My intention was to continue the work which had been interrupted by the breaking of my knife. Before that unlucky accident befell me, I had noticed that the board was not very firmly nailed on. It could be started easily enough with a proper tool; I fancied that even a good piece of stick would do it.
I was careful not to make any more rash experiments with the blade of my knife. Now, more than ever, did I value this precious weapon; for I was fully sensible that my life depended on its endurance.
“If I only had a piece of some hard wood!” thought I.
I remembered that in making an entrance into the brandy-cask I had cut large pieces from the oaken staves. Perhaps one of these would do?
With the thought, I hurried back to the little chamber where I knew they were lying.
After removing some pieces of cloth, I found them; and having groped among the cuttings, I possessed myself of a piece that appeared as if it would suit my purpose.
Getting back to the box, I even shaped out a little crowbar, by giving the stick a wedge end with my knife; and this thin end I inserted under the plank, and drove it inward as far as I could, by striking it with a heavy piece of board.
It soon took hold; and then grasping it by the end, and jerking it downwards, I had the gratification to hear the creaking of the nails as they started outward. My fingers now took the place of the little lever; and the board came “skreeking” out of the bottom of the box.
That contiguous to it was more easily detached; and the two left me an aperture large enough to get out the contents, whatever they might be.
They were oblong packages, shaped like pieces of cloth or linen, but they felt lighter and more elastic than either. Better still, they could be pulled out more easily, and without the necessity of being taken out of their envelopes.