University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
CHRISTMAS EVE.

Time, meanwhile, had been hobbling forward, after the usual
fashion, and with his wonted rapidity. He brings us at length to
Christmas eve. But the old Egyptian don't find us unprepared.
He does not catch us napping, though he may at the `nappy.'

We have taken him by the forelock. We have been getting steam
upon him for a goodly month or more. Major Bulmer has failed
in none of his supplies; and aunt Janet has been doing the crusty,
in spite of her proverbial sweetness of temper,—and because of
it—in the pantry and bake-house, for a week of eleven days.
What a wilderness of mince-pies have issued from her framing
hands; what a forest of patties and petties, cocoanut and cranberry;—what
deserts of island and trifle; what seas of jelly; what
mountains of blanc mange. Eggs have grown miraculously scarce.
There is a hubbub now going on between the fair spinster and her
lordly brother.

“But, Janet, by Jove, this will never do! You mustn't stint us
in Egg-nog. Better give up a bushel of your pudding stuff, than
that we should have less than several bushels of eggs.”

“But, brother, there will still be enough. You know the ladies
seldom take egg-nog, now a days.”

“I know no such thing, and don't believe it. We must provide
enough, at all events. Send out Tom and Jerry; let them scour
the country and pick up all they can. These women with their
parties!”

“Was ever such a man as brother!” cried Miss Janet to me,
with bare arms, uplift, and well sprinkled with flour. She had
been kneading that her public should not need, which is certainly
patriotism, if not Christian charity. But I have no time to listen
to her, or to speculate upon her virtues. The Major summoned
me forth to look at the hogs. Thirty were slaughtered last night.
There they hang, the long-bodied, white porkers, thoroughly cleaned,
like so many convicts, decently dressed for the first time in
their lives, when about to pay the penalty of their offences. “Not
a rogue among them,” quoth the Major, “that weighs less than
250 nett.” Yesterday, there was a beef shot. We must go and
look at him, see him quartered, and estimate his weight and importance
also. Huge tubs and wooden platters of sausage meat
entreat our attention, and I assist Miss Janet in measuring out

pepper, black and red, and sage and thyme, and salt and saltpetre,
that the sausage meat may be as grateful to the taste as it is fully
great to the eye. The Major and his sister are the busiest people
in the world. Ned Bulmer is abroad and busy also, as much so
as he can be, his arm in a sling. He is anxious about certain oysters
ordered from the city, and is pacified by the response from the
gentlemanly body servant,—“The oysters have arrive, Mr. Edward,
in good order.” Boxes are to be unpacked, in which I help.
Miss Janet is feverish about the fate of several barrels of crockery.
I assist in relieving her. The Major needs my help in opening
and unfolding certain cases of fire-works, and in preparing sockets
for rockets, and reels for wheels, posts, and platforms, &c., for a
display by night. Our Baron, like other Princes, is fond of, and
famous for, his pyrotechny. He has invented a new torpedo, by
the way, for blowing up the fleet of the Federal Government, whenever
they shall attempt to bombard the city; and one of the problems
which now occupies his mind, is the preparation of a balloon
for dropping hollow shot into the forts of the harbour. The Major
is a fierce secessionist. At one time, he rather inclined to co-operation;
and I fancy he voted the co-operation ticket for the Southern
Congress; but, since the resolutions of the Committee at Columbia,
he denounces them as mere simulacra,—using the vernacular
for the learned word,—plainly saying, in brief, burly phrase,
“Humbugs!”—and has very devoutly sent them all to the devil.

But we must eschew politics, in a Christmas Legend, lest we
take away some poor devil's appetite for dinner. Our cue is to be
genial and gentle, tender and tolerant, not strategetical and tragical.

The fire-works arranged and disposed of, we turned in upon a
Christmas Tree, which was to be elevated within the great hall.
This was a beautiful cedar, carefully selected, and brought in from
the woods, the roots well fitted into the half of a huge barrel,

rammed with moss, the base being so draped with green cloth as
to conceal the rudeness of the fixture. This, planted and adjusted
in its place, we enclosed the piazza, front and rear, with canvas,
and hung the interior in both regions with little glass lamps of
different colours. Half of the day, Christmas eve, was employed
in these and a score of other performances. Nothing that we
could think of was omitted. Then, there were boxes of toys for
the children to be unpacked, and trunks of pretty presents to be
examined, and the names written on them of the persons for whom
they were designed. They were, that night, after the guests had
all retired, to be suspended to the branches of the Christmas Tree,
which was, in the meanwhile, to be kept from sight by the dropping
of a curtain across the hall! Ned Bulmer had his gifts prepared,
as well as his father and aunt. I, too, had bought my petty
contributions, calculating on the persons I should meet.

