Squire Longbow in Mourning.—The Great Question.—Aunt Sonora's Opinion.—Other People's.—The Squire goes to Church.—His Appearance on that Occasion.—Aunt Graves, and her Extra Performance.—"Nux Vomica."—Anxious Mothers.—Mary Jane Arabella Swipes.—Sister Abigail.—Ike Turtle and his Designs.—He calls on Aunt Graves.—She'll go it.—Sister Abigail's Objection.—The Squire's First Love Letter.—The Wedding.—Great Getting-up.—Turtle's Examination.—The Squire runs the Risk of "the Staterts."—Bigelow's Ceremony.—General Break-Down.—NotVeryDrunk.
Squire Longbow in Mourning.—The Great Question.—Aunt Sonora's Opinion.—Other People's.—The Squire goes to Church.—His Appearance on that Occasion.—Aunt Graves, and her Extra Performance.—"Nux Vomica."—Anxious Mothers.—Mary Jane Arabella Swipes.—Sister Abigail.—Ike Turtle and his Designs.—He calls on Aunt Graves.—She'll go it.—Sister Abigail's Objection.—The Squire's First Love Letter.—The Wedding.—Great Getting-up.—Turtle's Examination.—The Squire runs the Risk of "the Staterts."—Bigelow's Ceremony.—General Break-Down.—NotVeryDrunk.
Squire Longbow sincerely mourned the loss of his wife—internally and externally. Externally, he was one of the strongest mourners I ever saw. He wore a weed, floating from his hat, nearly a foot long. It was the longest weed that had ever been mounted at Puddleford; but our readers must not forget who Squire Longbow was—a magistrate, and leading man in community. And while the reader is about it, he may also recollect that the Squire is not the only man, east or west, who has ventured upon a little ostentation over the grave of the departed—nor woman either.
Who was to be the next Mrs. Longbow? That was the question. The public, indeed, asked it long before the Squire. Who was to have the honor of presiding at the Squire's table? What woman was to be placed at the head of society in Puddleford? The Swipeses andBeagles, Aunt Sonora, Aunt Graves, and Sister Abigail, and scores of others, all began to speculate upon this important subject. Even Turtle and Bates indulged in a few general remarks.
Aunt Sonora gave it as her mind, that "the Squire ought to be pretty skeery how he married anybody, kase if he got one of them flipper-ter-gibbet sort o' wimmin, she'd turn the whole houseenside out, and he'd be one of the most miserablest of all men." She said, "if he know'd what was good for himself, he'd jest keep clear of all the young gals that were fussing and figeting round him, and go right in for some old stand-by of a woman, that know'd how to take the brunt of things—but, lors a-me," continued Aunt Sonora, "there's no doing nothing with these old widowers—they're all like my Uncle Jo, who married in a hurry, and repented arterwards—and the poor dear old soul arn't had a minute's peace since."
The Swipeses and Beagles, who, it will be recollected, belonged to a clique that had, in times past, warred against Longbow & Co., "tho't it would be shameful for the Squire to marry at all—it would be an insult agin the memory of poor old Mrs. Longbow, who was dead and gone." (Some people, you know, reader, abuse the living, but defend the dead.) "And if the Squire should marry,theyshould think, fortheirpart, that she'd rise up out of her grave, and haunt him! She could never sleep easy, if she know'd that the Squire had got some other woman, who was eating her preserves, and wearing out her clothes, and lording it over the house like all possess'd."
Other opinions were expressed by other persons—in fact, the Squire's widowhood wasthegreat concern ofPuddleford. "He was so well on to do," as Aunt Sonora used to call it, that he was considered a great "catch."
After a few weeks of sorrow, the Squire himself really began to entertain notions of matrimony. It is true he had passed the age of sixty, and it required a great effort to get up a sufficient amount of romance to carry out such an enterprise. Symptoms began, however, to wax strong. The first alarming indication was his attendance at church. The Squire had always been a kind of heathen in this respect, and had for many years set a poor example; but people, who want to marry, will go to church. Whether this is done to get up a reputation, or simply to take a survey of the unappropriated female stock yet remaining on hand, I cannot say.
