Colcord's wife, who appeared to be of nearly pure Indian blood, was busy over a tiny fire in a small shed in the rear and no sooner had the Indian boatmen brought the baggage into the house than they joined her and seemed perfectly at home. Presently the Akawoia, Joseph, appeared, carrying a steaming earthenware pot, and Colcord rapidly produced dishes and cutlery and set the table. As he moved about and Joseph brought in more steaming dishes, the boys lolled in the hammocks in the deliciously cool breeze and idly watched the chickens, doves, and woefully thin dogs that swarmed about the house. They knew that less than a mile distant was a town, with railway trains, a sawmill, and shipping, and that only a few hours' travel by steamer was the big busy port of Georgetown, and yet, they could not help feeling that they were in the heart of the jungle and far beyond the reach of civilization.
"Gosh, isn't it great!" exclaimed Tom. "This is really camping out."
"You bet!" replied Frank. "I wonder if there are any wild animals about."
"Plenty deer," declared Colcord, who overheard Frank. "I made fo' to kill one this marnin'. I 'spect you folks plenty hungry, no?"
"Well, I have got a mighty good appetite," admitted Tom.
"Me too," added Frank. "Gee, that food smells good!"
"O. K., then," declared the Boviander. "Jus' draw up an' he'p yourselves. I 'spect you're not accustom' to rough livin' like this, an I have to 'pologize fo' not havin' more better."
"Now don't say a word!" Mr. Thorne admonished him, as the party drew chairs to the table. "I'll bet they never tasted anything better than this venison and yams and pepper pot, and it's like the Ritz compared to what we'll be getting from now on."
Every one declared that Mr. Thorne was right and that they had never tasted anything to equal the roast venison, the boiled yams, the fried plantains and the pepper pot.
The boys were particularly enthusiastic over the last and also over the crisp, toasted cassava bread and were greatly surprised to learn that both were made from the deadly poisonous bitter cassava root.
"The juice is the poisonous part," explained Mr. Thorne. "After it's squeezed out through a cylindrical sieve called a 'metapee'--that's one hanging over in the corner--any traces of the poison, which is prussic acid, are driven off by baking the meal into these cakes. The poisonous juice boiled down makes the pepper pot. It has the property of preserving meat and giving it this delicious flavor. It's really the national dish of Guiana."