Captain Mayne Reid (continued 3)

In dread of that terrible pilot, I bore my sufferings as long as I could. But the rocking of the ship every moment became more violent, and the smell of the bilge-water more nauseous. In like proportion rose the revolt in my stomach, until the sickness and retching became quite unendurable.

“Surely the pilot must have gone back? Whether or not, I can stand it no longer; I must get upon deck, or I shall die—oh!”

I rose from my recumbent position, and began to grope my way along the side of the great butt. I reached the end of it, and felt for the aperture by which I had squeezed myself in. To my great surprise, I found that it was closed up!

I could scarce credit my senses, and I felt again and again, passing my hands upwards and downwards. Beyond a doubt the aperture was shut up! My hands met resistance everywhere, coming in contact with a perpendicular wall, which, I could tell by the “feel,” was the side of an immense box. It blocked up the interval between the butt and the side of the ship so completely, that there was not space enough on either side to thrust the point of my finger through.

I placed my hands to the box in hopes of being able to push it away, but I could not move it. I laid my shoulder to it, and heaved with all the strength of my body; I could not even shake it! It was a large packing-case, no doubt filled with heavy goods. A strong man could scarce have stirred it from the spot, and my puny strength was altogether insufficient to move it.

After an effort I desisted from trying, and crept back along the side of the butt, hoping I might get out by the other end; but on reaching this, my hopes were dissipated in a moment. There was not the space of an inch between the rim of the great cask and another similar barrel, which filled the aperture up to the ribs of the vessel! A mouse could hardly have squeezed itself through between.

I next felt along the top of both casks, but with like result. There was just space in that direction to admit of passing my hand through, and no more. A huge beam, traversing along the top, was within a few inches of the rounded sides of the casks, and there was no aperture that would have permitted me, small as I was, to have squeezed myself through.

I shall leave you to fancy my feelings, when the conviction broke upon me that I was actually shut in—imprisoned—built up among the merchandise!

Chapter Twenty One.

Entombed Alive.

I could now comprehend why the night had seemed so long. There had been light enough, but it reached me not. The great box had intercepted it. There had been day, and I knew it not. The men had been working by day, when I thought it was after midnight. Instead of a single night, at least two nights and a day had passed since I crouched into my hiding-place. No wonder I had hungered, and was thirsty—no wonder I felt an aching in my bones. The short intervals of silence I had observed were the hours when the crew were at their meals. The long silence that preceded the weighing of the anchor, had been the second night, when all were resting and asleep.

I have stated, that I fell asleep almost instantly after I had crept into my lurking-place. It then still wanted several hours of sunset. My sleep had been sound and long, lasting, no doubt, till the following morning. But on the previous evening, the stowers had been at work—though I heard them not; and during my deep, unconscious slumber, the box, and no doubt many others, had been placed before the aperture.

Every point was now clear to me, and clearer than all was the horrifying fact, that I was “boxed up.”

I did not at first comprehend the full horror of my situation. I knew that I was shut in, and that no strength I could exert would be enough to get me out; but for all that, I did not apprehend any great difficulty. The strong sailors, who had stowed the packages, could remove them again; and I had only to shout and bring them to the spot.

Alas! alas! little did I think that the loudest shout I might raise, could not have been heard by human being. Little did I suspect, that the hatchway, through which I had descended to the hold, was now closed with its strong hatches and these again covered with a thick tarpaulin—to remain so, perhaps, to the end of the voyage! Even had the hatches not been down, there would have been little chance of my being heard. The thick wall of bales and boxes would have intercepted my voice, or it might have been drowned altogether by the hoarse and constant rushing of the waves, as they broke along the sides of the ship.

I say, that, on first discovering that I was closed in, my apprehensions were but slight, I thought, only, that I should be delayed awhile from getting water, which I now longed for exceedingly. It would take some time, no doubt, for the men to remove the boxes and relieve me; and meanwhile I was in misery. These alone were the thoughts that troubled me.

It was only when I had screamed and shouted at the highest pitch of my voice—after I had thundered upon the planks with the heels of my shoes—after I had repeated my cries again and again, and still heard no reply; it was only then, that I began to comprehend the true nature of my situation. Then, indeed, did I perceive its full and perfect horror. Then, did the conviction burst upon me, that I had no prospect of escape—no hope of being relieved; in short, that I was entombed alive!

I cried, I screamed, I shouted. Long and loudly I cried, but how long I cannot tell. I did not leave off till I was weak and hoarse.

At intervals I listened, but no response reached me—no sound of human voice. The echoes of my own reverberated along the sides of the ship, throughout the dark hold; but no voice responded to its lamentable tones.

I listened to discover whether I could not hear the voices of the sailors. I had heard them in their chorus, when they were weighing anchor, but then the ship was at rest, and the waves were not lashing her timbers. Moreover, as I afterwards learned, the hold hatches had then been up, and were only put down on our standing out to sea.

For a long while I listened, but neither command nor chorus reached my ears. If I could not hear their loud baritone voices, how could they hear mine?

“Oh! they cannot hear me! They will never hear me! They will never come to my rescue! Here I must die—I must die!”

Such was my conviction, after I had shouted myself hoarse and feeble. The sea-sickness had yielded for a time to the more powerful throes of despair; but the physical malady returned again, and, acting in conjunction with my mental misery, produced such agony as I never before endured. I yielded to it; my energies gave way, and I fell over like one struck down by paralysis.

For a long while, I lay in a state of helpless stupor. I wished myself dead, and indeed I thought I was going to die. I seriously believe, that at that moment I would have hastened the event if I could; but I was too weak to have killed myself, even had I been provided with a weapon. I had a weapon, but I had forgotten all about it in the confusion of my thoughts.

You will wonder at my making this confession—that I desired death; but you would have to be placed in a situation similar to that I was in, to be able to realise the horror of despair. Oh, it is a fearful thing! May you never experience it!

I fancied I was going to die, but I did not. Men do not die either from sea-sickness or despair, nor boys either. Life is not so easily laid down.

I certainly was more than half dead, however; and I think for a good while insensible. I was in a stupor for a long time—for many hours.

At length my consciousness began to return, and along with it a portion of my energies. Strange enough, too, I felt my appetite reviving; for, in this respect, the “sea-sickness” is somewhat peculiar. Patients, under it, often eat more heartily than at other times. With me, however, the appetite of thirst was now far stronger than that of hunger, and its misery was not allayed by any hope of its being appeased. As for the other, I could still relieve it; some morsels were in my pocket.

I need not recount the many fearful reflections that passed through my mind. For hours after, I was the victim of many a terrible paroxysm of despair. For hours I lay, or rather tossed about, in a state of confused thought; but at last, to my relief, I fell asleep.

I fell asleep, for I had now been a long time awake, and this, with the prostration of my strength from mental suffering, had at length deadened the nerve of pain; so that, despite all my misery, I fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Thirst.

I slept neither very long, nor very soundly. My sleep was full of dreams, all troubled and horrid; but not more horrid than the reality to which I once more awoke.

After awaking, it was some time before I could think of where I was; but on stretching out my arms, I was reminded of my situation: on every side the wooden walls of my prison were within reach, and I could touch them with my fingers all around. I had little more than room sufficient to turn myself in. Small as was my body, another as big as myself would almost have filled the space in which I was shut up.

