Part 18 (1/2)
The girl took off her hat and was only too glad to stretch herself on the pad, which made a comfortable couch, for the emotions of the day had worn her out. She watched Dermot as he moved about absorbed in his task. From one pocket of the pad he took out a shallow aluminium dish and a small, round, convex iron plate. From another he drew a linen bag and a tin canister.
”You said that you would like tea, Miss Daleham,” he remarked. ”Well, you shall have some presently.”
”Yes; but how can you make it?” she asked. ”There's no water in the jungle.”
”Plenty of it.”
”Are we near a stream, then?”
”No; the water is all round us, waiting for me to draw it off.”
The girl looked about her.
”What do you mean? I don't see any. Where is the water?”
”Hanging from the trees,” he replied, laughing. ”I'll admit you into one of the secrets of the jungle. But first I want a fire.”
He gathered dried gra.s.s and sticks, cleared a s.p.a.ce of earth and built three fires, two on the ground with a large lump of hard clay on either side of each, the third in a hole that he sc.r.a.ped out.
”To be consistent I ought to produce fire by rubbing two pieces of dried wood together, as they do in books of adventure,” he said, turning to the interested girl. ”It can be done. I have seen natives do it; but it is a lengthy process and I prefer a match.”
He took out a box and lit the fires.
”Now,” he said, ”if you'll see to these for me, I'll go and get the kettle and crockery.”
At the far end of the glade was a clump of bamboos. Dermot selected the biggest stem and hacked it down with his _kukri_. From the thicker end he cut off a length from immediately below a knot to about a foot above it, trimmed the edges and brought it to Noreen. It made a beautifully clean and polished pot, pale green outside, white within.
”There is your kettle and tea-pot,” he said.
From a thinner part he cut off similarly two smaller vessels to serve as cups.
”Now then for the water to fill the kettle,” he said, looking around among the creepers festooning the trees for the _pani bel_. When he found the plant he sought, he cut off a length and brought it to the girl, who had never heard of it. Asking her to hold the bamboo pot he filled it with water from the creeper, much to her astonishment.
”How wonderful!” she cried. ”Is it really good to drink?”
”Perfectly.”
”But how are you going to boil it?”
”In that bamboo pot.”
”But surely that will burn?”
”No, the water will boil long before the green wood begins to be charred,”
replied Dermot, placing the pot over the first fire on the two lumps of clay, so that the flames could reach it.
Then he opened the linen bag, which Noreen found to contain _atta_, or native flour. Some of this he poured into the round aluminium dish and with water from the _pani bel_ he mixed dough, rolled it into b.a.l.l.s, and patted them into small flat cakes. Over the second fire he placed the iron plate, convex side up, and when it grew hot put the cakes on it.
”How clever of you! You are making _chupatis_ like the natives do,”
exclaimed Noreen. ”I love them. I get the cook to give them to us for tea often.”
She watched him with interest and amus.e.m.e.nt, as he turned the cakes over with a dexterous flip when one side browned; then, when they were done, he took them off and piled them on a large leaf.