_Daland_ discovers that they have missed their port by seven miles on account of the storm, and deplores his bad luck that when so near his home and his beloved child, he should have been driven out of his course. As the storm seems to be abating the sailors descend into the hold and _Daland_ goes down into the cabin to rest, leaving his steersman in charge of the deck. The steersman walks the deck once or twice and then sits down near the rudder, yawning, and then rousing himself as if sleep were coming over him. As if to force himself to remain awake he intones a sailor song, an exquisite little melody, with a dash of the sea in its undulating measures. He intones the second verse, but sleep overcomes him and the phrases become more and more detached, until at last he falls asleep.
The storm begins to rage again and it grows darker. Suddenly the ship of the _Flying Dutchman_, with blood-red sails and black mast, looms up in the distance. She glides over the waves as if she did not feel the storm at all, and quickly enters the harbour over against the ship of the Norwegian; then silently and without the least noise the spectral crew furl the sails. The _Dutchman_ goes on shore.
Here now occur the weird, dramatic recitative and aria: "The term is passed, and once again are ended seven long years." As the _Dutchman_ leans in brooding silence against a rock in the foreground, _Daland_ comes out of the cabin and observes the ship. He rouses the steersman, who begins singing again a phrase of his song, until _Daland_ points out the strange vessel to him, when he springs up and hails her through a speaking trumpet. _Daland_, however, perceives the _Dutchman_ and going ashore questions him. It is then that the _Dutchman_, after relating a mariner's story of ill luck and disaster, asks _Daland_ to take him to his home and allow him to woo his daughter, offering him his treasures. At this point we have a graceful and pretty duet, _Daland_ readily consenting that the _Dutchman_ accompany him. The storm having subsided and the wind being fair, the crews of the vessels hoist sail to leave port, _Daland's_ vessel disappearing just as the _Dutchman_ goes on board his ship.
After an introduction in which we hear a portion of the steersman's song, and also that phrase which denotes the appearance of the _Dutchman's_ vessel in the harbour, the curtain rises upon a room in _Daland's_ house. On the walls are pictures of vessels, charts, and on the farther wall the portrait of a pale man with a dark beard. _Senta_, leaning back in an armchair, is absorbed in dreamy contemplation of the portrait. Her old nurse, _Mary_, and her young friends are sitting in various parts of the room, spinning. Here we have that charming musical number famous all the musical world over, perhaps largely through Liszt's admirable piano arrangement of it, the "Spinning Chorus." For graceful and engaging beauty it cannot be surpassed, and may be cited as a striking instance of Wagner's gift of melody, should anybody at this late day be foolish enough to require proof of his genius in that respect. The girls tease _Senta_ for gazing so dreamily at the portrait of the _Flying Dutchman_, and finally ask her if she will not sing his ballad.