On again comprehending my fearful situation, I once more gave utterance to loud cries, shouting and screaming at the very highest pitch of my voice. I had not yet lost all hope that the sailors might hear me; for, as already stated, I knew not what quantity of merchandise might be stowed above me, nor did I think of the hatches of the lower deck being fastened down.

Perhaps it was as well I did not know the whole truth, else the complete despair which the knowledge must have produced might have driven me out of my senses. As it was, the intervals of despair already endured had ever alternated with glimpses of hope; and this had sustained me, until I became more able to look my terrible fate in the face.

I continued to cry out, sometimes for minutes at a time, and then only now and again, at intervals; but as no response came, the intervals between my spells of shouting became longer and longer, till at length, resigning all hope of being heard, I allowed my hoarse voice to rest, and remained silent.

For several hours after this, I lay in a sort of half stupor—that is, my mind was in this state, but unfortunately my body was not so. On the contrary, I was racked with severe bodily pain—the pain of extreme thirst—perhaps the most grievous and hardest to endure of all physical suffering. I never should have believed that one could be so tortured by so simple a thing as the want of a drink of water, and when I used to read of travellers in the desert, and shipwrecked mariners on the ocean, having endured such agonies from thirst, as even to die of it, I always fancied there was exaggeration in the narrative. Like all English boys, brought up in a climate where there is plenty of moisture, and in a country where springs or runlets exist within a few hundred yards of any given point, it is not likely I should ever have known thirst by experience. Perhaps a little of it at times, when at play off in the fields, or by the sea-shore, where there was no fresh water. Then I had felt what we ordinarily call thirst—a somewhat unpleasant sensation in the throat, which causes us to yearn for a glass of water. But this unpleasantness is very trifling, and is almost neutralised by the anticipation we have of the pleasure to be experienced while allaying it; for this, we know, we shall be able to accomplish in a very short time. Indeed, so trifling is the annoyance we feel from ordinary thirst, that it is rare when we are compelled to stoop, either to the ditch or the pond, for the purpose of assuaging it. We are dainty enough to wait, until we encounter a cool well or some limpid spring.

This, however, is not thirst; it is but thirst in its first and mildest stage—rather pleasant from the knowledge you have of being able soon to remove the pain. Once take away this confidence—become assured that no wells nor springs are near—no ponds, ditches, lakes, nor rivers—that no fresh water is within hundreds of miles of you—no fluid of any kind that will allay the appetite, and then even this incipient feeling of thirst would at once assume a new character, and become sufficiently painful to endure.

I may not have been so absolutely in need of drink at the time, for I had not been so long without it. I am sure I had often gone for days without thinking of water, but this was just because I knew I might have as much as I pleased at a moment’s notice. Now, that there was none to be had, and no prospect of obtaining any, I felt for the first time in my life that thirst was a real agony.

I was not again hungry. The provisions which I had purchased with the price of my sloop were not yet exhausted. Some pieces of the cheese, and several of the biscuits, still remained, but I did not venture to touch them. They would only have increased my thirst. The last morsels I had eaten had produced this effect. My parched throat called only for water—water at that moment appeared to me the most desirable thing in the world.

I was in a situation somewhat similar to that of Tantalus. Water I saw not, but I heard it. The hoarse rushing of the waves as they tore along the sides of the ship was plainly audible. I knew it was the water of the sea—salt, and of no service to me, even could I have reached it—but still it was the sound of water playing continually on my ears as if to mock and tantalise me.

I need not recount the many painful reflections that passed through my mind during the period that followed. Suffice it to say, that for many long hours I endured the terrible pain of thirst, without any hope of being relieved from its torture. I felt certain it was going to kill me. I knew not how soon, but I was sure that sooner or later it would cause my death. I had read of men living for days under the agony of thirst, before life became extinct. I tried to remember how many days they had lived, but my memory was at fault. Six or seven, I fancied, was the longest period. The prospect was appalling. How could I endure for six or seven days what I was then suffering? How could I bear it for even one day longer? Oh! it was fearful to endure! I hoped that death would sooner come, and release me from such torture!

But a far brighter hope was nigh; and almost upon the instant that I had given mental expression to that despairing wish, a sound fell upon my ears that at once changed the current of my thoughts, and caused me to forget the horror of my situation.

Oh! that sweet sound! It was like the whisper of an angel of mercy!

Chapter Twenty Three.

A sweet Sound.

I was lying, or half-standing erect, with my shoulder against one of the great ribs of the ship that traversed my little chamber from top to bottom, dividing it into two nearly equal parts. I had got into this attitude merely as a change; for during the long days and nights since I entered my confined quarters, I had tried every attitude I could think of, in order to obtain freedom from the monotony of remaining too long in one position. I had tried sitting; also standing, though somewhat bent; more generally I had lain down—now on one side, now on the other—sometimes upon my back, and even sometimes on my face.

The position I had now assumed to rest me for a moment was a standing one, though only half erect, as the height of my chamber was not equal to my own length. The point of my shoulder found a resting-place against the rib of the vessel, and my head, drooping forward, was nearly in contact with the side of the great butt, upon the swell of which my hand rested.

Of course, my ear was close to the cask, almost touching its hard oaken staves; and it was through these that the sound reached me which I have described as having caused a sudden and pleasant reaction in my feelings.

The sound itself was simple enough to understand. I easily understood it. It was the “cluk-cluk” of water moving about inside the butt, its motion being caused by the pitching of the ship, and a slight rolling of the cask itself, which had not been steadily “cleated” in its place.

The first “cluk” was music to my ears; but I did not permit myself the free enjoyment of it until I had fully satisfied myself as to the nature of what I had heard.

I had raised my head with a start, and I now placed my cheek against the oak staves, and stood with every nerve in my ear straining to catch the sounds. I waited a good while, for it was only at intervals that the ship gave her heaviest lurches, and only then did the fluid within the butt become disturbed. I waited patiently, and my patience was rewarded. There again!—“cluk-cluk-cluk!”

“Cluk-cleek-clee-chuckle-cluk.” Beyond a doubt there was water in the cask!

I could not restrain myself from uttering a shout of joy. I felt like one who had been for a long while in the act of being drowned, and who at length had reached land, and was saved.

The sudden transition in my feelings almost caused me to faint; as it was, I staggered back against the timbers, and dropped down in a state of half-insensibility.

Not long did I remain so. The acute torture soon prompted me to action; and I rose again, and leant forward against the cask.

For what purpose? To find the bung, of course; draw it out, and relieve my thirst by a draught of water. What other object could I have in approaching it?

Alas! alas! my new-sprung joy fast fleeted away, almost as suddenly as it had arisen! Not quite so suddenly; for it took me some time to run my fingers all over the swelling outlines of that great vessel; to pass them around its ends as far as the heavy boxes would permit; to go over the ground again and again, inch by inch, and stave by stave, with all the careful touch of one who is blind. Yes, it took me minutes to accomplish this, and to become satisfied that the bung was not upon my side of the cask—that it was either upon the top or the opposite side; but, whether one or the other, it was beyond my reach, and it was therefore as useless to me as if no such aperture existed.

In my search for the bung I had not forgotten the vent or tap-hole. I knew that every cask is provided with both these apertures—that one should be in the side and the other in the head or end. But my search for the vent did not occupy two seconds of time. I at once perceived that both ends of the barrel, with the exception of a few inches near the edge, were completely blocked up—one by the box, and the opposite one by the other cask, already mentioned—the latter of which appeared to be a counterpart of that in front of me.

