Approaching the starboard angle of the raft, I came to the
conclusion that the smell that had thus keenly excited my
cravings was the smell of smoked bacon; the membranes of my
tongue almost bristled with the intenseness of my longing.
Crawling along a little farther, under a thick roll of sail-
cloth, I was not long in securing my prize. Forcing my arm below
the roll, I felt my hand in contact with something wrapped up in
paper. I clutched it up, and carried it off to a place where I
could examine it by the help of the light of the moon that had
now made its appearance above the horizon. I almost shrieked for
joy. It was a piece of bacon. True, it did not weigh many
ounces, but small as it was it would suffice to alleviate the
pangs of hunger for one day at least. I was just on the point of
raising it to my mouth, when a hand was laid upon my arm. It was
only by a most determined effort that I kept myself from
screaming out one instant more, and I found myself face to face
with Hobart.
In a moment I understood all. Plainly this rascal Hobart had
saved some provision from the wreck, upon which he had been
subsisting ever since. The steward had provided for himself,
whilst all around him were dying of starvation. Detestable
wretch! This accounts for the inconsistency of his well-to-do
looks and his pitiable groans. Vile hypocrite!
Yet why, it struck me, should I complain? Was not I reaping the
benefit of that secret store that he, for himself, had saved?
But Hobart had no idea of allowing me the peaceable possession of
what he held to be his own.
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