University of Virginia Library

4. THE SUPPER PARTY.

Blithe, loud and hearty was the welcome of fat Tom, when by
the clear view halloa with which Harry drove up to the door at a
spanking trot, the horses stopping willingly at the high well known
stoop, he learned who were these his nocturnal visiters. There was
a slight tinge of frostiness in the evening air, and a bright blazing
fire filled the whole bar-room with a cheerful merry light, and cast
a long stream of red lustre from the tall windows, and half-open
doorway, but in an instant all that escaped from the last mentioned
aperture was totally obstructed, as if the door had been pushed to,
by the huge body of mine host.

“Why, d—n it,” he exclaimed, “if that beant Archer! and a hull
grist of boys he's brought along with him, too, any how. How are
you, Harry, who've you got along? It's so etarnal thunderin'
dark as I carnt see'em no how!”

“Frank and the Commodore, that's all,” Archer replied, “and
how are you, old Corporation?”

Oh! oh! I'm most d—d glad as you've brought A—; you
might have left that other critter to home, though, jest as well—
we doosn't want him blowin' out his little hide here; lazin' about,
and doin' nothin' day nor night but eat and grumble; and drink,
and drink, as if he'd got a meal sack in his little guts. Why, Timothy,
how be you?” he concluded, smiting him on the back a
downright blow, that would have almost felled an ox, as he was
getting out the baggage.

“Doant thee noo, Measter Draa,” expostulated Tim, “behaave
thyself, man, or Ay'se give thee soomat thou woant Ioike, I'm
thinking. Noo! send oot yan o't' nagers, joost to stand tull t'nags
till Ay lift oot t'boxes!”

“A nigger, is it? d—n their black skins! there was a dozen here
jest now, a blockin' up the fire-side, and stinkin' so no white man
could come nearst it, till I got an axe-handle, half an hour or so
since, and cleared out the heap of them! Niggers! they'll be here
all of them torights, I warrant; where you sees Archer, there's
never no scaceness of dogs and niggers. But come, walk in boys!
walk in, anyhow—Jem'll be here torights, and he's worth two
d—d niggers any day, though he's black-fleshed, I guess, if one
was jest to skin the etarnal creatur.”

Very few minutes passed before they were all drawn up round
the fire, Captain Reade and two or three more making room for
them, as they pulled up their chairs about the glowing hearth—
having hung up their coats and capes against the wall.

“You'll be here best, boys,” said Tom, “for a piece—the parlor
fire's not been lit yet this fall, and it is quite cold nights now—but
Brower'll kindle it up agin supper, for you'll be wantin' to eat,
all of you, I reckon, you're sich d—d everlastin' gormandizers.”

“That most undoubtedly we shall,” said Frank, “for it's past
eight now, and the deuce a mouthful have we put into our heads
since twelve.”

“Barrin' the liquor, Frank! Barrin' the liquor—now don't lie!
don't lie, boy, so ridic'lous—as if I'd known you these six years,
and then was agoin' to believe as you'd not drinked since noon!”

“Why, you old hogshead you! who wants you to believe anything
of the kind—we had one drink at Tom's, your cousin's, when
we started, but deuce the drop since.”

“That's just the reason why you're so snarlish, then, I reckon!
Your coppers is got bilin', leastwise if they beant all biled out—
you'd best drink stret away, I guess, afore the bottom of the biler
gits left bare—for if it does, and it's red hot now, boy, you'll be a
blowin' up, like an old steamboat, when you pumps in fresh water.”

“Well, Tom,” said Archer, “I do not think it would be a bad
move to take a drop of something, and a cracker; for I suppose we
shall not get supper much short of two hours; and I'm so deuced
hungry, that if I don't get something just to take off the edge, I
shall not be able to eat when it does come!”

“I'll make a pitcher of egg nog; A——drinks egg nog, I guess,
although he's the poorest drinkin' man I ever did see. Now,
Brower, look alive—the fire's lit, is it? Well, then, jump now and
feed them two poor starvin' bags-a-bones, as Archer calls dogs, and
tell your mother to git supper. Have you brought anything along
to eat or drink, boys—I guess we have n't nothin' in the house!”

