Part 23 (1/2)

I had taken the usual precaution to close the gates of my fortress, and this time I slept my sleep out, undisturbed by the rats.

In the morning--or rather, I should say, in the hour of my awaking--I again ate and drank. I know not whether it was morning; for, in consequence of my watch having once or twice run down, I could no longer tell night from day; and my sleep, now not regular as formerly, failed to inform me of the hours. What I ate failed to satisfy hunger. All the food that was left me would not have sufficed for that; and not the least difficult part I had to perform, was the restraining myself from eating out my whole stock at a meal. I could easily have done it, and it required all my resolution to refrain. But my resolution was backed by the too certain knowledge that such a meal would be my last, and my abstinence was strengthened simply by the fear of starvation.

Having breakfasted, then, as sparingly as possible, and filled my stomach with water instead of food, I once more worked my way into the second cloth-box, determined to continue my search as long as strength was left me. There was not much left now. I knew that what I ate was barely sufficient to sustain life, and I felt that I was fast wasting away. My ribs projected like those of a skeleton, and it was as much as I could do to move the heavier pieces of the cloth.

One end of all the boxes, as already stated, was placed against the side of the s.h.i.+p. Of course, it was of no use tunnelling in that direction; but the end of the second case, which faced inwards, I had not yet tried. This was now my task.

I need not detail the particulars of the work. It resembled that I had executed already, and lasted for several successive hours. The result was, once again, a painful disappointment. Another bale of linen! I could go no farther in that direction. And now no farther in any direction!

Boxes of broadcloth and bales of linen were all around me. I could not penetrate beyond. I could not make a way through them. There was no room for further progress.

This was the melancholy conclusion at which I had arrived, and I was once more thrown back into my despairing mood.

Fortunately, this did not last long, for shortly after a train of thought came into my mind that prompted me to further action. It was memory that came to my aid. I remembered having read a book, which described very beautifully the struggles of a boy, amidst great difficulties--how he bravely refused to yield to each new disappointment; but, by dint of courage and perseverance, overcame every obstacle, and at last obtained success. I remembered, too, that this boy had adopted for his motto, the Latin word ”Excelsior,” which was explained to mean ”_higher_” or ”_upward_.”

On reflecting upon the struggles which this boy had undergone, and how he had succeeded in surmounting so many difficulties--some even as great as those that surrounded myself--I was nerved to make a new effort.

But I believe it was this peculiar word, ”Excelsior,” that guided me in my after proceedings, for by its most literal sense was I directed.

_Upward_, thought I; I might search upward. Why did it not occur to me before? There might be food in this direction, as likely as in any other, and certainly I had no choice, as every other direction had been tried. I resolved, then, to search _upward_.

In another minute I was upon my back, knife in hand. I propped myself with pieces of cloth, so that I might work more conveniently, and after groping out one of the divisions of the lid, I commenced notching it crossways.

The board at length gave way to my exertions. I dragged it downwards.

Oh, heavens! were my hopes again destined to suffer defeat and mockery?

Alas! it was even so. The coa.r.s.e, hard-grained canvas, with the dull sodden ma.s.s behind it, answered me with a sad affirmative.

There yet remained the upper side of the other case, and then that of the biscuit-box. Both should be tried as a last effort, and that before I could again sleep.

And both _were_ tried, with like evil fortune. Upon the former rested a case of the cloth, while another bale of linen completely covered the top of the latter.

”Merciful G.o.d! am I forsaken?”

Such was my exclamation as I sank back into an att.i.tude of complete exhaustion.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

A TORRENT OF BRANDY.

Sleep followed, brought on by weariness and long exertion; and when I awoke, I felt my strength greatly restored. Singular enough, my spirits were a good deal lighter, and I was far less despairing than I had been before. It seemed as if some supernatural influence sustained me-- perhaps an inspiration given by the great Creator himself, to enable me to persevere. Notwithstanding that my disappointments had been many and oft-repeated, I bore up under the infliction as meekly as I could, and never yet had I felt in my heart a rebellious feeling against G.o.d.

I still continued to offer up prayers for my success, and to place reliance upon the hope that His mercy would yet be extended to me. This feeling it was--I am sure it was--that upheld me, and kept me from falling into utter despondency.

On awaking again, as I have said, my spirits felt lighter, though I know not why, unless it was that I was cheered by some influence from above.

I can only account for it in this way, since there was no change in the circ.u.mstances that surrounded me--at least none for the better--nor had I conceived any new hope or plan.

It was certain that I could penetrate no further through the boxes of cloth and bales of linen, as I had no place to stow their contents behind me. That side, therefore, was now no longer the object of my attention.