Inside our new home a feast of fish and fruit had been prepared. Most of the more important men of the tribe were already seating themselves at the long dining-table when we got there. Long Arrow invited us to sit down and eat. This we were glad enough to do, as we were all hungry. But we were both surprised and disappointed when we found that the fish had not been cooked. The Indians did not seem to think this extraordinary in the least, but went ahead gobbling the fish with much relish the way it was, raw. With many apologies, the Doctor explained to Long Arrow that if they had no objection we would prefer our fish cooked. Imagine our astonishment when we found that the great Long Arrow, so learned in the natural sciences, did not know what the word _cooked_ meant! Polynesia who was sitting on the bench between John Dolittle and myself pulled the Doctor by the sleeve. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Doctor,” she whispered as he leant down to listen to her: “_these people have no fires_! They don’t know how to make a fire. Look outside: It’s almost dark, and there isn’t a light showing in the whole village. This is a fireless people.” _THE THIRD CHAPTER_ FIRE THEN the Doctor asked Long Arrow if he knew what fire was, explaining it to him by pictures drawn on the buckskin table-cloth. Long Arrow said he had seen such a thing—coming out of the tops of volcanoes; but that neither he nor any of the Popsipetels knew how it was made. “Poor perishing heathens!” muttered Bumpo. “No wonder the old chief died of cold!” At that moment we heard a crying sound at the door. And turning round, we saw a weeping Indian mother with a baby in her arms. She said something to the Indians which we could not understand; and Long Arrow told us the baby was sick and she wanted the white doctor to try and cure it. “Oh Lord!” groaned Polynesia in my ear—“Just like Puddleby: patients arriving in the middle of dinner. Well, one thing: the food’s raw, so nothing can get cold anyway.” The Doctor examined the baby and found at once that it was thoroughly chilled. “Fire—_fire_! That’s what it needs,” he said turning to Long Arrow—“That’s what you all need. This child will have pneumonia if it isn’t kept warm.” “Aye, truly. But how to make a fire,” said Long Arrow—“where to get it: that is the difficulty. All the volcanoes in this land are dead.” Then we fell to hunting through our pockets to see if any matches had survived the shipwreck. The best we could muster were two whole ones and a half—all with the heads soaked off them by salt water.