University of Virginia Library

63. CHAPTER LXIII.

Before his marriage, John Glenville had located on the
river; where, being part owner of a tract of land, it was determined
to make the village of Guzzleton. And of all
places in the world this was a—place. It abounded in
wood and water, and was convenient to the river, or—could
be so; the county road went within half a mile, and if desired
would, no doubt, come right through the town; and
there might be rail-roads and canals across it, in every
direction. Nay, all the advantages of Paperville itself
would in due time concentrate in Guzzleton! Yea, it would
eclipse Woodville! Ay, and if some folks did not look
sharp, the Legislature would remove to Guzzleton the State
College, or at least create there a branch College!

Hence, in the tremendous excitement, lots at the first sale,
were bid off at fine prices, to be paid afterwards; and then
the settlers began to pour in and build! But after Glenville's
own dwelling and store-house, Tom Beecher's tannery,
and two cabins, one for a cobbler and the other for a
tailor, had been erected, the rage for improvement ceased;
and as yet the place was only Little Guzzleton!

The Patroons, however, thought if a Fourth of July could
be got up and the place become a centre for stump-speeching,
electioneering, horse-jockeying and other democratical
excellences, a fresh start would be given to its growth,
and the town become Great Guzzleton. Hence this summer,
on the Fourth, was to be there a grand Barbecue,
with the reading of the Declaration of Independence, and
great speeches from Robert Carlton of Woodville, and other
fellow-citizens!

On the third of July, Harwood and myself went over to
indulge in a prefatory “cut up” with Glenville, and to witness
the arrangements for the Barbecue. And as such an
affair may be novel to some, we shall confine ourselves to
that; taking for granted most have once or twice heard
the Declaration and also the patriotic orations of the season.

The spot for the Barbecue was an enchanting plateau
below the cliff on which Guzzleton stood, and yet sufficiently
above the river, to be considered table land. It was
about one hundred yards long by fifty yards wide, and covered
with fine and luxuriant grass, usually cropped by cows
and horses, but now smoothly and evenly mown with
scythes. The hackberry, the buckeye, the sycamore, and
other trees, less abundant than elsewhere, were, yet, plentiful
enough for ornament and shade; and this had led to
the selection.

Near the centre of this sylvan saloon was the table. This
was eminent for strength more than elegance; but still for
the place, the occasion, and the company, was the very

table. Cabinet work would have sorted poorly with the wildness.
The table was one hundred and fifty feet long; and
consisted of two-inch planks in double layers, resting every
ten feet on horizontal pieces of saplings; which in turn
were supported by strong forked saplings planted several
feet in the earth. Neither nail of iron, nor peg of wood,
confined the planks—they reposed by their own gravity.
Yet an unphilosophical arrangement of fixins, or an undue
resting of plebeian arms and elbows did, now and then, disturb
the gravity of the table in places; and that disturbing
the gravy upset also the gravity of the company—specially
the ungreased portion.

Seats differed from the table in being lower and not so
wide. They ran pretty near parallel with its sides; and
were low enough, that our mouths be as near the food as
possible—so that if the legs were judiciously disposed under
the table, and the head properly inclined above, the
contents of one's plate could be shovelled into the masticating
aperture with amazing dexterity and grace.

On each side of the table, ten feet distant and at intervals
of five feet, were planted in the earth small trees with all
their green and branching tops; and these tops, forced together
and tied with bark-twines over the table, formed a
romantic arcade seemingly of living trees evoked by the
wand of enchantment to adorn and shade!

Far as possible from the arcade, was the place of the
Barbecue Proper. And that was a truly gigantic affair!
It was no contemptible smoke-jack, steam-spit, rotary-stove
contraption to cook a morsel of meat and a half a peck
of potatoes with an apron of chips! or two hands full of
saw-dust! or a quart of charcoal! It contemplated no
fricasee for two or three guests beside the family! No!
no! it was to do whole pigs! whole sheep! whole calves!
whole turkeys! whole chickens! and for a whole settlement—and
all other settlements invited as guests!

A trench was cut in the ground some twenty feet long,
four wide and three deep! And that trench was full of
logs lying on brushwood, all to be set on fire that night,
that a mine of living coals be ready for the morning's cookery!
On the Fourth, about day-light, fresh logs and brush
were added; and thus in due time this whole kitchen was
a glowing and burning mass!

Strips of nice white hickory were, at cooking time, laid
at intervals across the fiery trench; their ends resting on
stones or green logs along the edges of the range, and thus
constituting a clean, simple, and most gigantic wooden gridiron.
And then the beasts and birds, properly cleaned,
skewered, peppered, salted and so on, were all and at once,
spread out whole over the mammoth hickory iron; each
creature being divided longitudinally on its bosom side!
And each was kept spread out by hickory pieces or stretchers,
and seasonably turned by two men, on opposite sides,
with long hickory forks and pokers! Never such a cooking!
It seemed as all the edible creatures of the Purchase
had taken an odd fit to come and be barbecued for the mere
fun of it!

Nor was this wholesale barbecuing deemed sufficient!
During the evening of the third, and early on the fourth,
backwoodswomen were hourly arriving with boiled hams,
loaves of wheat, pones, pies, tarts, sorrel-pies, Irish potato-pies—and
things unknown to fashionable gourmands and
confectioners;—also, meal in bags, and baskets, till provisions
were piled in kitchen, and arbours, and carts like
—oh! like—everything!

