shout for help. In vain! I hurt my hands against the bolts of the
plates, and no one answers my cries.

Such conduct is unworthy of me. I flattered myself that I would remain
calm under all circumstances and here I am acting like a child.

The absence of any rolling or lurching movement at least proves that
we are not yet at sea. Instead of crossing Pamlico Sound, may we not
be going in the opposite direction, up the River Neuse? No! What would
they go further inland for? If Thomas Roch has been carried off from
Healthful House, his captors obviously mean to take him out of the
United States--probably to a distant island in the Atlantic, or to
some point on the European continent. It is, therefore, not up the
Neuse that our maritime machine, whatever it may be, is going, but
across Pamlico Sound, which must be as calm as a mirror.

Very well, then, when we get to sea I shall soon, know, for the vessel
will rock right enough in the swell off shore, even though there be
no wind,--unless I am aboard a battleship, or big cruiser, and this I
fancy can hardly be!

But hark! If I mistake not--no, it was not imagination--I hear
footsteps. Some one is approaching the side of the compartment where
the door is. One of the crew no doubt. Are they going to let me out at
last? I can now hear voices. A conversation is going on outside the
door, but it is carried on in a language that I do not understand. I
shout to them--I shout again, but no answer is vouchsafed.

There is nothing to do, then, but wait, wait, wait! I keep repeating
the word and it rings in my ears like a bell.