and Roland, the valiant warrior in armour, were laughing grimly and
conversing. Frederick saw both wading through the sea. Roland was holding
Mara, the tiny dancer, on his right palm. Every now and then Frederick
shivered. The ship careened, a stiff southeaster heeling her to
starboard. The waves hissed and foamed. The rhythm produced by the
rise and fall of the pistons finally seemed to turn into the rhythm of
Frederick's own body. The working of the screw was distinctly audible. At
regular intervals the stern would rise out of the water, carrying with it
the screw, which would then buzz in the air, and Frederick would hear
Wilke from the Heuscheuer saying:

"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."