There is not the slightest rolling or pitching.

How is it that Pamlico Sound is so extraordinarily calm?
The varying currents continuously ruffle the surface of the Sound, even if nothing else does.
It is true the tide may be out, and I remember that last night the wind had fallen altogether.

Still, no matter, the thing is inexplicable, for a ship propelled by machinery, no matter at what speed she may be going, always oscillates more or less, and I cannot perceive the slightest rocking.
Such are the thoughts with which my mind is persistently filled.
Despite an almost overpowering desire to sleep, despite the torpor that is coming upon me in this suffocating atmosphere, I am resolved not to close my eyes.

I will keep awake till daylight, and there will be no daylight for me till it is let into my prison from the outside.
Perhaps even if the door were open it would not penetrate to this black hole, and I shall probably not see it again until I am taken on deck.
I am squatting in a corner of my prison, for I have no stool or anything to sit upon, but as my eyelids are heavy and I feel somnolent in spite of myself, I get up and walk about.

Then I wax wrathful, anger fills my soul, I beat upon the iron walls with my fists, and shout for help.