The Squire was "fixed up" amazingly, the first time I saw him at church. His hair had been cut, and thoroughly greased. His shirt-collar covered his ears; and his boots shone like a mirror. Aunt Sonora said he looked "enymost as good as new." Aunt Graves was in the choir that day, and she sang as she never sang before. She blowed all the heavy strains of music—strains that lifted her on her toes—directly into Squire Longbow's face. Whether Aunt Graves had any design in this, is more than I can say; but I noticed some twinges about the Squire's lips, and a sleepy wink of the eye, that looked a little like magnetism. It was ridiculous, too, that such an old castle should be stormed by music.
But the Squire exhibited other symptoms of matrimony. He grew more pompous in his decisions, disposed of cases more summarily, and quoted law Latin more frequently. It was about this time that he talked about the "nuxvomica," instead of the "vox Populi." He used to "squash" proceeding's before the case was half presented; and, in the language of Turtle, "he tore around at a great rate." Turtle said, "the old Squire was getting to be an old fool, and he was goin' to have him married, or dismissed from office—there warn't no livin' with him."
There were a great many anxious mothers about Puddleford who were very desirous of forming an alliance with the Longbow family. Even Mrs. Swipes, as much as she openly oposed the Squire's marriage in general, secretly hoped a spark might be struck up between him and her daughter, Mary Jane Arabella Swipes; and Mrs. Swipes was in the habit of sending her daughter over to the Squire's house, to inquire of him "to know if she couldn't do sunthin' for him in his melancholy condition;" and Sister Abigail went down several times to "put things to rights," and was as kind and obliging, and attentive to all the Squire's wants, as ever Mrs. Longbow was in her palmiest days. On these occasions, Sister Abigail used frequently to remind the Squire of "his great bereavement, and what an angel of a wife he had lost; and that things didn't look as they used to do, when she was around, and she didn't wonder he took on so, when the poor thing died."
But, reader, Ike Turtle had ordered things otherwise.Hewas determined to strike up a match between the Squire and Aunt Graves. So Ike made a special visit to Aunt Graves one evening, for the purpose of "surveying and sounding along the coast, to see how the waters laid, and how the old soul would take it," to use his language.
I have already given an outline of Aunt Graves; but I will now say further, that she never had an offer of matrimony in her whole life. She was what is termed a "touchy" old maid. She professed to hate men, and affected great distress of mind when thrown into their society. Aunt Graves was just ironing down the seams of a coat that she had finished, when Ike called.
Ike opened the conversation by reminding Aunt Graves that "she was livin' along kinder lonely like."
"Lonely 'nough, I s'pose," she replied, snappishly.
"Don't you never have the blues, and get sorter obstrep'rous?"
Aunt Graves "didn't know as she did."
"Why, in the name of old Babylon, don't you marry?"
"Marry?memarry—marry a man—a great awful man!" and the iron flew through the seams like lightning.
"Yes," continued Ike, "marry—marry a man—why, woman, you are getting as old and yellow as autumn leaves. What have you been livin' for?—you've broken all the laws of Scripter inter pieces—and keep on breakin' on 'em—adding sin unto sin, and transgression unto transgression, and the thing's got-ter be stopped. Now, Aunt Graves, what do you think—there's Squire Longbow, as desolate as Sodom, and he's got-ter have a woman, or the old man'll run as crazy as a loon a-thinkin' 'bout his household affairs; and you know how to cook, and to wash, and to iron, to make pickles and soap; and then, you're a proper age—what say?"
Aunt Graves ran to the fire, plunged her goose into the ashes, and gave the coals a smart stir. She then dropped down in her large rocking-chair, leaned her cheekupon her elbow, fixed her eyes upon the floor, and came near going off into hysterics.
Ike dashed a little water into Aunt Graves' face, and she revived. After having gained strength, she replied in substance to Ike's query in a very languishing, die-away air: "She couldn't say—she didn't know—if it was a duty—if she could reallybelieveit was a duty—if she was called on to fill poor old dead-and-gone Mrs. Longbow's place—folks were born inter the world to do good, and she had so far been one of the most unprofitablest of sarvants; but she could never marry on her own account—"
"In other words," exclaimed Ike, cutting her short, "you'll go it."
Aunt Graves agreed to "reflect on't."
It was not long after this consultation that Mrs. Swipes began to "smell a rat," as she said. She commanded Mary Jane Arabella "never to darken the doors of that old hog, Longbow, agin; and as for that female critter, Graves,she'dgot a husband living down at the East'ard, and they'd all get into prison for life, the first thing they know'd."
Sister Abigail declared, "she'd have Aunt Graves turned out of church, if she married a man who warn't a member." This was a great deal for Sister Abigail to say, for she had been the bosom friend of Aunt Graves: "people out of the church, and people in the church, shouldn't orter jine themselves together—it was agin Scripter, and would get everything inter a twist."
