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.