It occurred to me that this other cask might also contain water, and I proceeded to make a “reconnaissance” of it; but I could only “grope” a small portion of its end, and there I felt only the smooth hard heading of oak, that resisted my touch like a wall of rock.

It was only after all this had been accomplished, that I began once more to feel the misery of my situation—once more to resign myself to despair. I was now tantalised even worse than ever. I could hear at intervals the “jabbling” of the water within two inches of my lips, and was unable to taste it! Oh! what I would have given for one drop upon my tongue! one gill to moisten my throat, parched and burning like a coal of fire!

If I had had an axe, with room to wield it, how I should have burst open that huge cistern, and drank fiercely of its contents! But I had no axe, no weapon of any kind; and without one the thick oaken staves were as impenetrable to me as if they had been solid iron. Even had I succeeded in reaching the bung or vent, how could I have got out the stopper or vent-peg? With my fingers it would plainly have been impracticable; though in the eagerness of my first hope I had never thought of this difficulty.

I believe that I once more sat or staggered down, and after a little while rose up again, and made a fresh examination of the butt; but I am not sure about what I did, for this new disappointment had quite stupefied me, and I cannot exactly remember what followed for a good while after. I believe, however, that I performed these acts in a sort of mechanical way; and also that I tried once more to move the box, and pushed against it with all my strength; but, as before, to no purpose.

After this I must have lain down, and resigned myself to despair, that again bound me in its hideous embrace. How long I cannot tell; but its spell was at length broken by a circumstance that once more put my senses on the alert.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Tapping the Butt.

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!

Chapter Twenty Five.

The Vent-Peg.

Oh! how I drank of that delicious water! I thought I should never be satisfied; but at length satiety was produced, and I thirsted no more.

The effect was not immediate—the first long draught did not relieve me, or only for a time. I longed again, and again placed my lips to the spouting stream; and this I did repeatedly, until the longing returned not, and the pangs of thirst were forgotten as if I had never felt them!

It is beyond the power of the imagination to form any idea of the agony of thirst—mere fancy cannot realise it. It must be experienced to be known, but a proof of its intensity might be given by adducing the horrible alternatives to which men have resorted when reduced to the extremity of this torturing pain. And yet, withal, as soon as the craving is appeased, so soon as a sufficient quantity of water has passed the lips, the pain exists no more, but ends with the suddenness of a dream! No other bodily ill can be so quickly healed.

My thirst was now gone, and I felt buoyant; but my habitual prudence did not forsake me. During the intervals when my lips were removed from the vent, I had kept the water from running by pressing the end of my fore-finger into the hole, and using it as a stopper. Something whispered me that it would be well not to waste the precious fluid, and I resolved to obey the suggestion. When I had finished drinking, I used my finger as before; but after a little, I grew tired of making a vent-peg of my finger, and looked about for something else. I groped all over the bottom timbers, but could find nothing—not the smallest piece of stick within reach of my right hand. It was the fore-finger of my left that was playing vent-peg; and I dared not remove it, else the water would have gushed forth in a tolerably thick, and therefore a wasteful, jet.

I bethought me of a piece of cheese, and I drew what remained from my pocket. It was of too excellent a quality for the purpose, and crumbled as I applied it to the aperture. It was forced out of my fingers by the strength of the spouting water. A biscuit would have been equally unserviceable. What was I to do?

In answer to this interrogatory, it occurred to me that I might caulk the hole with a rag from my jacket. It was fustian, and would answer admirably.

No sooner thought of, than with my knife I cut a piece from the flap, and placing it over the hole, and punching it well in with the blade, I succeeded in stopping the run, though I could perceive that it yet leaked a little. This, however, would not signify. I only intended the piece of cloth for a temporary stopper, until I could cast around, and contrive something better.

I was once more free to reflect, and I need not tell you that my reflections soon guided me back to despair. To what purpose had I been saved from death by thirst? It would only be a protraction of my misery—a few hours more of wretched existence—for certainly I must meet death by hunger. There was no alternative. My little stock was almost consumed. Two biscuits, and a handful of cheese-crumbs, were all that remained. I might make another meal upon them—a very slight one; and then—ay, then—hunger, gnawing hunger—weakness—feebleness—exhaustion—death!

Strange to say that while suffering from thirst, I had not thought of dying by hunger. It would be more exact to say I had scarce thought of it. At intervals, some glimpses of such a fate had been before my mind’s eye; but, as I have already stated, the stronger agony eclipsed the weaker, and rendered it almost uncared for.

Now, however, that all fears of the former were removed, the dread of the latter usurped its place. The little interval of buoyant feeling which I experienced, was merely the consequence of my unexpected relief from a painful suffering, and only lasted until calm reflection returned. In a few minutes it was over, and my apprehension of death became as acute as ever. It is wrong to call it an apprehension, for it was a positive certainty that stared me in the face. I had not given five minutes’ thought to my situation, till I felt as certain of death as I was that I still lived. There was no hope of escape from my prison—that I had given up long ago; and since I had nothing to eat, and not the slightest hope of obtaining anything, how was I to live? It required no reasoning to find an answer to the question.

Perish I must, and by hunger—there was no alternative, unless I chose to die by my own hand. I was now aware that I possessed the means to effect the latter, but strange to say, the madness that would have prompted me to it, during the first throes of my despair, was gone; and I could now contemplate death with a calmness that surprised me.

Three modes of dying were possible, and within my reach—thirst, hunger, and suicide; and it may astonish you to know that the next thing I did was to take into consideration which of the three it would be easiest to endure.

This in reality was the leading idea in my mind as soon as I became convinced that I must die. You need not be astonished. Only imagine yourselves in my situation, and you will perceive that such thoughts were but natural.

The first of these three I rejected at once—it could not be the easiest. I had almost tried it, and my experience satisfied me that existence could scarce be ended in a less gentle way. Only upon the two last, therefore, did my mind dwell; and for some time I sat coolly weighing the one against the other. Unfortunately, my young days had been passed in a manner almost heathenish; and at that time I did not even know that taking one’s own life was a crime. This consideration, therefore, had no weight in the balance, and all I had to guide me was the conjecture as to which of the two modes of death would be least painful!

And I sat for a long while—coolly and calmly I sat—engaged in this singular contemplation.

Good and evil must be instinctive. Something within told me it would be wrong to take away the life which God had given, even though the act might save me from protracted pain.

This thought triumphed; and, mustering all my courage, I resolved to await the event, whatever time it might please God to put a termination to my misery.

Chapter Twenty Six.

The Biscuit-Box.

Having resolved, then, not to die by my own hand, I at the same time came to the resolution to live as long as I could. Though my two biscuits would not have served me for another good meal, I determined to make at least four out of them, and also to make the intervals between each two as long as possible—just as long as I could endure without eating.

The desire of prolonging my existence had been gradually growing upon me, ever since I had been relieved from the torture of thirst; and it had now become as strong as at any period of my life. The truth is, I had a presentiment that I should still survive—that I was not going to perish of hunger; and this presentiment—though ever so slight, and entertained only at intervals—helped to sustain me with a sort of faint hope.

I can hardly tell why I should have entertained it at all, so really hopeless appeared my situation. But then I remembered that, but a few hours before, the prospect of obtaining water was equally hopeless, and now I possessed enough to drown myself in. Fanciful as it may seem, this idea had occurred to me—that is, to drown myself! But the moment before, while contemplating the easiest means of death, that of drowning had actually come before my mind. I had often heard that it was about the least painful mode of terminating one’s existence. Indeed I might say that I had myself made trial of it.

