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