HAYTI, SUGAR MAKING, AND ANOTHER JOKE
The weather remained all that could be desired, and the run to Cape
Haytien was made without special incident. Darry did his best to hatch
out something against Hockley but no opportunity occurred for “squaring
up” as the boys called it. Perhaps Professor Strong suspected that
something was afloat, for he kept a close watch on all his charges.
He no longer suspected Darry of being the author of the pitch joke, for
Mark and Frank had told him that Darry had said he was innocent, and he
had always found the fun-loving lad truthful. The boys had said nothing
of finding the can in Hockley’s stateroom,--that was their own secret.
The harbor of Cape Haytien is rather a difficult one to enter, on
account of the many reefs and shoals in that vicinity, but the bay upon
which the town is located is a fine one, being encircled by many hills,
covered with forests of various hues.
“This isn’t so bad,” observed Mark, on landing. “It’s a good deal
cleaner than I thought.”
“Cape Haytien has quite a commerce with the United States,” said
Professor Strong. “Sugar and molasses are staples here. If you wish we
can visit a sugar works and see how the toothsome article and molasses
are made.”
“I don’t like molasses,” said Hockley. “It’s too common. I always take
honey on my buckwheat cakes,” and then everybody laughed.
“There are a good many ruins here,” went on Professor Strong. “They
are due to the bombardment which the town sustained at the hands of
the British, in 1865, and to other outbreaks, and earthquakes. The
inhabitants number about twenty-five thousand. There is a cathedral
here, and also several public buildings, which are worth visiting.”
Having but a single day ashore, they hired a carriage and took a long
drive around, passing several large and well-kept squares, and also the
soldiers’ barracks, the post-office, and other points of interest. Then
they drove out to a plantation noted for its fine grade of sugar and
molasses.
“As all of you know,” said Professor Strong, while waiting for an
attendant to take them around, “Sugar in the West Indies is made
almost wholly from the sugar cane, which is cut down when it is ripe
and hauled to the mills. The mills are of all sorts, from the most
primitive of old Spanish days to the up-to-date American mill which
costs many thousands of dollars to erect.
“The process of manufacturing sugar and refining it is a complicated
one as carried on to-day, yet the principle of making sugar is very
simple. The cane is fed between large iron or steel rollers, weighing
ten or twelve tons. The rollers run very slowly and every bit of the
juice of the cane is squeezed out of it. This juice is then brought
gradually to a boil and all the foreign matter is either skimmed off
or the clear fluid is drawn away from underneath. Then what is left
is boiled again until the sugar begins to separate from the molasses.
The last boiling is a very delicate process and only workers of long
experience can make really good sugar. From being a thin kind of syrup
the sugar gradually becomes like porridge and thicker, and it is then
run off into forms, containing one or two hundred pounds. From these
forms runs the syrup not yet crystalized, and this is either boiled up
once more or rejected and barreled as molasses.”
“Then molasses is really sugar that won’t get hard,” said Frank.
“That is about it, Frank, although there are different kinds of
molasses. Cheap molasses has less of the sugary element left in it than
that of a high grade. The very best of molasses is not called molasses
at all but treacle. This is made, not during ordinary sugar making,
but while the sugar is being refined or manufactured into fancy forms.
Treacle is much used in England.”
They were soon shown through the sugar mill, and watched with interest
the huge rollers squeezing out the juice of the cane, which looked dark
and dirty. At one place they saw bullock’s blood poured in to help
cleanse it of impurities, and they saw long rows of pots with the sugar
being passed from one to another in the clarifying process, and also
saw a huge vacuum pan, where the sugar could be brought to a boil at a
low degree of heat.
“Too much heat spoil de sugar,” explained the attendant. “Sugar best
like dis,” and he put his hand into the syrup and withdrew it and then
spread out two fingers, showing the gummy liquid expanded like thin
rubber. Then he led them to where sugar was being made into fancy
squares and other forms.
“A good part of the sugar is sent to our country in its raw state,”
said the professor, as they were coming away from the mill. “It is
refined at large refineries, where the proprietors make a specialty of
catering to our own peculiar tastes. Some time ago I saw a statement
printed that Americans use more sugar per capita than any other nation,
and I believe it is true.”
“Sure,” said Darry. “And you know why? Because the girls eat so many
caramels and so much fudge.”
“And because some boys like their coffee and tea doubly sweet,”
returned the professor, dryly, and then a laugh went up, for all knew
this was one of Darry’s weaknesses.
They had put in what Mark called “a big day,” and all were glad enough
to go back to the steamer by nightfall. In the evening Cape Haytien is
a dull place, poorly lighted, and with only a few amusements, and those
usually of the commoner sort. But before coming away they listened to
a number of natives who played guitars and sang, and the music was
exceedingly sweet.
The following day found the _Clarissa_ leaving the harbor and turning
eastward for Porto Rico. So far the weather had been fine, but now the
sky began to cloud over, showing that a tropical storm was approaching.
