Colonel Carter of CartersvilleSmith, Francis Hopkinson
General
Colonel Carter of Cartersville
Smith, Francis Hopkinson
Virginia -- Fiction
Fitz, practical business man as he was, would listen to his many schemes
by the hour, charmed into silence and attentive appreciation by the
sublime faith that sustained his host, and the perfect honesty and
sincerity underlying everything he did. But it was not until the cheese
had completely lost its geometrical form, the coffee served, and the
pipes lighted, that the subject which of all others absorbed him was
broached. Indeed, it was a rule of the colonel's, never infringed upon,
that, no matter how urgent the business, the dinner-hour was to be
kept sacred.
"Salt yo' food, suh, with humor," he would say. "Season it with wit,
and sprinkle it all over with the charm of good-fellowship, but never
poison it with the cares of yo' life. It is an insult to yo' digestion,
besides bein', suh, a mark of bad breedin'."
"Now, Major," began the colonel, turning to me, loosening the string
around a package of papers, and spreading them out like a game of
solitaire, "draw yo' chair closer. Fitz, hand me the map."
A diligent search revealed the fact that the map had been left at the
office, and so the colonel proceeded without it, appealing now and
then to Fitz, who leaned over his chair, his arm on the table.
"Befo' I touch upon the financial part of this enterprise, Major, let
me show you where this road runs," said the colonel, reaching for the
casters. "I am sorry I haven't the map, but we can get along very well
with this;" and he unloaded the cruets.
"This mustard-pot, here, is Caartersville, the startin'-point of our
system. This town, suh, has now a population of mo' than fo' thousand
people; in five years it will have fo'ty thousand. From this point the
line follows the bank of the Big Tench River--marked by this
caarvin'-knife--to this salt-cellar, where it crosses its waters by
an iron bridge of two spans, each of two hundred and fifty feet. Then,
suh, it takes a sharp bend to the southard and stops at my estate, the
roadbed skirtin' within a convenient distance of Caarter Hall.
"Please move yo' arm, Fitz. I haven't room enough to lay out the city
of Fairfax. Thank you.
"Just here," continued the colonel, utilizing the remains of the cheese,
"is to be the future city of Fairfax, named after my ancestor, suh,
General Thomas Wilmot Fairfax of Somerset, England, who settled here
in 1680. From here we take a course due nawth, stopping at Talcottville
eight miles, and thence nawthwesterly to Warrentown and the broad
Atlantic; in all fifty miles."
"Any connecting road at Warrentown?" I asked.
"No, suh, nor anywhere else along the line. It is absolutely virgin
country, and this is one of the strong points of the scheme, for there
can be no competition;" and the colonel leaned back in his chair, and
looked at me with the air of a man who had just informed me of a legacy
of half a million of dollars and was watching the effect of the news.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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