“Him soon good eat,” he said.
Harry had in the meantime cut up some pieces of elephant-meat, which he put into the saucepan. Having placed it on the fire, he stuck some other slices on forked sticks as close as they could be placed to the flames.
“We shall have the opportunity of trying the comparative excellencies of three styles of cooking,” he observed, laughing.
“I have no great faith in Aboh’s mode of proceeding,” remarked Charley.
“Nor have I, except to produce any especially excellent soup,” said Harry.
Our patience was to be severely exercised. We were all so hungry that Charley consented to serve out a small piece of biscuit to each of us, just to stay our appetites; but that produced a very transient effect. At first I saw him tightening his waist-belt; then I had to tighten mine, as Harry did his. Poor Tom was suffering too much pain to care about eating, and Aboh was well accustomed to endure long hours of fasting.
“When is that mess of yours likely to be ready?” Charley and I kept crying out to Harry.
“I think that it is done to a turn now,” said Harry, and he produced five pieces of black-looking stuff.
“A very long turn,” said Charley as he took his share. “Why, it’s as hard and dry as shoe-leather, and quite as tough, I suspect.”
“Chew it, man, chew it,” answered Charley, laughing; “it’s better than that in the soup.”