My captor had crossed my wrists and tied them together in this position. I twisted and wrenched till I stretched the linen of the handkerchief, and strained the knot enough to permit me to pull my hands through my bonds, and free them. The darkness was gloomy and oppressive, even after I had been only half an hour in the dungeon. I felt that, for Kate's sake, as well as my own, I must get out. For the present she was safe, for Tom had destroyed the skiff, so that he could not go out to the Splash; but the poor girl would suffer agonies of terror if I did not go to her in the course of the day. I was almost furious when I thought of my situation; of Kate in the cuddy of the boat, and of the will and money in the closet. I was afraid my uncle would discover his loss before I could escape. I could hardly keep from weeping with vexation as I thought of my misfortune. But it was not my style to groan long over my mishaps, when there was a chance, however desperate, of retrieving them. I was determined either to break my way out of my prison, or convince my jailer it was not strong enough to hold me. I felt of the stones that formed the wall, and pulled out as many of the small ones as were loose enough to permit their removal. I then used my strength on a dozen of the larger ones, till I found one which could be taken out. How I wished then for an iron bar! With such an implement I felt that I could soon let in the daylight. But I had no bar, and after removing one stone about the size of my head, I was utterly unable to start another around it. I was perplexed. I felt in my pockets for something to help me. I don't know but I had a faint hope of finding an iron bar; but certainly there was none there, or anything else with which I could operate on the obdurate stone wall. In my perplexity, I "fished my pockets" thoroughly. In the usual assortment a boy carries with him, I had a quantity of matches. I was not a smoker, but I always found it convenient to have a match when I happened to be out after dark in the Splash, to light my cabin lantern. These matches were suggestive, for the door of my prison was made of wood, and fire would consume and destroy it. There were several shelves across the end of my dungeon, one of which I pulled down, and with my knife proceeded to whittle off the shavings for a fire. While I was thus engaged, I heard a vehicle drive up to the door. It was immediately followed by another, and I concluded that my uncle had returned. I had made a large pile of shavings. I then went to work on the lower part of the door, cutting into it, and roughening the boards, so that the fire could be readily communicated to it.