said that my touch had grown almost as delicate as that of a
blind man; but had it been ever so obtuse, I could have told at that
moment, what were the two flat round objects which I held between my
fingers. There was no mistaking the "feel" of them. They were
_biscuits_!

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, fe