate and fury.