We certainly
cannot be lying more than one or two cables' length from her. The
three-master, which was becalmed at sundown, could not have gone west.
She must be close by, and if the night is clear, I shall be able to
see her through the porthole.
It occurs to me, that perhaps a chance of escape presents itself. Why
should I not attempt it, since no hope of being restored to liberty is
held out to me? It is true I cannot swim, but if I seize a life buoy
and jump overboard, I may be able to reach the ship, if I am not
observed by the watch on deck.
I must quit my cabin and go up by the forward hatchway. I listen. I
hear no noise, either in the men's quarters, or on deck. The sailors
must all be asleep at this hour. Here goes.
I try to open the door, and find it is bolted on the outside, as I
might have expected.
I must give up the attempt, which, after all, had small chance of
success.
The best thing I can do, is to go to sleep, for I am weary of mind,
if not of body. I am restless and racked by conflicting thoughts, and
apprehensions of I know not what. Oh! if I could but sink into the
blessed oblivion of slumber!
I must have managed to fall asleep, for I have just been awakened by
a noise--an unusual noise, such as I have not hitherto heard on board
the schooner.
Day begins to peer through the glass of my port-hole, which is turned
towards the east. I look at my watch. It is half-past four.
The first thing I wonder is, whether the _Ebba_ has resumed her
voyage.
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