the morning was well spent by the time that i had made my mind up, and i was growing hungry again. i made a good meal on what was left in the second tin of beans that i had opened for my breakfast; and when i was done i tried to get a light for my pipe by rubbing bits of wood together, but made nothing of it at all. i had read about castaways on desert islands getting fire that way—but they went at it with dry wood, i fancy, and in my mist-sodden desert all the wood was soaked with damp.
for that afternoon i decided to go forward only as far as i could fetch it to be back on board the barque again by sunset, taking with me as many tins of beans as i could carry and leaving them where i made my turn: by which arrangement i would save the carriage of my supper and my breakfast, and would have a little store of victuals to fall back upon—when i should be fairly started on my journey—without coming all the way again to the barque.
i got the bed-bag that i had seen in the stateroom, and managed with the rusty scissors to cut it down to half its size. into this i packed ten tins of beans, and made them snug by whipping around the bag one end of a longish line—which served when coiled as a handle for it; and, being uncoiled, enabled me to haul it up a ship's side after me, or to let it down ahead of me, or to sway it across an open space between two vessels, and so go at my climbing and jumping with both hands free. as for the compass, my back was the only place for it and i put it there—where it did not bother me much, having little weight; and i stuck the hatchet to blaze my path with into a sort of a belt that i made for myself with a bit of line.
considering what a load i was carrying, and that on every vessel which i crossed i had to stop while i blazed a mark on her, i made a good long march of it before the waning of the daylight was a sign to me that i must put about again; and my return journey was both quick and easy, for i left the whole of my load, excepting the empty bag, behind me and came back lightly along my plainly marked path. but i was tired enough when i got on board the barque again, and glad enough to eat my supper and then stretch myself out to sleep upon the cabin floor.
that night, being easy in my body—except for my wholesome weariness—and easier in my mind because it seemed to me that i was doing something for my deliverance, and being also aboard a vessel that i knew was clean and pure, i had no visions of any kind whatever, but went to sleep almost in a moment, and slept like a log, as the saying is, the whole night through. indeed, i slept later than suited my purposes—being for rising early and making a long day's march of it—and i might have wasted still more time in drowsing lazily had i not been wakened a little before sunrise by the rattle on the cabin roof of a dashing burst of rain. i was on deck in a moment, and by stopping a scupper—as i had done the previous morning—presently had by me a far bigger supply of water than i needed; from which i got a good drink lying down to it, and filled an empty bean-tin for another drink after my breakfast, and so had my two bottles full to last me until the next day—and was pretty well satisfied by the rain's recurrence that i could count upon a shower every morning about the hour of dawn.
when i had finished my breakfast i stowed ten tins of beans in the bag and lashed four more together so that i could carry them on my shoulders—being able to manage them in that way because i had no other back-load—and so was ready to set out along my blazed path. but before leaving the barque—hoping never again to lay eyes on her—i took one more look through the cabin to make sure that i had not passed over something that might be useful to me: and was lucky enough to find under one of the bunks a drawer—that had been hidden by the tumbled sheets hanging down over it—in which were some shirts and a suit of linen clothing that most opportunely supplied my needs. they all were badly mildewed, but sound enough, and the trousers—i had no use for the coat and waistcoat—fitted me very well. so i threw off the rags and tatters that i was wearing and put on in their place these sound garments; and then i picked up my load and was off.
not having to stop to take bearings or to blaze my way, i made such good time that i got to the end of the course over which i had spent a good part of the previous afternoon in not much more than three hours. i was pretty well pleased to find that i could make such brisk marching under such a load; for it showed me that even when i should get a long way from my base of supplies, that is to say from the barque, i still could return to it at no great expense of time—and the thought never entered my head that time was of no value to me, since only by what would be close upon a miracle could i hope for anything better than to find ways for killing it through all the remainder of my days.
being thus come to my place of deposit i had to rearrange my packing—going forward with a lighter load of food that i might carry also the compass and the hatchet; and going slowly because of my constant stops to take fresh bearings and to mark my path. but that time i went straight onward until nightfall; and my heart sank a good deal within me as i found that the farther i went the more antique in model, and the more anciently sea-worn, were the wrecks which i came upon—and so i knew that i must be making my way steadily into the very depths of my maze.
yet i could not see that i would gain anything by going back to the barque and thence taking a fresh departure. the barque, as i knew certainly from the sort of craft surrounding her, was so deeply bedded in the pack that no matter how i headed from her i should have to go far before i came again to the coast of it; and on the other hand i thought that by holding to my course northward i might work my way in no great time across the innermost huddle of ancient wrecks—for of the vast number of these i had no notion then—and so to the outer belt of wrecks new-made: on board of which i certainly should find fresh food in plenty, and from which (as i forced myself to believe) i might get away once more into the living world. and so i pushed on doggedly until the twilight changed to dusk and i could not venture farther; and then i ate my supper on board of a strange old ship, as round as a dumpling and with a high bow and a higher stern; and when i had finished settled myself for the night, being very weary, under the in-hang of her heavy bulging side.
when morning came—and a shower with it that gave me what drink i wanted and a store of water for the day—i debated for a while with myself as to whether i should go onward with my whole load, or leave a part of it in a fresh deposit to which i could return at will. the second course seemed the better to me; and, indeed, it was necessary for me to go light-loaded in order to get on at all. for i had come among ships of such strange old-fashioned build, standing at bow and stern so high out of the water, that unless they happened to be lying side by side so that i could pass from one to another amidships—which was the case but seldom—i had almost as much climbing up and down among them as though i had been a monkey mounting and descending a row of trees.
therefore i ate as much breakfast as i could pack into myself—that being as good a way as any other of carrying food with me—and then i tore the sleeves from my shirt and stuffed them from the tins that i opened until i had two great bean sausages, which i fastened belt-fashion about my waist and so carried without any trouble at all. indeed, but for this new arrangement of my load i doubt if i could have gone onward; and even with it i had all that i could do to make my way. the bag with the remaining tins in it i stood away inside the cabin of the old ship—which i should have explored farther, so strange-looking was it, but for my eager desire to get on; and i felt quite sure that i would find all just as i had left it there even though i did not come back again for twenty years.
