"There isn't!"
Captain Mayo felt the lack of oxygen most cruelly, because he was
working with all his might. Perspiration was streaming into his eyes, he
was panting like a running dog, his blows were losing force.
He found that Otie had partly cleared out the rib before that
too-willing helper had taken it into his head to knock a hole through
the planking. The rib must come away entirely! The tough oak resisted;
the chisel slipped; it was maddeningly slow work. But he finished the
task at last and began to gouge a channel in the planking close to the
other ribs. Torpor was wrapping its tentacles about him. He heard his
companions gasping for breath. Then, all at once, he felt a little pat
on his shoulder. He knew that tap for what it was, though she did not
speak to him; it was the girl's reassuring touch. It comforted him to be
told in that manner that she was keeping up her courage in the horrible
situation. He beveled the planks as deeply as he dared, and made his cut
around three sides of his square. He was forced to stop for a moment and
lay prostrate, his face on the lumber.
"Take that saw, one of you, and chunk off a few short lengths of plank,"
he whispered, hoarsely. The rasp of the hand-saw informed him that he
had been obeyed.
He held his eyes wide open with effort as he lay there in the darkness.
Then he struggled up and went at his task once more. Queerly colored
flames were shooting before his straining eyes. He toiled in partial
delirium, and it seemed to him that he was looking again at the
phantasmagoria of the Coston lights on the fog when the yachtsmen were
serenading the girl of the Polly. He found himself muttering, keeping
time to his chisel-blows: "Our Polly O,
O'er the sea you go--"
In all the human emotions there is no more maddening and soul-flaying
terror than the fear of being shut in, which wise men call
claustrophobia. Mayo had been a man of the open--of wide horizons,
drinking from the fount of all the air under the heavens. This hideous
confinement was demoralizing his reason. He wanted to throw down his
hammer and chisel and scream and kick and throw himself up against the
penning planks. On the other side was air--the open! There was still one
side of the square to do.
Again that comforting little hand touched his shoulder and he was
spurred by the thought that the girl was still courageous and had faith
in him. He groaned and kept on.