This tree is distinguished from other trees by a straight trunk forty feet high. To the naturalist’s eye, its gracefully rounded crown, formed of big multilobed leaves, was enough to denote the artocarpus that has been so successfully transplanted to the Mascarene Islands east of Madagascar. From its mass of greenery, huge globular fruit stood out, a decimeter wide and furnished on the outside with creases that assumed a hexangular pattern. It’s a handy plant that nature gives to regions lacking in wheat; without needing to be cultivated, it bears fruit eight months out of the year. Ned Land was on familiar terms with this fruit. He had already eaten it on his many voyages and knew how to cook its edible substance. So the very sight of it aroused his appetite, and he couldn’t control himself. “Sir,” he told me, “I’ll die if I don’t sample a little breadfruit pasta!” “Sample some, Ned my friend, sample all you like. We’re here to conduct experiments, let’s conduct them.” “It won’t take a minute,” the Canadian replied. Equipped with a magnifying glass, he lit a fire of deadwood that was soon crackling merrily. Meanwhile Conseil and I selected the finest artocarpus fruit. Some still weren’t ripe enough, and their thick skins covered white, slightly fibrous pulps. But a great many others were yellowish and gelatinous, just begging to be picked. This fruit contained no pits. Conseil brought a dozen of them to Ned Land, who cut them into thick slices and placed them over a fire of live coals, all the while repeating: “You’ll see, sir, how tasty this bread is!” “Especially since we’ve gone without baked goods for so long,” Conseil said. “It’s more than just bread,” the Canadian added. “It’s a dainty pastry. You’ve never eaten any, sir?” “No, Ned.” “All right, get ready for something downright delectable! If you don’t come back for seconds, I’m no longer the King of Harpooners!” After a few minutes, the parts of the fruit exposed to the fire were completely toasted. On the inside there appeared some white pasta, a sort of soft bread center whose flavor reminded me of artichoke. This bread was excellent, I must admit, and I ate it with great pleasure. “Unfortunately,” I said, “this pasta won’t stay fresh, so it seems pointless to make a supply for on board.” “By thunder, sir!” Ned Land exclaimed. “There you go, talking like a naturalist, but meantime I’ll be acting like a baker! Conseil, harvest some of this fruit to take with us when we go back.” “And how will you prepare it?” I asked the Canadian. “I’ll make a fermented batter from its pulp that’ll keep indefinitely without spoiling. When I want some, I’ll just cook it in the galley on board—it’ll have a slightly tart flavor, but you’ll find it excellent.” “So, Mr. Ned, I see that this bread is all we need—” “Not quite, professor,” the Canadian replied. “We need some fruit to go with it, or at least some vegetables.” “Then let’s look for fruit and vegetables.”