So you see the same box does for always."
Yard-building lacking in interest, lubras and piccaninnies provided
entertainment, until Dan failing to see that "niggers could teach her
anything," decided on a course of camp cookery.
Roast scrub turkey was the first lesson cooked in the most correct style:
a forked stick, with the fork uppermost, was driven into the ground near
the glowing heap of wood ashes; then a long sapling was leant through the
fork, with one end well over the coals; a doubled string, with the turkey
hanging from it, looped over this end; the turkey turned round and round
until the string was twisted to its utmost, and finally string and turkey
were left to themselves, to wind and unwind slowly, an occasional
winding-up being all that was necessary.
The turkey was served at supper, and with it an enormous boiled
cabbage - one of Cheon's successes. Dan was in clover, boiled cabbage
being considered nectar fit for the gods, and after supper he put the
remnants of the feast away for his breakfast. "Cold cabbage goes all
right," he said, as he stowed it carefully away - "particularly for
breakfast."
Then the daily damper was to be made, and I took the dish without a
misgiving. I felt at home there, for bushmen have long since discarded
the old-fashioned damper, and use soda and cream-of-tartar in the
mixture. But ours was an immense camp, and I had reckoned without any
thought. An immense camp requires an immense damper; and, the dish
containing pounds and pounds of flour, when the mixture was ready for
kneading the kneading was beyond a woman's hands - a fact that provided
much amusement to the bushmen.
"Hit him again, little 'un," the Maluka cried encouragingly, as I punched
and pummelled at the unwieldy mass.
"Give it to him, missus," Dan chuckled. "That's the style! Now you've got
him down."
Kneeling in front of the dish, I pounded obediently at the mixture; and
as they alternately cheered and advised and I wrestled with
circumstances, digging my fists vigorously into the spongy, doughy depths
of the damper, a traveller rode right into the camp.
"Good evening, mates," he said, dismounting. "Saw your fires, and thought
I'd camp near for company." Then discovering that one of the "mates" was
a woman, backed a few steps, dazed and open-mouthed - a woman, dough to
the elbows, pounding blithely at a huge damper, being an unusual sight in
a night camp in the heart of one of the cattle runs in the Never-Never.
"We're conducting a cooking class," the Maluka explained, amused at the
man's consternation.
The traveller grinned a sickly grin, and "begging pardon, ma'am, for
intruding," said something about seeing to his camp, and backed to a more
comfortable distance; and the damper-making proceeded.
