The end of it was that I was given the job to paint the office at which ships received pratique. This office stood on the wharf adjacent to the landing-place. It was a building constructed of inch-and-a-half deal planking, and consisted of two rooms. I was also given tools with which to do a little repairing.
Nothing could possibly have suited me better. The moment I entered it I thought: "Here is my chance of escape!" A thin, wooden floor, a rickety old wharf, and beneath that the water and safety—I could not have wished for anything better.
Each morning I was escorted to the office by two vigilantes, who locked the door upon me and immediately went off, returning only to give me my midday meal, and later to escort me back to prison.
An hour after being left alone I had weighed up all the chances. Another went by, and by dint of strenuous exertions I had made a very fair show of painting on one of the walls—this in case of any undue inquisitiveness.
Next I found a suitable place, away from observation, at a point where the floor was covered with reed matting, and began, carefully and noiselessly, cutting through the planks.
Between times I showed myself at the one window in case anyone should be spying; then I would do a little painting and hammering, but I always returned to my chief objective—sawing my way through to the water.
Using every precaution—covering up and disposing of even the minutest particle of sawdust—always on the alert, and working like a Trojan whenever my jailers were expected, I made such good progress that by the third morning a hole large enough to permit of my body passing had been cut through the twelve-inch deals of the jetty, the pieces which I had cut out being carefully stowed in the space between the floor of the office and the jetty. The way of escape was open!
The only thing that bothered me was that I should be compelled to make my attempt at escape during the day, as each night, of course, I was securely locked up in the jail. Well, I should have to risk it. I would wait until the hour after noon, I decided, when the greater percentage of these indolent Chilanos indulged in their siesta. It was a hundred to one chance against my being discovered, and as I had been taking risks all along, there was no reason why I should shirk them now.
Noon came, and with it my dinner. My hand must have trembled as I took the dish from the vigilante's hand, for he calmly walked within a yard of the hole in the floor! Certainly I felt my face pale with suppressed emotion and fear.
He looked sharply at me. "Usted malo?" (you sick) he asked. I shook my head, and, apparently satisfied, the man turned on his heel and left.