This I also penetrated in due time, and was again rewarded for my patient labour by getting my fingers wet, from the inside.
Another step higher, with a result like.
Another, and the water came not. No matter, I was now far up near the top of the cask. I had found water at the last boring but one. It must stand still higher within. The cask, therefore, was more than three parts full. Thank Heaven! There would be enough to last me for many months!
I felt satisfied with the result, and, sitting down, I ate another biscuit with as much relish and contentment as if I had been dining upon turtle and venison at the table of a Lord Mayor.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
Going on “Rations.”
I was full of complacence. There was nothing now to cause me uneasiness. The prospect of being cooped up for six months might have been very unpleasant under other circumstances, but after the far more terrible dread of horrid death from which I had just been delivered, it appeared as nothing; and I resolved to bear my long imprisonment with patience and resignation.
Six months I would have to endure this gloomy confinement—six months, at the least. There was but little probability of my being released before the expiration of a half-year: a long term—long and hard to be borne either by captive or criminal—hard even in a lighted chamber, with bed and fire, and well-cooked food, in daily converse with human beings, and the sound of human voices almost continually ringing in your ears. Even with these advantages, to be shut up for six months is a painful experience.