The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures on a Desert IslandWyss, Johann David
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The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures on a Desert Island
Wyss, Johann David
Family life -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Survival -- Fiction
Spreading a piece of sailcloth on the ground, I summoned my boys to set
to work. Each took a grater and a supply of well-washed manioc root, and
when all were seated round the cloth--"Once, twice, thrice! Off!" cried
I, beginning to rub a root as hard as I could against the rough surface
of my grater. My example was instantly followed by the whole party, amid
bursts of merriment, as each remarked the funny attitude and odd
gestures of his neighbors while vehemently rubbing, rasping, grating,
and grinding down the roots allotted to him. No one was tempted by the
look of the flour to stop and taste it, for in truth it looked much like
wet sawdust.
"Cassava bread is highly esteemed in many parts of the New World, and I
have even heard that some Europeans there prefer it to the wheaten bread
of their own country. There are various species of manioc. One sort
grows quickly, and its roots ripen in a very short time. Another kind is
of somewhat slower growth. The roots of the third kind do not come to
maturity for two years. The two first are poisonous, if eaten raw, yet
they are preferred to the third, which is harmless, because they are so
much more fruitful, and the flour produced is excellent, if the
scrapings are carefully pressed."
"What is the good of pressing them, father?" inquired Ernest.
"It is in order to express the sap, which contains the poison. The dry
pith is wholesome and nourishing. Still, I do not mean to taste my
cakes, until I have tried their effect on our fowls and the ape."
By this time our supply of roots being reduced to damp powder, the
canvas bag was filled with it, and tying it tightly up, I attempted to
squeeze it, but soon found that mechanical aid was necessary in order to
express the moisture. My arrangements for this purpose were as follows:
A strong, straight beam was made flat on one side, smooth planks were
laid across two of the lower roots of our tree; on these we placed the
sack, above the sack another plank, and over that the long beam; one end
was passed under a root near the sack, the other projected far forward.
And to that we attached all the heaviest weights we could think of, such
as an anvil, iron bars, and masses of lead. The consequent pressure on
the bag was enormous, and the sap flowed from it to the ground.
"Will this stuff keep any time?" inquired my wife, who came to see how
we were getting on. "Or must all this great bagful be used at once? In
that case we shall have to spend the whole of to-morrow in baking
cakes."
"Not at all," I replied; "once dry, the flour in barrels will keep fresh
a long time. We shall use a great deal of this, however, as you shall
see."
"Do you think we might begin now, father?" said Fritz. "There does not
seem the least moisture remaining."
"Certainly," said I. "But I shall only make one cake to-day for an
experiment; we must see how it agrees with Master Knips and the hens
before we set up a bakehouse in regular style."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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