“Oh! you be hanged,” said Harry, “I've brought a round of
cold spiced beef, but I'm not going to cut that up for supper; we
shall want it to take along for luncheon—you must get something!
Oh, by the way, you may let the girls pick half a dozen quail and
broil them, if you choose!”

“Quail! do you say? and where'll I git quail, I'd be pleased to
know?”

“Out of that gamebag,” answered Harry, deliberately, pointing
to the well filled plump net which Timothy had just brought in and
hung up on the pegs beside the box-coats. Without a word or syllable
the old chap rushed to the wall, seized it, and scarcely pausing
to sweep out of the way a large file of “the Spirit,” and several
numbers of “the Register,” emptied it on the table.

“Where the h—l, Archer, did you kill them?” he asked, “you
did n't kill all them to-day, I guess! One, two, three—why, there's
twenty-seven cock, and forty-nine quail! By gin! here's another;
just fifty quail, three partridge, and six rabbits; well, that's a most
all-fired nice mess, I swon; if you killed them to-day you done right
well, I tell you—you won't git no such mess of birds here now—
but you was two days killin' these, I guess!”

“Not we, Tom! Frank and I drove up from York last night, and
slept at young Tom's, down the valley—we were out just as soon
as it was light, and got the quail, all except fifteen or sixteen,
the ruffed grouse and four rabbits, before twelve o'clock. At
twelve the Commodore came up from Nyack, where he left his

yacht, and joined us; we got some luncheon, went out again at
one, and between that and five bagged all the cock, the balance, as
you would call it, of the quail, and the other two bunnies.”

“Well, then, you made good work of it, I tell you, and you wont
do nothin' like that again this winter—not in Warwick; but I won't
touch them quail—it's a sin to break that bunch—but you do n't
never care to take the rabbits home, and the old woman's got some
beautiful fresh onions—she'll make a stew of them—a smother, as
you call it, in a little less than no time, Archer; and I've got
half a dozen of them big gray snipe—English snipe—that I killed
down by my little run'-side; you'll have them roasted with the
guts in, I guess! and then there's a pork-steak and sassagers—and
if you don't like that, you can jist go without. Here, Brower, take
these to your mother, and tell her to git supper right stret off—and
you tell Emma Jane to make some buckwheat cakes for A—! he
can't sup no how without buckwheat cakes; and I sets a great store
by A—! I doos, by G—! and you need n't laugh, boys, for I doos
a darned sight more than what I doos by you.”

“That's civil, at all events, and candid,” replied Frank; “and
it's consolatory, too, for I can fancy no greater reproach to a man,
than to be set store on by you. I do not comprehend at all, how
A— bears up under it. But come, do make that egg nog that
you're chattering about.”

“How will I make it, Harry—with beer, or milk, or cider!”

“All three! now be off, and don't jaw any more!” answered Archer—“asking
such silly questions, as if you did not know better
than any of us.”

In a few minutes the delicious compound was prepared, and, with
a plate of toasted crackers and some right good Orange County
butter, was set on a small round stand before the fire; while from
the neighboring kitchen rich fnmes began to load the air, indicative
of the approaching supper. In the mean time, the wagon was unloaded;
Timothy bustled to and fro; the parlor was arranged; the
bed-rooms were selected by that worthy; and every thing set out
in its own place, so that they could not possibly have been more
comfortable in their own houses. The horses had been duly cleaned,
and clothed, and fed; the dogs provided with abundance of dry
straw, and a hot mess of milk and meal; and now, in the far corner
of the bar-room, the indefatigable varlet was cleaning the three
double guns, as scientifically as though he had served his apprenticeship
to a gunsmith.