Our Fourth was ushered by the roar of Hoosier artillery—
log-guns done by boring solid trunks with a two-inch augur.
These filled with powder, and stopped with a wooden
plug, were fired by means of an ernormous squib, or
slow match; and made a very reasonable noise considering
they could rarely be fired more than once, being wonderfully

addicted to bursting! The day itself was bright and
cloudless; and during the greatest heat we were so sheltered
under the grand old trees, and our enchanted arcade,
as not to be oppressed; while the river flowed below,
its waters now smooth and deep, now leaping and rustling
over shoals, and now whirling in eddies around the trunks of
fallen trees! its pure white sands looking like granulated
snows—till the very sight was refreshing!

At last, three beech cannon, our signal guns, were fired
and burst; when the procession was formed on the cliff
and in the very centre of Guzzleton—in posse; and this—
(the procession, not the posse)—consisted, not only of menbodies,
but of womenbodies also; since true woodsmen
wish their ladies to share in all that is pleasant and patriotic.
Then headed by a drum and fife, aided by the triangle
already celebrated, and with as many flags flying as were
pocket-handkerchiefs to spread out and wave on poles, we
took up the line of march; we, the leading citizens, who
were to read and speak; and then the common and uncommon
citizens; and then certain independent ladies: and
then young ladies with escorts; and then the boys; and
then finally the rabble. After showing ourselves in the
woods and bushes along the future streets of Great Guzzleton,
and passing the store, and the tannery, and the two
cabins, we descended the cliff and marched to the speaker's
scaffold to the tune of Yankee Doodle—or something
tolerably like it; although to-day the drum beat the other
instruments hollow!

The literary feast ended, we again formed the procession,
and marched to the head of the arcade, while the
music very judiciously played “Love and Sausages.”
There halted, our lines were separated, and duly marshaled
each proceeded along its own side of the table; when
at a signal we halted again, and now opposite one another,
to perform “the set up.” And this delicate manœuvre was

very handsomely executed by all that wore trousers; but
the wearers of frocks and petticoats showed want of drill,
making an undue exhibit of white thread stockings and
yarn garters. In some places, however, active and skittish
maids stepped first on to the seat, and then with an
adroit movement of one hand, as in going to milk a cow,
held affairs in a very becoming tuck till the blushing damsels
were safe between the table and the seat.

We may not recount our jokes, and raillery, and tilting of
tables, and sinking of seats, and spilling of gravy, and upsetting
of water; only all such were on the same large
scale that best sorted with the inartistical and undisciplined
world around! Tit for tat, and even butter for fat, was
largely done that day—and in a way to demolish nice bodies.
But never was more good humour! never heartier fellowship!
No drunkenness, however, and no profanity! No
breaking of wine glasses—no singing of nasty songs—no
smoking of cigars—no genteel and polished doings at all.
We were then too far West for refinements!

“No reflections—Mr. Carlton. But what did all that
cost and what did you pay for a ticket?”

Cost!—pay for a ticket! why don't you know? And
yet how should anybody brought up where they sell a penneth
of salad! and pay a fippenny-bit to walk in a garden
and buy tickets to hear sermons, and eat temperance dinners!—and
everything costs something, whether to eat, or
drink, or smell, or touch, or look at!—everything, every
thing except preaching and teaching! Cost! why nothing
in the sense you mean. All was a contribution—a gift
—everybody did it—and everybody ate and drank that was
invited, and everybody that was not invited!

“But it was a great labour!”

To be sure it was. But what to a woodsman is labour
with the rifle and the axe? A single shot killed each victim

for the hickoryism; and a few flourishes of the axe
felled trees and saplings for fuel, seats, tables, and arcades.

“What's the use of a Barbecue any how?”

Well, its uses to Guzzleton may be mentioned in some
other work. But we answer now by asking:—Has not a
man, who ranges in a wide forest untrammelled by artificial
forms, an invincible love of freedom?—Will not he who
feasts like Homer's heroes despise the meannesses of a
huckster's life?—Can he be content to live on alms of broken
meat and filthy crumbs?—Is there much hope of subduing
men whose pastimes are to the effeminate, labours!

And, dear reader, out there the noble Declaration of Independence
itself, when properly read and commented on,
as to-day by John Glenville, has an effect on backwoodsmen,
such as is rarely felt now in here! Oh! could you
have seen Domore, and Ned Stanley, and old man Ashmore,
and Tom Robinson, rise at one or two places and clench
their rifles convulsively—and with tearful eyes and quivering
lips stand intently gazing on the face of that reader!—
oh! could you have heard the enthusiastic cries, at the
close, that came warm bursting from the very hearts of our
congregation, men, women and children—then would you
have deemed perilous the attempt to put, by force, a yoke
on such necks! Vain the belief that our native woodsmen
can be tamed! Numbers may, perchance, have destroyed
their forest bulwarks—but in the doing, woodsmen and
their foes would all have fallen down slain together!

I only add that notwithstanding the continuous feasting
of many hundreds for four or five hours, large quantities—
nay, heaps of provisions, were left; and that these in the
spirit of native western hospitality, were divided among the
poorer of the guests, who carried away with them food
enough for a week.

The day passed without any important accident or lasting
anger. It was, indeed, very like the colour and thrill

of visions in my dreaming age! I have pic-nicked in pretty
places, and with amiable and excellent people—I have
heard sweet music and merry laughter in the graceful and
dwarfish groves of the east—but the thrill came not there!
My poor, foolish fancy wanders then far away off to that
wild plateau of the Silver River, and sighs for the sylvan
life of that rude Barbecue!