As we have just said, the barbecue is a festival which especially
belongs to the backwoods settlements, although it has now become known
even in the older States, and often forms a feature in the great
political meetings of an election campaign--losing, however, much of its
true character in the elaborate adornments and improvements sometimes
bestowed upon it.
When Alexis and Ivan strolled down in the early morning to the quiet
glade which had been selected as the scene of this rural festivity, they
found there a noisy and bustling crowd. A monstrous fire of logs,
enough to roast not only a single ox, but a hecatomb of oxen, was
blazing near the edge of the glade, while a half-dozen chattering
negroes were busy digging a great pit close by. This pit, when entirely
excavated, measured some ten or twelve feet in length, by five or six in
width, and perhaps three in depth; and was lined with smooth flat
stones. As soon as the logs had ceased to flame and smoke, and were
fast falling into a mighty heap of glowing ruddy coals, they were
shovelled hastily into the pit. Another party of negroes had been busy
in the woods, searching out the tall slender saplings of the pawpaw
(_asimina triloba_), and now returned, bringing their spoil with them.
The saplings were laid across the top of the pit, thus extemporising
over it a huge gridiron. The ox, which was to form the staple of the
day's feast, had been killed and dressed; and, having been split in
halves after the fashion of the barbecue, was laid upon the bars to
roast. Proudly presiding over the operation was the major-domo of the
planter's household, assisted by several celebrated cooks of the
neighbourhood, and a score of chosen farm-hands, whose strength was ever
and anon invoked to turn the beef; while the _chef_ ordered a fresh
basting, or himself sprinkled the browning surface with the savoury
dressing of pepper, salt, and fine herbs, for the composition of which
he had attained a grand reputation.
The morning wore swiftly on in the observation of these novel
manoeuvres; and with the noon came the guests in numbers from the
neighbouring plantations and settlements. Even the determined
resistance of the toughest beef must have failed before the hot attack
of such an army of live coals, as had lain intrenched in the deep
fireplace; and the tender joints of the enormous _boeuf roti_ were ready
to bear their share in the festivities almost as soon as the invited
company. Separated with great cleavers, and laid into white button-wood
trays hollowed out for the purpose, they were borne rapidly to the shady
nook selected for the dining-place, followed by vast supplies of sweet
potatoes, roasted in the ashes, and of rich, golden maize bread. A
barrel of rare cider was broached; while good old-fashioned puddings,
and the luscious fruits of the region completed the bill of fare in
honour of the day. Of course "joy was unconfined." Everybody
pronounced the roast a grand success; and the young Russians thought
that they had never tasted so appetising a meal. With the exhilaration
of the fresh, clear air, the encouragement of hearty appetite, and the
full flavour of the meat--for it is well-known that the sap which exudes
from the pawpaw, when thus exposed to fire, adds a new relish to
whatever is cooked upon it--combined to make a dinner fit for the Czar
himself; and they determined to attempt, at some time, an imitation of
the Southern barbecue under the colder sky of Russia.
Merriment was unbounded; healths were drunk, songs sung, odd speeches
made, and stories told.
One of the last in particular made an impression upon our heroes;
partly, because it was a bear story, and partly because it illustrated a
very characteristic phase of squatter life and practical humour. In
fact, Alexis made a sketch of it in his journal, and from his notes we
now reconstruct it.
Two squatters had occupied lands not far from each other, and within
some eight or ten miles of a small town. Busied in clearing off the
woodland, each bethought himself of a source of revenue beyond the
produce of his tilled ground. He would occupy an occasional leisure day
in hauling to the town, the logs which he cut from time to time, and
then selling them as firewood. This unity of purpose naturally brought
the two men into competition with one another for the limited custom of
the settlement; and a rivalry sprang up between them, which was fast
ripening into jealousy and ill-will, when a curious coincidence
occurred.
Each owned a single yoke of oxen, which he used regularly in his farm
labour, and also in dragging his wood to market. Within a week each
lost an ox; one dying of some bovine distemper,--the other being so
injured by the fall of a tree, that his owner had been obliged to kill
him.