But Ike Turtle had decreed that the marriage should go on. He even went so far as to indite the first letter of the Squire's to Aunt Graves. This letter, which Ikeexhibited to his friends, as one of his best literary specimens, was indeed a curiosity. I presume there is nothing else like it on the face of the globe. It opened by informing Aunt Graves that since the "loss of his woman, he had felt very grievous-like, and couldn't fix his mind onto anything—that the world didn't seem at all as it used to do—that he and his woman had liv'd in peace for thirty years, and the marriage state was nat'ral to him—that he had always lik'd Aunt Graves since the very first time he see'd her, and so did his woman too;" and many more declarations of similar import, and it was signed "J. Longbow, Justice of the Peace," andsealedtoo, like his legal processes, that his dignity might command, even if his person did not win, the affections of this elderly damsel.
Aunt Graves surrendered—and all this within two months after the death of Mrs. Longbow. The Squire cast off his weeds, and made violent preparations for matrimony; and on a certain night—I shall never forget it—the affair came off.
There was a great gathering at the Squire's—a sort of general invitation had been extended far and near—the Swipeses and Beagles, Aunt Sonora, and all. Great preparations had been made in the way of eatables. The Squire was rigged in a new suit of "home-made," (made by Mrs. Longbow, too, in her life-time),—a white vest, and he wore a cotton bandana neck-handkerchief, with heavy bows, that buried his chin, and a pair of pumps and clouded blue stockings. Aunt Graves' dress cannot be described. She was a mass of fluttering ribbons, and she looked as though she would take wings and fly away.
Bigelow Van Slyck and Ike Turtle conducted the marriageceremony—the one took the ecclesiastical, the other the civil management. When the couple were ready, Turtle sat down in front of them with the statutes under his arm, with Bigelow at his right hand.
Turtle examined the statutes amid profound silence for some time, turning down one leaf here and another there, until he found himself thoroughly prepared for the solemn occasion. Finally, he arose, and with a gravity that no man ever put on before or since, exclaimed,—
"Miss Graves, hold up your right hand and swear."
Miss Graves said "she was a member of the church, and dar'sent swear."
Ike said it was "legal swearing he wanted, 'cording to the staterts—not the wicked sort—he wanted her to swear that she was over fourteen years of age—hadn't got no husband living, nowhere—warn't goin' to practise no fraud nor nothin' on Squire Longbow—and that she'd jest as good a right to get married now as she ever had."
Miss Graves looked blank.
Squire Longbow said "he'd run the risk of the fourteen years of age and the fraud, and finally he would of the whole on't. The staterts was well enough, but it warn't to be presumed that ajustice of the peace wouldrun agin 'em. Some folks didn't know 'em—he did."
Ike said "there was something another in the statert about wimin's doing things 'without any fear or compulsion of anybody,' and he guessed he'd take Miss Graves into another room, and examine her separately and apart from her intended husband." This was a joke of Turtle's.
The Squire said "that meantmarriedwimin—arterthe ceremony was over, that ere would be very legal and proper."
Mrs. Swipes said, "for her part, she thought the oath or-ter be put—it would be an awful thing to see a poor cretur forced into marriage."
Sister Abigail thought so, too.
Aunt Sonora hoped there wouldn't be nothin' did wrong, "so people could take the law on 'em."
Turtle said, "that they needn't any on 'em fret their gizzards—hewas responsible for the la' of the case."
Bigelow then rose, and told the parties to jine hands, and while they were jined, he wanted the whole company to sing a psalm.
The psalm was sung.
Bigelow then commenced the wedding process. "Squire Longbow," exclaimed Bigelow—"this is your second wife, and some folks say the third, and I hope you feel the awful position in which you find yourself."
The Squire said "he felt easy and resigned—he'd gone inter it from respect to his woman who was now no more."
"You do promise to take this ere woman, to eat her, and drink her, and keep her in things to wear, so long as you and she lives."
"I do that very thing," responded the Squire.
"And you, on your part," continued Bigelow, turning to Aunt Graves, "promise to behave yourself and obey the Squire in all things."
Aunt Graves said "she would, Providence permitting."
This marriage ceremony, I believe, is nearly word for word.
