The wrapper was of tarred cloth, almost perished with age, dry and friable.

Shaking out the rest of the snuff at arm's length, he picked the stuff to pieces and shredded it into tinder.

Then he felt about for half-a-dozen more packages, carefully slipped their cords and emptied out their contents, and getting out his flint and steel, flaked sparks into the tinder till it caught and flared, and the interior of the cavern leaped at him out of its darkness.
He rolled up one of the empty wrappers like a torch, and lit it, and looked about him.
His first hasty glance fell on the dead man, and he got another shock from the fact that his feet were lashed together with stout rope, and probably his hands also, for they were behind his back, and he lay face upward.

His coat and short-clothes and buckled shoes spoke of long by-gone days, and the skin of his face was brown and shrivelled, so that the bones beneath showed grim and gaunt.
Beyond him was a great heap of the same small packages of tobacco, and alongside them a pile of small kegs.

Gard lit another of his torches, and stepped gingerly over to them.