Timothy Templeton - The Adventures of My Cousin Smooth

T >> Timothy Templeton >> The Adventures of My Cousin Smooth

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

"'You must send up your card: it's a question whether he is out of his
morning gown and slippers, however!' Here the man looked doubtingly at
the card, then gave his head a significant shake.

"'General ain't got so mighty big since he moved from New Hampshire?'
I inquired, as the fellow hesitated and again viewed me from the
extreme points. 'Now, Uncle Sam, to you I would say a word, hoping, in
the spirit of a very good christian, that it may be received as
wholesome advice. You, Sam, are forgetting that fame which should
reflect us in future ages; you, Sam, are assisting those who would lay
sullied hands on our pure republicanism--who would sink it in the
political slough, and build over it the reeking bastard of a pitiable
tyranny. Stretch out thy hand, Sam, that we may cease to cut before
the world and the rest of mankind so sorry a figure. Sam! you have
sent your little villains out upon the world; recall them ere they
prove themselves great fools at our expense.'

"Well, to go back:--I began to push my way past the flunkey, when he
summoned his brass and said I couldn't come in--that I must slide
myself into costume of the eight stripe! This to me was neither
diplomatic nor polite. And being deemed impolite, according to the
rules of our Young America, I placed the broad front of my
knuckle-bones between his observators, (just to bring out his spunk),
and demanded to know what they charged in Washington for a few
knockings-down. To which he elongated himself, and with cool assurance
said it had never before been his fortune to be put through the
process--hence he was not prepared to figure up the amount. A place
called limbo, he said, was just over at the corner; that I better keep
an eye to it. This last saying gave the crowd outside furniture for a
good laugh; they, the citizens, set to quizzing me about the hang of
my breeches, which they were pleased to call diplomatic. This, I
inferred, was in consequence of Grandpapa Marcy having gone to there
was no knowing how deep into the breeches business, hoping thereby to
prevent plain American citizens making very unplain apes of themselves
when abroad. Indeed, neighbor Marcy would demonstrate to the world
that cloth and diplomacy were two very different things. And this
doctrine my Uncle Buck--all praise to his name--fully endorsed,--that
is, he proved himself the only American minister not given to
purloined crests and crimson cloth.

"'Smooth is a nine-cornered citizen in the rough: he needs polishing
down with a federal holly-stone before he can be admitted into good
society:' a voice like the creaking of a door resounded through the
passage. Being a rough sort of citizen didn't affect me as long as I
had the straight up-and-down principles within. Well, I got up the
go-a-head, and walked in steady. 'T'wont do! citizen Smooth!'
interposes the flunkey, putting out his right hand as his face
reddened into a blaze. 'Young America must keep within bounds; he must
conform to the established etiquette before he can see the General.'
Not liking to be out of sorts, I turned to him, and with the best kind
of good nature told him not to come within grasping distance.

"Lord bless yer soul, Uncle Sam! I told him it was always good policy
to keep civil to distinguished individuals, and treating his insolence
as Captain Ingraham would an Austrian proclamation, I kept onward
(that's the motto!) until the passage-way opened into a gorgeously
decorated hall, the motto on the door of which I surveyed until my
head begun to ache. The General seems to have got him a snug and
well-ordained establishment, thought I. But the fixings were rather
more profuse than democracy in its simplicity had led me to suppose
its taste appreciated. But there was no concealing the fact, that the
democracy--its love of simplicity not excepted--did pay large sums now
and then for showy fixtures and grand failures. The short-comings of
the New Hampshire law-shop were extinct--elegance everywhere met the
eye. While enjoying my meditations one flunkey approached another,
telling him to keep a keen eye on that fellow--meaning me. Then a slim
figure done up in dignity and tight clothes approached me with a
polite bow: 'Please remember this is the President's mansion,' said
he, viewing my perpendicular as if he questioned whether my length was
all real growth. Seeing that the establishment belonged to Uncle Sam,
I assured him he was a little too impertinent.

"'Now, neighbor!' says I to the citizen, don't deceive yourself by
supposing the General has got his aristocracy up like this before he
has lodged three months in the White House. I'm an independent
citizen; come to put some straight policy into the General, who, with
the assistance of his grind-stone man, Fourney, unfortunately has got
everything into a twist. My name (sometimes they call me Squire) is
Solomon Smooth. It don't matter what they call me now, for be it
known, ye men of titles, all the fishermen in our district have become
judges and generals. This is the result of that necessity that makes
negro-drivers of the south captains and majors. 'But the President,'
said he, 'has got such a fearful load of business on his hands this
morning, it will be impossible he can see Mr. Smooth, nor are the
apartments in a state to be seen by visitor--' 'Always in the suds!' I
interrupted. 'No! that ain't it,' he continued, half trembling of
fear; 'but the President is new, nor yet has got into the straight way
of doing crooked business.'

