Chapter
6
On DeckH
ere I am in the open air, breathing freely once more. I have at last been hauled out of that stifling box and taken on deck. I gaze around me in every direction and see no sign of land. On every hand is that circular line which defines earth and sky. No, there is not even a speck of land to be seen to the west, where the coast of North America extends for thousands of miles.
The setting sun now throws but slanting rays upon the bosom of the ocean. It must be about six o’clock in the evening. I take out my watch and it marks thirteen minutes past six.
As I have already mentioned, I waited for the door of my prison to open, thoroughly resolved not to fall asleep again, but to spring upon the first person who entered and force him to answer my questions. I was not awar