Just at this moment a heavy foot was heard upon the stoop, succeeded
by a whining and a great scratching at the door. “Here comes
that Indian, Jem,” cried Tom, and as he spoke the door flew open,
and in rushed old Whino, the tall black and tan fox-hound, and
Bonnybelle, and Blossom, and another large blue mottled bitch, of
the Southern breed. It was a curious sight to observe by how sudden
and intuitive an instinct the hounds rushed up to Archer, and
fawned upon him, jumping up with their fore-paws upon his knees,
and thrusting their bland smiling faces almost into his face; as he,

nothing loath, nor repelling their caresses, discoursed most eloquent
dog language to them, until, excited beyond all measure, old
Whino seated himself deliberately on the floor, raised his nose toward
the ceiling, and set up a long, protracted, and most melancholy
howl, which, before it had attained, however, to its grand climax,
was brought to a conclusion by being converted into a sharp
and treble yell! a consummation brought about by a smart application
of Harry's double-thonged four-horse whip, wielded with all the
power of Tom's right arm, and accompanied by a “Git out, now,
d—n you—the whole grist! Kennel! now, kennel! out with them,
Jem, consarn you; out with them, and yourself, too! out of this, or
I'll put the gad about you, you white Deckerin' nigger you!”

“Come back, when you have put them up, Jem; and mind you
don't let them be where they can get at the setters, or they'll be
fighting like the devil,” interposed Archer—“I want to have a chat
with you. By-the-bye, Tom, where's Dash—you'd better look out,
or the Commodore's dog, Grouse, will eat him before morning—
mine will not quarrel with him, but Grouse will to a certainty.”

“Then for a sartainty I'll shoot Grouse, and wallop Grouse's
master, and that 'ill be two d—d right things done one mornin';
the first would be a most d—d right one, any how, and kind too! for
theu A— would be forced to git himself a good, nice setter dog,
and not go shootin' over a great old fat bustin' pinter, as is n't worth
so much as I be to hunt birds!”

“Ha! ha! ha!” shouted the Commodore, whom nothing can, by
any earthly means, put out of temper, “ha! ha! ha! I should like to
see you shoot Grouse, Tom, for all the store you set by me, you'd
get the worst of that game. You had better take Archer's advice,
I can tell you.”

“Archer's advice, indeed! it's likely now that I'd have left my
nice little dog to be spiled by your big brutes, now aint it? Come,
come, here's supper.”

“Get something to drink, Jem, along with Timothy, and come
in when we've got through supper.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the knight of the cut-throat; “I've got some
news to tell you, too, Tom, if you'll wait a bit.”

“D—n you, and your news too,” responded Tom, “you're sich a
thunderin' liar, there's no knowin' when you do speak truth. We'll
not be losin' our supper for no lies, I guess! Leastways I won't!
Come, Archer.”

And with a right good appetite they walked into the parlor;
every thing was in order; every article placed just as it had been
when Frank went up to spend his first week in the Woodlands;
the gun-case stood on the same chairs below the window; the table
by the door was laid out with the same display of powder-flasks,
shot-pouches, and accountrements of all sizes. The liquor stand was
placed by Harry's chair, open, containing the case-bottles, the rummers
being duly ranged upon the board, which was well lighted by
four tall wax candles, and being laid with Harry's silver, made
quite a smart display. The rabbits smoked at the head, smothered

in a rich sauce of cream, and nicely shredded onions; the pork
chops, thin and crisply broiled, exhaled rich odors at the bottom;
the English snipe, roasted to half a turn, and reposing on their neat
squares of toast, were balanced by a dish of well-fried sausages, reclining
on a bed of mashed potatoes; champagne was on the table,
unresined and unwired, awaiting only one touch of the knife to release
the struggling spirit from its transparent prison. Few words
were spoken for some time, unless it were a challenge to champagne,
the corks of which popped frequently and furious; or a request
for another snipe, or another spoonfull of the sauce; while all
devoted themselves to the work in hand with a sincere and business-like
earnestness of demeanor, that proved either the excellence
of Tom Draw's cookery, or the efficacy of the Spartan sauce which
the sportsmen had brought to assist them at their meal. The last
rich drops of the fourth flask were trickling into Tom's wide-lipped
rummer, when Harry said,

“Come, we have done, I think, for one night; let's have the eatables
removed, and we will have a pipe, and hear what Jem has got
to say; and you have told us nothing about birds, either, you old
elephant; what do you mean by it? That's right, Tim, now bring
in my cigars, and Mr. Forester's cheroots, and cold iced water, and
boiling hot water, and sugar, out of my box, and lemons. The shrub
is here, and the Scotch whiskey; will you have another bottle of
champagne, Tom? No! Well, then, look sharp, Timothy, and send
Jem in.”

