My knapsack
gradually filled, and meanwhile I slowly worked my passage into the
open world. There was the chance that my jailer would explore the
knapsack; but after a time I lost that fear, for it lay untouched
with a blanket in a corner, and I cared for my cell with my own
hands.
The true point of danger was the window. There lay my way. It
was stoutly barred with iron up and down, and the bars were set in
the solid limestone. Soon after I entered this prison, I saw that
I must cut a groove in the stone from stanchion to stanchion, and
then, by drawing one to the other, make an opening large enough to
let my body through. For tools I had only a miserable knife with
which I cut my victuals, and the smaller but stouter one which
Gabord had not taken from me. There could be no pounding, no
chiselling, but only rubbing of the hard stone. So hour after
hour I rubbed away, in constant danger of discovery however. My
jailer had a trick of sudden entrance, which would have been
grotesque if it had not been so serious to me. To provide against
the flurried inquisition of his eye, I kept near me bread well
chewed, with which I filled the hole, covering it with the sand
I had rubbed or the ashes of my pipe.
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