JANUARY 17th.--As a natural consequence of the alleviation of our
thirst, the pangs of hunger returned more violently than ever. Although
we had no bait, and even if we had we could not use it for want of
a whirl, we could not help asking whether no possible means could
be devised for securing one out of the many sharks that were still
perpetually swarming about the raft. Armed with knives, like the Indians
in the pearl fisheries, was it not practicable to attack the monsters in
their own element? Curtis expressed his willingness personally to make
the attempt, but so numerous were the sharks that we would not for one
moment hear of his risking his life in a venture of which the danger was
as great as the success was doubtful.
By plunging into the sea, or by gnawing at a piece of metal, we could
always, or at least often, do something that cheated us into believing
that we were mitigating the pains of thirst; but with hunger it was
different. The prospect, too, of rain seemed hopeful, whilst for getting
food there appeared no chance; and, as we knew that nothing could
compensate for the lack of nutritive matter, we were soon all cast down
again. Shocking to confess, it would be untrue to deny that we surveyed
each other with the eye of an eager longing; and I need hardly explain
to what a degree of savageness the one idea that haunted us had reduced
our feelings.
Ever since the storm-cloud brought us the too transient shower the
sky has been tolerably clear, and although at that time the wind had
slightly freshened, it has since dropped, and the sail hangs idly
against our mast. Except for the trifling relief it brings by modifying
the temperature we care little now for any breeze. Ignorant as we are as
to what quarter of the Atlantic we have been carried by the currents, it
matters very little to us from what direction the wind may blow if
only it would bring, in rain or dew, the moisture of which we are so
dreadfully in need.
The moon was entering her last quarter, so that it was dark till nearly
midnight, and the stars were misty, not glowing with that lustre which
is so often characteristic of cool nights. Half frantic with that sense
of hunger which invariably returns with redoubled vigour at the close of
every day, I threw myself, in a kind of frenzy, upon a bundle of sails
that was lying on the starboard of the raft, and leaning over, I tried
to get some measure of relief by inhaling the moist coolness that rarely
fails to circulate just above the water. My brain was haunted by the
most horrible nightmares; not that I suppose I was in any way more
distressed than my companions, who were lying in their usual places,
vainly endeavouring to forget their sufferings in sleep.
After a time I fell into a restless, dreamy doze. I was neither asleep
nor awake. How long I remained in that state of stupor I could hardly
say, but at length a strange sensation half brought me to myself. Was
I dreaming, or was there not really some unaccustomed odour floating in
the air? My nostrils became distended, and I could scarcely suppress a
cry of astonishment; but some instinct kept me quiet, and I laid myself
down again with the puzzled sensation sometimes experienced when we
have forgotten a word or name. Only a few minutes, however, had elapsed
before another still more savoury puff induced me to take several
long inhalations. Suddenly, the truth seemed to dash across my mind.
“Surely,” I muttered to myself “this must be cooked meat that I can
smell.”
Again and again I sniffed and became more convinced than ever that my
senses were not deceiving me. But from what part of the raft could the
smell proceed? I rose to my knees, and having satisfied myself that the
odour came from the front, I crept stealthily as a cat under the sails
and between the spars in that direction. Following the promptings of
my scent, rather than my vision, like a bloodhound in the track of his
prey, I searched everywhere I could, now finding, now losing, the smell
according to my change of position, or the dropping of the wind. At
length I got the true scent; once for all, so that I could go straight
to the object for which I was in search.
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. He made a dash at the fragment of bacon, and
seemed determined to wrest it from my grasp. We struggled with each
other, but although our wrestling was very violent, it was very
noiseless. We were both of us aware that it was absolutely necessary
that not one of those on board should know anything at all about
the prize for which we were contending. Nor was my own determination
lessened by hearing him groan out that it was his last, his only morsel.
“His!” I thought; “it shall be mine now!”
And still careful that no noise of commotion should arise, I threw him
on his back, and grasping his throat so that it gurgled again, I held
him down until, in rapid mouthfuls, I had swallowed up the last scrap of
the food for which we had fought so hard.
I released my prisoner, and quietly crept back to my own quarters.
And not a soul is aware that I have broken my fast!