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  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

  THE HORROR OF DARKNESS.

  The result of my calculation was of the most satisfactory nature.Eighty gallons of water would give half a gallon each day for 160 days,or a quart _per diem_ for 320 days--nearly a whole year! Surely I couldsubsist on a quart a day?--surely the voyage could not last for so longa period as 320 days? A ship might sail round the world in less time.I remembered having been told so, and it was fortunate I remembered it,for my mind was now at ease on the score of water. For all that, Iresolved not to drink more than a quart a day, and on this allowance Imade no doubt that the supply would be sufficient.

  There was more danger of running short of food; but, upon the whole, Inow felt very little apprehension, as I had fully resolved to dietmyself on the most economic scale.

  So far, then, as food and drink were concerned, I felt no furtheruneasiness. It was well assured that I was not to die either of thirstor starvation; and the very remarkable manner in which both food anddrink had been supplied--placed, as it were, before me--naturally led meto the reflection that the hand of Providence had been extended to aidme, and I was still further consoled with the hope that He who had thusmercifully preserved me for the present, would not forsake me in thefuture.

  In this state of feeling I continued for several days, and although itwas an irksome life--every hour seeming of itself a day--still I wasable to endure it. Sometimes I endeavoured to kill time by counting notonly the hours, but even the minutes and seconds; and in this occupation(for I could think of no other) I often passed several hours at a time.My watch enabled me to amuse myself in this manner, and I foundcompanionship in its cheerful ticking. I fancied that it beat louderthan I had ever before heard it, and most likely this was so, the soundbeing magnified by the wooden walls that surrounded my cell. I tookcare never to let the watch go to the full length of its chain, lest itmight run down and derange my reckoning. Not that I cared to know thehour. That was of no consequence. I did not even know whether it wasnight or day by the watch, nor would it have mattered had I not knownthe one from the other, as the brightest sun could not have lent a rayof his light to cheer my dungeon. It chanced, however, that I _did_know the night from the day. No doubt you will wonder how I came bythis knowledge--since I had kept no time for the first hundred hoursafter getting aboard, and there was then, in the complete darkness thatsurrounded me, no means of distinguishing the one from the other. I hada means of telling, however, and it was this: During all my life I hadbeen trained to the habit of going to bed at a particular hour--teno'clock at night--and also of rising at six exactly. This was a rule inmy father's house, as well as that of my uncle--in the latter, indeed, Iwas compelled to observe it with a stern exactitude. The consequence ofthis habit was, that whenever the hour of ten drew nigh, I naturallyfelt the inclination for sleep; and the habit had grown so fixed, that,notwithstanding the change of circumstances, it still continued. This Iwas not slow to observe. I felt the desire to sleep come upon me atregular periods, and I concluded, therefore, that whenever I had thisfeeling upon me it was about ten o'clock of the night. I haddiscovered, too, by registering the time with my watch, that I usuallyslept about eight hours, and then I felt no desire to remain asleep anylonger. When I awoke it would be six in the morning; and, in thisbelief, I regulated my watch to that hour. So convinced was I of thesefacts, that I felt confident I could have counted the days without thewatch; but fearing that some change might occur in my habitual hours ofrest, in consequence of the altered circumstances in which I was placed,I resolved always to keep the time-piece going. Ever before lying downto sleep, I took the precaution to wind it up to the full length of itschain, and on awaking I repeated the operation, so that there might beno danger of even a moment's stoppage.

  Though satisfied that I could tell night from day, I have said that itmattered little, or not at all. It was of importance, however, that Ishould know when each twenty-four hours had ended, for it was only bythat means I could have any knowledge of the progress of the voyage. Itook especial care to count the hours; and whenever I perceived that thehour-hand had completed two circuits around the dial, I cut a freshnotch in a piece of stick, set aside for this especial purpose. I neednot say that my registry was kept with the greatest care. The only partof it on which I could not depend was that referring to the first daysafter my departure, when I had taken no notice whatever of the time thathad passed. By guess I had put down four notches against those days andnights, and I afterwards found that my memorandum was correct.

  Thus for several days--nearly a week--passed I the hours--the longhours--long, and dark, and irksome: ever more or less miserable, attimes sadly dejected, but never positively despairing.

  Strange to say, my greatest misery arose from the absence of light. Ihad at first suffered from my cramped position, and also from lying uponthe hard oak timber; but I got used to these inconveniences. Besides,for the hardness of my bed I soon discovered a remedy. I had observedthat the box which stood upon the other side of my biscuit-housecontained some sort of stuff that had the feel of woollen goods. Onfurther examination, it proved to be broadcloth, closely-packed in largewebs as it had come from the manufactory. This suggested an idea thatwas likely to contribute to my comfort; and I set about putting it intoexecution. After removing the biscuits out of my way, I enlarged thehole (which I had already made in the side of the cloth-box) to such anextent that I was able--not without much labour, however--to detach oneof the pieces, and draw it out; and then with less trouble I pulledforth another and another, until I had as much as would serve mypurpose. I was two hours in completing this operation, but having gotpossession of the cloth, and shaken it out of its hard foldings, Iprocured both carpet and couch soft enough for a king to rest upon; andperhaps as costly, too--for I could feel that I was handling an articlethat was "superfine." I did not use more of it than was absolutelyrequired to cover the hard oaken planks. Its bulk would haveinconvenienced me had I taken much of it from the box; and beforespreading it out, I had to clear the way, by returning all the biscuitsto their old repository.

  Having spread my costly couch, I lay down upon it, and felt a great dealmore comfortable than I had yet done.

  But I still longed for light more than for anything else. It isdifficult to conceive the misery of existence under complete darkness;and I could now well comprehend the reason why the "dungeon" has alwaysbeen regarded as the most awful punishment which a prisoner can be madeto endure. No wonder men's hair has turned grey, and their senses haveforsaken them, under such circumstances; for in truth darkness is ashard to endure as if light were essential to our existence.

  I thought that if I only had a light, I could have passed the timewithout thinking it half so long. The darkness appeared to me to doublethe duration of the hours, as though it was something physical andsubstantial that clogged the wheels of my watch, and hindered the motionof time itself. Amorphous darkness! I fancied it gave me pain--a painthat light would at once have alleviated; and sometimes I felt as I hadonce done before, when laid upon a sick couch counting over the longdrear hours of the night, and anxiously watching for the day. In thisway slowly, and far from pleasantly, did time pass on.