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Updated: June 25, 2025
Who's the better man at that? And now I resign, by thunder! Elect whom you please to be your cap'n now; I'm done with it." "Silver!" they cried. "Barbecue forever! Barbecue for cap'n!" "So that's the toon, is it?" cried the cook. "George, I reckon you'll have to wait another turn, friend; and lucky for you as I'm not a revengeful man. But that was never my way. And now, shipmates, this black spot?
Happy, indeed, would the negroes have been if all their masters had been as my father was. When we moved to Mercer County from Garrard, we had a sale. It was customary then at such a time to have a barbecue and a great dinner. The tables were set in the yard. I remember Mr. Jones Adams, a neighbor and great friend of my father, brought over a two bushel sack of turnip greens and a ham.
Niggers had good times in mos' ways in slav'ry time. July 4th, we would wash up an' have a good time. We hallowed dat day wid de white folks. Dere was a barbecue; big table set down in bottoms. Dere was niggers strollin' 'roun' like ants. We was havin' a time now. White folks too.
Through the trees now the fluttering of skirts could be seen. High school girls were on their way to share the barbecue, though as yet they did not know of the treat in store for them. "You couldn't have come at a finer time!" cried Dick joyously, as he raced to meet the most welcome visitors. "We're barbecuing a whole cow."
The Easterner glanced at his companion suspiciously but the other man was still looking straight ahead into the distance. "You have a dance, or a barbecue or or something of that sort, don't you? It's to be an Indian wedding, is it not?" Pat, pat went the horses' feet on the prairie sod. While one could count ten slowly there was no other sound.
I jes' set out with the nimblest, an' run from the devil myself." "Won't them candidates fur office be mighty mad if they find out what it war sure enough?" she queried anxiously. "They gin the crowd a barbecue an' bran dance, an' arter all, the folks got quit of hevin' ter hear them speak an' jaw about thar old politics an' sech." "Them candidates air hoppin' mad fur true," he admitted.
"I'm going to make a plum pudding for Dudley to-morrow. Where is he now?" "A political barbecue, I believe," responded Eugenia indifferently as she knotted the cord of her flannel dressing-gown. She yawned and threw herself into a chair. "I wonder why everybody spoils Dudley so," she added. "Even I do it.
One of these last was Joseph Travis, who had recently married the widow of one Putnam Moore, and had unfortunately wedded to himself her negroes also. In the woods on the plantation of Joseph Travis, upon the Sunday just named, six slaves met at noon for what is called in the Northern States a picnic, and in the Southern a barbecue.
In the centre of the square the board flooring had been removed from a huge circular pit that measured twenty feet across by six or eight in depth; it was lined and bottomed with flat paving-stones. A fire of hard-wood had been burning in it for hours, the preliminary to a gigantic barbecue of fat oxen.
The Carib Indians, and the kindred tribes on the Brazilian coast, had a peculiar way of curing meat for preservation. They used to build a wooden grille or grating, raised upon poles some two or three feet high, above their camp fires. This grating was called by the Indians barbecue. The meat to be preserved, were it ox, fish, wild boar, or human being, was then laid upon the grille.
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