What did effectually withstrain him was the knowledge of the act which in the lazarette he had already determined to perform that afternoon down in the main hold where the water-casks were stored.
At three o'clock, while the Ancient Mariner supposedly drowned in his room, and while Captain Doane, Grimshaw, and half the watch on deck clustered at the mast-heads to try to raise the Lion's Head from out the sapphire sea, Dag Daughtry dropped down the ladder of the open hatchway into the main hold.

Here, in long tiers, with alleyways between, the water-casks were chocked safely on their sides.
From inside his shirt the steward drew a brace, and to it fitted a half- inch bit from his hip-pocket.

On his knees, he bored through the head of the first cask until the water rushed out upon the deck and flowed down into the bilge.

He worked quickly, boring cask after cask down the alleyway that led to deeper twilight.

When he had reached the end of the first row of casks he paused a moment to listen to the gurglings of the many half-inch streams running to waste.