Chapter Twenty Seven.
A Cask of Brandy.
Yes, biscuits—each of them as large as a small plate, and nearly half an inch in thickness, smooth and round and pleasant to the touch, and of a rich brown colour—I could tell the colour, for I knew from the feel that they were real sea biscuits; or, as they are generally styled, “sailor’s biscuits,” to distinguish them from the white “captain’s biscuits,” to which, in my opinion, they are superior—far sweeter and more wholesome.
How sweet they tasted at that moment! for on the very instant that I got hold of them, did I raise one to my mouth, and bite a large piece out of its smooth circumference. Delicious morsel! a whole one was soon ground into crumbs and swallowed, and then a second, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and perhaps still another! for I never thought of keeping count, so long as hunger urged me to eat. Of course, I washed them down with copious libations from the butt.
I remember no meal eaten during all my life that I enjoyed with so much relish, as this one of biscuits and water. It was not simply from the delight experienced by satisfying the cravings of a hungry stomach—which of itself, as every one knows, is a high source of enjoyment—but along with it, was the pleasure derived from my discovery—the delightful consciousness, still fresh before my mind, that my life which but the moment before I held as lost, was still to be spared me. Beyond a question, the hand of Providence had interposed to save my life.
I had no doubt that this was so. With such store both of food and drink, I could live, despite the darkness of my dungeon, for weeks, for months—until the voyage should come to an end, and the ship be emptied of its cargo.
I felt sure of safety, as I made an inspection of my provision chest. They came pouring forth, those precious cakes, spilling out at the touch, and cracking together like castanets.
Their rattle was music to my ears. I thrust my hands into the box, delighting to bury my fingers amid the rich profusion of its contents; as the miser joys to revel among his heaps of gold. I thought I should never tire groping among them, feeling how thick and large they were, and drawing them out from the box, and putting them back into it, and tumbling them about in every way. I acted just like a child with its drum and its ball, its top and its orange, rolling them from side to side; and it was a long time before I grew tired of this childlike play.
Long—I am sure I must have gone on in this way for nearly an hour, before the excitement into which the discovery had put me cooled down, and I could act and think calmly.
It is difficult to describe the sensation one feels, when suddenly rescued from the jaws of death. Escape from an impending danger is different, as one is not certain that the danger would end in death; for there are few kinds of peril that produce the conviction that death must be the event. When this conviction once enters the mind, and after that the self-expecting victim survives, the sudden reaction from despair to joy is a feeling of such intense happiness, as almost to cause bewilderment. Men ere now have died of such joy, while others have gone mad.