Colonel Carter of Cartersville | Page 4

colonel always insisted upon surrounding himself with a staff, and that my promotion was in conformity with this habit.
The colonel laughed, seized the poker, and rapped three times on the floor. A voice from the kitchen rumbled up:--
"Comin', sah!"
It was Chad "dishin' the dinner" below, his explanations increasing in distinctness as he pushed the rear door open with his foot,--both hands being occupied with the soup tureen which he bore aloft and placed at the head of the table.
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In a moment more he retired to the outer hall and reappeared brilliant in white jacket and apron. Then he ranged himself behind the colonel's chair and with great dignity announced that dinner was served.
"Come, Major! Fitz, sit where you can warm yo' back--you are not thawed out yet. One minute, gentlemen,--an old custom of my ancestors which I never omit."
The blessing was asked with becoming reverence; there was a slight pause, and then the colonel lifted the cover of the tureen and sent a savory cloud of incense to the ceiling.
The soup was a cream of something with baby crabs. There was also a fish,--boiled,--with slices of hard boiled eggs fringing the dish, ovaled by a hedge of parsley and supplemented by a pyramid of potatoes with their jackets ragged as tramps. Then a ham, brown and crisp, and bristling all over with cloves.
Then the ducks!
It was beautiful to see the colonel's face when Chad, with a bow like a folding jack-knife, held this dish before him.
"Lay 'em here, Chad--right under my nose. Now hand me that pile of plates sizzlin' hot, and give that carvin' knife a turn or two across the hearth. Major, dip a bit of celery in the salt and follow it with a mou'ful of claret. It will prepare yo' palate for the kind of food we raise gentlemen on down my way. See that red blood, suh, followin' the knife!"
"Suit you, marsa?" Chad never forgot his slave days. "To a turn, Chad,--I wouldn't take a thousand dollars for you," replied the colonel, relapsing as unconsciously into an old habit.
It was not to be wondered at that the colonel loved a good dinner. To dine well was with him an inherited instinct; one of the necessary preliminaries to all the important duties in life. To share with you his last crust was a part of his religion; to eat alone, a crime.
"There, Major," said the colonel as Chad laid the smoking plate before me, "is the breast of a bird that fo' days ago was divin' for wild celery within fo'ty miles of Caarter Hall. My dear old aunt Nancy sends me a pair every week, bless her sweet soul! Fill yo' glasses and let us drink to her health and happiness." Here the colonel rose from his chair: "Gentlemen, the best thing on this earth--a true Southern lady!
"Now, Chad, the red pepper."
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"No jelly, Colonel?" said Fitz, with an eye on the sideboard.
"Jelly? No, suh; not a suspicion of it. A pinch of salt, a dust ofcayenne, then shut yo' eyes and mouth, and don't open them 'cept for a drop of good red wine. It is the salt marsh in the early mornin' that you are tastin', suh,--not molasses candy. You Nawtherners don't really treat a canvasback with any degree of respect. You ought never to come into his presence when he lies in state without takin' off yo' hats. That may be one reason why he skips over the Nawthern States when he takes his annual fall outin'." And he laughed heartily.
"But you use it on venison?" argued Fitz.
"Venison is diff'ent, suh. That game lives on moose buds, the soft inner bark of the sugar maple, and the tufts of sweet grass. There is a propriety and justice in his endin' his days smothered in sweets; but the wild duck, suh, is bawn of the salt ice, braves the storm, and lives a life of peyil and hardship. You don't degrade a' oyster, a soft shell crab, or a clam with confectionery; why a canvasback duck?
"Now, Chad, serve coffee."
The colonel pushed back his chair, and opened a drawer in a table on his right, producing three small clay pipes with reed stems and a buckskin bag of tobacco. This he poured out on a plate, breaking the coarser grains with the palms of his hands, and filling the pipes with the greatest care.
Fitz watched him curiously, and when he reached for the third pipe, said:--
"No, Colonel, none for me; smoke a cigar--got a pocketful."
"Smoke yo' own cigars, will you, and in the presence of a Virginian? I don't believe you have got a drop of Irish blood left in yo' veins, or you would take this pipe."
"Too strong for me," remonstrated Fitz.
"Throw that villainous device away, I say, Fitz, and surprise yo' nostrils with