The pain in his head was dying down also, and his courage, according to its habit, rose fast.

In a character that nature had compounded of optimistic materials hope was always a predominant factor.
He could see nothing through the porthole save a dark blur, but he heard the creaking of cordage and the slatting of sails.

He did not doubt that the slaver had told the truth when he said the schooner would soon start, and there was no possibility of escaping before then.
Nevertheless, he tried the door, but could not shake it.

Then he went back to the porthole for the sake of the air, and, because, if he could not have freedom for himself, he could at least see a little way into the open world.
The creaking of cordage and slatting of sails increased, he felt the schooner heave and roll beneath him, and then he knew that they were leaving Albany.

It was the bitterest moment of his life.