When saved by Harry Blew I was drowned to all intents and purposes—so far as the suffering was concerned—and I am sure that had I been then permitted to go to the bottom, I should never have felt another pang. I was satisfied, therefore, that drowning was not so very hard a death; and I actually had it in consideration whether I should not cut my way into the great butt, and in this way end my misery! This was during my moments of despair, when I seriously contemplated self-destruction; but these moments had passed, and I again felt an unaccountable desire that my life should be prolonged.

Perhaps this change in my sentiments is not so inexplicable. The strange circumstance of my finding the water, with the consequent escape from death by thirst, had something in it of a nature almost miraculous: something that suggested the hand of Providence stretched forth in my favour. That hand could equally aid me in other ways—could equally save me from starvation by hunger; and though I knew not how, it might yet deliver me from my fearful prison.

Perhaps some ideas of this kind were passing in my mind, and it was from these I drew that indefinable presentiment that I should yet escape.

I ate my half biscuit, and again drank of the water, for my thirst kept returning upon me, though it no longer gave me uneasiness. I caulked up the vent as before, and then sat down in silence.

I had no idea of making any exertion. I had no hope that anything I could do would in the least degree alter my situation. What could I do? My hope—if hope I may call it—rested only upon fate, upon chance, or rather, I should say, upon God. But how the hand of Providence could be interposed on my behalf, I had not the slightest idea.

Those dark, silent hours were hard to endure. It was only at intervals that I was cheered by the presentiment I have described; but in the far longer intervals between, I felt gloomy and despairing.

Nearly twelve hours must have passed before I ate my second half biscuit. I waited as long as I could, but at length I was obliged to yield to the calls of hunger. The little morsel produced no satisfaction. It rather appeared to render my appetite more keen and craving. I drank copiously, but although the water filled my stomach, it had no effect in stifling the sensations of hunger.

In about six hours after, I made another meal—another half biscuit gone. I could not endure longer; and when the tiny crumb was swallowed, I knew not that I had eaten. I was as hungry as ever!

Scarce three hours was the next interval. My brave resolution to make the two biscuits last for as many days was to no purpose. Not one day had passed, and the last morsel had disappeared.

What next? What should I eat next? I was as hungry as ever.

I thought of my shoes. I had read of men sustaining themselves for a time by chewing up their boots, their belts, their gaiters, their pouches and saddles; in short, anything that was made of leather. Leather is an animal substance, and, even when tanned and manufactured, still possesses nutriment, though only in a slight degree. With these memories, then, I thought of my shoes.

I was stooping down to unlace them, when I was startled by something cold that struck me upon the back of the head. It was a stream of water. The rag of fustian had been pressed out, and the water was escaping. The jet had fallen on the back of my head, just upon the bare part of the neck, and its coldness, together with the suddenness of the thing, caused me to start up in some surprise.

Of course, my astonishment ceased as soon as I perceived what it was that had startled me.

I placed my finger in the aperture, and groping about for the rag, soon found it, and recaulked the cask.

This had now happened more than once, and much water had been wasted. The rag had become loosened by the action of the water, and was pressed out. It occurred to me that it might occur again while I was asleep, and most of the water in the butt might run off, and thus get lost altogether. Some precaution, therefore, must be taken—I must find a better stopper.

With this idea I went to work to contrive one. I searched all around the “floor” of my cabin in hopes of picking up some stray chip, but no such thing was there.

I bethought me of cutting a splint from one of the great ribs of the ship; and I made the attempt with my knife, but the wood was hard oak and painted, and defied all my efforts to split off a piece large enough for my purpose. In the end, no doubt, I should have succeeded; but just then it occurred to me that I could more easily get a supply from the box. This being a rough packing-case, was no doubt made of common deal; and from the touch I was convinced that it was so. Of course, being much softer than the oak, and more easily split with a knife, I should have a better chance of procuring what I wanted; and, moreover, a piece of deal would do better for a stopper.

Shifting myself round, therefore, so as to face towards the box, I began to feel all over it for the best place to use my knife upon.

At one of the corners I perceived the point of advantage, where one of the boards slightly projected above the level of the top. Into this board I sunk my blade, pressing it downward, and causing it to act both as a wedge and a chisel. I had given but one push upon it, when I perceived that the board was loose. The nails which had fastened it had either been broken off or drawn out, probably by the rough mauling it had got while being stowed. Whether or not, I felt that it was quite loose, and moved under my touch.

I at once drew out the blade. I saw that I could pull off the board with my hands, and it would then be easier to split off the piece that I wanted. I laid the knife down, and applying my fingers to the projecting end of the board, I seized it firmly, and pulled with all my might.

It yielded to my strength. There was some creaking and crackling, as the nails were drawn out or broken; and then a sound reached my ears that caused me to desist and listen. It was the sound of some hard objects escaping from out the box and falling with a rattle upon the timbers beneath.

I was curious to know what these objects were, and letting go my hold, I stretched my hands downward, and groped for what had been spilled. I lifted two of similar shape and size, and as I ran my fingers over them, I could not restrain myself from giving utterance to a shout of joy.

I have said that my touch had grown almost as delicate as that of a blind man; but had it been ever so obtuse, I could have told at that moment, what were the two flat round objects which I held between my fingers. There was no mistaking the “feel” of them. They were biscuits!

Chapter Twenty Seven.

A Cask of Brandy.

Yes, biscuits—each of them as large as a small plate, and nearly half an inch in thickness, smooth and round and pleasant to the touch, and of a rich brown colour—I could tell the colour, for I knew from the feel that they were real sea biscuits; or, as they are generally styled, “sailor’s biscuits,” to distinguish them from the white “captain’s biscuits,” to which, in my opinion, they are superior—far sweeter and more wholesome.

How sweet they tasted at that moment! for on the very instant that I got hold of them, did I raise one to my mouth, and bite a large piece out of its smooth circumference. Delicious morsel! a whole one was soon ground into crumbs and swallowed, and then a second, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and perhaps still another! for I never thought of keeping count, so long as hunger urged me to eat. Of course, I washed them down with copious libations from the butt.

I remember no meal eaten during all my life that I enjoyed with so much relish, as this one of biscuits and water. It was not simply from the delight experienced by satisfying the cravings of a hungry stomach—which of itself, as every one knows, is a high source of enjoyment—but along with it, was the pleasure derived from my discovery—the delightful consciousness, still fresh before my mind, that my life which but the moment before I held as lost, was still to be spared me. Beyond a question, the hand of Providence had interposed to save my life.

I had no doubt that this was so. With such store both of food and drink, I could live, despite the darkness of my dungeon, for weeks, for months—until the voyage should come to an end, and the ship be emptied of its cargo.

I felt sure of safety, as I made an inspection of my provision chest. They came pouring forth, those precious cakes, spilling out at the touch, and cracking together like castanets.

Their rattle was music to my ears. I thrust my hands into the box, delighting to bury my fingers amid the rich profusion of its contents; as the miser joys to revel among his heaps of gold. I thought I should never tire groping among them, feeling how thick and large they were, and drawing them out from the box, and putting them back into it, and tumbling them about in every way. I acted just like a child with its drum and its ball, its top and its orange, rolling them from side to side; and it was a long time before I grew tired of this childlike play.