As one ox could not draw a wood-wagon, the occupation of both squatters
as wood merchants was gone--and even farm operations were likely to
suffer. Each soon heard of his neighbour's predicament; and proposed to
himself to make a bargain for the remaining ox, that he might be the
possessor of the pair, continue his clearing prosperously, and command
the wood-hauling business. But, as one might suppose, where both
parties were so fully bent upon accomplishing their own ends, the trade
was no nearer a conclusion when a dozen negotiations had taken place
than at first. So matters stood in _statu quo_, the days rolled by, and
our two squatters found their condition waxing desperate.
One fine morning, squatter the first started off to make a last
attempt--determined to close the bargain peaceably if he could, forcibly
if he must. Revolving project upon project in his mind, he had
traversed the two or three miles of woodland which lay between him and
his neighbour's clearing, and was just entering it, when a sudden rustle
and significant growl coming from behind broke in upon his reverie.
Turning hastily, he saw almost at his heels a bear of the most
unprepossessing aspect. To reach the cabin before Bruin could overtake
him was impossible; and to turn upon the creature would be folly: for,
in the depth of his deliberation, he had forgotten on leaving home to
take any kind of weapon with him. Some dead trees had been left
standing in the field, and to one of these he sped with flying steps,
hoping to find shelter behind it till help could come. He did not hope
in vain for this protection. He found that by pretty active dodging, he
could keep the trunk of the tree between himself and the bear--whose
brain could hardly follow the numerous shifts made by the squatter to
escape the frequent clutches of his claws. Rising indignantly upon his
hind legs, the bear made a fierce rush at the squatter, but hugged only
the tough old tree, in whose bark he buried deep his pointed claws. An
inspiration flashed through the squatter's mind, as he saw the bear
slowly and with some difficulty dragging out his nails; and seizing
Bruin's shanks just above the paws, he braced himself against the tree,
resolved to try and hold the claws into their woody sockets until his
neighbour could respond to his halloos for help.
The other squatter heard his cries; but instead of hastening to the
rescue, he came slowly along, carelessly shouldering his axe.
Perceiving his neighbour's difficulty, a new solution of the ox question
had entered his mind; and to the redoubled appeals for assistance, he
calmly replied--
"On one condition, neighbour!"
"What is it?" anxiously inquired the other.
"If I let you loose from the bar, you'll gi' me up your odd steer."
There was no help for it, and with a heavy sigh, the prisoner consented.
"Stop!" cried he, ere the axe could fall; "this old brute has half
plagued the life out o' me, and I'd like nothing better'n the
satisfaction o' killin' him myself. Jest you ketch hold here, and let
me give him his death-blow."
The second squatter, rejoicing beyond measure at having accomplished his
long-desired purpose, unsuspiciously agreed, dropped the axe, cautiously
grasped the sinewy shanks, and bent his strength to the momentary
struggle. To his utter dismay, he beheld his neighbour quietly shoulder
the axe, and walk away from the ground!
"Hold on!" he shouted; "ain't ye goin' to kill the bar?"
"Wal, not jest now, I fancy; I thought you might like to hang on a
while?"
The tables thus turned, the deluded squatter had no resource but to make
terms with his grimly gleeful neighbour, who at last consented to put an
end to the wild beast's life, if he might not only be released from the
bargain he had just made, but, in addition, be himself the recipient of
the odd ox. Sorely chagrined, the second squatter consented. But he
was a little comforted at the idea of a slight _revanche_ that had just
entered his head. Watching his chance, as the other approached to deal
the fatal blow, with a desperate effort he tore out the bear's claws
from the bark--setting the infuriated animal free--and then fled at full
speed to his cabin, leaving the two original combatants to fight it out
between themselves.
The particulars of the contest even tradition has not preserved--the
sequel to the narrative only telling that half an hour later the first
squatter, scratched and bloody, hobbled slowly up to the cabin,
remarking satirically as he threw down the broken axe:--
"Thar, neighbour; I'm afraid I've spiled yer axe, but I'm sure I've
spiled the bar. Prehaps you'd let one o' your leetle boys drive that
ere ox over to my house?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
After enjoying the hospitality of their planter friend for a few days
longer, our travellers once more resumed their journey; and proceeded up
the great Mississippi, towards the cold countries of the North.