CHAPTER XX.

_The bake-house._

I waked the boys very early, reminding them that I had promised
to teach them a new trade. What is it? What is it? exclaimed
they all at once, springing suddenly out of bed and hurrying
on their clothes.

_Father._—It is the art of baking, my boys, which at present
I am no more acquainted with than yourselves; but we will learn
it together, and I am much mistaken if we shall not be able to
produce an excellent batch of bread, which will be the greater
luxury, from our having been altogether deprived of it during
our residence in this island. Hand me those iron plates that
we brought yesterday from the vessel, and the tobacco-graters
also.

_Mother._—I really cannot understand what tobacco-graters and
iron plates can have to do with making bread; a good oven would
afford me much better hopes, and this, unfortunately, we do not
possess.

_Father._—These very iron plates, the same you looked so disdainfully
upon no longer since than yesterday, will serve the purpose of the
things you are now wishing to have.—I cannot, it is true, promise,
in this early attempt, to produce you light and handsome-looking
bread; but I can answer that you shall have some excellent-tasted
cakes, though they should be a little flat and heavy;—we will
immediately make our experiment. Ernest, bring hither the roots
found underground: but first, my dear, I must request you to
make me a small bag of a piece of the strongest wrapper linen.

My wife set instantly to work to oblige me; but having no great
confidence in my talents for making cakes, she first filled with
potatoes the large copper boiler we had brought from the ship,
and put it on the fire, that we might not find ourselves without
something to eat at the time of dinner: in the meanwhile I spread
a large piece of coarse linen on the ground, and assembled my
young ones round me to begin our undertaking; I gave each of
the boys a grater, and showed him at the same time how to rest
it on the linen, and then to grate the roots of manioc; so that
in a short time each had produced a considerable heap of a substance
somewhat resembling pollard. The occupation, as is always the
case with novelties, proved infinitely amusing to them all, and
they looked no further into the matter; one showed the other
his heap, saying in a bantering tone: Will you eat a bit of nice
cake made of grated radishes?

_Father._—Make as merry as you please, young gentlemen, on the
subject of this excellent production of nature, which ere long
you will acknowledge to have yielded you a most palatable kind
of food; a food which is known to be the principal sustenance
of whole nations of the continent of America, and which the Europeans
who inhabit those countries even prefer to our wheaten bread.
I must tell you, there are many kinds of manioc; one of these
shoots rapidly, and its roots become mature in a short time;
a second sort is of more tardy growth; and there is another,
the roots of which require the space of two years to be fit for
use. The first two kinds have pernicious or unwholesome qualities
when eaten raw, but the third may be eaten without fear: for
all this, the two first are generally preferred, as being more
productive, and requiring a shorter time for being fit for use.

_Jack._—One would think only madmen could prefer those that are
pernicious: we cannot to be sure but be overwhelmed with gratitude
for some cake that is to kill us (and the young rogue threw his
grater from him as he spoke)! who shall tell us that our fine
roots here are not of the same pernicious kind?

_Father._—At all events we shall not eat them raw; as nearly
as I recollect, the tardy kind, like these we have procured,
grow in the form of a bush; while the other two are creeping
plants. However, to be quite sure, the first thing we will do,
shall be to press the pollard.

_Ernest._—For what end, father, shall we press it?

_Father._—Because, even in the pernicious kind it is only the
sap which is hurtful; the more substantial part being when dried
extremely wholesome and even nourishing. But that we may act
with the greatest possible prudence, we will give some of our
cakes to the fowls and to the monkey, before we venture to eat
of them ourselves; if they do them no harm, we may then proceed
to feast on them with safety.

_Jack._—Thank you, father; but I have no fancy to let my monkey
be poisoned.

_Father._—You may be perfectly easy, Jack, for the preservative
instinct of your monkey is such, that he would not touch it if
it were poisonous; animals are in this respect better treated
than man, who is called upon to use his reason in supplying the
deficiency: at all events, however, we will give him so little
that no harm can possibly ensue.

Upon this Jack picked up his grater, and with the others began
to grate the roots with new alertness: dread of the poison had
for an instant palsied every arm; but a very short time was now
sufficient for producing a considerable quantity of ground manioc.
By this time my wife had completed the bag. I had it well filled
with what we called our pollard, and she closed it effectually
by sewing up the end. I was now to contrive a kind of press:
I cut a long, straight, well-formed branch, of considerable strength,
from a neighbouring tree, and stripped it of the bark; I then
placed a plank across the table we had fixed between the arched
roots of our tree, and which was exactly the right height for
my purpose, and on this I laid the bag; I put other planks again
upon the bag, and then covered all with the large branch, the
thickest extremity of which I inserted under an arch, while to
the other, which projected beyond the planks, I suspended all
sorts of heavy substances, such as lead, our largest hammers
and bars of iron, which, acting with great force as a press on
the bag of manioc, caused the sap it contained to issue in streams,
which flowed plentifully on the ground.

