at, and commanded, and he, in turn, shouted at the sailors,
commanded, and roared. He fought, he worked, though without a gleam of
hope and with the positive consciousness that the situation was beyond
salvation. All was over, all was lost. If he had not thought so before,
the next occurrence would have convinced him.

A second boat had been lowered, and three sailors had jumped in. It
rolled from side to side and rose on a wave. About eight or nine other
persons leapt for it--Frederick thought he recognised familiar figures.
It filled and disappeared. As if by sleight-of-hand, the spot where the
boat with the dozen people in it had been dancing turned into empty sea
with mist and spray driving over it.

Slowly the dark grey of the early dawn turned into the lighter grey of
the day, approaching coldly and indifferently. When the fog lifted a
little, Frederick for seconds at a time had a dismaying illusion that he
was in a green valley with glorious, flowery meadows, through which a
snowstorm of blossoms was sweeping. But then the mountains came, driven
by the ferocious spirits of the hurricane, and closed down on the valley.
The heavy, glassy heights broke, and with the weight of their fluid
masses, snapped away two of the _Roland's_ masts like reeds.

With its boilers quenched, the poor wreck could no longer send up a cry
for help. Its sad body was still towering upward at the bow in colossal
majesty. Rockets flew, signals of distress fluttered briskly from the
foremast; a futile language in that merciless raging of the elements.

In the steerage it had grown still. But from the port side came a
peculiar, persistent, unbroken sound, resembling the shouting and
screaming of a crowd on toboggan-slides and merry-go-rounds at a village
fair. A buzzing as of swarming bees pierced distinctly through the
roaring of the tempest, while above it rose the shrieking of infuriated,
frenzied women. Frederick thought of his dark-eyed Deborah. She, too, was
doomed. He thought of Wilke.

Bulke, the faithful valet, appeared, leading Arthur Stoss by his coat
collar. Within the next few moments, Wilke also appeared. He had been
drinking, and was shouting as if the whole thing were a frolic; but he
was half dragging, half carrying on deck an old, wheezing working woman.
Thrusting Stoss and Bulke aside, he landed her safely in the boat.

Ingigerd was clamouring incessantly for her father and Achleitner.
Instead of either of these, Stos