For me such food was too crude: besides, my stomach, called to sustain a brain and body strained to the utmost by responsibilities, required that some civility should be shown to it. Necessity roused my faculties, and a jaded stomach goaded my inventive powers to a high pitch. I called my faithful cook, told him to clean and wash mortar and pestle for the preparation of a “high art” dish. Frank approached also to receive instructions, so that, in my absence, he might remind Marzouk, the cook, of each particular. First we rinsed in clear cold brook-water from the ravines some choice cassava or manioc tops, and these were placed in the water to be bruised. Marzouk understood this part very well, and soon pounded them to the consistence of a green porridge. To this I then added fifty shelled nuts of the _Arachis hypogœa_, three small specimens of the _Dioscorea alata_ boiled and sliced cold, a tablespoonful of oil extracted from the _Arachis hypogœa_, a tablespoonful of wine of the _Elais Guineensis_, a little salt, and sufficient powdered capsicum. This imposing and admirable mixture was pounded together, fried, and brought into the tent, along with toasted cassava pudding, hot and steaming, on the only Delft plate we possessed. Within a few minutes our breakfast was spread out on the medicine chest which served me for a table, and at once a keen appetite was inspired by the grateful smell of my artful compound. After invoking a short blessing, Frank and I rejoiced our souls and stomachs with the savoury mess, and flattered ourselves that, though British paupers and Sing-Sing convicts might fare better perhaps, thankful content crowned our hermit repast. CHAPTER XIII. Glorious timber—Cutting canoes—Frank suffers from ulcers—The episode of the fetished axe—Rain-gauge readings—The rise of the river—“Goee- Goees”—The _Lady Alice_ breached for the first time—A painful discovery: Uledi’s theft—His trial and release—The burning of Shakespeare—The bees of Massassa—Local superstitions—Frank’s cheery character.