To oblige him, we at last took a sip of his "arva tee," and found it
very crude, and strong as Lucifer. Curious to know whence it was
obtained, we questioned him; when, lighting up with pleasure, he
seized the taper, and led us outside the hut, bidding us follow.
After going some distance through the woods, we came to a dismantled
old shed of boughs, apparently abandoned to decay. Underneath,
nothing was to be seen but heaps of decaying leaves and an immense,
clumsy jar, wide-mouthed, and by some means, rudely hollowed out from
a ponderous stone.
Here, for a while, we were left to ourselves; the old man placing the
light in the jar, and then disappearing. He returned, carrying a
long, large bamboo, and a crotched stick. Throwing these down, he
poked under a pile of rubbish, and brought out a rough block of wood,
pierced through and through with a hole, which was immediately
clapped on the top of the jar. Then planting the crotched stick
upright about two yards distant, and making it sustain one end of the
bamboo, he inserted the other end of the latter into the hole in the
block: concluding these arrangements by placing an old calabash under
the farther end of the bamboo.
Coming up to us now with a sly, significant look, and pointing
admiringly at his apparatus, he exclaimed, "Ah, karhowree, ena
hannahanna arva tee!" as much as to say, "This, you see, is the way
it's done."
His contrivance was nothing less than a native still, where he
manufactured his island "poteen." The disarray in which we found it
was probably intentional, as a security against detection. Before we
left the shed, the old fellow toppled the whole concern over, and
dragged it away piecemeal.
His disclosing his secret to us thus was characteristic of the "Tootai
Owrees," or contemners of the missionaries among the natives; who,
presuming that all foreigners are opposed to the ascendancy of the
missionaries, take pleasure in making them confidants, whenever the
enactments of their rulers are secretly set at nought.
The substance from which the liquor is produced is called "Tee," which
is a large, fibrous root, something like yam, but smaller. In its
green state, it is exceedingly acrid; but boiled or baked, has the
sweetness of the sugar-cane. After being subjected to the fire,
macerated and reduced to a certain stage of fermentation, the "Tee"
is stirred up with water, and is then ready for distillation.
On returning to the hut, pipes were introduced; and, after a while,
Long Ghost, who, at first, had relished the "Arva Tee" as little as
myself, to my surprise, began to wax sociable over it, with Varvy;
and, before long, absolutely got mellow, the old toper keeping him
company.
It was a curious sight. Everyone knows that, so long as the occasion
lasts, there is no stronger bond of sympathy and good feeling among
men than getting tipsy together. And how earnestly, nay, movingly, a
brace of worthies, thus employed, will endeavour to shed light upon,
and elucidate their mystical ideas!
Fancy Varvy and the doctor, then, lovingly tippling, and brimming over
with a desire to become better acquainted; the doctor politely bent
upon carrying on the conversation in the language of his host, and
the old hermit persisting in trying to talk English. The result was
that, between the two, they made such a fricassee of vowels and
consonants that it was enough to turn one's brain.
The next morning, on waking, I heard a voice from the tombs. It was
the doctor solemnly pronouncing himself a dead man. He was sitting
up, with both hands clasped over his forehead, and his pale face a
thousand times paler than ever.
"That infernal stuff has murdered me!" he cried. "Heavens! my head's
all wheels and springs, like the automaton chess-player! What's to be
done, Paul? I'm poisoned."
But, after drinking a herbal draught concocted by our host, and eating
a light meal, at noon, he felt much better; so much so that he
declared himself ready to continue our journey.
When we came to start, the Yankee's boots were missing; and, after a
diligent search, were not to be found. Enraged beyond measure, their
proprietor said that Varvy must have stolen them; but, considering
his hospitality, I thought this extremely improbable; though to whom
else to impute the theft I knew not. The doctor maintained, however,
that one who was capable of drugging an innocent traveller with "Arva
Tee" was capable of anything.
But it was in vain that he stormed, and Varvy and I searched; the
boots were gone.
Were it not for this mysterious occurrence, and Varvy's detestable
liquors, I would here recommend all travellers going round by the
beach to Partoowye to stop at the Rock, and patronize the old
gentleman - the more especially as he entertains gratis.
CHAPTER LXXIII.
OUR RECEPTION IN PARTOOWYE
UPON starting, at last, I flung away my sandals - by this time quite
worn out - with the view of keeping company with the doctor, now
forced to go barefooted. Recovering his spirits in good time, he
protested that boots were a bore after all, and going without them
decidedly manly.
This was said, be it observed, while strolling along over a soft
carpet of grass; a little moist, even at midday, from the shade of
the wood through which we were passing.
Emerging from this we entered upon a blank, sandy tract, upon which
the sun's rays fairly flashed; making the loose gravel under foot
well nigh as hot as the floor of an oven. Such yelling and leaping as
there was in getting over this ground would he hard to surpass.