Before noon, the company began to pour in. Several came to
dinner that day. Afternoon brought sundry more, who were to
spend the night, and perhaps several nights. The mansion house
was entirely surrendered to the ladies and married people;—the
young men were entirely dispossessed and driven to sheds and outhouses,
in which, fortunately, `the Barony' was not deficient. Ned
and myself lodged with the overseer, and had a snug apartment
to ourselves. At dinner, it was already necessary to spread two
tables. Every body was becomingly amiable. Care was kicked
under the table, and lay crouching there, silent and trembling,
like a beaten hound, not daring to crunch even his own bones aloud.
The ladies smiled graciously to our sentiments, and we had funny
songs and stories when they had gone. After dinner, some of the
guests rode or rambled for an hour, others retired to the library,—
chess and backgammon; others to the chambers;—and the work of
preparation still went on. The holly and the cedar, twined together
with bunches of the `Druid Mistleto,' wreathed the doors
and windows, the fire-place, the pictures. Red and blue berries
glimmered prettily among the green leaves. At night, we had

the tea served sooner than usual, for the Major was impatient for
the fire-works. The discharge of a cannon was the signal for
crowding to the front piazza. There, as far as the eye could extend,
ranging along the green avenue, at equal distances, were
piles of flaming lightwood, showing the way to the dwelling.
They failed to show the spectators where the Major was preparing
for his rockets. Suddenly, these shot up amid the darkness; a
flight of a dozen, with the rush of the seraphim, flying, as it were,
from the glooms and sorrows of the earth. Then came wheels,
Roman candles, frogs, serpents, and transparencies—quite a display,
and doing great credit to the Major, besides singing his cheek
and hair, and drawing an ounce of blood from his left nostril—
the result of a premature and most indiscreet explosion of a turbillon,
or something of the sort. But this small annoyance was
rather agreeable than otherwise, as tending somewhat to dignify
the exploit.

The display over, and the spectators somewhat cooled by standing
in the open air, we returned to the rooms and the violin began
to infuse its own spirit into the heels of the company. Then followed
the dances; quadrilles, cotillon, country dances, Virginny
reels, and regular shake-downs. We occupied two saloons at this
business till 12 o'clock, when the boys and girls, obeying the
signal of Miss Janet, descended to the rooms assigned to offices
purely domestic. Huge bowls might here be seen displayed, and
mammoth dishes. A great basket of eggs was lifted in sight, and
upon a table. Knives and forks, sticks and goose feathers, were
put in requisition. Eggs were poised aloft and adroitly cut in
twain; the yolk falling into the bowl, the white into the dish—
seperating each, as it were, with a becoming sense of what was
expected of it. Then the clatter that followed,—the rubbing and
the rounding,—the twitching and the clashing! How fair arms
flashed, even to the elbow, and strong arms wearied, even to the
shoulder blade, to the merriment and mockery of the damsels.
With some, the unskilful, it wouldn't come;—in Western parlance,

`they couldn't come it';—and the dish had to be transferred
to more scientific hands. At length, the huge tray being uplifted,
turned upside down, and the white mass clinging still solidly to the
China, it was pronounced the proper moment for rëuniting the
parties so recently separated. Then rose the golden liquid, a
frosted sea of strength and sweetness and serenity, that never
whispered a syllable of the subtlety that lurked, hidden in the
compound, born of the glowing embraces of lordly Jamaica and
gallant Cognac. Lo! now the strong-armed youth, as they bear
the glorious beverage on silver salvers to the favourite ladies. They
quaff, they sip, they smile, they laugh; the brightness gathers in
their eyes; they sparkle; the orbs dance like young stars on a
frosty night, as if to warm themselves;—when suddenly, Miss
Janet rises, stands for a moment silent, looks significantly around
her, and is understood! A gay buzz follows; and, with smiles
and bows, and merry laughter, and pleasant promises, the gay
group disappears, leaving the tougher gender to finish the discussion
of that bright, potent beverage, in which the innocent egg is
made to apologize for a more fiery spirit than ever entered into the
imagination of pullet to conceive! Merry were the clamours that
followed;—gay songs were sung;—some of the youngsters, just
from college, took the floor in a stag dance;—while half a dozen
more sallied forth at one o'clock, called up the dogs, mounted their
steeds, and dashed through the woods on a fox hunt. But the fox
they hunted that night was one of that sort which Sampson let
loose among the Philistines—a burning brand under his brush—
not suffering him to know where he ran!