“The chiguire,—the wild hog of the Caraccas,” said Cashel. “They are a harmless sort of animal, and lead somewhat an unhappy life of it; for when they escape the crocodile in the river, they are certain to fall into the jaws of the jaguar on land.”
“Pretty much like a member o' the Scotch Kirk in Ireland,” said Sir Andrew, “wi' Episcopaalians on the tae haun, and Papishes on the tither. Are thae creatures gude to eat, sir?”
“The flesh is excellent,” broke in the Dean. “They are the Cavia-Capybara of Linnaeus, and far superior to our European swine.”
“I only know,” said Cashel, abruptly, “that we never eat them, except when nothing else was to be had. They are rancid and fishy.”
“A mere prejudice, sir,” responded the Dean. “If you taste the chiguire, to use the vulgar name, and let him lie in steep in a white-wine vinegar, en marinade, as the French say—”
“Where are you to find the white-wine vinegar in the Savannahs?” said Cashel. “You forget, sir, that we are speaking of a country where a fowl roasted in its own feathers is a delicacy.”
“Oh, how very singular! Do you mean that you eat it, feathers and all?” said Mrs. White.
“No, madam. It's a prairie dish, which, I assure you, after all, is not to be despised. The plat is made this way. You take a fowl,—the wild turkey, when lucky enough to find one,—and cover him all over with soft red clay; the river clay is the best. You envelop him completely; in fact, you make a great ball, somewhat the size of a man's head. This done, you light a fire, and bake the mass. It requires, probably, five or six hours to make the clay perfectly hard and dry. When it cracks, the dish is done. You then break open the shell, to the outside of which the feathers adhere, and the fowl, deliciously roasted, stands before you.”
“How very excellent,—le poulet braisé of the French, exactly,” said Lord Kilgoff.
“How cruel!” “How droll!” “How very shocking!” resounded through the table; the Dean the only one silent, for it was a theme on which, most singular to say, he could neither record a denial nor a correction.