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Updated: May 16, 2025
Innes, the school-master's wife a stout, kind-hearted woman, the fine condition of whose temperament was clearly the result of her physical prosperity appeared at the door which led to the dwelling-house above, bearing in her hands a huge tureen of potato-soup, for her motherly heart could not longer endure the thought of dinnerless boys.
John, Arthur, and I slung our hammocks in the building, while the rest of the party were accommodated in the huts of the bark-gatherers. A rough table was soon formed within the large shed, and benches were brought in, and a substantial repast made ready. The chief dishes were the usual potato-soup and some roast meat.
Then voices sounded from the mess-room: the high crowing tones of Wegstetten and the mellow bass of Major Lischke, The little captain was grumbling about the food. "No, no, major," he piped. "The mess-steward sets disgusting stuff before us, and that's the truth. Now, to-day beef and potato-soup? Pah! It was lean old cow, as tough as shoe-leather! And soup? hot water and Liebig!"
Bread and butter and black coffee for breakfast, and potato-soup and bread and butter for supper, with plain bread and butter done up in a piece of paper and carried with me for luncheon this was my daily menu for the weeks that followed, varied on two occasions by the purchase of a half-pint of New Orleans molasses.
The tambos, or road-side inns, we stopped at were mostly huts of the rudest kind, with mud walls and floors, kept by Indians, and dirty in the extreme. The entertainment provided for us was boiled chicken and potato-soup, called in the mountains locro. Wooden spoons were served to enable us to ladle up the soup, but our fingers had to be used for the chicken, instead of knives and forks.
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