Chapter Thirteen: Crazy for Coconuts!
The next day she woke up late. Except for a single well-armed guard, all the men had gone off to retrieve the cannon, including Gerbald, who had a knack for jury-rigged mechanics. Dore gave her a simple breakfast and remarked that they were going to need to do something about getting more food, soon. Pam nodded, feeling hazy and disconnected. Caffeine withdrawal, bleah. Dore made sure she drank some water and told her to take it easy for a while. Pam obeyed, lounging around in the shade, watching for the men to come back from their mission. She felt drained, like a balloon with all the air blown out of it, just a floppy piece of limp rubber. This was not a good feeling. After a while, she got up and decided to make herself useful, but ended up just wandering aimlessly around the camp, which evolved into collecting seashells. By the time the men came back she had a nice little collection, lovely, and entirely useless.
There not currently being anything she could do to help, she watched as the men hauled the heavy carronade up from the beach with a system of ropes and makeshift pulleys Gerbald had helped set up. Once the formidable-looking gun was safely ensconced above the high tide line, everyone sat down for some lunch. Dore had something special for dinner in mind, but they had to make do with the hard bread and dried meat from the ship for now.
"We need to have fruit," Dore announced, looming over where Gerbald, Pam, the bosun and the marines' lieutenant held council sitting sitting in a shady spot. "Pam, you have studied these islands; what can we eat here? I am going to run out of flour and such eventually, and I have learned about the need for certain vitamins during my time in Grantville. We can't survive on bread and water, especially since we are going to run out of bread."
Pam felt a bit put on the spot, but understood her friend's concern perfectly.
"Well, during my library research I made a list of every edible plant that grows or might grow in this region. I was going to encourage the colonists learn to use native species along with whatever we brought with us. I'll go through my notes. Off hand, we have plantains, they just aren't ripe at the moment. There's probably breadfruit here, too, I think I'll know it when I see it. These palms along the beach have coconuts, and there is are a variety of palm species further inland, including date palms. I haven't identified them all yet. Oil palm could be useful, although some types might be inedible. I was happy to see Indian gooseberries, an excellent source of vitamin C, so we should be safe from scurvy. All in all, I suppose coconuts would be a good place to start."
They all stood up to scan the camp. There were a few coconuts lying around, but they looked as if they had been there a bit too long, some were even beginning to sprout fronds. They could see what they thought might be several likely specimens up in the trees, but they were quite high up.
"Someone must climb a tree and bring some down," Dore decreed after careful scrutiny.
"Who is going to do that?" Pam asked, maybe just slightly irritated with Dore's bossy attitude.
"I know who," the bosun said smiling. "Pers!" he shouted.
The youth came running, looking around with wide eyes to see what might be required of him.
"Congratulations," Pam told him. "We have just elected you to be our resident Gilligan." Gerbald and Dore laughed immediately but the Swedes could only smile politely.
"It's a high honor," Gerbald told the boy in English, trying to keep a straight face. They had been teaching the ever-curious Pers English and German throughout the voyage, and he was getting pretty savvy. He gave his older friend a suspicious look.
Pam snorted. "I'm sure you can rise to the occasion," she added, then burst into a fit of giggles.
By the time they had explained their up-time humor to the uncomprehending Swedes, who still didn't really get it, but understood someone like Gilligan's role in life well enough—a low-ranking youth who is a bit of a buffoon, and gets stuck with all the crappy jobs no one else wants.
Before they knew it, Pers had shimmied all the way up one of the trees, an accomplished climber by nature. "How about this one?" he called down, pointing at a large, light-green sphere one size again bigger than a bowling ball.
"Sure, send it down!" Pam shouted back. With a couple of whacks of Pers' knife the coconut plummeted, causing the bosun to have to jump out of the way.
"Sorry, Herr Bosun!" Pers called down.
The bosun grumbled something about having other things to do, and began ordering the rest of the men, who were taking their sweet time finishing their lunches while watching the entertainment at hand, to get back to work.
"Are there any brown ones?" Pam called back up.
"Well, try this one. Look out below!"
After a while they had a collection of coconuts of varying ripeness. After opening the outer husk some were still green while riper fruits were the more familiar brown. Pam knew the green ones were edible from visits to the Thai restaurant in Morgantown, and was pretty sure she had eaten a ripe brown one at some point, or at least had drunk a piña colada out of one.
It was a study of trial and error. Gerbald sliced the first one in half with his katzbalger shortsword as if it were an enemy's head, splashing the juice all over the place. That taught them to poke a hole in it first, using an auger from the ship's tool chest, then pouring the juice, or milk, into one of Dore's prized soup pots. It tasted a bit sour, but there was sweetness there, too. Pam thought she might grow to like it. The meat was delicious, and further research stopped as they gorged themselves. The ripe brown ones were even better, more meaty, with a creamy juice that much more closely resembled milk. Once the meat was removed, Dore suggested they clean and save the sturdy brown shell halves for soup dishes. Pers was sent on several more missions up the trees to make sure there would be enough for everyone's dinner.
Pleased with their progress Dore bestowed them all with a truly lovely smile. "Now we will survive," she said matter-of-factly, and returned to her makeshift kitchen.