The Smuggler Chief: A Novel. Aimard Gustave
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"Now, then," he said, as he took off his hat and poncho, and threw himself into an easy chair, "bring me some dinner at once."
"What would you like, captain?"
"The first thing ready: some puchero, some pepperpot – in short, whatever you please, provided it be at once, as I am in a hurry."
"What will you drink?"
"Wine, confound it! and try to find some that is good."
"All right."
"Decamp then, and make haste to bring me all I require."
"Directly, captain."
And Señor Crevel withdrew to attend to the preparation of the young man's dinner. During this time Leon walked up and down the room, and seemed to be arranging in his head the details of some plan he was meditating.
Crevel soon returned to lay the table, which he performed without opening his lips for fear of attracting some disagreeable remark from the captain, who, for his part, did not appear at all disposed for conversation. In an instant all was arranged with that coquettish symmetry which belongs to the French alone.
"Dinner is ready, captain," said Crevel, when he re-entered the room.
"Very well. Leave me; when I want you I will call you."
The landlord went out. Leon sat down to the table, and drawing the knife which he wore in his boot, vigorously attacked the appetizing dishes placed before him.
It is a fact worthy of remark, that with great and energetic natures, moral sufferings have scarce any influence over physical wants. It might be said that they understand the necessity of renewing or redoubling their strength, in order to resist more easily and more victoriously the griefs which oppress them, and they require all their vigour to contend worthily against them.
Chilian meals in no way resemble ours. Among us people drink while eating, in order to facilitate the absorption and digestion of the food; but in America it is quite different – there people eat without drinking. It is only when the pastry and sweets have been eaten that they drink a large glass of water for digestion; then comes the wines and liqueurs, always in small quantities, for the inhabitants of hot countries are generally very sober, and not addicted to the interminable sittings round a table covered with bottles, in an atmosphere impregnated with the steam of dishes.
When the meal was ended, Leon took his tobacco pouch from his pocket and rolled a cigarette, after wiping his fingers on the cloth. As this action may appear improper to the reader, it is as well that he should know that all Americans do so without scruple, as the use of the napkin is entirely unknown. Another custom worth mentioning is that of employing the fingers in lieu of a fork. This is the process among the Americans. They cut a piece of bread crumb, which they hold in their hand, and pick up with it the articles on their plate with great rapidity and cleanliness.
Nor must it be thought that they act in this way through ignorance of the fork; they are perfectly well acquainted with that utensil, and can manage it as well as we do when required; but though it is present on every table, both rich and poor regard it as an object of luxury, and say that it is far more convenient to do without it, and remark that the food has considerably more flavour when eaten in this fashion.
Leon lit his cigarette, and fell again into his reflections. All at once he rose and rang the bell, and Crevel at once appeared.
"Take all this away," said Leon, pointing to the table.
The landlord removed all traces of the meal.
"And now bring me the articles to make a glass of punch."
Crevel gazed for a moment in amazement at the man who had given this order. The sobriety of the smuggler was proverbial at Valparaíso; he had never been seen to drink more than one or two glasses of Pisco, and then it was only on great occasions, or to please his friend Diego, whom he knew to be very fond of strong liquors, like all the Indians. When a bottle of aguardiente was served to the two men, the Indian finished it alone, for Leon scarce wet his lips. Hence the landlord was almost knocked off his feet on receiving his guest's unusual order.
"Well, did you not hear me?" Leon resumed, impatiently.
"Yes, yes, sir," Crevel replied; "but – "
"But it surprises you, I suppose?"
"I confess it."
"It is true," Leon said, with a mocking smile, "that it is not my habit to drink."
"That it is not," said Crevel.
"Well, I am going to take to it, that's all. And what do you find surprising in that?"
"Nothing, of course."
"Then bring me what I asked for."
"Directly, directly, captain."
"On my soul, something extraordinary is taking place," Crevel said to himself as he descended to his bar. "The captain never had a very agreeable way with him, but, on the word of Crevel, I never saw him as he is tonight; it would be dangerous to touch him with a pair of tongs. What can have happened to him? Ah, stuff, it concerns him, after all: and then, who knows; perhaps he is on the point of becoming a drunkard."
After this aside, the worthy landlord manufactured a splendid bowl of punch, which he carried up to Leon so soon as it was ready.
"There," he said, as he placed the bowl on the table; "I think that will please you, captain."
"Thanks! but what is this?" Leon said, as he looked at what Crevel had brought – "there is only one glass."
"Why, you are alone."
"That is true; but I trust you will do me the pleasure of drinking with me."
"I should be most unwilling, captain, to deprive myself of the honour of drinking with you, but – "
Crevel, through his stupefaction, was unable to complete his sentence, for the invitation which the captain gave him surprised him beyond all expression. Let us add that it was the first time such an honour had been done him.
"In that case bring a glass for yourself."
Crevel, without further hesitation, fetched the glass, and seated himself facing the captain.
"Now, my dear Crevel," Leon said, as he dipped into the bowl and filled the glasses to the brim, "here's to your health, and let us talk."
The landlord was all ears.
"Do you know the convent of the Purísima Concepción?"