Shaddy was quite right, for there on the handle were some dried-up traces of how the wound must have bled.
It was a week before the patient began to show tokens of amendment, during which time Rob and Shaddy had been hard pressed for ways to supply his wants. There were endless things necessary for the invalid which they could not supply, but, from old forest lore and knowledge picked up during his adventurous life, the guide was able to find the leaves of a shrub, which leaves he beat into a pulp between two pebbles, put the bruised stems into the cup of a water flask, added water, and gave it to the patient to drink.
“It is of no use to ask me what it is, Mr Rob, sir,” said the guide; “all I know is that the Indians use it, and that there isn’t anything better to keep down fever and get up strength.”
“Then it must be quinine,” said Rob.
“No, my lad; it isn’t that, but it’s very good. These wild sort of people seem to have picked up the knack of doctoring themselves and of finding out poisons to put on their arrows somehow or another, and there’s no nonsense about them.”
The prisoners in the vast forest—for they were as much prisoners as if shut up in some huge building—had to scheme hard to obtain their supplies so as to make them suitable to their patient. Fish they caught, as a rule, abundantly enough; birds they trapped and shot with arrows; and fruit was to be had after much searching; but their great want was some kind of vessel in which to cook, till after several failures Rob built up a very rough pot of clay from the river bed by making long thin rolls and laying one upon the other and rubbing them together. This pot he built up on a piece of thin shaley stone, dried it in the sun, and ended by baking it in the embers—covering it over with the hot ashes, and leaving it all one night.
Shaddy watched him with a grim smile, and kept on giving him words of encouragement, as he worked, tending Mr Brazier the while, brushing the flies away and arranging green boughs over him to keep him in the shade, declaring that he would be better out there in the open than in the forest.
“Well done, my lad!” said the old sailor as Rob held up the finished pot before placing it in the fire; “’tis a rough ’un, but I daresay there has been worse ones made. What I’m scared about is the firing. Strikes me it will crack all to shivers.”
To Rob’s great delight, the pot came out of the wood ashes perfectly sound, and their next experiment was the careful stewing down of an iguana and the production of a quantity of broth, which Shaddy pronounced to be finer than any chicken soup ever made; Rob, after trying hard to conquer his repugnance to food prepared from such a hideous-looking creature, said it was not bad; and their patient drank with avidity.
“There,” said Shaddy, “we shall go on swimmingly in the kitchen now; and as we can have hot water I don’t see why we shouldn’t have some tea.”