Moreover, I try--in case I should really not be on _terra firma_--to distinguish some movement, some oscillation of my prison.

Admitting that the ship is still at anchor, it cannot be long before it will start--otherwise I shall have to give up imagining why Thomas Roch and I have been carried off.
At last--it is no illusion--a slight rolling proves to me, beyond a doubt, that I am not on land.

We are evidently moving, but the motion is scarcely perceptible.

It is not a jerky, but rather a gliding movement, as though we were skimming through the water without effort, on an even keel.
Let me consider the matter calmly.

I am on board a vessel that was anchored in the Neuse, waiting under sail or steam, for the result of the expedition.