But Rosa would not desist, and the sailors were compelled to carry Mrs. Liebling up first.
As they were lifting on deck the unconscious woman from the steerage, still emitting the fearful rattle, one of the Roland sailors, whose feet were frozen and who, during the whole long, dreadful drifting about on the ocean had not uttered a sound, suddenly began to bellow in pain.
"Shut up!" said his mates. "Don't carry on like an old woman."
He was the next to be lifted on board, merely whimpering now in ineffable agony. After him came the man in the velvet jacket, who was maundering, Doctor Wilhelm, Max Pander, and the other two sailors. Lastly the little corpse of Siegfried Liebling was lifted from the boat.
When the absurdly dressed man with long hair reached deck, he performed the drollest antics. For a moment he would stand upright, chest out, like a recruit, the next instant bow profoundly, or take aim, as if hunting; and all the time he kept bawling:
"I'm an artist. I paid for my cabin. I am well known in Germany"—striking a conscious attitude—"I am Jacob Fleischmann. I am a painter, from Fürth."
Every now and then he would writhe pitifully and vomit salt water. The water dripping from his clothes formed a pool where he stood.
Doctor Wilhelm had completely lost the faculty of speech. All he could do was to sneeze incessantly.
In the meantime, the steward of the vessel brought Frederick hot tea, and one of the sailors, who acted as barber and nurse on the vessel, attempted to restore Mrs. Liebling to life. Within less than two minutes, Frederick felt sufficiently revived to meet the demands of the occasion and assist the sailor-nurse with his Good Samaritan work.
After swallowing several glasses of brandy, Doctor Wilhelm with the help of the chief engineer, Mr. Wendler, attempted to revive Siegfried Liebling, though with small hope of success.