The Hunters Feast | Page 7

seated upon a log, with the hat-box
before him. It is open, and he has drawn out from it his stock of combs
and brushes. He has already made his ablutions, and is now giving the
finish to his toilet, by putting his hair, whiskers, moustache, teeth, and
even his nails, in order. Your Englishman is the most comfortable
traveller in the world.
The Kentuckian is differently engaged. He is upon his feet; in one hand
gleams a knife with ivory handle and long shining blade. It is a
"bowie," of that kind known as an "Arkansas toothpick." In the other
hand you see an object about eight inches in length, of the form of a
parallelogram, and of a dark brown colour. It is a "plug" of real
"James's River tobacco." With his knife the Kentuckian cuts off a
piece--a "chunk," as he terms it--which is immediately transferred to
his mouth, and chewed to a pulp. This is his occupation for the
moment.
The doctor, what of him? Doctor Jopper may be seen close to the
water's edge. In his hand is a pewter flask, of the kind known as a
"pocket pistol." That pistol is loaded with brandy, and Dr Jopper is just
in the act of drawing part of the charge, which, with a slight admixture
of cool creek water, is carried aloft and poured into a very droughty
vessel. The effect, however, is instantly apparent in the lively twinkle
of the doctor's round and prominent eyes.

Besancon is seated near the tent, and the old naturalist beside him. The
former is busy with the new plants he has collected. A large
portfolio-looking book rests upon his knees, and between its leaves he
is depositing his stores in a scientific manner. His companion, who
understands the business well, is kindly assisting him. Their
conversation is interesting, but every one else is too busy with his
affairs to listen to it just now.
The guides are lounging about the waggon. Old Ike fixes a new flint in
his rifle, and Redwood, of a more mirthful disposition, is occasionally
cracking a joke with Mike or the "darkey."
Jake is still busy with his mules, and I with my favourite steed, whose
feet I have washed in the stream, and anointed with a little spare grease.
I shall not always have the opportunity of being so kind to him, but he
will need it the less, as his hoofs become more hardened by the
journey.
Around the camp are strewed our saddles, bridles, blankets, weapons,
and utensils. These will all be collected and stowed under cover before
we go to rest. Such is a picture of our camp before supper.
When that meal is cooked, the scene somewhat changes.
The atmosphere, even at that season, was cool enough, and this, with
Mike's announcement that the coffee was ready, brought all the party--
guides as well--around the blazing pile of logs. Each found his own
platter, knife, and cup; and, helping himself from the general stock, set
to eating on his own account. Of course there were no fragments, as a
strict regard to economy was one of the laws of our camp.
Notwithstanding the fatigue, always incidental to a first day's march,
we enjoyed this al fresco supper exceedingly. The novelty had much to
do with our enjoyment of it, and also the fine appetites which we had
acquired since our luncheon at noon halt.
When supper was over, smoking followed, for there was not one of the
party who was not an inveterate burner of the "noxious weed." Some

chose cigars, of which we had brought a good stock, but several were
pipe-smokers. The zoologist carried a meerschaum; the guides smoked
out of Indian calumets of the celebrated steatite, or red claystone. Mike
had his dark-looking "dudeen," and Jake his pipe of corn "cob" and
cane-joint shank.
Our English friend Thompson had a store of the finest Havannahs,
which he smoked with the grace peculiar to the English cigar smoker;
holding his cigar impaled upon the point of his knife-blade. Kentucky
also smoked cigars, but his was half buried within his mouth, slanted
obliquely towards the right cheek. Besancon preferred the paper
cigarette, which he made extempore, as he required them, out of a stock
of loose tobacco. This is Creole fashion--now also the mode de Paris.
A song from the doctor enlivened the conversation, and certainly so
melodious a human voice had never echoed near the spot. One and all
agreed that the grand opera had missed a capital "first tenor" in not
securing the services of our companion.
The fatigue of our long ride caused us to creep into our tents at an early
hour, and rolling ourselves in our blankets we went to sleep. Of course
everything had