Green Gill Oysters

Editor Forest and Stream:

I had been down to North Carolina on a gunning trip and was returning in company with several "Tar heels," who were on their way North to buy goods. Two weeks shooting had given me a sharpened appetite, and that longing for the oyster that was shared by my companions who each had a countryman's love of fish and bivalves -- on the principle, I presume, that we all want what we can't get. Our train stopped at Petersburg for supper, but it was unanimously resolved to wait until our arrival at Richmond, where we could probably get better oysters. Our's was a gay party, and I cannot avoid giving you one of the anecdotes with which we whiled away the time. Major Williams, a lively old cock, was telling us that in old times it was the fashion to haul cotton to Petersburg from North Carolina in wagons. The roads were bad, and it, at times, took the hardest kind of swearing to "move the crops." The Major's father was an adept at starting a stalled team, and was often reproved by the minister for his profanity. On one occasion, it so happend that the preacher concluded to go to Petersburg with the elder Williams, and on the road, as usual the wagon got stuck, nor could it be moved, as out of deference to his reverence the ordinary incentives were not resorted to. All efforts proving fruitless, the parson, with the slightest perceptible twinkle in his eye, said that he would walk ahead for exercise, which he did, and soon got out of hearing, when the well known language being applied to the mules they awoke from their lethargy, and speedily got out of the mud. After that the preacher never revived the subject of swearing at a stalled team. The Major wound up by saying that perhaps the reason he could not abandon profanity was, that he had too many wagons in the mud.

Arrived at Richmond, we sought the best oyster saloon and ordered oysters as each preferred. They were speedily forthcoming, and we sat down to our feast, when the peculiar appearance of my oysters caused me to examine them. "Gentlemen," said I, "I hope you don't object to green gill oysters; these are green gills. I have been told they are harmless, though some persons refuse to eat them, on the ground that they acquire the green gill from feeding on copperous banks, and during the war it was supposed to be the result of living on dead soldiers." Each man dropped his fork or spoon at my remark, with an exclamation of disgust. The Major had already eaten some of his oysters, and the expression of alarm and horror that overspread his counteance, was ludicrous in the extreme. I cannot repeat his remarks, in full, but it was evident that he did not limit his swearing to starting a stalled team. "Boy," cried he, as the waiter entered the room, "What's the matter with these oysters? What makes 'em look so green?"

"Dem's de green gill oyster, Boss' dey's be best oyster comes here. Dey gets green from eatin' seaweed."

"Seaweed be blowed. Take them away from me!"

Amid mingled expressions of sorrow and disgust we left those oysters, and to this day some of the party invariably refuse oysters, as the Major feelingly remarks, "Can't help thinking of them green gills, at Richmond." Who can throw more light on the green gill? The restaurant men say it's a diseased oyster. Down on the York River the oyster men say they are perfectly wholesome, but will not sell on account of prejudice against their color.