"'Never mind that,' replied I, 'Smooth's an independent citizen, who
must not be interfered with while taking a turn round the
establishment: he neither stands on ceremony nor political
point-making.' The fact was, Mr. Smooth had a very wholesome hatred of
the nonsense of ceremony, and always pitied that complacency of Uncle
John Bull who, like a well-worn and faithful pack-horse, never
flinched under the heavy burden of that precious legacy called royal
blood, which, said blood, was fast absorbing the vital blood of the
nation. May our Union always be spared the degradation of such blood!

"The fellow, seeing I was not to be outdone, gave it up for a bad job,
and contented himself with following me here and there, keeping a
fixed eye on my motions, as if he feared I was going to become
enamoured of some of Mr. Pierce's chambermaids, which said commodity
was acknowledged to be very pretty, and much admired by Jones, who did
the fashionable at Willard's. It having been said that the General,
like Jackson, would keep himself, I endeavored to persuade the fellow
to show me his nook. He only shook his head and said it wouldn't do:
so I took a careless stroll through the loose apartments, and ceased
only when my sight was gratified. 'Well!' says the flunkey, adding a
deep sigh and a despairing shake of the head, 'it's no use trying to
control this citizen; he's of the fast school, without bowels.'

"'You may believe it!' returned I, advancing toward a broad circular
stairway that wound downward far into the regions below, where I
expected to find Fourney and Company holding the General down upon the
grindstone, while Uncles Caleb and Jeff turned, and Marcy stood by to
say when enough of the rough was got off. 'There! in my soul he's
going down into the kitchen!' The fellow bawled out as I passed down,
and soon disappeared, saying it was just the winding way I sought;
and, though the things to be seen in the vortex to which it led might
be dangerously dear to the nation, the proof would at least be
convincing. On I went, the way darkening as I advanced.

CHAPTER VII.

MR. SMOOTH PENETRATES THE DARK CONFINES OF MR. PIERCE'S KITCHEN, WHERE
HE FINDS THINGS SADLY CONFUSED.

"Down, down, down, went, groping my way (significant of the General's
policy) through a long dark passage, whence came a rancorous stench,
strong enough to kill cats and doubtful democrats. 'Keep the right
hand way for the kitchen: General is in there, assisting in the making
of a monster stew. Work your course through the smoke--you may be sure
Mr. Pierce is in the thickest cloud, though over the smallest
stew-pan,' a voice echoed, as if broken on the winds. 'All right!' I
muttered, confronting on my way the still stronger odour of the
sickening steam. My intention was to have a political discussion with
the cook (Fourney by name) and say a thing or two to the General; for
I had got a sort of cross-grained notion into my head that he was
compounding a grand stew for the black pig with the horns. Meanwhile
my stomach said it would have no objection to join the General over a
good breakfast. Presently I scented the frying of fish, which betold
that I was on the right track. But lo! as I was about to open a great
door that led into where the fussing and frying was going on, a voice
screamed out--'Visitors are forbidden these premises!' Here was a
pretty kettle of political fish. 'Much you know about it!' I replied
testily, and turning saw nothing but fog and confusion. Faith and
energy being the two great pillars of human progress, I summoned them
to my aid, and pressed onward, determined to see for myself who
regulated the culinary. This resolution was adopted solely on the
ground that the General had repudiated his responsibility to the
people, and joined hands with those who eat up all the loaves and
little fishes.

