of veronal. Doctor Wilhelm had
undertaken to do whatever was necessary during the night for the sick
passengers of the _Roland_ and had persuaded Frederick, whose more
delicate constitution was in the utmost need of rest, to take the drug.
The sun was shining brightly into his tiny cabin. Through the slat door,
he heard the sound of voices speaking calmly and the cheerful clatter of
plates and dishes. At first he recalled nothing of the previous day's
events, and thought he was on the fast mail steamer, _Roland_. But he
could not reconcile the change in his cabin with the idea he had formed
of his room on the _Roland_. In his bewilderment he reached out from bed
and knocked on the mahogany slats of the door. The next moment Doctor
Wilhelm's face, lively and refreshed, was bending over him.

"With the exception of the woman from the steerage, all our patients had
a good night," the _Roland's_ doctor said, and went on to give a report
of each case. It was not until he had nearly ended his account that he
noticed the difficulty Frederick was having to explain his surroundings.
Wilhelm laughed and recalled some incidents. Frederick started up and
clapped his hands to his temples.

"A void," he exclaimed. "A whirl of impossible things is going round in
my brain."

Shortly after, he was sitting at breakfast with Doctor Wilhelm, eating
and drinking. And yet not a word was said of the sinking of the _Roland_.

Ingigerd Hahlstroem had awakened and fallen asleep again. The barber and
sailor-nurse, Flitte by name, had locked her door. Arthur Stoss was still
lying abed with his door open and was cracking jokes in the best of
spirits, while his trusty valet, Bulke, fed him or handed him food to
take with his feet. From the ring of his falsetto voice one would have
judged that the horrors he had survived were nothing but a series of
comic situations.

"This business," he said, leaving his original subject and dropping a few
highly flavoured oaths, "is going to cost me one thousand American
dollars. I shall not be able to keep the first days of my engagement in
New York." In good English he cursed the whole German Hansa, especially
the _Hamburg_. "The wretched little herring keg! At the utmost it doesn't
make more than ten knots an hour."

Fourteen hours of peaceful sleep brought the painter, Jacob Fleischmann
of Fuerth to his senses. He had his breakfast served in bed, rang the
call-bell, gave orders, and kept the steward danc