_Fritz._—This machine of yours, father, though simple, is as
effectual as can be desired.

_Father._—Certainly. It is the simplest lever that the art of
mechanism can furnish, and may be made extremely useful.

_Ernest._—I thought that levers were never used but for raising
heavy masses, such as blocks of stone, and things of that degree
of weight; I had no notion that they were ever used for pressing.

_Father._—But, my dear boy, you see that the point at which the
lever rests on the planks, must always be the point of rest or
compression; the point at which its extremity touches the roots
of the tree would no doubt be that of the raising power, if the
root was not too strong to yield to the point of the lever; but
then the resistance at the point of compression or rest is still
stronger, and presses effectually, as you see, the contents of
the bag. The Negroes, however, have another manner of proceeding;
but it would have been much too tedious in the process for us
to imitate. They make tresses of the bark of a tree, and with
it form a kind of basket of tolerable size; they fill it with
manioc, and press it so tightly that the baskets become shorter,
and increase in breadth; they then hang the baskets to the strongest
branches of trees, and fasten large stones to them, which draw
the baskets again lengthways; by which action upon the manioc,
the sap runs out at the openings left by the tresses.

_Mother._—Can one make no use of this sap?

_Father._—Certainly, we may: the same Negroes use it as food,
after mixing with it a considerable quantity of pepper; and,
when they can procure them, some sea crabs. The Europeans, on
the other hand, leave it to settle in vessels till it has formed
a sediment; they then pour off the liquid part, wash the sediment
with fresh water, and place it to dry in the sun: in this manner
they obtain from it an excellent sort of starch, which is used
for clearing linen. I must tell you that the potatoe also contains
the same sort of substance, which may be put to the same use:
for the rest, the latter is less nourishing than the manioc.

_Mother._—But pray tell me, are we to prepare the whole of this
manioc at once? If so, we have at least a whole day’s work, and
a great part must be spoiled at last.

_Father._—Not so, my dear; when the pollard is perfectly dry,
it may be placed in casks, and being shut closely down, it will
keep for years; but you will see that the whole of this large
heap will be so reduced in quantity by the operation we are going
to apply of baking, that there will be no cause for your apprehension.

_Fritz._—Father, it no longer runs a single drop; may we not
now set about making the dough?

_Father._—I have no objection; but it would be more prudent to
make only a small cake, at first, by way of experiment, which
as I said before we will give to the monkey and the fowls, and
wait to see the effect, instead of exhausting our whole store
at once.

We now opened the bag, and took out a small quantity of the pollard,
which already was sufficiently dry; we stirred the rest about
with a stick, and then replaced it under the press. The next
thing was to fix one of our iron plates, which was of a round
form, and rather convex, so as to rest upon two blocks of stone
at a distance from each other; under this we lighted a large
fire, and when the iron plate was completely heated, we placed
a portion of the dough upon it with a wooden spade. As soon as
the cake began to be brown underneath, it was turned, that the
other side might be baked also.

_Ernest._—O how nicely it smells! what a pity that we may not
eat some of it immediately!

_Jack._—And why not? I would eat some without the least fear;
and would not you, Francis?

_Father._—Hah, hah! What is then become of our terrible fear
of being poisoned, which made you even throw your grater from
you? Ah, I see how it is; the passion of gluttony is stronger
than your fear.—However, I certainly believe that in this case
it might be gratified without doing you an injury; nevertheless
it is better perhaps to wait till the evening, and not run a
greater risk than the loss of one or two of our fowls and of
the monkey; and we may say this trial of the cake will be the
first service he has rendered us.

As soon as the cake was cold, we broke some of it into crumbs,
and gave it to two of the fowls, and a larger piece to the monkey,
who nibbled it with a perfect relish, making all the time a thousand
grimaces to testify his content, while the boys stood by envying
the preference he enjoyed.

_Fritz._—Now tell me, father, how the savages manage to grate
their manioc, for surely they have not, like us, an instrument
fitted for the operation:—and tell me also, if they call their
composition by the name of cake or bread, as we do?

