Chapter 23 - The Boy Tar by Mayne Reid
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.