CHAPTER XXV
SOMETHING ABOUT COCOA AND CHOCOLATE
“Before we go any further up the river I wish you boys to visit a cocoa plantation and learn something about cocoa and chocolate,” said the professor on the following morning. “There is a large plantation not many miles from here, and we will take a drive to it in a carriage immediately after breakfast.”
At this announcement all were pleased but Hockley, who drew down the corners of his mouth in disapproval.
“It will be dead slow,” he muttered. “I’d rather see the sights in the town.”
“We will view those later,” replied the professor. He had no intention of leaving the tall youth behind again, and Hockley realized it and made no further remonstrance.
The plantation was a large affair, situated upon a small creek flowing into the Orinoco. It was owned by a German merchant doing business in Bolivar, and it was the merchant himself who showed them around the place.
“As you can see,” said Professor Strong, when they were walking around, “the cocoa is set out very much as is coffee. The seeds are planted in a seed-bed and kept there two or three months. Then the shoots are planted in the field, between shade trees, with ditches cut through the field for irrigating purposes. The trees begin to bear in about five years and with care will last for thirty-five to forty years.”
“But where does the chocolate come in?” interrupted Hockley.
“Chocolate is made from the seed of the cocoa pod, so called. This pod, as you can see, is about the shape of a cantelope, and when ripe, is reddish in color. Each pod contains fifty or seventy-five seeds, each the size of one’s thumb nail. The trees give two crops a year, one in June and the other in December.”
“Do they use the beans as they are?” came from Sam.
“No. After the pods are gathered they are placed in the sun to dry. As soon as they burst open the beans are shelled out and sorted. Some growers then bag them and sell them in that shape, but others declare that the best cocoa is produced by placing the beans in the ground until they are about half rotted. Cocoa, such as we drink at home, is made by breaking the beans up, or shaving them fine, and then boiling in water or milk, and serving with sugar. Chocolate is made by mixing the crushed up beans with sugar and with some spices, to give it a special flavor. Of course you all know cake chocolate and chocolate bonbons. Cake chocolate unsweetened is generally cocoa beans ground up and mixed with flour or other foreign substances to give it weight. Sweet chocolate cakes have sugar, honey and very often some spices in them. Bonbons are made of cocoa, sugar, flavoring extracts and anything else the wide-awake confectioner chooses to put into them to strike the palate of his customer. Cocoa and chocolate, if pure, are very nourishing, and have none of the bad effects on the system that are attributed to coffee.”
“What is cacao?” asked Frank.
“That is only another name for cocoa, Newton. Cocoa often grows in a wild state, but the beans are not as large as when cultivated. In some districts, where money is scarce, cocoa beans are used instead in buying and selling. A native will gather all the beans he can in a little bag and then come into town and barter them for whatever he wants—and there was a time when he could pay his taxes in beans.”
“Well, that isn’t so very strange,” put in Darry. “In revolutionary times in our own country, they used to pay taxes and other demands in corn and grain.”
“Yes, and they pay taxes now, in country places, by working on the public highways,” added Frank.
The walk around the cocoa plantation proved full of interest, and when it was concluded and they had taken some of the bitter-sweet beans from a tree as souvenirs the proprietor of the place invited them to lunch in his summer-house, an affair built in true German style under the wide spreading branches of a royal palm.
“In my gartenlaube you shall drink chocolate that is chocolate,” said their host. “Not the chocolate you often get at home, adulterated with pipe-clay or something like that, but that which is made from the pure bean mixed with the cleanest of sugar.”
He was as good as his word, and with the creamy chocolate came German coffee-cake equally good. All of the boys drank the chocolate eagerly, and Frank could not help but smack his lips over it.
“I never tasted anything better,” he declared. “If I could get it as good at home I’d never touch coffee again,” and Mark said the same.
Their host was a talkative man, and wished to know all about their proposed trip up the river.
“You will see many interesting sights,” he said. “I have been up twice—four years ago and two years ago. The last time I went up the natives were having a bitter quarrel among themselves and I had all I could do to keep out of trouble. But generally they are very friendly and will do anything for you if you pay them fair wages.”
On returning to the city they met Andy Hume, who had been interviewing a number of miners who had just come in from one of the mining districts.
“They’ve struck two new mines,” he said, “and both good payers. I pumped ’em pretty thoroughly and I think I can strike something good if I go right at it. I wish the boat sailed to-day instead of to-morrow.”
“You’ll have to be patient,” said Professor Strong, with a smile. “I fancy you will find plenty of unexplored territory when you get there.”
With so many things to look at the time slipped by quickly. An hour was spent the next day at one of the cigar factories, where the boys watched the workmen roll cigars and pack them in boxes. But the smell was so strong that Frank and Sam came away more than half sick.
“I can’t imagine how they can stand it to work in such a place,” said Frank. “It’s enough to sicken a dog.”
“It is what they get used to,” said Mark. “But I must say I didn’t like it myself.”
At last came the time to bid adieu to Bolivar, which in former days was called Angostura. They went aboard the little paddle-box steamer loaded with bundles, for they had left their trunks at the hotel, to remain there until their return.
“I suppose that’s the last of civilization,” remarked Frank. “Now for the forests and a good time hunting, fishing, and camping out.”
“You mustn’t be quite so fast,” said the professor, with a laugh. “It will be at least a week before we reach any place for hunting and fishing. Of course we could stop off on the way, but I take it you boys wish to get right into the mountains.”
“So we do,” came from several of the others.
“This boat will make a number of stops first—at Muitogo, at Altagracia, at Caicara, where the river Apure joins the Orinoco, and at points of lesser importance, until we reach the Meta River, which runs into Colombia. At that point we will disembark and hire a native boat to take us up into the mountains as far as we care to go, past the Falls of Atures and into a region which is even to-day but little known to the outside world.”
“And how many miles shall we sail to get to the mountains?” asked Darry.
“About six hundred from here.”
“And after that how far shall we go?” questioned Hockley.
“As far as we please. You all wish to see what a tropical jungle is like, and wish to hunt and fish, and I am going to do my best to accommodate you. If all goes well, we will have some excellent sport between now and the time we return,” concluded Professor Strong.
To the boys, impatient to get into the forests, the time on the side-wheeler went but slowly. Day after day was spent on deck, gazing at the vast plains on one side of the river and the forest on the other. They made the stops mentioned, and also several others, but none of the party went ashore, for the heat was terrific.
“We can’t get out of this too quick for me,” said Hockley. “I feel about half fried out already.”
“The climate changes as one nears the mountains,” returned the professor. “You won’t suffer so much in a few days,” and his words proved true. As they came in sight of the first of the mountains—really the foothills of the Andes—the thermometer dropped half a dozen degrees and the nights proved all that could be desired.