Notwithstanding the graphic power with which Jacques had prepared his young companion for this meal, Charley’s heart sank when he beheld the mountain of boiled meat that was placed before him. He was ravenously hungry, it is true, but it was patent to his perception at a glance that no powers of gormandizing of which he was capable could enable him to consume the mass in the course of one day.
Jacques observed his consternation, and was not a little entertained by it, although his face wore an expression of profound gravity while he proceeded to attack his own dish, which was equal to that of his friend.
Before commencing, a small portion of meat was thrown into the fire as a sacrifice to the Great Master of Life.
“How they do eat, to be sure!” whispered Charley to Jacques, after he had glanced in wonder at the circle of men who were devouring their food with the most extraordinary rapidity.
“Why, you must know,” replied Jacques, “that it’s considered a point of honour to get it over soon, and the man that is done first gets most credit. But it’s hard work” (he sighed, and paused a little to breathe), “and I’ve not got half through yet.”
“It’s quite plain that I must lose credit with them, then, if it depends on my eating that. Tell me, Jacques, is there no way of escape? Must I sit here till it is all consumed?”
“No doubt of it. Every bit that has been cooked must be crammed down our throats somehow or other.” Charley heaved a deep sigh, and made another desperate attack on a large steak, while the Indians around him made considerable progress in reducing their respective mountains.
Several times Charley and Redfeather exchanged glances as they paused in their labours.
“I say, Jacques,” said Charley, pulling up once more, “how do you get on? Pretty well stuffed by this time, I should imagine?”
“Oh no! I’ve a good deal o’ room yet.”