I spent this in a sort of beast-like stupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree.

At times, I would rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would dart through my soul, accompanied with a faint beam of hope, flickered for a moment, and then vanished.

I sank down again, mourning over my wretched condition.

I was sometimes prompted to take my life, and that of Covey, but was prevented by a combination of hope and fear.

My sufferings on this plantation seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality.
Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake bay, whose broad bosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the habitable globe.