by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.
THE BROKEN BLADE.
Yes, the blade was broken quite through, and remained sticking betweenthe pieces of wood. The haft came away in my hand; and as I passed mythumb over the end of it, I could perceive that the blade had snappedoff close to the end of the back-spring, so that not even the tenth ofan inch of it was left in the handle.
I cannot describe the chagrin which this incident caused me. I at oncerecognised it as a misfortune of the very gravest kind, for without theknife what could I do?
Without it I was, as might be said, _unarmed and helpless_. I couldmake no further progress with my tunnel; I should have to abandon theenterprise so lately conceived, and upon which I had built such hopes ofsuccess; in other words, I might now renounce my design of proceedingfarther, and resign myself to the miserable fate that once more staredme in the face.
There was something awful in this reaction of my spirits. It waspainful in the extreme. The very suddenness of the change rendered theshock more acute. But the moment before, I was full of confidence,making fair progress in my enterprise, and cheered with partial success.This unexpected misfortune had interrupted all, and plunged me backagain into the gloomy gulf of despair.
For a long while I remained wavering and undecided. I could not make upmy mind to do anything. What could I do? I could not continue my work:I had no tool to work with!
My mind seemed to wander. Several times I passed my thumb along thehandle of my knife, till it rested upon the short stump of the brokenblade, or rather upon the neck, for the blade was all gone. I did thisin a sort of mechanical way, to assure myself that it was really brokenoff; for so sudden had been the misfortune, that I could yet hardlybelieve in its reality. In truth, it had quite bewildered my senses,and in this state they remained for several minutes.
When the first shock was over, my self-possession slowly and graduallyreturned. Assured at length of the sad reality, and knowing the worst,I began to reflect whether something might not still be done with thebroken weapon.
The words of a great poet, which I had heard at school, came into mymind: "_Men better do their broken weapons use, than their bare hands_;"and the suggestion that this wise saying afforded, I now took to myself.It occurred to me, then, to examine the blade. The haft I held in myhand, but the blade still remained in the angle of the box, where it hadbroken off.
I drew it out, and passed my finger over it. It was still entire, andas much of a blade as ever; but, alas! without the handle, what usecould I make of it?
I grasped it round the thick end, and made trial whether I could stillcut with it. It was some satisfaction to find that I could--a little.The blade was a good long one, and this was a fortunate circumstance.By wrapping a piece of rag around the thick end, I might yet make itavailable; though, of course, any cutting I might hereafter do with it,would be a slow and painful operation.
The idea of setting the blade in the haft again was out of the question.It is true I entertained it at first, but I soon discovered adifficulty not to be got over; and that was the removal of theback-spring.
Could I only have got this out of the way, the haft would still haveserved for a handle. I could easily have inserted the broken end of theblade between the scales; and as I had plenty of good string, I mighthave tied it firmly there. But I had nothing to draw the well-rivetednail, and the back-spring resisted all my efforts to detach it.
The haft, therefore, was of no more use than an ordinary piece ofstick--indeed, not so much, for just then it occurred to me that a pieceof stick might serve my purpose better. Out of a proper piece, I mightbe able to make some sort of a handle that would serve to hold theblade, so that I might still cut with it.
The encouragement which this idea gave me, once more roused my mind tonew activity, and I set to thinking how I might make a new haft for thebroken blade.
Necessity sharpened my ingenuity; and I was not long in conceiving mydesign, nor a great while either about the execution of it; for in aboutan hour's time I held in my hand a knife with a complete handle. It wasbut a rude one at best; but I felt satisfied it would serve my purposenearly as well as that which I had lost; and this belief once morerestored me to confidence and cheerfulness.
The new haft I had made in the following fashion:--Having procured apiece of wood from one of the thick boards, I first whittled it to theproper shape and size. This I was enabled to do with the blade, which,although without a handle, served well enough for light work like that.I then contrived to make a cleft in the stick, to the depth of twoinches from its end; and into this cleft I inserted the broken end ofthe blade. To lap this tightly with a string, was my next idea; but Iperceived at once that this would not do. The string would be stretchedby the action of the blade, and the latter would soon get loose. If thesharp edge only came against the twine, while the blade was being workedbackwards and forwards, it would instantly sever it, and then the bladewould pull out, perhaps drop down among the boxes, and so get lost.Such an accident would be fatal to my prospects; and, if possible, Imust not risk it.
What could I find that would fasten the blade more securely in thecleft? If I could have obtained a yard or two of wire, it would havebeen just the thing; but there was no wire near me. What! thought I, nowire near me? The piano! the strings! surely _they_ are of wire?
Once more the piano became the object of my attention; and if I could atthat moment have reached the inside of it, I should certainly haverobbed it of one of its strings. But, then, to get at the string?--thatwas a difficulty I had not thought of, but which the next moment came upbefore me. Of course, with my knife in its present condition, to cut myway into the piano would be a sheer impossibility, and I was forced toabandon the idea.
But in that instant I thought of another expedient--I thought of theiron hooping, of which there was plenty within my reach. The verything. A piece of this would serve my purpose equally as well as wire.It was thin and pliable, and one or two turns of it around the haft, bythe neck of the blade, would hold the latter in its place admirably, andprevent it from budging either backwards or forwards. A string, lappedtightly over all, would keep the hoop from getting loose, and thus Ishould have a complete handle.
No sooner thought of than done. The piece of hoop was at once searchedfor and found. It was neatly wound round the neck of the blade andhaft; and having been firmly tied with strong twine, I found myself oncemore in possession of a knife. The blade was of course much shorterthan before, but I believed it would still be long enough for cuttingthrough the thickest planks I should encounter; and with this belief Ifelt satisfied.
The different operations I have detailed must have occupied me fortwenty hours at least. I was worn and wearied, and should have soughtrest much sooner; but after the breaking of the blade, I could not thinkof resting. It would have been of no use attempting to sleep: my miserywould have kept me awake.
The new knife, however, had restored my confidence; and I could nolonger resist the desire to take that repose which, both in mind andbody, I so much stood in need of.
I need hardly add that hunger compelled me to resort once more to mymiserable larder; but, strange as it may appear to you--and as it doesnow to me--I felt no hardship in the kind of diet; but, on the contrary,ate my _rat-supper_ with as much relish as I should now do the choicestof dishes!