And thereupon Jem entered, thumbing his hat assiduously, and
sat down in the corner, by the window, where he was speedily accommodated
with a supply of liquor, enough to temper any quantity
of clay.

“Well, Jem,” said Archer, “unbutton your bag now; what's
the news?”

“Well, Mr. Aircher, it be n't no use to tell you on't, with Tom,
there, puttin' a body out, and swearin' it's a lie, and dammin' a
chap up and down. It be n't no use to tell you, and yet I'd kind o'
like to, but then you won't believe a fellow, not one on you!”

“In course not,” answered Forester; and at the same instant
Tom struck in likewise—

“It's a lie, afore you tell it; it's a lie, d—n you, and you knows
it. I'd sooner take a nigger's word than yours, Jem, any how, for
the d—d niggers will tell the truth when they ca n't git no good by
lyin', but you, you will lie all times! When the truth would do the
best, and you would tell it if you could, you ca n't help lyin'!”

“Shut up, you old thief; shut up instantly, and let the man speak,
will you; I can see by his face that he has got something to tell;
and as for lying, you beat him at it any day.”

Tom was about to answer, when Harry, who had been eagerly
engaged in mixing a huge tumbler-full of strong cold shrub punch,
thrust it under his nose, and he, unable to resist the soft seductive
odor, seized it incontinently, and neither spoke nor breathed again
until the bottom of the rummer was brought parallel to the ceiling;

then, with a deep heart-felt sigh, he set it down; uttered a most appalling
eructation; and then, with a calm placid smile, exclaimed,
“Tell on, Jem.” Whereupon that worthy launched into his full
tide of narrative, as follows.

“Well, you sees, Mr. Aircher, I tuk up this mornin' clean up
the old crick side, nigh to Vernon, and then I turned in back of old
Squire Vandergriff's, and druv the mountains clear down here till
I reached Rocky Hill; I'd pretty good sport, too, I tell you; I shot
a big gray fox on Round Top, and started a raal rouser of a red one
down in the big swamp, in the bottom, and them sluts did keep the
darndest ragin' you ever did hear tell on. Well, they tuk him
clean out across the open, past Andy Joneses, and they skeart up in
his stubbles three bevies, I guess, got into one like! there was a
drove of them, I tell you, and then they brought him back to the
hills agin, and run him twice clean round the Rocky Hill, and when
they came round the last time, the English sluts war n't half a rod
from his tail no how, and so he tried his last chance, and he holed;
but my! now Mr. Aircher, by d—n you niver did see nothin' like
the partridges; they kept a brushin' up and brushin' up, and treein'
every little while; I guess if I seen one I seen a hundred; why, I
killed seven on 'em with coarse shot up in the pines, and I dared n't
shoot exceptin' at their heads. If you'll go up there now, to-morrow,
and take the dogs along, I know as you'll git fifty.”

“Well, if that's all your news, Jem, I won't give you much for
it; and, as for going into the mountains to look after partridges,
you don't catch me at it, that's all!” said Harry. “Is that all?”

“Not by a great shot!” answered Jem, grinning, “but the truth
is, I know you won't believe me; but I can tell you what, you can
kill a big fat buck, if you'll git up a little afore daylight!”

“A buck, Jem! a buck near here?” inquired Forester and Archer
in a breath.

“I told you, boys, the critter could n't help it; he's stuck to
truth jest so long, and he was forced to lie, or else he would have
busted!”

“It's true, by thunder,” answered Jem; “I wish I may n't eat
nor drink nother, if there's one bit of lie in it; d—n the bit, Tom!
I'm in airnest, now, right down; and you knows as I would n't go
to lie about it!”

“Well! well! where was't; where was't, Jem?”

