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.

Let me try to calculate how long I have been here. The ship must have
been under way for at least four or five hours. I reckon it must be
past midnight, but I cannot tell, for unfortunately my watch is of no
use to me in this Cimmerian darkness.

Now, if we have been going for five hours, we must have cleared
Pamlico Sound, whether we issued by Ocracoke or Hatteras inlet, and
must be off the coast a good mile, at least. Yet I haven't felt any
motion from the swell of the sea.

It is inexplicable, incredible! Come now, have I made a mistake? Am
I the dupe of an illusion? Am I not imprisoned in the hold of a ship
under way?

Another hour has passed and the movement of the ship suddenly ceases;
I realize perfectly that she is stationary. Has she reached her
destination? In this event we can only be in one of the coast ports
to the north or south of Pamlico Sound. But why should Thomas Roch be
landed again? The abduction must soon have been discovered, and our
kidnappers would run the greatest risk of falling into the hands of
the authorities if they attempted to disembark.

However this may be, if the vessel is coming to anchor I shall hear
the noise of the chain as it is paid out, and feel the jerk as
the ship is brought up. I know that sound and that jerk well from
experience, and I am bound to hear and feel them in a minute or two.

I wait--I listen.

A dead and disquieting silence reigns on board. I begin to wonder
whether I am not the only living being in the ship.

Now I feel an irresistible torpor coming over me. The air is vitiated.
I cannot breathe. My chest is bursting. I try to resist, but it is
impossible to do so. The temperature rises to such a degree that I am
compelled to divest myself of part of my clothing. Then I lie me down
in a corner. My heavy eyelids close, and I sink into a prostration
that eventually forces me into heavy slumber.

How long have I been asleep? I cannot say. Is it night? Is it day? I
know not. I remark, however, that I breathe more easily, and that the
air is no longer poisoned carbonic acid.

Was the air renewed while I slept? Has the door been opened? Has
anybody been in here?

Yes, here is the proof of it!

In feeling about, my hand has come in co