“I hope we don’t catch much of it,” said Frank to Darry. “I’ve had
enough of that sort of thing.”
“I should like to see a little storm, and that at night,” answered
Darry.
“A little storm at night? What for?”
“So I can pay Hockley for the trick he played us.”
“But I don’t understand, Darry.”
“You will understand, if the storm comes,” answered the light-hearted
lad, but would say no more.
A little later Frank met Sam and Mark and told them of what Darry had
said.
“He’s got something up his sleeve,” said Mark. “Well, we promised to
let him have his inning first, so let him do as he pleases.”
By nightfall the storm was close at hand and the rain kept them in
the cabin. There was considerable wind, but the officers of the ship
assured the passengers that there was no danger.
Hockley read for an hour and then declared his intention of going to
bed. He had hardly disappeared when Darry followed, but first told his
chums to watch for fun.
It was raining hard when Hockley turned in. Truth to tell the rolling
and pitching of the ship had made him somewhat sick and he had retired
partly to avoid the others, for he knew they might laugh at him. But he
was a good sleeper and soon he was slumbering soundly.
In the meantime Darry was not idle. From a stateroom he obtained
a large basin of water. Then he hunted up a couple of cheap glass
tumblers and placed them in the foot of an old sock. Thus armed he
crept to Hockley’s door. It was unfastened, and the snoring of the lank
youth told him that the time was ripe for what he intended to do.
Bang! the door flew open with a crash, arousing Hockley on the instant.
As he sat up in the berth a dash of water landed on his head and ran
down his spinal column. Then came a crash of glass that made him jump.
“All hands on deck!” he heard a hoarse voice cry. “The ship is
sinking!” And then came another crash of glass and more water hit him
in the face.
Confused, and almost scared out of his wits, the bully gave one bound
that took him half way across the stateroom floor. He caught up his
trousers and slipped them on. “We are going down!” he groaned. “Oh,
why did I ever leave land!” And then, as the steamer gave a lurch, he
caught up the rest of his clothing and made for the corridor, down
which he bolted like lightning and up the stairs leading to the main
deck. Reaching this he glared around, blinking in the light.
“What--who--what shall we do?” he demanded of the first passenger he
met, a rather fussy old gentleman who did not like boys.
“Do?” demanded the old gentleman. He adjusted his eyeglasses and stared
at Hockley. “Why, young man, what is the matter with you? Have you gone
crazy?”
“Ain’t the ship sinking?” gasped Hockley.
“Not that I am aware of.”
“But--er--” The youth gazed around him in amazement. Nobody appeared to
be excited, and some folks were even at the piano, playing and singing.
Then he caught sight of Darry and the other boys, who were behind a
nearby column and laughing heartily.
“Hi! what are you laughing at?” he roared, rushing toward the crowd. “I
want to know----”
“Glummy must have been dreaming the ship was going to sink,” came from
Mark.
“And he wasn’t going to leave his shoes behind either,” put in Frank,
pointing to the pair the bully carried in his hand.
“Nor his collar and tie,” added Sam. “Nothing like being dressed up,
even if you’re swimming for your life.”
“I won’t stand this--I’ll fix all of you, see if I don’t!” howled
Hockley, shaking his fists at them and dropping half of his wearing
apparel in his excitement. “I’ll--I’ll----” And then he suddenly
thought of the figure he cut, and the crowd that was beginning to
gather, and ran for his stateroom with as much speed as he had used in
leaving it.
He was in too much of a rage to retire again, and as soon as he
had dressed he came out to hunt up the boys. They were waiting for
him, fearful that he would inform Professor Strong of the affair.
Fortunately the professor had been in the smoking room at the time and
he as yet knew nothing of what had occurred.
“See here,” began Hockley. “I want to know who played that trick on me.”
“I don’t think you’ll find out,” answered Mark.
“I’m going to tell the professor. My berth is soaked with water and I
came pretty close to cutting my foot on a piece of glass on the floor.”
“Didn’t step into any pitch, did you?” asked Sam, dryly.
“I say I am going to tell the professor,” went on Hockley, working
himself up into a magnificent rage.
“I don’t think you will tell him,” answered Darry, steadily. “You
thought it a fine thing to put off that pitch joke on my shoulders,
didn’t you? Now I guess I’ve paid you back, so we are quits.”
“So you did it?” howled Hockley. “I’m going to Professor Strong this
minute and show him the berth----”
“If you do I’ll show him something else.”
“What?”
“The can you had full of pitch. We found it, and all can testify it was
under your berth. Maybe the professor won’t be angry at your duplicity
in that affair, Glummy. The best thing you can do is to drop the matter
and call it square.”
At these words Hockley’s face grew dark and full of resentment.
“I’ll never drop it, never!” he exclaimed, vehemently. “You are all
against me! But I shan’t stand it. Just wait until we are on shore and
I’ll show you what I can do!”
And with this he turned off on his heel and left them.