I had stretched myself lengthwise in my cell, and was lying upon my
right side, with my head resting upon my arm. While thus placed, I felt
something pressing against my thigh, as though there was a protuberance
on the plank, or some piece of hard material under me. It began to give
me pain, and I reached down my hand to remove it, at the same time
raising my body so that I might get at it. I was a little surprised on
not finding anything, but the next moment I perceived that the hard
substance that annoyed me was not upon the planks, but inside the pocket
of my trousers!
What had I got there? I remembered nothing, and might have supposed it
was some fragments of biscuit; but these I had deposited in the pockets
of my jacket, and they could not have got down to my trousers. I felt
the article from the outside. It was something very hard, and of a
longish shape; but I could not think what, for as yet I could remember
nothing that I had carried, with the exception of the biscuits and
cheese.
I had to raise myself up in order to insert my hand into the pocket, and
not until I had done so was I made acquainted with the nature of its
contents. The hard oblong thing that had thus attracted my attention
was the knife given me by the sailor, Waters; and which, having thrust
mechanically into my pocket at the moment of receiving it, I had quite
forgotten.
The discovery caused me no particular emotion at the moment. Simply a
thought of the kindness of the sailor as contrasted with the brutality
of the mate--just the same thought that passed through my mind at the
time the gift was presented. With this reflection I drew forth the
knife, and flinging it down beside me, so that it might be out of the
way, I lay down on my side as before.
But I had scarcely stretched myself, when an idea crossed my mind, that
prompted me to start up again, as suddenly as if I had lain down upon
red-hot iron. Unlike the latter, however, it was not a feeling of pain
that caused this quick movement, but one of pleasure--of joyful hope.
It had just occurred to me that with the knife I might make a hole in
the side of the cask, and thus reach the water!
So practicable did the design appear, that I had not a doubt of being
able to accomplish it; and the certainty I now felt of getting at the
precious contents of the cask, produced a complete revulsion in my
feelings--another sudden transition from despair to hope. I groped
eagerly about, and soon recovered the knife. I had scarce looked at it,
on receiving it from the hands of the friendly sailor. Now I examined
it carefully--by the touch, of course--I felt it all over; and as well
as I was able by such a test, calculated its strength and fitness for
the work I had designed for it.
It was what is termed a "jack-knife," with a buckhorn handle, and but
one blade--a sort in common use among sailors, who usually carry them on
a string passed around the neck, and to which the knife is attached by a
hole drilled in the haft. The blade was a square one, drawn to an
angular point, and shaped somewhat like the blade of a razor. Like the
latter, too, the back was thick and strong, as I could tell by the
"feel." I was gratified at perceiving this, for I knew that it would
require a strong blade to hew a hole through the tough staves of oak.
The instrument I held in my hands was the very thing for the purpose,
almost as good as a chisel. Haft and blade were nearly of equal length,
and when opened out, they measured about ten inches together.
I have been thus particular in describing this knife; and from me it
merits all that has been said, and far more, in praise of its good
qualities; since, but for it, I should not now be alive to give an
account of its wonderful performances.
Well, having opened the knife, and drawn my fingers along the blade, and
felt it over and over again, in order to get acquainted with its form
and fitness; and then, having examined the back-spring, and tried its
strength by various openings and shuttings: having done all this, I went
to work upon the hard oak.
You will wonder that I wanted to take all these precautions. You will
fancy that, tortured as I was by thirst, I would scarce have had so much
patience, but would have set about making the hole at once, in order the
sooner to get relief by a draught of the water. Certainly my patience
was greatly tempted; but I never was what is called a rash boy, and in
that dark hour I felt more than ever in my life the necessity of
prudence and caution. I knew that death--a horrid death from thirst--
awaited me, if I did not succeed in getting at the contents of the cask;
and should any accident happen to the knife, should the blade break, or
even the point be snapped off, this death would surely be my fate. No
wonder, then, I took the precaution to examine well my weapon and
ascertain its strength. I might have acted with more recklessness had I
reflected more. Even had I been certain of procuring the water, what
then? It could only save me from dying of thirst. But hunger? How was
that to be relieved? Water was drink, but not food. Where was I to
find food?
