The light of another day was dimly penetrating those underground depths before our prisoner was prepared to make his last effort for liberty. For all the aid he would receive from the pitiful amount allotted to him he might as well have started hours earlier; but while he longed to make the trial he also dreaded it. The thought of that box-like passage, through which he would be obliged to force his way without a chance of retreat, was so terrible that he shrank from it as we all shrink from anything dangerous or painful. Then, too, if he should escape, he would want daylight by which to guide his future movements. So, after tossing for hours on his hard bed and considering every aspect of his situation, he finally fell into a troubled sleep that lasted until morning.
For breakfast he had only water, but of this he drank as much as he could, for he knew not when he would find another supply. Then he selected such of the copper tools as he thought might prove useful. Into one of them, which was a sort of a pick, he fitted a rude wooden handle, while the others, which had cutting edges and were in the nature of knives, he thrust into his pockets. Having thus completed his simple preparations, he took a long look, that he well knew might be his last, on the daylight that was now so doubly precious, and then resolutely faced the inner gloom of the ancient mine.
Determined to save his candle for use in the unknown winze, he slowly groped his way through utter darkness, and finally reached what he believed to be the end of the drift. Now he lighted his candle, and for a moment his unaccustomed eyes ached from the glare of its flame. He was, as he had thought, at the lower opening of the narrow passage, and, as he noted its steep upward slope, he was agitated by conflicting hopes and fears. It might lead to liberty, but there was an equal chance that in it he should miserably perish.
At the very outset he was confronted by a condition that was not only disappointing, but exerted a most depressing influence. There was no draught, such as he had believed would issue from the winze. In vain did he hold up a wetted finger, in vain watch for the slightest flicker in the flame of his candle. The air was as stagnant as that of a dungeon. And yet there certainly had been a decided current at that very place only a few hours before. Puzzled and disheartened, he was still determined to press forward, and, stooping low, he entered the passage.