"Mr. Smooth, on behalf of Young America, esteemed the having positive
proof of how Mr. General Pierce kept his kitchen things a duty he
could not forego, and upon the strength of which he presented himself
to the august culinary cabinet, which he found enveloped in a dense
cloud. As I passed the great door, a fat man from Florida, who filled
that office of steady habits, the doorkeeper, said Mr. Smooth, which
he read on my card, was decidedly impertinent; the more so because
neither of the old grey-back parties had ever troubled themselves
about the kitchen fixings; that the present was an innovation he was
sure Mr. Pierce would resent by the withholding of appointments. I
left him to his opinion, and delved my way through the smoke, until I
began to think I had lost myself, and instead of Mr. Pierce on the
grindstone found a lower region of unlimited extent--so murky and
dismal was the place. They said it didn't use to be so! Such fritter
frying; such johnny-cake baking; such chowder making, and flounder
frying! Nearly a dozen fine buxom-looking, corn-fed females
(_helps_),--such as Vermont only can grow, were stuffing and stewing,
and beating and battering, and themselves seeming on the eve of
dissolution. They evinced alarm at my presence, but I told them not to
be scared, inasmuch as I was an intimate acquaintance of the General,
for whom I carried Cape Cod. On the left side of the kitchen there
stood at a great deal table an aged maid whose mien was somewhat
fidgety. This visible nervousness was increased with the labour
necessary to prepare the ponderous pile of soft dough-nuts she worked
upon; which, she said, when ready (though of little substance) were
intended to satisfy the Down-easters, who never expected much, and
seldom got anything. I pitied the poor old lady, for she seemed well
worn. She declared it was pinching times in the kitchen--that is, her
part of it. She prepared a deal of little niceties for the
peace-loving North: but, the General was so pinching with matters on
that side of the house, and had become so enamoured of the black pig!
This voracious brute demanded everything, and got what he
demanded--even got us into a deal of trouble. Indeed, it had been said
that all the swill in the country wouldn't satisfy him--he would seek
abroad for more. 'Needn't be afraid, old lady,' said I, edging up to
her in a polite sort of way: 'Smooth won't harm nobody. The New
Englanders think well of the women--they do!' Here I gave the old lady
my hand, and shook her's right heartily. 'Why,' I continued, 'there's
three Women's Rights Societies down Massachusetts way, any one of
which can start a breeze at pleasure--blow the men all into thunder! I
say, old lady, better join one of them--pay fifty cents, and blow the
men all into political rags. Musn't take what I say amiss; but you
looks as if you could do some blowing: the General standing much in
need of that article, why not volunteer? The General is going it
pretty fast now, but just get the Women's Rights Societies to blow him
a little, and he'll go fast enough for any Young American party out.'
After leaving the old woman, who said she was nearly related to
General Cass, I went politely to the other girls, bidding them, one
after another, a square down good-morning, ending with a social chat
and a smile for them all. On the opposite side of the smoky kitchen
stood the grim figure of a nigger wench, as big as the north side of a
Dutch lighthouse, and as saucy as Benton's goat. The way she was
making the wool fly over a sas-pan as big as old Zack Coffin's ile
kettle was a caution to nervous folks. 'What on earth have ye got in
that, eh?' I inquires, peeping over the side into the half-scalding
foam.

"'What business is that to you?' sounds, like thunder rolling away in
the distance, from t'other side the cauldron. Looking up almost
dumb-founded I espied the hard phiz of the General, in dim outline
through the fog and steam, stirring away at a massive ladle.

"'Pierce! Lord love yer soul--is it you?' says I, my feelings rising
into a rhapsody of affection for him: 'Give us yer hand.'

"'Yes, it's me; just come round here if you can see your way through,'
says he; and I fumbled my way round, and got him by the hand, and had
a hearty good shake, just for old acquaintance sake.

"'But what in the name of Columbus are you doing here?' I inquired,
touching him on the elbow, significantly.

"'Well!' he answers, rather undecidedly, 'just helping prepare this
pot of mixture for the black pig.' He kept on moving his big ladle
with one hand and throwing in additional feed with the other, from a
bucket that stood close by.

"I inquired of the General where he kept so dangerous an animal, and
was told in the most complacent manner that he ran all about, was as
ravenous of power as the gentleman of those lower regions we hear so
much about is of sinners; that he demanded all the country's swill.
Here the General threw into the cauldron another sprinkling of grits,
which he said was to complete the pot of homony. It was merely the
daily feed of the black pig, which the colored female assisted the
General in preparing. The General seemed very good-natured, and
commenced a mathematical description of the ingredients of the
mixture, when suddenly there came a fierce blow from behind, which
well nigh tilted him deep into the foaming liquid. I grabbed the broad
expanse of his nether garments, while the wench screamed, and was only
quieted when she found him safe under her broad lee. A deep sonorous
voice responded:--'Stir quicker in the feed!' I turned to see from
whence it came, and who had dealt thus unmercifully with the General,
when behold! there stood this hideous animal. With fourteen horns he
incessantly used, and two just growing, he hoped in time to use; with
a back of thorns he ever and anon threatened all who came near him;
with a tail of poison he defiantly lashed, and a wicked eye that
sought objects afar off--he was the most pertinacious brute unchained.
Moreover he had a snout like a ploughshare, with which he had
frequently driven Mr. Pierce to the wall.

