A few minutes after five o'clock Frederick was already on deck. He seated
himself on the same bench as yesterday, opposite the companionway leading
down to the dining-room. His steward, a sympathetic, indefatigable young
man from the province of Magdeburg, brought him tea and toast. It was a
boon to Frederick.

Every few minutes the water dashed over the railing and washed the deck.
From the penthouse over the door of the companionway, streams would
suddenly come raining down, completely drenching Max Pander's little
mate, who was now standing on guard. The masts and rigging were decorated
with icicles, and rain and snow were falling alternately. It seemed as if
the dreary grey dawn, with its uproar, with the whining, whistling, and
howling of the furious wind in the masts and rigging, with the swishing
and seething of the waters, wanted to prolong its existence infinitely,
while the day refused to enter.

Warming his hands on his big tea-cup, he looked out over the ship's side,
which every now and then seemed to sink perpendicularly. His eyes glowed.
He felt as if they had sunk deep into their sockets. After the hardships
of the last few days, especially the past night, it was natural that he
should feel bruised, bodily and spiritually. He had a sense of vacancy
and dull-mindedness, a welcome feeling, to be sure, compared with his
sensations of the night, when the procession of images passed through his
brain. Nevertheless, the strong, moist, tonic wind, the taste of salt on
his lips refreshed him. He shivered a little, and sat with his head sunk
in the upturned collar of his overcoat. Presently he began to feel
pleasantly drowsy.

But he did not fail to perceive the full majesty in the turmoil of the
waves and the struggle of the floating palace. There was beauty and