"Then," said Turtle, "wheel yourselves into line, andlet's have a dance;" and drawing out his fiddle the whole crowd, in five minutes, were tearing down at a most furious rate; and when I departed, at about midnight, the storm was raging still higher, the whiskey and hot water circulated freely, Turtle looked quite abstracted about his eyes, and his footsteps were growing more and more uncertain, Bulliphant's face shone like a full moon, the voices of the females, a little stimulated, were as noisy and confused as those of Babel, and your humble servant—why, he walked home as straight as a gun—of course he did—and was able to distinguish a hay-stack from a meeting-house, anywhere along the road.
The Group at "The Eagle."—Entrée of a Stranger.—His Opinion of the Tavern.—Bulliphant wakes up.—Can't pick Fowls after Dark.—Sad Case of Mother Gantlet and Dr. Teazle.—Mr. Farindale begins to unbend.—Whistle & Sharp, and their Attorney.—Good Pay.—Legal Conversation.—Going Sniping.—Great Description of the Animal.—The Party start, Farindale holding the Bag.—"Waiting for Snipe."—Farindale's Solitary Return.—His Interview with Whistle & Sharp.—Suing a Puddleford Firm.—Relief Laws.—Farindale gets his Execution.—The Puddleford Bank.—The Appraisers.—Proceeds of the Execution.
The Group at "The Eagle."—Entrée of a Stranger.—His Opinion of the Tavern.—Bulliphant wakes up.—Can't pick Fowls after Dark.—Sad Case of Mother Gantlet and Dr. Teazle.—Mr. Farindale begins to unbend.—Whistle & Sharp, and their Attorney.—Good Pay.—Legal Conversation.—Going Sniping.—Great Description of the Animal.—The Party start, Farindale holding the Bag.—"Waiting for Snipe."—Farindale's Solitary Return.—His Interview with Whistle & Sharp.—Suing a Puddleford Firm.—Relief Laws.—Farindale gets his Execution.—The Puddleford Bank.—The Appraisers.—Proceeds of the Execution.
Late in the fall of the year, early one evening, Turtle, Longbow, Bates, the "Colonel," Swipes, and Beagle were congregated at the Eagle. Turtle and Bates were engaged at a game of checkers, and each one, fast-anchored at his right hand, had a glass of whiskey and water, or, as Turtle called it, "a little diluted baldface." Their mouths were pierced with a pipe, in the left hand corner, which hung loosely and rakishly down, besmearing their laps with ashes, and now and then they puffed forth a column of smoke. The "Colonel," Longbow, and the other Puddlefordians were ranged round the fire. The Colonel sat in a rickety chair, his feet hoisted up on the mantel on a line with his nose, and his shoulders hitched over the ends of its posts; the Squire was busily looking into the glowing coals, his hands clasped acrosshis breast, unravelling some question of law, and Swipes sat very affectionately on Beagle's lap, his right arm thrown around his neck.
While in this position, aloud call of "Hallo!" "Landlord!" "O-r-s-t-ler!" was heard without.
"Stir yer stumps, old Boniface—a traveller in distress," exclaimed Ike, to Bulliphant, who was asleep on a wooden box behind the bar, and was snoring louder and louder at each succeeding blast.
"Another two-and-sixpence, old free and easy," added Bates.
"This ere's a licensed tavern, and you must be up and doing, or the la' 'll be inter you," gravely remarked the Squire.
By this time the stranger dashed into the bar-room, his face flushed, and his temper, or his offended dignity, or both, in the ascendant, and exclaimed, ferociously, "Is this a tavern! are you all dead! where's the landlord! the hostler! Got any hay—oats!—anything for a gentleman to eat!—any place to sleep!"—when Bulliphant rubbed open his eyes with the knuckle of his fore-finger, gave a sleepy nod, and stumbled towards the door, to provide for his furious guest and his horse.
The stranger walked into the bar-room, unwound two or three gaudy shawls from his neck, took off an overcoat, a surtout-coat, shed a pair of India-rubber travelling-boots, run both of his hands deep into his breeches-pockets, took half a dozen pompous strides across the floor, looking down all the while in abstracted mood at his feet, paraded before a glass, twisted one of the locks of his hair around his fore-finger, and finally brought up with his back to the fire, where he stood, his hands holdingapart the skirts of his coat, and his attention fixed upon something on the ceiling.
Turtle measured him with his eyes several times from head to foot; the "Colonel" hitched out of his way and begged his pardon, when, in fact, he was not at allinhis way; the Squire was quite overcome at the amount of opposing dignity brought so directly in contact with him; Bates gravely whistled Yankee Doodle, gazing out of the window, and winked over his shoulder at Beagle and Swipes, who winked back again.
