His stores lay about the floor of his resting-place, just as he had
turned them out in the night; a couple of long loaves, a good-sized
piece of raw bacon, and another of boiled pork which he thought he
recognized, some butter in a cloth, a bottle which looked as if it might
contain spirits, the powder-flask, and a small linen bag containing
bullets, snail-shot, and percussion caps. These, with Bernel's gun and
the blanket, and the old woollen cloak, which he recognized as Mr.
Hamon's roquelaure, and his pipe, and the tobacco he happened to have
in his pouch, constituted, for the time being, his worldly possessions.
He spread his cloak and blanket in the sun to dry and air, and, doubtful
whether his rock would supply any further provision or when more might
reach him from Sark, he proceeded to make a somewhat restricted meal of
bread and cold pork.
The raw bacon suggested something of a problem. To cook it he must have
a fire. To have a fire he must have fuel; his tinder-box he always
carried, of course, for the new matches had not yet penetrated to Sark.
Moreover, to light a fire might be dangerous as liable to attract
attention, unless he could do it under cover where no stray gleams could
get out.
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