the porthole save a dark blur, but he heard
the creaking of cordage and the slatting of sails. He did not doubt that
the slaver had told the truth when he said the schooner would soon
start, and there was no possibility of escaping before then.
Nevertheless, he tried the door, but could not shake it. Then he went
back to the porthole for the sake of the air, and, because, if he could
not have freedom for himself, he could at least see a little way into
the open world.

The creaking of cordage and slatting of sails increased, he felt the
schooner heave and roll beneath him, and then he knew that they were
leaving Albany. It was the bitterest moment of his life. To be carried
away in that ignominious manner, from the very center of his friends,
from a town in which he had lived, and that he knew so well was a
terrible blow to his pride. For the moment apprehension about the future
was drowned in mortification.

He heard heavy footsteps overhead, and the sound of commands, and the
schooner began to move. He continued to stand on the bunk, with his eyes
at the porthole. He was able to see a dark shore, moving past, slowly at
first and then faster. The dim outlines of houses showed and he would
have shouted for help, but he knew that it was impossible to make any
one hear, and pride restrained.

The blurred outlines of the houses ceased and Albany was gone. Doubtless
the schooner had appeared as an innocent trader with the proper
licenses, and the slaver, having awaited its arrival, had come on ahead
to the town. He was compelled to admit the thoroughness of the plan, and
the skill with which it had been carried out, but he wondered anew why
so much trouble had been taken in regard to him, a mere lad.

He stood at the porthole a long time, and the wind out of the north rose
steadily. He heard its whistle and he also heard the singing of men
above him. He knew that the schooner was making great speed down the
stream and that Albany and his friends were now far behind. As the wise
generally do, he resigned himself to inevitable fate, wasting no
strength in impossible struggles, but waiting patiently for a better
time. There was a single blanket on the hard bunk, and, lying down on
it, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, day shining through the porthole threw a slender bar of
light across the floor, which heaved and slanted, telling that the wind
out of the north still blew strong and true. An hour later the door was
opened