Strange to say, I did not think of food at that moment. I was not yet
hungry, and the agony of thirst had hitherto been my only apprehension,
precluding all thoughts of the kindred appetite. The prospect of the
nearer danger--that of perishing from the want of water--had hindered my
mind from dwelling on that which was more remote; and, strange to say, I
had as yet scarce given a thought to what shortly after became my
exclusive apprehension--the danger of dying by hunger.
It is certain, therefore, that had I reflected on this, I should have
proceeded with less prudence. Fortunately, I did not reflect; but set
about the accomplishment of my purpose with due method and caution.
I selected a spot in the side of the cask, where one of the staves
appeared to be a little chafed and damaged. I chose it better than
half-way from the top. The cask might be only half full, though that
was not likely. If so, it would be necessary for me to make my tap
below the surface of the water, otherwise I should have to make it over
again. A hole would have been of no use to me, unless it entered below
the water-line.
Having chosen the spot, I at once set to work, and in a short while had
the gratification to find that I was rapidly hollowing out a space in
the thick stave. The knife behaved admirably, and hard as was the oak,
it had to yield to the harder steel of that beautiful blade. Bit by
bit, and chip by chip, the wood was detached before its keen point; and
as each fresh fibre was loosened, I seized it with my fingers and pulled
it off, to make way for the blade.
For more than an hour I kept on, of course working in darkness. I had
by this time grown so familiar with darkness, that I he longer
experienced the feeling of helplessness one always has when suddenly
plunged into it. My sense of touch seemed to have become keener and
more delicate, as is well-known to be the case with those who are blind.
I felt no difficulty on the score of light; and as it would have
availed but little for the work in which I was engaged, I never even
thought of its absence.
I did not progress as fast as a carpenter would have done with his
mortising chisel, or a cooper with his breast-bit or auger; but I had
the gratification of knowing that I was progressing. Though slowly, I
perceived that the hollow was getting deeper and deeper; the stave could
not be more than an inch in thickness: surely I should soon be through
it?
I could have done the business in less time, had I been more reckless of
consequences; but I feared to strain too heavily upon the blade, and,
remembering the old adage, "The more haste the less speed," I handled
the precious tool with care.
It was more than an hour before I approached the inner surface of the
plank. I knew that I was nearly through it from the depth to which I
had cut.
My hand now trembled as I worked. My heart beat loudly against my ribs.
It was a moment of vivid emotion. A fearful thought was in my mind--a
dread doubt was troubling me--a doubt that it was _water_! This doubt
had occurred to me at an earlier period, but at no time did I feel it so
intensely as at that moment, just upon the eve of its solution.
Oh, heaven! should it not be water after all--should the contents of the
cask prove to be rum or brandy, or even wine! I knew that none of these
would avail to quench my burning thirst. For the moment they might, but
only for the moment; it would return fiercer and more craving than ever.
Oh! if it should be one, or any of them, then indeed was I lost--then
indeed might I yield up my last hope, and die as men have often died,
under the madness of intoxication!
I was close to the inner surface of the stave; moisture was already
oozing through the wood, where it had been penetrated by the point of
the blade. I hesitated to make the last cut; I dreaded the result.
I hesitated but a short while. The torture of my thirst impelled me on;
and plunging the blade deeply, I felt the last fibres yielding to its
point. Almost at the same instant a cold spray rushed out, sprinkling
my hand upon the haft, and rushing far up my sleeve.
After giving the blade a twist, I drew it out, and then a jet shot
forth, as if forced from a syringe. In another instant my lips covered
the vent, and I drank delicious draughts--not of spirits, not of wine--
but of water, cold and sweet as though it issued from a rock of
limestone!