Spile

Into each hole, we inserted a small aluminum tube called a spile, tapped it snug with a hammer and hung a sheet metal contraption with a plastic bag on it from the spile.

So I felt my way down the passage back to the vault, and recked not of the darkness, nor of Blackbeard and his crew, if only I could lay my lips to liquor. Thus I groped about the barrels till near the top of the stack my hand struck on the spile of a keg, and drawing it, I got my mouth to the hold.

Now, chamfering one end of the elderberry tube slightly to fit, I push it into the hole and wait. After a few seconds sap will begin to drip from the end of the tube, a tangible flow of life and vitality. […] Beneath the tube, properly called a spile, I place my cup to catch the drips.

The bottom of the river is of hard, sparkling white sand, into which spiles are easily driven; and the building and keeping up of such a wharf is a trifling trouble...

[…]we'd settled that I’d pick up some spiles from Greg Fitch first thing on Monday morning and get something done about that fence.