Bulliphant returned wide awake. "Any turkeys or chickens?" inquired the stranger.
"All gone to roost," answered Bulliphant, with a grave kind of brevity.
"Take a broiled chicken," said the stranger, giving a heavy hawk, with his hand upon his breast, and spitting half across the floor.
"Have to take it feathers and all, then," said Bulliphant—"wimin folks are superstitious—don't b'lieve it's right to pick fowls in the night—'twas jest so with my wife's grandmother—she had the same complaint."
The stranger looked very hard at Bulliphant, and spit again, somewhat spitefully.
"Can give you mush, souse, slap-jacks, briled pork," continued Bulliphant, looking quizzically towards Turtle.
The stranger said, "he thought he'd stopped at atavern—but he'd a great deal better turned himself into the woods, and browsed for supper"—and heaving a long sigh, sat down, and crossed his legs in a settled mood of desperation.
Bulliphant said "there warn't no cause for alarm—he'd seen sicker men than he die—and get well, too."
The stranger grunted and shifted his legs.
There was a long silence. All the Puddlefordians, except Ike and Bates, who were absorbed in their game, were looking soberly and steadily into the burning logs.
"Turtle," exclaimed Swipes, at last, breaking the solitude—"is that man goin' to die?"
"Can't tell," replied Turtle; "his life's on a pize—may turn one way, may turn t'other," and he took out his pipe, and blew a long whiff.
"Sleep well, last night?"
"Groan'd some 'bout midnight."
Swipes looked very sad, and the stranger's eyes passed from face to face with anxious looks.
"Ain't goin' to bleed to death?"
"Not zactly that, but mortification's goin' to set in, and he cannot stand it long, when that takes him."
"Dear me!" exclaimed the Colonel.
"Very strange case!" added the Squire.
"Great loss!" rejoined Bates.
The stranger, who was none other than the junior member of the firm of Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale, dry goods merchants, doing business in the city of New York, and who was out at Puddleford hunting up the firm of Whistle & Sharp, a couple of debtors, whose account had been in the rear for some time—the stranger, I say, became very anxious to hear the particulars of the man whose life was in jeopardy—and he exclaimed before he thought—"What is it, gentlemen?—who's hurt?"
"Why," said Ike, his face all the while cast iron, and his eyes steadily fixed on his game; "why, you see, oldmother Gantlet was took with a violent mis'ry in her head—sent for Dr. Teazle—our village doctor here—the old 'oman said her head would bust—doctor said it wouldn't—the old 'oman said it would—the doctor said he'd tie it up—and hedidtry to tie it up, stranger—and while he was busy, her headdidbust, and blew off the doctor's thumb and fore-finger"—and Ike shoved a man into the king-row and crowned him, without a look at Mr. Farindale, his face all the while as rigid as a tombstone.
Mr. Farindale gave a long whistle, and immediately called for a cigar; the Colonel dropped a quid of tobacco into his hand, and gave it a toss across the bar-room; Longbow shot forth a dignified spit into the fire, or rather it seemed to shoot out itself, without moving a muscle, and Bates stroked his chin several times with his left hand.
A long pause ensued. "What became of the woman?" inquired Farindale, after five minutes, looking sharply at Ike.
"She hain't been heer'd on since, as I knows on," replied Ike; "but thedoctor'sin a dref-ul state."
The game of checkers closed, and Ike and Bates moved around near Mr. Farindale.
"Stranger," said Ike, "travelled long in these ere parts?"
"Not long—but long enough."
"Goin' on?"
"On where?"
"Why, on to the next place?"
"Does Whistle & Sharp live hereabouts?" inquired Farindale, without answering Ike's question.
"To be sure they do," said Ike; "I know 'em like a book; am their 'torney."
"Their attorney—youtheir attorney—attorney of Whistle & Sharp," said the stranger, slowly and musingly, scratching his head with his fore-finger.
"Got anything for 'em or agin 'em?" inquired Ike.
"Are they good pay?" inquired the stranger.
"Always pays at the end of an execution," replied Ike—"never before—allers takes a receipt on the docket—makes their settlements a matter of record—puts things where they can't be ripp'd up—best way, ain't it, stranger?"
The stranger grunted, "Humph!"
