In the condition of intellectual collapse into which my fellow-countryman has fallen, all attempts to force his secret from him will be futile.

Moreover, he is bound to go from bad to worse until he is hopelessly insane, even as regards those points upon which he has hitherto preserved his reason intact.
After all, however, it is less about Thomas Roch than myself that I must think just now, and this is what I have experienced, to resume the thread of my adventure where I dropped it: After more rocking caused by our captors jumping into it, the boat is rowed off.

The distance must be very short, for a minute after we bumped against something.

I surmise that this something must be the hull of a ship, and that we have run alongside.

There is some scurrying and excitement.