I enter my cabin under the impression of a vague foreboding. My supper
is on the table, but uneasy, I know not why, I hardly touch it, and
lie down to wait for sleep that does not come.
I remain in this condition for two hours. The silence is unbroken save
by the water that ripples along the vessel's sides.
My mind is full of the events of the past two days, and other thoughts
crowd thickly upon me. To-morrow afternoon we shall reach our
destination. To-morrow, I shall resume, on land, my attendance upon
Thomas Roch, "if it be necessary," said the Count d'Artigas.
If, when I was thrown into that black hole at the bottom of the hold,
I was able to perceive when the schooner started off across Pamlico
Sound, I now feel that she has come to a stop. It must be about ten
o'clock.
Why has she stopped? When Captain Spade ordered me below, there was no
land in sight. In this direction, there is no island until the Bermuda
group is reached--at least there is none on the map--and we shall have
to go another fifty or sixty miles before the Bermudas can be
sighted by the lookout men. Not only has the _Ebba_ stopped, but her
immobility is almost complete. There is not a breath of wind, and
scarcely any swell, and her slight, regular rocking is hardly
perceptible.
Then my thoughts turn to the merchantman, which was only a mile and a
half off, on our bow, when I came below. If the schooner continued her
course towards her, she must be almost alongside now.
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