“Why, he lies, I guess, now, in that little thickest swamp of all,
jist in the eend of the swale atween Round Top and Rocky Hill,
right in the pines and laurels; leastways I druv him down there
with the dogs, and I swon that he never crossed into the open
meadow; and I went round, and made a circle like clean round
about him, and d—n the dog trailed on him no how; and bein' as
he's hard hot, I guess he'll stay there since he harbored.”

“Hard hit, is he? why, did you get a shot at him?”

“A fair one,” Jem replied; “not three rod off from me; he jumped
up out of the channel of Stony Brook, where, in a sort o' bend,
there was a lot of bushes, sumach and winter-green, and ferns; he

skeart me, that's a fact, or I'd a killed him. He war n't ten yards
off when he bounced up first, but I pulled without cocking, and
when I'd got my gun fixed, he'd got off a little piece, and I'd got
nauthen but fox-shot, but I hot him jist in the side of the flank; the
blood flew out like winkin', and the hounds arter him like mad, up
and down, and round and back, and he a kind o' weak like, and
they'd overhauled him once and again, and tackled him, but there
was only four on them, and so he beat them off like every time, and
onned again! They could n't hold him no how, till I got up to
them, and I could n't fix it no how, so as I'd git another shot at
him; but it was growin' dark fast, and I flogged off the sluts arter
a deal o' work, and viewed him down the old blind run-way into the
swale eend, where I telled you; and then I laid still quite a piece;
and then I circled round, to see if he'd quit it, and not one dog tuk
track on him, and so I feels right sartain as he's in that hole now,
and will be in the mornin', if so be we goes there in time, afore the
sun's up.”

“That we can do easily enough,” said Archer, “what do you
say, Tom? Is it worth while?”

“Why,” answered old Draw instantly, “if so be only we could
be sartain that the d—d critter warn't a lyin', there could n't be no
doubt about it; for if the buck did lay up there this night, why
he'll be there to-morrow; and if so be he's there, why we can get
him sure!”

“Well, Jem, what have you got to say now,” said the Commodore;
“is it the truth or no?”

“Why, darn it all,” retorted Jem, “harn't I just told you it was
true; it's most d—d hard a fellow can't be believed now—why,
Mr. Aircher, did I ever lie to you?”

“Oh! if you ask me that,” said Harry, “you know I must say
`Yes!'—for you have, fifty times at the least computation. Do you
remember the day you towed me up the Decker's run to look for
woodcock?”

“And you found nothing,” interrupted Tom, “but wood”—

“Oh shut up, do Tom,” broke in Forester, “and let us hear
about this buck. If we agree to give you a five dollar bill, Jem,
in case we do find him where you say, what will you be willing to
forfeit if we do not?”

“You may shoot at me, by G—d!” answered Jem, “all on you
—ivery one on you—at forty yards, with rifle or buckshot!”

“It certainly is very likely that we should be willing to get
hanged for the sake of shooting such a mangy hound as you, Jem,”
answered Forester, “when one could shoot a good clean dog—
Tom's Dash, for example--for nothing!”

“Could you though?” Tom replied, “I'd like to ketch you at
it, my dear boy—I'd wax the little hide off of you. But come, let us
be settling. Is it a lie now, Jem; speak out—is it a lie, consarn
you? for if it be, you'd best jest say't out now, and save your bones
to-morrow. Well, boys, the critter's sulky, so most like it is true
—and I guess we'll be arter him. We'll be up bright and airly,

and go a horseback, and if he be there, we can kill him in no time
at all, and be right back to breakfast. I'll start Jem and the captain
here, and Dave Seers, with the dogs, an hour a fore us! and let
them come right down the swale, and drive him to the open—Harry
and Forester, you two can ride your own nags, and I'll take old
Roan, and A—— here shall have the colt.”

“Very well! Timothy, did they feed well to-night? if they did,
give them tbeir oats very early, and no water. I know it's too bad
after their work to-day, but we shall not be out two hours!”

“Weel! it's no matter gin they were oot six,” responded
Timothy, “they wadna be a pin the waur o't!”

