Then Robert felt despair for a while.

It was much worse to be a prisoner on the ship than in the French camp or in the village of the partisan, Langlade.

There he had been treated with consideration and the fresh winds of heaven blew about him, but here he was shut up in a close little hole, and his captors rejoiced in his misery.
It was quite dark in the tiny galley, and the only air that entered came from a small porthole high over a bunk.

He stood upon the bank and brought his face level with the opening.

It was not more than four inches across, but he was able to inhale a pure and invigorating breeze that blew from the north, and he felt better.