Long—I am sure I must have gone on in this way for nearly an hour, before the excitement into which the discovery had put me cooled down, and I could act and think calmly.

It is difficult to describe the sensation one feels, when suddenly rescued from the jaws of death. Escape from an impending danger is different, as one is not certain that the danger would end in death; for there are few kinds of peril that produce the conviction that death must be the event. When this conviction once enters the mind, and after that the self-expecting victim survives, the sudden reaction from despair to joy is a feeling of such intense happiness, as almost to cause bewilderment. Men ere now have died of such joy, while others have gone mad.

I neither died nor went mad; but could my behaviour have been observed for some time after breaking open the biscuit-box, it might have been supposed that I was mad.

The first thing that restored me to calmer reflection, was the discovery that the water was running from the cask, in a full jet. The aperture was quite open. I was chagrined at making this observation—I may say, terrified. I knew not how long the waste had been going on; the sough of the sea outside prevented me from hearing it, and the water, as soon as it fell, filtered off under the timbers of the vessel. Perhaps it had been running ever since I last drank; for I had no recollection of having put back the rag stopper. My excitement had hindered me from thinking of it. If that were really the case, then there had been much waste, and the thought filled me with dismay.

But an hour ago, I should have not so much regarded this loss of water. Then I knew there would still be drink enough to outlast the food—to last as long as I expected to live. Now, however, my altered prospects caused me to regard the circumstance with very different ideas. I might be months alive, and still cooped up behind the cask. Every drop of its contents might be required. If it was to run short before the ship reached her port, then I should be brought back to my original position, and death by thirst would be my fate after all. No wonder, I perceived with dismay that the stopper was out, and the stream was flowing!

I lost not a moment in pressing my fingers into the hole, and cutting off the run. Then once more corking with the rag, I proceeded to carry out my original design, of making a proper vent-peg of wood.

A piece was easily obtained from the board I had detached from the lid of the box—for it was the lid that was towards me; and the soft deal, yielding to the keen blade of my knife, was soon shaped into a conical peg, that fitted exactly.

Brave sailor! how I blessed thee for thy gift!

I blamed myself much for this piece of negligence; and I felt regret, too, that I had tapped the cask so low down. However, the latter had been itself a measure of precaution; and at the time it was done, I had but one thought, and that was to allay my thirst as quickly as possible.

It was fortunate I noticed the jet as soon as I did. Had it been allowed to continue running, until it stopped of itself—in other words, had the surface of the water sunk to the level of the tap-hole—then would there have been but little left, scarce enough to have lasted me for a week.

I endeavoured to ascertain what had been the amount of wastage, but I could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion. I sounded the cask, by striking it in different places with the butt end of my knife, but I derived little knowledge from this. The creaking of the ship’s timbers, and the rush of the waves, prevented any observation of this kind from being definite or accurate. I fancied that the blows gave back a very hollow sound, as if a large space within was empty. If it were a fancy, it was far from being a pleasant one; and I gave over my “soundings” with a considerable feeling of uneasiness. Fortunately the tap was a very small hole, and the jet from it of no great thickness. As near as I could tell by the touch, and from the repeated application I had made to it with my lips, this could not have been over the thickness of my little finger, which at that time was not of much greater circumference than a goose’s quill. I knew that such a tiny stream would be a long while in spending the contents of so large a tank; and I endeavoured to recall to mind how long it might have been since I last drank. In this, however, I was not successful. It seemed but a short while to me, but excited as I had been, and confused in my ideas, it might have been an hour, or even more. I was completely baffled in any calculation that I attempted.

I remained for a considerable time, pondering upon some scheme by which I might determine the quantity of water that still remained in the cask, for about this I was now most anxious. Only one hour before, food had been the source of my uneasiness; before that it had been drink; and now once more drink was my trouble, for of meat I had a plenty.

I remembered having heard that brewers, coopers, and others whose business lies among the great wine vaults of the docks, had a way of telling pretty nearly the contents of a barrel of liquid, without submitting them to actual measurement, but I had not heard how they managed the matter. I regretted not having been told.

I thought of a plan by which I could have ascertained, to a nicety; but I lacked the proper instrument to put it in execution. I understood enough of hydraulics to know that water will rise to its own level if guided by a pipe or tube; I knew, therefore, that if I had only possessed a piece of hose, I could have attached it to the tap-hole, and thus discovered how high the water stood in the cask.

But where was the hose or other pipe to be had? Of course I could not get at what I desired in this way, and I relinquished the idea without giving it farther consideration.

Just at this moment a better plan suggested itself, and I proceeded to put it in execution. It was so simple, I wondered I had not thought of it before. It was neither more nor less than to cut another hole through the staves, higher up, and if need be another, and so on, until I reached a point where the water ceased to run. This would give me the knowledge I wanted.

Should I make my first hole too low, I could easily stop it with a peg, and so with all the others.

It is true that I was laying out for myself a considerable amount of work, but I rather liked this than otherwise. While employed, I should feel much happier, as my occupation would enable me the better to pass the time, and keep me from thinking too much of my miserable situation.

But just as I was about to commence my experiments on the butt, it occurred to me that I had better try the other one—that which stood at the end of my little chamber. Should this also prove to be a water-cask, then I need be no longer uneasy, for surely two such great vessels should contain enough to supply me during the longest voyage that ever was made.

Without more ado, then, I turned upon the second cask, and commenced drilling a hole in the end of it. I was not so excited as before, for I did not feel that so much depended upon the result. For all that, it caused me a good deal of disappointment, when, on getting the point of my blade through to the inside, I discovered that the stream that came jetting out was not water but pure brandy, which proved that it was a brandy-cask I had tapped.

I again turned my attention to the water-butt; for I was now more anxious than ever to ascertain how much it contained, since on this depended my future safety.

Choosing a stave near the middle of the cask, I proceeded in the same manner as I had done when making my first incision; and working constantly for an hour or more, I felt the thin shell springing before the point of my knife. My apprehensions were acute, though not so much as on the former occasion. Then it was a matter of life or death, almost upon the instant; now the contingency was more remote, and not quite so definite or certain. Withal I could not help a strong feeling of anxiety, nor could I avoid uttering an exclamation of delight, when I felt the cold spring of water gushing along the blade of my knife. I soon closed the slight aperture, and re-commenced my drilling process upon the next stave higher up.

This I also penetrated in due time, and was again rewarded for my patient labour by getting my fingers wet, from the inside.

Another step higher, with a result like.

Another, and the water came not. No matter, I was now far up near the top of the cask. I had found water at the last boring but one. It must stand still higher within. The cask, therefore, was more than three parts full. Thank Heaven! There would be enough to last me for many months!

I felt satisfied with the result, and, sitting down, I ate another biscuit with as much relish and contentment as if I had been dining upon turtle and venison at the table of a Lord Mayor.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Going on “Rations.”

I was full of complacence. There was nothing now to cause me uneasiness. The prospect of being cooped up for six months might have been very unpleasant under other circumstances, but after the far more terrible dread of horrid death from which I had just been delivered, it appeared as nothing; and I resolved to bear my long imprisonment with patience and resignation.

Six months I would have to endure this gloomy confinement—six months, at the least. There was but little probability of my being released before the expiration of a half-year: a long term—long and hard to be borne either by captive or criminal—hard even in a lighted chamber, with bed and fire, and well-cooked food, in daily converse with human beings, and the sound of human voices almost continually ringing in your ears. Even with these advantages, to be shut up for six months is a painful experience.

