I hastened to the spot, and found a shrub about thirteen or fourteen feet high, covered with berries of a yellowish color, spotted with red. I recognized what is called in the Antilles the soap-tree. This discovery came just in the nick of time, and Sumichrast helped us in gathering some of the useful fruit which would assist us to give our clothes a thorough wash. Lucien tasted the little apples, which were as transparent as artificial fruit made of pure wax; but he did not like their astringent flavor, and threw them away with every expression of disgust. A quarter of an hour later, we were all kneeling on the banks of the stream and trying who could perform the greatest amount of washing, the fruit of the soap-tree affording us a plentiful supply of lather. In the _Terre-Temperee_, a root called _amoli_ is a substitute for soap; in the _Terre-Chaude_ a bulb named _amolito_ is used for the same purpose; lastly, in the Mistec province of Oajaca, the poor find a natural soap in the bark of the _Quillaja saponaria_, a tree belonging to the rose tribe. Even in Europe, a vegetable soap is also found--the soap-wort--a little plant allied to the pinks, and which adorns with its unpretending flowers the edges of ditches, and is employed by housewives for cleaning silk stuffs and reviving their faded colors. Quite refreshed with our wash, we stretched ourselves close to the camp fire, looking forward to our meal of roast ducks dressed with cresses, rice, and seasoned with allspice. On taking the first mouthful, I made a grimace which was imitated by Sumichrast. The rice had an unbearable aromatic taste. L'Encuerado regarded us with a triumphant look. "What on earth have you put in the saucepan?" I cried, angrily. "Don't you think it is nice, Tatita?" "It's perfectly filthy; you've poisoned us!" But I soon recognized the smell of a kind of coriander with which the Indians occasionally saturate their food. Sumichrast, like me, had not got beyond the first mouthful; but Lucien, who shared to some extent l'Encuerado's weakness for the _culantro_, was having quite a feast. Our bill of fare was thus reduced to a single dish, and I left the broiled duck to my two companions and confined myself to the roast. With an artlessness that approached the sublime, the Indian, thinking that we should prefer the fresh plant to the cooked, the odor of which had been somewhat softened down by the operation, presented us with several stalks. On the whole, however, he was not altogether to blame, for we often ate with pleasure his national style of cookery, and he had full right to be surprised at our repugnance to their favorite _bon bouche_. Gringalet just tasted the rice, then retired to roll on the twigs of coriander which were lying on the ground, a proceeding which did not much improve his toilet. The sun was setting, and hundreds of birds were assembling around us. Yellow, blue, green, or red wings were cleaving the air in all directions.