The whole of the large assemblage then fell to eating.  The dinner was made up of the barbecued beef and the usual mixture of viands found on a planter’s table, with water from the little brook hard by, and a plentiful supply of corn-whisky. (The latter beverage, I thought, had been subjected to the rite of immersion, for it tasted wonderfully like water.)

Songs and speeches were intermingled with the masticating exercises, and the whole company were soon in the best of humor.

During the meal I was introduced by Andy to a large number of the ‘natives,’ he taking special pains to tell each one that I was a Yankee, and a Union man, but always adding, as if to conciliate all parties, that I was also a guest and a friend of his very particular friend, ‘that d—­d seceshener, Cunnel J——.’

Before we left the table, the secession orator happening near, Andy rose from his seat, and extended his hand to him, saying: 

’Tom, you think I ’sulted you—­p’r’aps I did—­but you ’sulted my Yankee friend har, and your own relation, and I hed to take it up, jest for the looks o’ the thing.  Come, thar’s my hand; I’ll fight you ef you want ter, or we’ll say no more ‘bout it—­jest as you like.’

‘Say no more about it, Andy,’ said the gentleman, very cordially; ’let’s drink and be friends.’

They drank a glass of whisky together, and then leaving the table, proceeded to where the ox had been barbecued, to show me how cooking on a large scale is done at the South.

In a pit about eight feet deep, twenty feet long, and ten feet wide, laid up on the side with stones, a fire of hickory had been made, over which, after the wood had burned down to coals, a whole ox, divested of its hide and entrails, had been suspended on an enormous spit.  Being turned often in the process of cooking, the beef had finally been ’done brown.’  It was then cut up and served on the table, and I must say, for the credit of Southern cookery, that it made as delicious eating as any meat I ever tasted.

I had then been away from my charge—­the Colonel’s horses—­as long as seemed to be prudent.  I said as much to Andy, when he proposed to return with me, and turning good-humoredly to his reconciled friend, he said: 

‘Now, Tom, no secession talk while I’m off.’

‘Nary a word,’ said Tom, and we left.

The horses had been well fed by the negro who had them in charge, but had not been groomed.  Andy, seeing that, stripped off his coat, and, setting the black at work on one, with a handful of straw and pine-leaves commenced operations on the other, and the horse’s coat was soon as smooth and glossy as if recently rubbed by an English groom.

The remainder of the day passed without incident till eleven at night, when the Colonel returned from Wilmington.