"And then," said Ike, "there's no dispute 'bout authority to collect. Everybody can't tell who everybody's agent is. One New York clark run'd away one year with all the collections from Puddleford in his breeches-pocket; but the courthasauthority—gin'ral jurisdiction—and the discharge of a court is a discharge whatisa discharge."
"That's a real opinion," exclaimed Longbow, who had not spoken for half an hour; "there's nothin' like acourtto put a finish onter things;" and the Squire gave two or three heavy coughs, and blew his nose into his red cotton handkerchief, and doubling it up into a wad, looked around very gravely at Farindale as he dropped it back into his hat.
"Authority! The authority of courts to collect debts! They may have authority, but I never saw a court that had thepowerto collect a debt of me," exclaimed the Colonel, shifting his tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other as he spoke; "and I never put in a plea inmy life—the plea always putsitselfin, and is a dead bar to further proceedings every time—'no assets'—'nothing whereon to levy'"—
"Nully Bony! Nully Bony!you mean," said the Squire, horror-stricken at the Colonel's use of law language.
"That's it," said Bates; "hain't got nothin' to get onter"—
"And ain't nowhere to be found, nor nothin'," added Turtle.
"Just so," said the Colonel; "a kind of general suspension for want of capital—the fiddle's on hand, but the bow is gone."
The stranger was puzzled at the Puddlefordian view of paying debts, and wondered if Whistle & Sharp were advocates of the same doctrine.
"Stranger!" said Bates, turning the subject of conversation, "do you ever hunt?"
"Never," answered Farindale.
"Rare sport to-night, going a-sniping," said Bates.
"Sni-ping?" inquired the stranger, emphasizing the first syllable; "sni-ping! what issni-ping?"
"Sni-ping?" answered Bates—"why, catching snipe, to be sure."
"Great sport," said the Colonel; "bagged three hundred night before last."
"The real yaller legs, too!" remarked Turtle.
Farindale said "he would like to accompany them—never saw a snipe in his life—would like to take one back to the city. Do theysing?" he inquired, turning to Turtle.
"Great singers! catch any tune! s'prising critters tolarn," answered Ike; "got one up to my house that goes thro' half of 'Old Hundred,' by jest hearing the folks hum it round the house."
"Re-markable!" exclaimed Farindale.
"Great eating, too," said Longbow.
"Hain't got mor'n two or three bones in their whole body; all the rest meat," said Bates.
Preparations were immediately made for the sniping expedition. The stranger put on his India-rubber boots, and shawls, and overcoat; Ike procured a large bag of Bulliphant; and all hands, excepting Squire Longbow, whose dignity forbade anything like sport, wended their way to the river, where, Turtle said, "there were whole droves on 'em."
"Now," whispered Turtle, drawing Farindale close to him, and holding his arm all the while as he spoke in his ear, "we must keep very still—snipe are scary critters, and when they get frightened they put straight for the river. There is a big log out yonder—a favorite spot of theirs—down which they travel and jump off into the river. You jest take this ere bag, creep softly down to the log, slip the bag over the end on't, and wait there until we drive in the snipe. Don't speak—don't move; make 'em think you are the trunk of a tree; and when the bag is full, slip it off, and close it in a jiffy."
"Yes! yes!" whispered back Farindale.
"Mind, don't stir from your post till I halloo."
"No! no!" said Farindale.
Farindale did as he was directed. He found, however, a foot of black muck; but, after "slumping" a while, he managed to plant his spread legs out like a pair of extended compasses, and slide the bag over the log.Here he stood, half bent together, grasping the bag, and waiting for snipe.
There was a beating of the bushes around him; then all was still; then another beating, and another, and then a longer silence. Farindale was sinking deeper and deeper in the mud, and the water was nearly to the top of his boots. By and by, the noises ceased—no foot-step could be heard, and the stranger was alone with the bag and the log, and half up to his middle—waiting for snipe.
What ever became of the Puddlefordians is more than I can say. Farindale returned to the Eagle alone. Early the next morning he might have been found in anxious consultation with Whistle & Sharp concerning a claim there of a hundred and twelve dollars, and interest after six months, which he was very desirous to secure or settle. Mr. Whistle, the senior member of the firm of Whistle & Sharp, was a very thin-faced man, with sandy hair that had seldom been combed, and he wore a faded blue coat with metal buttons, the two behind having been placed just under his armpits, which made him look as though some invisible power was all the while lifting him up from the ground. His woollen pantaloons had passed so many times through the wash-tub, that he was obliged to strain out the wrinkles when he put them on, and they clung as tight to his legs as his skin. Sharp was a little man, had a long face, and his mouth seemed to have been bored—for it was round—about midway between his chin and his forehead; and he was always wasping around, giving consequential orders about nothing, and very often spoke of thefirmof Whistle & Sharp, and what Whistle & Sharphad done, and what Whistle & Sharp could do, and would do.