How much more painful would mine be, cramped up in close quarters, where I could neither stand erect nor lie at full length; neither couch, nor fire, nor light to give me comfort; breathing foul air, reclining upon the hardest of oak, living upon bread and water—the simplest diet upon which a human being could exist, and that unvaried by the slightest change, with no sound ever reaching my ear save the almost ceaseless creaking of the ship’s timbers, and the monotonous surging of the ocean wave—certainly six months of such an existence was not a pleasant prospect to contemplate.

Withal I regarded it not. I was still too happy at my deliverance from death, to be nice about the kind of life that was before me, though, as time passed, most probably I should grow tired enough of such a dreary existence.

Now I was all joy and confidence. Not so confident, however, as to rely upon conjecture—upon a mere guess as to the amount of my means of existence. Upon this point I was determined to be fully assured, and that without further loss of time. My stores, both of food and drink, I resolved to submit to actual measurement, in order to be satisfied as to whether they would be sufficient to last me till the end of the voyage.

Hitherto I had felt no apprehension upon this head. Such a large box of biscuit, and such an inexhaustible well of water, could never be expended. This was my first idea; but, after a little reflection, I began to have doubts. The constant drop will wear a hole in the hardest stone, and will also empty the largest cistern, if time be allowed it; and six months was a long time—nearly two hundred days—a very long time.

As I reflected thus, I grew a little uneasy as to the quantity both of my food and drink; and to put an end to all doubt upon the subject, I came to the above determination of measuring them. I recognised the prudence of such a course. If it turned out that there were plenty of both, and to spare, I should no longer be troubled with doubts; and if, on the other hand, there was a danger of either running short, I should then adopt the only precaution possible, and at once put myself on short rations!

When I look back, and think of my cunning at this early age, I am now astonished at it; but it is surprising what forethought even a child will exhibit, when placed in circumstances where self-preservation calls forth all its instincts and energies.

Without more ado, then, I proceeded to make my calculation. I allowed for time, the full six months; or in other terms, a period of 183 days. I did not even subtract the time—about a week, since we had set sail. That I set aside to my advantage, allowing the full period of 183 days, lest I might err by making the time too short. Surely, in six months, the vessel would reach her port, and her cargo be discharged? Surely, I might depend upon this?

No, not surely. I was far from being confident on this head. I knew that a voyage to Peru was usually reckoned a six months’ voyage; but I was not certain whether this was considered the average time; whether it would be accounted a long voyage or a short one; and, therefore, I had no confidence in basing my calculation on such uncertain data.

There was the danger of delay from calms in the tropical latitudes, through which we should have to pass—from storms off Cape Horn, renowned among mariners for the fickleness of its wind—other obstacles might be encountered, and the voyage protracted far beyond the period above mentioned.

I was not without such apprehensions, as I proceeded to examine my resources. To ascertain how long my stock of food would last, was simple and easy. I had only to count the biscuits, and find out their number. I knew their size, and that I could live on two a day, though I was not likely to grow fat on the allowance. Even one a day, or still less than that, would sustain life; and I resolved to be as sparing of them as I could.

I soon ascertained the exact number. The box, as nearly as I could guess, was about a yard long and two feet wide, by about one foot in depth; for I noticed that it was a shallow one set upon its edge. Had I known its exact dimensions, I could have told the number of biscuits without counting them. Each was a little less than six inches in diameter, and of an average thickness of three-fourths of an inch. Therefore, packed as they had been, there would be exactly 32 dozen in the case.

But counting them over one by one was no labour, on the contrary, it afforded pleasure to me; and drawing them forth out of the box, I told them off in dozens. I found that 32 dozen was the number, wanting eight; but the odd eight I was able to account for satisfactorily. I knew where they had gone.

Thirty-two dozen would make 384 biscuits; and, now that I had eaten eight of them, there remained exactly 376; which, at the rate of two per diem, would last for 188 days. True, 188 days would be a little over six months, but as I had not a clear confidence about the length of the voyage being only six months, I perceived that I must go on short rations, of less than two biscuits a day.

What, thought I, if there should be another box of biscuits behind the one I had emptied? That would secure me against all chances, and make my mind easy at once and for ever. What if there should be another? Was it unlikely? No: the reverse. In the stowage of a ship’s hold, there is not much order observed as regards the sort of goods that are placed in juxta-position, but rather is regard paid to the size and shape of the packages; and things of a miscellaneous kind are often stowed together, according to convenience, as the particular piece—whether box, bale, or barrel—may fit into a particular space. Notwithstanding that I knew all this, still it was probable enough that two boxes of biscuits had been placed side by side.

How was I to ascertain? I could not get round the box, even now that I had emptied it; for, as already stated, it blocked up the whole aperture through which I had originally squeezed myself. Neither could I get over the top nor under it.

“Ha!” I exclaimed, as a thought suddenly suggested itself, “I shall go through it.”

The idea was feasible enough. The board which I had already pulled off, left an aperture wide enough to admit my body. This had been part of the top or lid. I could, therefore, get my head and shoulders inside, and with my knife cut a large hole in the bottom opposite. That would enable me to ascertain whether another biscuit-box was beyond.

I was not slow in putting my new design into execution. I first widened a little more the aperture in the top, so that I could work more conveniently; and then I attacked the bottom with my knife. The soft deal yielded pretty freely, but I had not made much progress in this way, when a better plan came into my head. I perceived that the bottom boards of the case were only nailed on—perhaps a little more securely than those of the top, but still not fast enough to resist the blows of a mallet or hammer. I had neither one nor the other, but I thought of a tolerable substitute—my heels. Laying myself, therefore, in a horizontal position, and placing my hands against the great rib to act as a support, I thrust both my feet inside the box. In this position I was able to administer such a series of lusty kicks upon the bottom boards, that one of them soon sprung its nails, and was pressed outward, until I felt it could be driven no farther on account of some weighty impediment beyond.

I now got back to my old position, and examined the progress I had made. I saw that I had dislodged a wide board, so far as the nails were concerned; but it still stood upright, and prevented me feeling what was behind it.

Using all my strength, I succeeded in pressing it to one side and then downward, until an aperture was obtained, through which I could thrust my hands. Sure enough, a box was on the other side—a rough packing-case, resembling that I had just broken through—but whether of like contents had yet to be determined. It would not take long to tell what it contained. I once more exerted my strength, and succeeded in pressing the loose board quite into a horizontal position, so that it no longer obstructed me. The other box was scarce two inches beyond; and falling to upon it with my blade, I soon penetrated through its side.

Alas! my hopes of finding more biscuit were doomed to disappointment. Some woollen substance—either coarse cloth or blankets closely-packed—filled the inside, feeling as solid to the touch as a piece of timber. There were no biscuits there; and I was now convinced I should have to take to the short rations, and make the best of what I already possessed.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

Gauging the Water-Cask.

My next operation was to put all the biscuits back into the box, for strewed loosely about as they were, they interfered seriously with the accommodation of my cabin, which by their bulk was diminished more than half. In fact, I had scarce room to turn myself in, so long as they remained outside the case, and I therefore lost no time in restoring them to their former place of deposit. To make the box hold them all, I was obliged to pack them in regular rows, as they had been before; with this difference, that the case having been tilted on its side, the biscuits had been lying with their edges in a horizontal position, whereas I now built them vertically—the proper mode of packing such goods, and the way in which they had been placed when they came from the stores of the baker. Of course, it mattered not which way, as regards the space they would take up. On the flat side, or on their edges, it was all the same; and when I counted in the thirty-one dozen and four odd, the box was full, with only a little empty space in the corner, which the eight missing biscuits had formerly occupied.

