r--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.