Mr. Whistle informed Mr. Farindale that "the debt could not be paid at present, although," he added, "that the firm of Whistle & Sharp were good for ten times that amount."
"And another ten top of that," added Sharp, from the other end of the store, where he was tumbling down and putting up goods by way of exercise.
"Can you secure them?" inquired Farindale.
"Well, now, youhavesaid it!" exclaimed Whistle, with apparent astonishment. "What can be safer than the firm of Whistle & Sharp?—secure!—never had such a thing hinted before during the ten years of our business."
"A mortgage," insinuated Farindale.
"Can't dothat,—not no how; my old grandfather was swept out clean with a mortgage once; took all he had, and he was compelled to emigrate; died of broken heart at last."
"Then," said Farindale, "I must sue."
"What! sue the firm of Whistle & Sharp! Very well, sir, do, if you please."
"Yes-sir-ee—horse-cob! Mr. Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale," exclaimed Sharp, springing at one bound over the counter; "just sue us if—you—please; we'll pay the costs!" and Sharp whistled a tune with his eyes fixed steadily upon Farindale.
"Court sits next month," said Whistle.
"And we'll confess judgment," said Sharp.
"And thepayis sure," said Whistle.
"And no trouble hereafter," said Sharp.
Mr. Farindale began to think another sniping expedition was afoot. He was not a coward, if his cockneyism had lured him after snipe; but he was unable to determine what kind of people the Puddlefordians were. He had never met anything like them. So he sat in his chair, the account against Whistle & Sharp in his hand, tapping the floor with his right foot, trying to devise some way to secure his claim.
A thought struck him. "Pay it, and I will make a discount of twenty-five per cent.," said he.
"What's that you say?" indignantly exclaimed Sharp. "Do you mean to injure our firm?—the firm of Whistle & Sharp, who pay dollar for dollar! That ere, sir, is an insult. There's the door—walk! Sue! but you can't insultuson our own premises. That's the way to talk it, sir!" And Mr. Farindaledidgo, and hedidsue, and the firm recovered a judgment against Whistle & Sharp for the sum of three hundred and twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents, and costs of suit.
It was no great matter to recover a judgment against a Puddlefordian; but it was something of a business to realize the damages. And that the reader may understand what kind of a prospect Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale had for their money, it is necessary to speak of the laws then in force for the collection of debts. The new states at that time were entirely "shingled over" with relief laws, which were passed to save the property of the pioneer from sacrifice. There was scarcely any money in Puddleford, and exchanges were made by barter. Personal property was valued by its relation to other property; eight yards of calico were worth so much wheat, corn, potash, cord-wood, or saw-logs. Themerchant managed to turn his grain into high wines, or put it in some other shape that would bear transportation, and he was thus enabled to payhisdebts. The farmer gave the mechanic an order on the merchant; the professional man took an order on the merchant; the day-laborer took an order on the merchant; everybody took an order on the merchant. The merchant was general paymaster; what he could not, or would not pay, remained unpaid; and he, in his turn, swept the farmer's crops, and took everything available; and the balance yet his due, and remaining unpaid, if any, was carried over against the farmer, and against the next crop. Thus the whole business of Puddleford ran through the merchant like wheat through a mill, and generally at a profit to the latter of from seventy-five to a hundred per cent.
It was this condition of the country that drove the legislature into the enactment of relief-laws. As there was no money to pay debts, it was enacted that property should be a legal tender. The law in force, at the date of the judgment against Whistle & Sharp, was a beautiful specimen of legislative impudence and ingenuity. Itwasa relief law! One section of the act provided, in substance, that upon the presentation of an execution, issued by any court in the state, by the officer to whom the same shall be directed, to the debtor or debtors mentioned therein,such debtor or debtors may turn out any property, personal or real, to said officerwho shall levy on the same; and the said officer shall cause the same to be appraised by three appraisers, one to be chosen by the plaintiff, one by the defendant, and one by the officer, who shall forthwith be sworn, etc., and proceed to appraisesaid property turned out at its true cash value; and the said plaintiff in such execution shall receive said property at two thirds its appraised value; and, if he refuse, he shall not proceed any farther with his execution, or have another,until he first pay up all the costs of said appraisement.[A]
An execution was issued by J. Snappit, Esq., attorney for Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale, upon the judgment, recorded as foresaid, against the firm of Whistle & Sharp, and put into the hands of the sheriff for collection.