So, then, I had taken stock of my larder, and now knew the exact amount of provision I had to depend upon. With two biscuits per diem I could stand siege for a little better than six months. It would not be high living, yet I resolved to do with even less, for I could not feel certain that six months would be the full period of my privations. I formed the resolution to make two a day the rule, and never to exceed that number; and on such days as I felt best able to bear hunger, I should stint my measure a quarter or half a biscuit, or even a whole one, if I found it possible. This economic purpose, if successfully carried out, would throw forward the day of absolute want to a much longer period than six months.

My food being thus rationed out, it appeared equally necessary that I should know the quantity of water I might use each day. To ascertain this, at first appeared to be beyond my power. Apparently I had no means of measuring what remained in the butt. It was an old wine or spirit cask—for such are the vessels generally used on board ships to carry water for their crews—but what kind of wine-cask I could not tell, and therefore I could not even guess at the quantity it might have contained when full. Could I only have established this point, I should then have been able to make a rough calculation as to what had been already spent; rough, but perhaps sufficiently precise for my purpose.

I remembered well the table of liquid measure—I had good reason to remember it—the most difficult of all the tables to commit to memory. I had received many a smart rodding, before I was able to repeat it over; but I at length succeeded in getting it pit-pat.

I knew that wine-casks are of very different dimensions, according to the sort of wine they contain: that under the different names of “pipes,” “butts,” “hogsheads,” “puncheons,” “tuns,” and “pieces,” they hold more or less, from the hogshead of hock of thirty gallons to the great tun of wine containing 252. That the spirits—brandy, whiskey, rum, gin; and the wines—sherry, Port, Madeira, Teneriffe, Malaga, and many other sorts, are transported in casks of different capacity, but usually containing about 100 gallons. I even remembered the number of gallons of each, so well had my teacher—a great statistician—drilled me in “liquid measure;” and could I only have known what sort of wine had once been carried inside of my water-butt, I could have told its measure in a moment. I fancied there was the “bouquet” of sherry about it, and that would have made it a “pipe” of 108 gallons; but it might have been a Madeira pipe, which holds only 92, or Cape, or Marsala, which are about the same size. It might have been Port, which would have stretched its capacity to 115, or a puncheon of Scotch whiskey, some of which contain 120 gallons. I did not think it had been this last, else I should have known the peculiar “twang” which Scotch whiskey gives to water, however diluted it may be. Certainly, there was a perceptible flavour of some liquor, but I was too young to be experienced in drinks, and I learnt nothing from this. No doubt a wine-taster could have told in an instant what sort had formerly filled the barrel, for an old wine-cask will retain the particular “bouquet” of the wine it had carried after performing several voyages as a water-butt.

I drew out the stopper, and tasted the water. I had not thought of noticing its flavour before. It appeared to me to be sherry; but as I have said, it might be Madeira, which would make a difference of sixteen gallons—an important item in a calculation such as I was desirous of making. I therefore could not trust to my judgment to make this the basis of a computation, and I had to think of some other device.

Fortunately in my school arithmetic there were a few hints upon mensuration, and the good master had instructed us in these.

I have often wondered that the simple but useful problems of this branch, of science are so much neglected, while the most useless and irrational rhymes are hammered into the heads of poor unfortunate boys. I have no hesitation in giving my opinion, that a knowledge of simple mensuration, which may be obtained in a week’s study, is of more value to an individual—or to the whole human race, if you will—than a perfect scholarship in all the dead languages of the world. Greek and Latin! These have been very barriers to the advancement of knowledge!

Well, I was saying that my old teacher had taught me a few simple problems in mensuration; and fortunately I still held them in my memory. I could tell the solid contents of a cube, of a parallelopipedon, of a pyramid, of a globe (nearly), of a cylinder, and of a cone. The last was the figure that now interested me.

I knew that a barrel was a pair of cones—that is, truncated cones or frustums—with the bases resting against each other. Of course, when I was taught how to measure a cone, I was also instructed to do the same with the frustum of one.

To ascertain the capacity of my butt, therefore, it was only necessary for me to know its length—or its half-length would do as well—its circumference at either end, and also its circumference around the thickest part or “swell.” These three measurements given me, I could tell to a quart how much water would fill it—in other words, I could calculate how many cubic inches of water it should contain. Knowing this, I should simply have to divide by 69 and a small fraction over, and this would give me the number of quarts, which another simple division of 4 would reduce to gallons, if I required to use this standard.

I perceived, therefore, that if I could get the three measurements, I could soon tell the capacity of my butt; but therein lay the difficulty. How were these measurements to be obtained?

I might have obtained the length, for that was before me from end to end; but how should I get the circumference either of the middle or of either end? I could not reach over the top, nor around the ends. Both directions were blocked up against me.

Another difficulty stared me in the face. I had nothing wherewith to measure them—neither rule nor tape—no standard by which I could determine the number of feet or inches; so that even had all sides been free to me, I should still have been in a dilemma.

I was determined, however, not to yield the point until I had given it a good thinking. The occupation would help me to pass the time; and, as I have already hinted, this was a matter of primary importance. Besides, that faithful old schoolmaster had many a time impressed upon us the valuable truth, that perseverance often finds success where success appears impossible. Remembering this bit of admonition, I resolved not to regard the thing as impracticable, until I had exhausted all my powers of contrivance.

I persevered, therefore, and in less time than I must take in describing it, I hit upon a plan for “gauging” the butt.

Chapter Thirty.

My Measuring-Rule.

The details of my plan suggested themselves in the following order:—

While examining the cask, to find if there was not some means of ascertaining its different diameters, I discovered the very way itself. All I wanted was a straight rod or stick, of sufficient length to reach quite across the butt at its thickest part. It was plain to me, that by inserting such a stick into a hole in one side of the cask, and passing it on till it touched the staves on the other side, at a point diametrically opposite, I could thus obtain the exact measurement of the diameter of that part of the vessel, since the portion of the rod reaching from side to side would be the diameter itself. The diameter once obtained, it needed only to multiply by three to get the circumference. But in the calculation which I was desirous of making, it was the diameter itself I wanted to find, and not the circumference. I only thought of the latter, because, under ordinary circumstances, when a cask is bunged up, it is easier to measure the circumference of the swell than its diameter. In no case does it signify which, as the figure three will always reduce the one to the other, near enough for most practical purposes, though not mathematically exact.

Now, it so chanced that one of the holes I had cut through the staves had been made in the very middle of the swell, where the butt was thickest. Therefore a straight stick passed into this hole, and pushed on till it touched the opposite side, would give the greatest diameter of the cask.

You may imagine that this might have been obtained by simply planting the stick in a vertical position outside the butt, and notching it at a point on a level with the top of the vessel. True, this might have been done had I been operating with a barrel lying upon a plain surface, with nothing around it to obstruct me, and plenty of light to observe the true level. Even thus it would have been rough guess work, and not to be depended on when a calculation was to be made involving life or death in its consequences—for such it really did involve—at least, I supposed so. But the butt was so placed, resting upon the timbers of the ship, with its swollen side sunk between them, that I could not have measured it in this manner. Even though I might have marked a rod on a line with its top, I could not have planted the other end so as to be on a level with its base.

