Читать книгу The Old Dominion - G. P. R. James - Страница 9

Blackwater House. Andrew Gorbel.

Оглавление

By this time I had learned that such symptoms indicated an inn; and while Zed led away the horses, Heaven knows where, I stepped up to the fat smoker, and asked where I could find the landlord.

"I'm the proprietor," answered he. And, without even asking if I wanted anything, continued puffing away at his pipe with the utmost indifference. The fact is, that the people of this country are too thinly scattered for anything like what we call attention and civility. There is no competition amongst them. They feel that other men are more dependent upon them than they upon other men, and they are determined to make those whom they supply with anything feel that it is so. This is a good deal the case in the cities, but ten times more so in remote country places, where the solitary inn has the power of laying every traveller under contribution, or inflicting upon him the penalty of a long and inexpedient ride. I have come to this conclusion from remarking that in spots where commerce is beginning to centre, and two or three taverns have been set up side by side, the landlords, yielding to circumstances, have put on as much civility, if not obsequiousness, as any in the old world. Nothing like competition, my dear friends. It is what bows down most men to the worship of the golden calf, but is very comfortable and convenient for travellers.

"Pray, sir, can I get any dinner here, to-day?"

"I dar say you can." Puff--puff--puff--not a word more.

"What's the dinner hour?"

"One o'clock, if the lads have come back." Puff--puff--puff.

"Can I get anything to drink? I am very thirsty."

"Just in there you'll find the whisky-bottle, on the shelf in the bar. There's water in the pitcher, I think." I was turning away, to satisfy my thirst, when my fat friend hallooed after me--

"Hie! Will you jist hand me that newspaper off the bench." With a smile I could not repress, I did what he required, observing, in somewhat of the country language,--

"You seem somewhat troubled about the limbs, Mr. Gorbel."

"No, not a bit," said he; "my limbs is as strong as ever. It's what's above 'em is the trouble; they have got too much to carry. It's all come on in these cussed last three years, owing to the dry weather and the weevil, I think." I walked away, rather inclined to conclude it was the drought of his own palate, rather than that of the weather, which had brought him into that condition; and, with such an example before my eyes, contented myself with the cold water, without troubling the whisky. About a quarter past one o'clock, till which time I amused myself as best I might, I espied two young men coming up a cross road, or rather lane, through the wood, and another walking leisurely along through a field of Indian corn. On approaching the house, they walked at once into what the old man had called the bar, and rushed at a large tin washbowl. One washed his face and hands, and another did the same. All wiped on the same towel hanging behind the door, and most of them combed their hair with a universal comb which lay on the window-seat. All this was done in profound silence; for in this country, as well as most others, hunger does not tend to loquacity. Before the three first had finished their unfastidious ablutions, another and another had entered, till the bar-room was fuller of human creatures than I had imagined the whole country for twenty miles round could present. As I had come thither, I had seen nothing but forest and swamp, with the exception of a small village here and there, and a scattered house or two near it. A group of negroes, indeed, once or twice was seen looking over a ragged fence; but nothing of white humanity had been visible except in the aforesaid villages. Now, however, there were at least twenty white men about me. In a moment after, a little tinkling hand-bell rang, a door leading out of the bar-room opened, and in rushed the crowd, jostling each other like a pack of hungry hounds, into a large, low dining-hall, where each seized upon a seat, and helped himself to what was before him. It did not seem to matter what it was; to save time was the great object; one man seized upon a dish of cabbage; another snatched some pork and beans; a third thrust his fork into a potato; and a fourth emptied a dish of pickles upon his plate. In the meantime, a black lad of about sixteen, end two mulatto girls, were going round from guest to guest, repeating some mysterious words in a very quick tone, which caused each of the gentlemen to thrust out his plate, loaded as it was, with a single word of reply. When the boy came to me, I discovered that the talismanic words were simply, "roast mutton; corn beef; boiled mutton; roast shoat; roast turkey; chicken pie!" Happily, I had been warned as to the nature of shoat; but out of the rest I contrived to make a very good dinner, which, though it occupied not more than ten minutes to complete, was so slow of accomplishment in comparison with the time the others allowed themselves, that I found myself at the end left alone with the rotund landlord, who had rolled into a chair at the head of the table, and had gone on eating pork and cabbage up to that moment in profound silence. When I first perceived him, he was making a sign with his thumb over his shoulder, to the black boy, who instantly disappeared into the bar-room, and returned with the bottle of whisky in his hand. Mine host nearly filled his tumbler, and then pointed to me, saying, in a husky voice--

"Will you take a drink?--Good old rye--capital stuff--twenty year old, that. Though, may be, you'd like a julep. But I don't go in for juleps--the mint's over-heating, 'specially when one's dined."

The Old Dominion

Подняться наверх