“Take out my rifle, then—and pick some buckshot cartridges to
fit the bore of all the double guns. Frank's got his rifle; so you
can take my heavy single gun—your gauge is 17, A——, quite too
small for buckshot; mine is 11, and will do its work clean with
Ely's cartridge and pretty heavy powder, at eighty-five to ninety
yards. Tom's bore is twelve, and I've brought some to fit his old
double, and some, too, for my own gun, though it is almost too
small!”

“What gauge is yours, Harry?”

“Fourteen; which I consider the very best bore possible for
general shooting. I think the gunsmiths are running headlong
now into the opposite of their old error—when they found that fifteens
and fourteens outshot vastly the old small calibres—fifty years
since no guns were larger than eighteen, and few than twenty;
they are now quite out-doing it. I have seen late-imported guns of
seven pounds, and not above twenty-six inches long, with eleven
and even ten gauge calibres! you might as well shoot with a blunderbus
at once!”[4]

“They would tell at cock in close summer covert,” answered
A——.

“For a man who can't cover his bird they might,” replied Harry;
“but you may rely on it they lose three times as much in force as
they gain in the space they cover; at forty yards you could not kill
even a woodcock with them once in fifty times, and a quail, or English
snipe, at that distance never!”

“What do you think the right length and weight, then, for an
eleven bore?”

“Certainly not less than nine pounds, and thirty inches; but I
would prefer ten pounds and thirty-three inches; though except,
for a fowl-gun to use in boat-shooting, such a piece would be quite
too ponderous and clumsy. My single gun is eleven gauge, eight
pounds and thirty-three inches; and even with loose shot executes
superbly; but with Ely's green cartridge I have put forty BB shot
into a square of two and a half feet at one hundred and twenty-five
yards; sharply enough, too, to imbed the shot so firmly in the fence

against which I had fixed my mark, that it required a good strong
knife to get them out. This I propose that you should use tomorrow,
with a 1½ oz. SG cartridge, which contains eighteen buck-shot,
and which, if you get a shot any where within a hundred
yards, will kill him as dead, I warrant it, as an ounce bullet.”

“Which you intend to try, I fancy,” added Frank.

“Not quite! my rifle carries eighteen only to the pound; and
yours, if I forget not, only thirty-two.”

“But mine is double.”

“Never mind that; thirty-two will not execute with certainty
above a hundred and fifty yards!”

“And how far in the devil's name would you have it execute, as
you calls it,” asked old Tom.

“Three hundred!” replied Harry, coolly.

“H—ll,” replied Draw, “do n't tell me no sich thunderin' nonsense;
I'll stand all day and be shot at, like a Christmas turkey, at
sixty rods, for sixpence a shot, any how.”

“I'll bet you all the liquor we can drink while we are here,
Tom,” answered Harry, “that I hit a four foot target at three hundred
yards to-morrow!”

“Off hand?” inquired Tom, with an attempt at a sneer.

“Yes, off hand! and no shot to do that either; I know men—
lots of them--who would bet to hit a foot[5] square at that distance!”

“Well! you can't hit four, no how!”

“Will you bet?”

“Sartain!”

“Very well—Done—Twenty dollars I will stake against all the
liquor we drink while we're here. Is it a bet?”

“Yes! Done!” cried Tom—“at the first shot, you know; I
gives no second chances.”

“Very well, as you please!—I'm sure of it, that's all—Lord,
Frank, how we will drink and treat—I shall invite all the town up
here to-morrow—Come!—One more round for luck, and then to
bed!”

“Content!” cried A——; “but I mean Mr. Draw to have an
argument to-morrow night about this point of Setter vs. Pointer!
How do you say, Harry?—which is best?”

“Oh! I'll be Judge and Jury”—answered Archer—“and you
shall plead before me; and I'll make up my mind in the meantime!”

“He's for me, any how,”—shouted Tom—“Darn it all, Harry,
you knows you would n't own a pinter—no not if it was gin you!”

“I believe you are about right there, old fellow, so far as this
country goes at least?”—said Archer—“different dogs for different
soils and seasons—and, in my judgment, setters are far the best
this side the Atlantic—but it is late now, and I can't stand chattering
here—good night—you shall have as much dog-talk as you like
to-morrow.”