There seemed no other way to get at the thing than by inserting a straight stick into the hole, and thus measure the diameter; nor did I trouble myself about any other, as this appeared to be the best plan I could adopt.

Where was I to find my stick—my measuring-rule? That is your question, is it not?

It is easily answered. The deal board that had formed part of the biscuit-box would supply me with the material, and out of that I could soon make one. No sooner thought of than I set about it.

The board was but a little over two feet in length, and of course not long enough to reach across the great cask, which at its thickest part appeared four or five. But a very little ingenuity sufficed to overcome this obstacle. I should only have to split off three thin pieces, and by splicing their ends together, I should get a stick of length sufficient.

I did so. Fortunately, the deal was cut nicely with the grain of the wood; and in splitting it, I guided the blade of my knife so as not to let it run out at the edges.

I succeeded in getting three pieces of the thickness I wanted; and, after shaving off their angles, and making them clean and trim, I cut their ends with a slant for the splice.

The next thing was to obtain two pieces of string, and this was the easiest thing in the world. I wore upon my feet a pair of little “buskins” that laced up to the very ankle. The laces were thongs of calfskin, each of them a full yard long. They were just the thing; and, drawing them out of the holes, I completed the splicing, and now held in my hands a straight stick full five feet in length—quite long enough, I conceived, to reach across the thickest part of the butt, and slender enough to go into the hole—which I had already widened a little to receive it.

“So far good,” thought I; “I shall now insert the measuring-stick, and find my diameter.”

I rose to my feet to carry out this design, but I need not describe the mortification I felt on perceiving that the first of these operations, which would appear to be the simplest of all, could not be performed. At the first trial I saw that it was quite impossible. It was not because the hole was too small, or the stick too large. I had made no mistake about this; but my miscalculation was in regard to the space in which I had to work. Lengthways my little chamber was nearly six feet, but crossways little more than two; and up where the hole was—in which I intended to insert the measuring-rod—it was still less. Of course to get the stiff piece of stick into the cask was plainly impossible—without bending it, so that it must break—for the dry deal would have snapped through like the shank of a clay pipe.

I was a good deal chagrined at not having thought of this before; but I was still more vexed at the idea of being obliged to abandon the design of making the measurement I had intended, for before reflecting I believed that this was to be the result. A little further consideration, however, helped to a new plan, proving the importance of not arriving too hastily at conclusions. I discovered a way of getting in the stick to its full length, without either breaking or bending it.

This could be effected by taking it to pieces again, then first inserting one of the pieces, and holding it till the second could be spliced on to its end, and then pushing both into the cask, and joining the third piece in a similar fashion.

About this there appeared no difficulty, and the result proved there was none; for in less than five minutes after conceiving it, I had carried the design into execution, and the measuring-rod stood inside the barrel, with one end projecting some inches on the outside.

Holding this end carefully in my hand, I caused the other to play about on the opposite side, until I felt convinced that it touched the point that was exactly vis-à-vis with the aperture; and then steadying the stick, I notched it with my knife, on a level with the outer surface of the stave. To calculate from this notch would not be correct, as it would be more than the diameter of the cask—that is, in reference to what it would contain—but I had no intention of doing so. I should make allowance for the thickness of the stave, and that would give me the measurement I wanted.

Having made my mark, I drew forth my measuring-rod, piece by piece, as it had been plunged in. I took care as I did so to notch both the splices, so that I might be able to put them together again in the exact place where they had been while making the measurement. All this attention to such minute particulars was of importance, and I knew it to be so, for the mistake of even a quarter of an inch in the length of my diameter would cause a difference of many gallons in the result. Most certainly, then, was it of consequence that I should be precise in my data.

I now had the diameter of the swell; the next thing was to get that of the head, or end. About this there was less difficulty—in fact, not any. It was obtained in a few seconds.

Though I could not myself get round either of the ends of the butt, nor even my arm, I could pass the rod around them, and in this way measure them. Even had there not been space to admit the measuring-stick, I should have found a means—by simply drilling another hole with my knife, close to either end, and gauging as before. But this would have occupied time, and it was not necessary to do so, since the stick passed along the head of the butt without any obstruction, till its end rested against the projecting rim on the opposite side. I had nothing to do but assure myself that its point was fair in the middle, and then make my mark as before.

The length of the butt was yet to be ascertained; and this, though apparently a simple operation, cost me a good deal of consideration, before I could get at it with any degree of exactness. You may fancy that it would have been easy enough to get at the length, by just placing the stick parallel to the cask, and notching it square with the ends of the latter? And so it might be easy enough, with plenty of light around you to see when it was square, and a level surface upon which to rest your measure. But as I had the advantage neither of light nor level ground, I encountered great difficulty in this operation. I could not tell when the ends lay even with each other, merely by the touch. I had to pass my fingers from one to the other, and could not grasp both at one time—that is, the rim of the cask and the end of the rod—since they must needs be several inches apart. The stick, too, lay unsteady, and by the feel I could not be sure when its end was exactly “flush” with the head of the cask. The mistake of an inch—it might be several—would falsify all my computations, and render them of no use. It would not do to proceed upon such a conjectural basis, and for a while I was puzzled, and had to pause.

This was an unexpected obstacle, for I had from the first regarded the diameters as the only difficulty; about the possibility of obtaining the length, I had never entertained a doubt.

But my wits again came to the rescue, and I soon discovered a plan that would effect the end in view. I had to make another rod—by splicing two more lengths split from the board—and with this I was able to determine the point.

I managed the matter thus: The old rod I pushed along the head of the cask quite beyond its outer edge, so that it rested at both ends against the projecting rim. Thus placed, it was exactly parallel with the plane of the barrel’s head, while a foot or more projected outward and towards me. Holding the end of the second rod against this projecting part, and at right angles, I gave it a direction along the side of the cask, and I was able to mark the point, where the middle part of the swell came in contact with the second rod. This, of course, after deducting the depth of the rim and the presumed thickness of the head, gave me half the length of the interior of the cask, and that was all I wanted, since two halves make one whole.

I was now in possession of the data of my problem; it only remained for me to seek the solution.

Chapter Thirty One.

“Quod Erat Faciendum.”

To find the cubic contents of the butt in feet or inches, and afterwards reduce them to liquid measure—to gallons or quarts—would have been easy enough, and only required a simple computation in figures. I knew that I was arithmetician enough to make this computation, even though I possessed neither pen nor paper, slate nor pencil; and if I had, there was no light by which I could have used them. “Ciphering,” therefore, in the ordinary way, was out of the question; but I had often practised myself in casting up accounts by a mental process, and I could add and subtract, multiply or divide a considerable series of figures without the aid of either pen or pencil. The problem I had before me would involve but a limited number of figures, and I felt satisfied I could easily manage it, so far as that was concerned.

I have said that it would have been a simple and easy computation to find the contents of the cask in cubic feet or inches. Would have been supposes that there was a difficulty—and there was one. An important preliminary matter had to be settled before I could enter upon any calculation—a very important one; and that was, that I had not yet reduced my measurements—neither the diameters nor the length—to feet and inches! I had measured the cask with plain pieces of stick, and had registered the dimensions in simple notches; but what of this? I knew not what distance these notches might be from the end, or from each other—how many feet or inches! I might make a rude guess, but that would be of no service to me; so that after all my pains I had as yet no data to go upon, nor could I have any until I had first measured my measuring-rods themselves!