While I was obstinately persevering a plan dawned on my mind. That nail
meant salvation, and I must have it. But should I get it in time? Hunger
was torturing me; my brain was swimming; my limbs were losing their
strength; my mind was becoming confused. I had sucked the drops that
trickled from my punctured finger, and suddenly I bit my arm and drank
my own blood! Thereupon, spurred on by pain, revived by the tepid, acrid
liquor that moistened my lips, I tore desperately at the nail and at
last I wrenched it off!
I then believed in success. My plan was a simple one; I pushed the
point of the nail into the lid, dragging it along as far as I could in
a straight line and working it so as to make a slit in the wood. My
fingers stiffened, but I doggedly persevered, and when I fancied that I
had sufficiently cut into the board I turned on my stomach and, lifting
myself on my knees and elbows thrust the whole strength of my back
against the lid. But although it creaked it did not yield; the notched
line was not deep enough. I had to resume my old position--which I only
managed to do with infinite trouble--and work afresh. At last after
another supreme effort the lid was cleft from end to end.
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