"'Add more grits!' again the brute growled out, as if alike unhappy
with himself and those around him. The voice had scarcely delivered
its command, when Mr. General Pierce, as undecided as wanting in vigor
of intellect, turned gently round, patted the hideous monster on the
head--said he would do all he could to pacify him, though to appease
his discontent seemed impossible. Indeed, it was a fact that
notwithstanding much of the swill intended for the whiter portion of
the litter was sacrificed to this demanding brute, he illustrated his
gratitude by threatening to swallow Mr. Pierce into the bargain. This
was most unfortunate, seeing how much had been done to transplant the
breed to foreign lands.

"Mr. Smooth felt that for a President to be thus driven to extremes
was indeed an unenviable position. I told him I thought Young America
would do something, and, with a little advice concerning his
principles, passed on through the smoke and foam until I confronted
Uncle Jeff and Cousin Guth, both hard at work over a blazing fire,
frying a monster fish. Uncle Jeff's apron looked as if he did most of
the greasy work, while Guth looked on and directed the turns--now and
then whispering a word to the French cook, who with sparkling eye, and
oval olive face, and hair so glossy, black, and curly, was dexterously
compounding a luscious sauce. 'Going it on the strong!' said I, giving
Uncle Jeff a significant wedge under the shorts as he was about to let
the grease in the stew-pan fuzzle. Guth, who at the moment commenced
dredging in a little more pepper, and a little more butter, and a
small sprinkling of salt, said they had been trying to cook this old
fish for there was no knowing how many years, all to no purpose; but
now that the arts of the very best French cook in the country had been
secured he was sure to be done brown. Here he smiled and turned to the
cook in question, who bowed with such grace! Such a bow in the
presence of ladies would have secured his reputation. Indeed, the said
cook was extremely neat of person, though rather below the middle
stature, and was well thought of among lawyers and ladies, who
declared they liked his graces better than his gravies. 'He's of the
right stripe--a fillibuster cook!' said Jeff, exultingly, as Guth gave
the coals another stir. 'This is a Cuba flounder,' interposed
Guth. 'You see, Mr. Smooth, the General is exceedingly partial to this
sort of flounder, but he doesn't understand the quality of dressing
requisite to the cooking it--he must be done with native sauce. It is
necessary he should be fried in a southern griddle, with plenty of
native sauce--an article for which this cook of ours is not
celebrated.'

"'Well, gents!' rejoined I, 'if you do brown that old fellow this
season I'll knock under. However, don't be bashful about extending
Smooth an invitation to breakfast: understand, he is rather fond of a
good fish hash, which he thinks it is the profession of your French
cook to do up.'

