The family Robinson Crusoe

by Johann David Wyss

Father.—It is the art of baking, my boys, which at present I am no more acquainted with than yourselves; but we will learn it together, and I am much mistaken if we shall not be able to produce an excellent batch of bread, which will be the greater luxury, from our having been altogether deprived of it during our residence in this island. Hand me those iron plates that we brought yesterday from the vessel, and the tobacco-graters also.

Mother.—I really cannot understand what tobacco-graters and iron plates can have to do with making bread; a good oven would afford me much better hopes, and this, unfortunately, we do not possess.

Father.—These very iron plates, the same you looked so disdainfully upon no longer since than yesterday, will serve the purpose of the things you are now wishing to have.—I cannot, it is true, promise, in this early attempt, to produce you light and handsome-looking bread; but I can answer that you shall have some excellent-tasted cakes, though they should be a little flat and heavy;—we will immediately make our experiment. Ernest, bring hither the roots found underground: but first, my dear, I must request you to make me a small bag of a piece of the strongest wrapper linen.

My wife set instantly to work to oblige me; but having no great confidence in my talents for making cakes, she first filled with potatoes the large copper boiler we had brought from the ship, and put it on the fire, that we might not find ourselves without something to eat at the time of dinner: in the meanwhile I spread a large piece of coarse linen on the ground, and assembled my young ones round me to begin our undertaking; I gave each of the boys a grater, and showed him at the same time how to rest it on the linen, and then to grate the roots of manioc; so that in a short time each had produced a considerable heap of a substance somewhat resembling pollard. The occupation, as is always the case with novelties, proved infinitely amusing to them all, and they looked no further into the matter; one showed the other his heap, saying in a bantering tone: Will you eat a bit of nice cake made of grated radishes?

Father.—Make as merry as you please, young gentlemen, on the subject of this excellent production of nature, which ere long you will acknowledge to have yielded you a most palatable kind of food; a food which is known to be the principal sustenance of whole nations of the continent of America, and which the Europeans who inhabit those countries even prefer to our wheaten bread. I must tell you, there are many kinds of manioc; one of these shoots rapidly, and its roots become mature in a short time; a second sort is of more tardy growth; and there is another, the roots of which require the space of two years to be fit for use. The first two kinds have pernicious or unwholesome qualities when eaten raw, but the third may be eaten without fear: for all this, the two first are generally preferred, as being more productive, and requiring a shorter time for being fit for use.

Jack.—One would think only madmen could prefer those that are pernicious: we cannot to be sure but be overwhelmed with gratitude for some cake that is to kill us (and the young rogue threw his grater from him as he spoke)! who shall tell us that our fine roots here are not of the same pernicious kind?

Father.—At all events we shall not eat them raw; as nearly as I recollect, the tardy kind, like these we have procured, grow in the form of a bush; while the other two are creeping plants. However, to be quite sure, the first thing we will do, shall be to press the pollard.

Ernest.—For what end, father, shall we press it?

Father.—Because, even in the pernicious kind it is only the sap which is hurtful; the more substantial part being when dried extremely wholesome and even nourishing. But that we may act with the greatest possible prudence, we will give some of our cakes to the fowls and to the monkey, before we venture to eat of them ourselves; if they do them no harm, we may then proceed to feast on them with safety.

Jack.—Thank you, father; but I have no fancy to let my monkey be poisoned.