"The storm is blowing from north-northwest. A ship like this never capsizes. So, in all probability, we should be carried to the Azores, where a steamer would tow us into port. Or, perhaps, we should be driven even further south, and in a week we should be anchoring in view of the glorious Peak of Teneriffe." "Many thanks for your Peak of Teneriffe. I have to be in New York. My daughter has an engagement there. We are under obligations to be there." "A week of uncertainty would be ruin to my nervous system," said Frederick. "I am not suited for this passive heroism. I might do more if I could be active." "You've read the 'Leather-stocking Tales,'" said Wilhelm, ironically. "You know that the American Indians have greater respect for passive heroism. Think of the stakes on which they burn their captives to death." "Never mind," said Frederick. "No martyr stakes for me. Were I to hear that the screw is broken and we should have to drift, my nerves couldn't stand it. I would jump into the water. That is why I am against life-preservers. I wouldn't accept one if it were offered to me ten times over. Why prolong the death agony?" XLII The hours passed. The grey day went down into still greyer twilight. The ear-splitting tumult of the sea never ceased. Frederick, like everybody else, had in vain awaited the moment when the engines would be working again, and the helpless ship would resume its course. Everybody, with the anxiety of despair, watched whether the intervals between the great swells would lengthen or shorten. Sometimes a superstitious illusion that he was being persecuted would take hold of Frederick. Particularly awful were the cries of the emigrants penned in the steerage, which at short intervals penetrated above on deck. They wept and wailed and shrieked to heaven for help. They were like men driven mad by fear, fury and physical pain. Yet, as if nothing had happened, the call for dinner was trumpeted at the regular time through the gangways of the drifting vessel, through that majestic, helpless ark, lighted by electricity, which, shining through the port-holes, turned the _Roland_ with its crust of ice into a fairy palace, a mournful plaything of the waves. 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."