"'Lord bless you!' quickly interrupted Uncle Jeff, 'being a good
Down-east democrat, your wish shall be gratified.' Then in great good
nature he told me just to step along, and a little further into the
dark smoke I'd find Grandpapa Marcy and Uncle Dib, exerting their
wondrous energies over a stew they were puzzled to get to the right
substance. Knowing that their good advice was much better as example
than the result of their actions, I wended my way along, leaving Guth
and Jeff to their frying, and soon came upon the two old worthies,
busily employed over stews of the most incomprehensible ingredients.
'That,' spoke Grandpapa Marcy, as I approached within hearing
distance, 'is the real democratic stew, it will cement hard shells and
soft shells into one strong conglomerate mass.' He pointed to a
punch-bowl held between their legs--(for they were seated on the
floor)--and containing a mixture they stirred with spoons containing
the Tammany-hall mark. For some time I stood contemplating the
venerable appearance of these two, nor could I resist a smile at the
singular occupation they had so readily adopted. Uncle Dib seemed
happy, and evidently had a keen sense of what the consistency of the
stew must be to make the flounder palatable. Grandpapa's countenance,
nevertheless, wore an air of deep anxiety. He had undertaken the
management of the most unruly set of cooks that ever infested the
kitchen of a respectable gentleman; and they had made a shocking mess.
And, too, Grandpapa, was unhappy; his clothes bore seedy marks, and
his breeches were in such a plight--it really excited our pity. I
called his attention to an unmentionable rent in a conspicuous place,
but he seemed careless about it--said it was of no consequence--and
that Uncle Sam was a good old soul, and always paid the tailor--he
knew from experience. Suddenly I heard the formidable negro-wench
raising her voice in admonition. She was scolding the General, who
still kept stirring in the homony grits for the black pig. Then a
noise came through the foam and smoke as of one in trouble. 'Faster,
faster!' it spoke, 'stir in more grits!' Then followed a loud splash
and a deathlike shriek; alarm and consternation spread throughout the
building. From the cauldron came the cry. Grandpapa moved for a
moment, as was his custom, declared the voice to be no other than that
of the General himself. Dib agreed ('There's trouble!' he exclaimed)
and both sprang to their feet, and with anxious countenances hastened
to the rescue, Marcy crying out, as he passed Jeff and Guth, 'Stick by
the flounder, boys! Stand firm; don't give in until he's well cooked;
we'll save the General--you dig in the basting.' The boys, as
Grandpapa called them, were crowding the charcoal finely. Always
having a taste for seeing what was going on, I kept close at Dib's
heels, and soon saw through the grim smoke where the trouble was. The
black pig had got the General poised by the nether part of his
breeches, on his Virginia horn, and was having a nice little game of
shuttle-cock with him, just for his own amusement, while his executive
victim shrieked most piteously, expecting every succeeding surge would
land him beneath the surface of the boiling mass. The old nigger wench
had fainted at the sight, and lay sprawled on the floor, as Marcy,
making a grab at Mr. Pierce's breeches at a moment when the savage
brute was giving a last vault ere he landed his victim into the
scalding homony, tripped his toe and brought his length upon the floor
beneath the pig's hind legs. 'It's all gone!' exclaimed the General;
and in another minute nothing was seen save the soles of his boots
protruding above the boil-surface. The surly brute, having generously
moistened Grandpapa Marcy's head, stood, his fore-feet on the rim of
the cauldron, gazed after his struggling victim, and held his head
high aloft in triumph. This brought Uncle Dib to the rescue. After
raising Grandpapa, with limbs extended, they drew forth the
half-cooked body, reeking with the black pig's swill, and laid it on
the kitchen floor, the ungrateful quadruped walking victoriously
away. Satisfied that I had seen enough for one day, I sought my way
back to the National, where I contemplated the next move necessary to
my mission.

CHAPTER VIII.

MR. SOLOMON SMOOTH TAKES A FISH BREAKFAST.

"Well, Uncle Sam, I reckoned I'd seen enough of the kitchen
arrangements; so I left them scraping the General--that is, getting
off the injured outside, in order to see what really he was made of,
and what he had beneath the undefinable cover. When in Washington,
there's nothing like going ahead; and if you can look a man into
respect for you, so much the better. Dignitary or no dignitary won't
do; you must always profess to be a distinguished individual. Well, on
the strength of the invitation extended by Jeff--to take a fish
breakfast on the following morning, when it was expected the flounder
would be done brown, I again repaired to the White House, and after
pushing my way through all kinds of passages and doorways, found
myself in a gorgeous sort of establishment.

"'Your lookin for somethin, I take it?' said a trim figure, whose face
rather bordered on the brassy.

"'Well! I reckon I am. Can you tell a stray citizen where the General
hangs out in the morning?' I replied, as he confronted me and paused.

"'Sartin!' he rejoined, interrupting me, and at the same time looking
very sociable, as if he wanted to have a talk on politics.
Nevertheless, it was getting close upon the hour of breakfast; so he
takes me by the arm, and stepping through a frickazeed passage up to a
large door which opened into a ponderously furnished room, 'I'll take
your card, sir!' continued he, with a low bow and a motion of the hand
to sit down.

"Didn't have a card at hand, but chalked down Mr. Solomon Smooth, from
Cape Cod, on a piece of thick paper per, that suited all the purposes.

"'Mr. Smooth belongs to the Young American party, if I mistake not?'
he returned, with a polite bow.

"'You better believe that, citizen!' says I, and off he goes, soon
disappearing through a door at the other end of the room. While he was
gone, I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to take a survey of the
premises. So, lighting my cigar, I began at the top end first. Such
looking-glasses, sofas, carpets--so much fashion and flummery, that
nobody could tell what utility it contained, I never had seen
before. Tell you what it is, Uncle Sam, we have an expensively queer
way of representing our republican simplicity! As I was squinting
about, in comes the General, looking as bright as a newly-coined
cent. Running up to me, with hand extended, and exulting with joy, he
spake: 'Great kingdom, Smooth!--is it you?' And then he shaked my hand
as if he never would let it go.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20