“‘ WHERE AM I?” 89

An interval, which I calculate at a quarter of an hour,

has elapsed since my incarceration. It must, therefore, be
nearly midnight. Am I to remain here until morning?
It is fortunate I dined at six o'clock, according to the
rules. of Healthful House. I am not hungry, but I am
becoming very drowsy. However, I hope to resist the
inclination to sleep. I must not let myself give way to it.
I must think about something else. Of what? Neither
sound nor light penetrates this iron box. But stay!
Perhaps some sound, however faint, may reach my ear?
So all my powers are concentrated in my sense of hearing.
Then I wait—in case I am not on land a movement, an
oscillation, must in time be felt. Admitting that the
vessel is still at anchor, it cannot delay in setting sail ; or,
then, I should be at a loss to understand why we had been
carried off.
: Soon—this is no illusion—a slight roll rocks me, and
makes me certain I am. not on land. However, it is
scarcely apparent, without shock, without jerk, a kind of
gliding on the surface of the waters.

I reflect calmly. I am on one of the ships moored at
the mouth of the Neuse, and waiting, under sail or under
steam, the result of the abduction. The boat that brought
me—but I must repeat, I had not felt the sensation of
being lifted over the vessel’s side. Had I been passed
through a gun hole in the hull? It mattered little after
all! Whether I had or had not been lowered into a hold,
I certainly was lying on some substance that moved and
floated.