It was into the cloth-case which I had entered--that one which lay contiguous to the box that had contained the biscuits. It was from it I determined to start with my new tunnel; and I had two reasons for making it my terminus: first, because I believed that it was situated almost in a direct line with the main-hatchway. For that matter, so too was the biscuit-box; but the latter was smaller than the cloth-case, and therefore would not afford me so much room to carry on my work. The second reason, however, which influenced my choice, was of more importance. I had already ascertained that another cloth-case stood on the top of this one, whereas the biscuit-box had bales of linen--both on the top, and at that end through which I should have to make way. Now, I was convinced that I could much more easily remove the pieces of cloth than the hard rolls of linen--indeed I was not certain that these could be stirred at all--and therefore it was that I made choice of the cloth-case. Once inside it, you will suppose that I went immediately to work; but no. I remained for a considerable time without moving either hand or arm. I was not idle, however, for all that, but busy with all the faculties of my mind in full action. In fact, the plan I had just conceived, had awakened in me a sort of new energy; and the hopes of safety that now presented themselves were as strong, and stronger, than any I had entertained since the first hour of my captivity. The prospect, too, was far brighter. Even after my discovery of the butt of water and box of biscuits--even when I believed there would be a sufficient quantity of both to last out the voyage, there was still the long imprisonment before me--months of silent and wretched solitude to be endured. Now it was different. In a few days, if fortune favoured me, I should once more gaze upon the bright sky--once more breathe the free air of heaven--once more look upon the faces of men, and listen to the sweetest of all sounds--the voices of my fellow-creatures. I felt like one long lost in the desert, who beholds afar off upon the horizon some signs of the habitation of civilised men. Perhaps the dark outlines of trees--perhaps the blue smoke rising over some distant fire--but something that produces within him a hope that he will soon be restored to the association of his fellow-men. Just such a hope had sprung up within me, every moment becoming stronger, till it amounted almost to a feeling of certainty. It was perhaps this very confidence that kept me from rushing too hastily towards the execution of my plan. It was a matter of too much importance to be trifled with--an enterprise too grand either to be commenced or carried through in a reckless or hurried manner. Some unforeseen object might become an obstacle--some accident might arise, which would lead to failure and ruin.