After supper that night I secured a hammer and a chisel and started for the windmill. I had need to make haste if I expected to accomplish anything that evening, for the days were shortening and already darkness was falling. The windmill stood some two or three hundred yards from the house directly behind the wine cellar. It was about seventy-five feet high--from the base to the top of the wheel--but in that deceptive twilight it looked like some giant finger reaching to the sky. I stuck my tools in my coat pocket and began to climb the long ladder which stretched to the top of the tank. From thence it would be easy to reach and manipulate the wheel. I made the ascent in safety, and after a little stood on top of the rough boards with which the tank was covered. For some time I stood, admiring the splendid view and wondering at the extent of country that came under my gaze, until warned by the ever-increasing gloom that I was out on business, not pleasure. I forget just what was the matter with the wheel. Some simple disarrangement of the machinery which took me but little time to ascertain and less to remedy. Feeling certain that the mill would now perform its duty as well as before, I turned to retrace my way. In doing so I stepped upon a half-concealed trap-door, intended to be used as a means of ingress into the tank in case of repairs being needed. This door was old and rotten; its hinges were broken and it rested very insecurely upon its foundation. Consequently, it was unable to retain my weight and tilted suddenly. I fell with a prodigious splash into the water beneath. There were about two feet of water in the tank. I gurgled and sputtered and struggled as though there were twenty. However, I quickly regained my feet, dripping and shivering, and very much confused from my sudden immersion, but uninjured. I was a prisoner, however. The tank was about ten feet in height. The sides were perfectly smooth and afforded no foothold. There was no ladder or other means by which I could clamber out. I vowed that if ever I built a tank I would provide in some way for such an emergency as the present. About three and a half feet above my head was the supply pipe. It extended a little ways into the tank. If I could only manage to reach that I might possibly pull myself up and escape. I knew perfectly well I could not reach it, but hope, like love, is blind to all obstacles, and I jumped desperately for it. I failed, of course. I didn’t come within a foot of it. However, after I had continued my effort for some time I began to feel a comfortable warmth creep over that portion of my body which was above water. Therefore, in lieu of anything better to do, I kept on jumping. By and by my teeth stopped chattering--somewhat--and I stopped leaping altogether.