Chapter 49 - The Boy Tar by Mayne Reid
A new Danger
I remained in this state of insensibility for several hours, and was not even troubled, as was usual when I slept, with painful dreams. I did not dream at all; but, on awaking to consciousness, I had a dread feeling upon me, just as if I had been cast from off the earth into infinite space, and was rapidly floating onwards, or falling from some great height, without ever reaching a point of rest. It was a feeling of a most unpleasant kind—in fact, a feeling of horror.
Fortunately, it did not continue long; and as I endeavoured to rouse myself it became less painful, and at length passed away. In its stead, however, I felt sick at the stomach, and my head ached as though it would split. Surely it was not the sea that had made me sick? No, it could not be that. I was long since hardened against sea-sickness. Even another storm would not have brought it on; but there was no particular roughness. The ship was sailing under breezy but not stormy weather.
Was it fever that had suddenly attacked me in a violent manner? or had I fainted from want of strength? No; I had experienced both calamities, but this new sensation resembled neither.
I was in reality at a loss to account for what was ailing me. In a short time, however, my thoughts became clearer, and then the truth dawned upon my mind. I had been in a state of intoxication!
Intoxication it must have been, though wine I had not tasted, nor brandy neither—not a mouthful. I disliked it too much for that; and although there was plenty of it—or had been, for it was now all gone—enough to have drowned myself in, I was not conscious of having drunk a drop of it. True, a drop had passed into my mouth—a drop, or maybe a spoonful, had gone down my throat when the torrent gushed over me; but surely this small quantity could not have produced intoxication, even if it had been liquor ever so much above proof? Impossible; it could not have been that that produced intoxication!
And what, then? Something had made me drunk. Although I had never been so in my life, yet I guessed the symptoms to mean only this.
As I continued to reflect—that is, as I grew more sober—the mystery was cleared up, and I discovered the cause of my intoxication. It was not brandy, but the “fumes” of brandy, that had done it—this, and nothing else.
Even before entering the cask, I had noticed a decided change in my feelings, for the fumes of the liquor, even outside, were strong enough to make me sneeze; but this was nothing to the effluvia which I encountered inside the vessel. At first I could scarcely breathe, but by little and little I became accustomed to it, and rather liked it. No wonder, since it was making me feel so strong and happy!
On cogitating further on this singular incident, I remembered how I came to be outside the cask—how thirst had influenced me to come out; and I now perceived how fortunate it was that I had followed the guidance of this appetite. I have said that I did not know whether I had actually quenched my thirst. I had no remembrance of going to the butt, or of drawing a cup of water. I think I did not get so far. Had I done so, in all probability I should have left out the vent-peg, and then a large quantity of water would have been spilled. The water-line would have been down to a level with the vent; and this, on examination, I gladly perceived was not the case. Moreover, my drinking-cup felt too dry to have been used lately. I had not drunk, then, and this was a fortunate circumstance, though far more fortunate was the circumstance that I had thirsted. Had it not been for this, I should no doubt have remained inside the cask, and the consequence must have been disastrous indeed. I cannot say what, but certainly some fatal result would have followed. In all likelihood, I should have remained in a state of intoxication—how was I ever to get sober?—every moment getting worse, until when? Until death! Who knows?
A mere accidental circumstance, then, had once more saved my life; but perhaps it was not accidental. It may have been the hand of Providence, and I believed so at the time. If prayers express gratitude, mine were given, and with all the fervour of my soul.
Whether I had allayed my thirst or not, certain it was that the quenching had been but temporary; for I now felt as if I could drink the butt dry. I lost no time in groping for my cup, and I am sure I did not leave off till I had drunk nearly half a gallon of water.
The water removed a good deal of the sickness, and also cleared my brains, as if it had washed them. Being once more restored to my proper senses, I returned to the consideration of the perils by which I was surrounded.
My first thought was about continuing the work I had so abruptly left off, and only now did it occur to me that I might not be able to go on with it. What if I was to get into the same state as before—what if my senses again became stupefied, and I should not have presence of mind or resolution to come out of the cask?
Perhaps I might labour away for awhile without getting into the same state, and if I felt it coming on me I could hasten out? Perhaps! But should it be otherwise? If the intoxication should come suddenly upon me, how then? How long had it been before I felt it on the former occasion? I tried to remember, but could not.
I remembered how this strange influence had stolen over me—how soothingly and sweetly it came, wrapping my senses as if in a delightful dream. How it had made me reckless of consequences, forgetful even of my appalling situation!
Supposing that all was to be repeated—the same scene to be enacted over again—and only one incident to be left out: that is, the thirst which brought me forth from the cask—supposing all this? And why might it not be just what would take place? I could not answer the question one way or the other; but so strong were my apprehensions of the probability that it might, that I hesitated to re-enter the cask!
There was no help for it, however. I must either do so, or die where I lay. If death in the end was to be my fate, better far, thought I, to die by this apparently easy mode; for I felt convinced, from the experience I had had, that such death would be without a pang.
The reflection emboldened me, as well as the knowledge that I had no alternative, no choice of plan; and again pronouncing a prayer, I crawled back into the brandy-cask.