Atlantis | Page 4

him in bondage against his will. His love
had turned into a disease, which had reached an acute stage, probably
because the gloomy events of so recent occurrence had induced in him
a state in which men are peculiarly susceptible to love's poison.
It was a friend of his, a physician, who had introduced him in Berlin to
the girl and her father, and who later, when sufficiently acquainted with
Frederick's secret, raging love, had to take it upon himself to inform the
enamoured man of every change in the couple's address.
Doctor von Kammacher's scanty luggage did not indicate careful
preparation for a long trip. In a fit of desperation, or, rather, in an
outburst of passion, he had made the hasty decision to catch the Roland
at Southampton when he learned that the Swede and his daughter had
embarked on it at Bremen on the twenty-third of January.

II
After lying in bed about an hour, Frederick arose, knocked a hole in the
ice crust in the pitcher, washed himself, and in a fever of restlessness
descended again to the lower rooms of the little hotel. In the
reading-room sat a pretty young Englishwoman and a German Jewish
merchant, not so pretty and not so young. The dreariness of waiting
produced sociability. Frederick and the German entered into a
conversation. The German informed Frederick that he had lived in the
United States and was returning by the Roland.
The air was grey, the room cold, the young lady impatiently paced up
and down in front of the fireplace, where there was no fire, and the
conversation of the new acquaintances dwindled into monosyllables.

The condition of the unhappy lover, as a rule, is concealed from the
persons he meets, or unintelligible to them. In either case it is
ridiculous. A man in love is alternately transported and tormented by
brilliant and gloomy illusions. In spite of the cold, cutting wind, the
young fool of love was driven restlessly out to roam the streets and
alleys of the port. He thought of what an embarrassing position he had
been in when the Jewish merchant had insinuatingly inquired for the
purpose of his journey. In his effort not to reveal the secret motive of
his ocean crossing, Frederick had stammered and stuttered and given
some sort of a vague reply. He decided that from now on, in answer to
intrusive questioners, he would say he was going to America to see
Niagara Falls, Yellowstone Park, and visit an old collegemate of his,
also a physician.
During the silent meal in the hotel, the news came that the Roland
probably would reach the Needles at five o'clock, two hours earlier than
was expected. Frederick took his coffee and smoked some Simon Arzt
cigarettes with the German, who at the same time tried to do some
business in his trade, which was ready-made clothing. The two men,
carrying their luggage, then went to the tender together.
Here they had an uncomfortable hour's wait, while the low smoke-stack
belched black vapours into the dirty drab mist that lay oppressively
upon everything about the harbour. From time to time the sound of the
shovelling of coal arose from the engine-room. One at a time five or six
passengers came on board, porters carrying their luggage. The saloon
was nothing more than a glass case on deck, inside of which, below the
windows, a bench upholstered in red plush ran around the sides. At
irregular intervals the bench was heaped with disorderly piles of
luggage.
Everybody was taciturn. No one felt reposeful enough to settle in any
one place for a length of time. What conversation there was, was
conducted in a subdued, frightened sort of whisper. Three young ladies,
one of whom was the Englishwoman of the reading-room,
unwearyingly paced up and down the full length of the saloon. Their
faces were unnaturally pale.

"This is the eighteenth time I have made the round trip," suddenly
declared the clothing manufacturer, unsolicited.
"Do you suffer from seasickness?" somebody asked in reply.
"I scarcely set foot on the steamer when I turn into a corpse. That
happens each time. I don't come back to life until shortly before we
reach Hoboken or, at the other end, Bremerhaven or Cuxhaven."
Finally, after a long, apparently vain wait, something seemed to be
preparing in the bowels of the tender and at the wheel. The three ladies
embraced and kissed, and an abundance of tears were shed. The
prettiest one, the lady of the reading-room, remained on the tender; the
others returned to the pier.
Still the little boat refused to move. Finally, however, at nightfall, amid
pitch-black darkness, the hawsers were loosened from the iron rings of
the dock, a piercing whistle burst from the tender, and the screw