_Father._—The savages having no such article as bread in their
bill of fare, have consequently no word in their language to
express it. At the Antilles, the bread from the manioc is called
_cassave_; the savages make a kind of grater with sharp stones,
or shells; or when they can get nails, on which they set a high
value, they drive them into the end of a plank, and rub the manioc
upon it. But now, I pray you, good wife, give us quickly some
dinner, and we will afterwards resume the baking trade, provided
our tasters show no signs of the colic or swimming in the head.

_Fritz._—Are these, then, the only effects of poison, father?

_Father._—At least they are the most ordinary ones: there are
poisons which paralyse and induce a heavy sleep; such are opium,
if taken in too large a quantity; hemlock, &c. &c. Others are
sharp and corrosive, attacking the stomach and intestines: of
this class are arsenic, sublimate, and the pernicious sorts of
mushrooms. If, when either of these has been swallowed, there
be not immediate assistance procured, the human machine stops,
becomes disorganized, and the patient dies.—I will take this
occasion, my dear children, to caution you against a kind of
fruit extremely dangerous in its nature, and the more so from
the remarkable attraction of its external appearance. This fruit
is frequently found in America on the banks of rivers or in marshes,
and you may perhaps meet with it in this island. Its aspect is
agreeable to the eye, resembling a handsome kind of yellow apple
with red spots. It is, however, one of the strongest poisons
in the world: it is even said to be dangerous to sleep under
the shade of the tree which produces it. Be very careful, therefore,
should you happen to meet with it: it is known by the name of
_mancenilla_. Indeed I cannot too seriously exhort you not to
venture on eating any thing you may find, however alluring in
appearance, till you have first consulted me. Promise me this,
children, one and all of you.

_Jack._—I promise you heartily, father; and still further, I
will keep my word more faithfully than Adam did towards God,
who had forbidden him to eat of a certain apple.

_Father._—You will do well in this; but do not so presumptuously and
so readily blame that in another which under the same circumstances
you would have done yourself; I would lay a wager that you would
be the first to be led away by any worthless knave who should
come and tell you that I had been laughing at you all the while,
that the mancenilla is the finest apple in the world, and that
by eating it you would be rendered as strong as a lion; that
ready appetite of yours, and that little vanity we now and then
discover in you, would make you, I fear, forget my advice, and
greedily devour the apple.—But this is enough on the subject;
instead of thinking more of poisons, let us resort with confidence
to our plentiful dish of boiled potatoes; perhaps, dear wife,
you have some little relish to add to them to day:—what, I pray
you, may there be in that boiling vessel yonder?

_Mother._—It is the penguin that Jack killed and brought home.

To say the truth, we did not take a fancy to the dish, the bird
being of a strong and fishy flavour. Jack, however, was of a
different opinion, and he was left at full liberty to regale
himself to his appetite’s content.

The first thing we did after dinner was to visit our fowls. Those
among them which had eaten the manioc, were in excellent condition,
and no less so the monkey, who gave us sufficient proofs of life
and health in the multitude of gambols and grimaces he exhibited.
Now then to the bakehouse, young ones, said I—to the bakehouse
as fast as you can scamper. The grated manioc was soon emptied out
of the bag, a large fire was quickly lighted, and when sufficiently
fervent, I placed the boys where a flat surface had been prepared
for them, and gave to each a plate of iron and the quantity of
a cocoa nut full for them to make a cake apiece, and they were
to try who could succeed the best. They were ranged in a half
circle round the place, where I stood myself, that they might
the better be enabled to observe how I proceeded, and adopt the
same method for themselves. The result was not discouraging for
a first experiment, though it must be confessed we were now and
then so unlucky as to burn a cake; but there was not a greater
number of these than served to feed the pigeons and the fowls,
which hovered round us to claim their share of the treat. My
little rogues could not resist the pleasure of frequently tasting
their cake, a little bit at a time, as they went on. At length
the undertaking was complete; the cakes were put in a dish and
served in company with a handsome share of milk, to each person;
and with this addition, they furnished us an excellent repast:
what remained we distributed among our animals and fowls. I observed
with pleasure that the penguins which I had preserved alive,
accommodated themselves perfectly to this kind of food, and that
generally, they began to lose their former timid behaviour; I
therefore indulged my inclination to compassionate their captive
state, and ventured to disengage them from their comrades: this
indulgence procured me the pleasure of seeing them seemingly
in a state of newly acquired content.

The rest of the day was employed by the boys in making several turns
with their wheel-barrows, and by myself in different arrangements
in which the ass and our raft had a principal share, both being
employed in drawing to Tent-House the remaining articles we had
brought from the ship. When all this was done we retired to rest,
having first made another meal on our cakes, and concluded all
with pious thanks to God for the blessings his goodness thought
fit to bestow upon us.