possible that I was carried into the collar of a house? This would
explain the complete immobility of the compartment. It is true that
the walls are of bolted plates, and that there is a vague smell of
salt water, that odor _sui generis_ which generally pervades the
interior of a ship, and which there is no mistaking.

An interval, which I estimate at about four hours, must have passed
since my incarceration. It must therefore be near midnight. Shall I be
left here in this way till morning? Luckily, I dined at six o'clock,
which is the regular dinner-hour at Healthful House. I am not
suffering from hunger. In fact I feel more inclined to sleep than
to eat. Still, I hope I shall have energy enough to resist the
inclination. I will not give way to it. I must try and find out what
is going on outside. But neither sound nor light can penetrate this
iron box. Wait a minute, though; perhaps by listening intently I may
hear some sound, however feeble. Therefore I concentrate all my vital
power in my sense of hearing. Moreover, I try--in case I should
really not be on _terra firma_--to distinguish some movement, some
oscillation of my prison. Admitting that the ship is still at anchor,
it cannot be long before it will start--otherwise I shall have to give
up imagining why Thomas Roch and I have been carried off.

At last--it is no illusion--a slight rolling proves to me, beyond a
doubt, that I am not on land. We are evidently moving, but the motion
is scarcely perceptible. It is not a jerky, but rather a gliding
movement, as though we were skimming through the water without effort,
on an even keel.

Let me consider the matter calmly. I am on board a vessel that was
anchored in the Neuse, waiting under sail or steam, for the result of