Now the sheriff of the county which included Puddleford within its limits was an accommodating man, a humane man, a man of the people, a—politician. He did not think it necessary to oppress debtors who were unfortunately unable to pay their debts—for the people elected him. Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale never voted forhim—never could vote for him; Whistle & Sharp had, and would again. So the sheriff went down to Puddleford, and very politely informed them, with a wink, that "he hadthatexecution against them, and it must be paid."
"Jest so—jest so," answered Sharp, reading over the writ: "Whistle & Sharp always pay—always have a pile of assets ready for a levy;" and returning the execution to the sheriff, begged a moment's delay, until "wecould consult with our attorney."
Mr. Turtle was consulted, and the conclusion of Sharp's interview with him amounted to this: that Turtle should go immediately, and purchase for Whistle & Sharp theold steamboat cylinder, crank, and shaft; and the parties separated.
The steamboat cylinder, crank, and shaft, alluded to, was what Turtle called the "Puddleford bank—metallic basis." Some years before, a steamboat, on an exploring expedition up the river, among its windings and sand-bars, was wrecked, and a heavy cylinder, crank, and shaft, thrown ashore at Puddleford, where they lay at the period I speak of, and had for a long time, deeply imbedded in sand. This mass of iron, weighing many tons, had for a long time been a perpetual bar to the collection of all debts against Puddlefordians. Chitty, in his Pleadings, never invented one so omnipotent. It suspended every execution directed against it. It was transferred, by bill of sale, from one Puddlefordian to another (as no creditor was ever found willing to receive it at any price), as necessity required, and was considered, by common consent, public property—a "bank" as Turtle called it, "to which any person had a right to resort in distress."[B]
Turtle took a bill of sale of this iron from the last man in trouble, and turned it out to the sheriff on the execution against Whistle & Sharp.
"Now, Mr. Sheriff," said Turtle, triumphantly, "bring on your apprizers; a thousand dollars' worth of property to pay a little over three hundred. My clients, Whistle & Sharp, are bunkum yet—allers stand up to the rack at the end of an execution. Bring on your apprizers, Mr. Sheriff."
Mr. Turtle chose an appraiser first—a second cousinof Mr. Whistle, of the firm of Whistle & Sharp, and a man who was deeply in debt on their books—a bilious, weazen-faced, melancholy-looking man, who had acquired a great reputation for wisdom by saying nothing—whose name was Clinket. No one appearing to choose for the plaintiffs, the sheriff selected the other two. He named Mr. Troper, a seedy old fellow, whose crown was half out of his hat, whose beard was white, his nose red, and who had a whiskey-cough, and who was in the habit of visiting the barrel-tap of Whistle & Sharp three or four times a day, in consideration of odd jobs performed by him around the store; also, Mr. Fatler, a chubby-faced, twinkle-eyed wag, who would not hesitate to perpetrate a good joke, even under oath, particularly upon non-residents.
The Puddlefordians were out in mass to see Follett & Co. try a run on their "bank." Many remarks were made.
Bulliphant said "the cylinder alone cost five hundred dollars."
Swipes said "it was a bully piece of stuff."
"How much is the debt?" inquired Bates.
"Two thirds of twelve hundred," exclaimed Turtle, loudly, "is eight hundred."
"Worth the debt for old iron," said the Colonel.
These remarks, designed for the appraisers, had their effect; they examined; they figured; retired for consultation; returned; retired again; and finally appraised the property turned out at sixteen hundred dollars; paying, at two thirds itsvalue, the debt of Whistle & Sharp, and leaving a very handsome surplus due them from their creditors. But I am very happy to be enabledto say that Whistle & Sharp most magnanimously offered to release alltheirclaim on the levy to Follett & Co., if they would take the property, and discharge the judgment and costs, "making," as they said in their letter to them, "a clear profit on their part of from four to five hundred dollars."
FOOTNOTES:[A]This is the substance of a portion of the act, as it stood in force some years.[B]This is a literal fact.
[A]This is the substance of a portion of the act, as it stood in force some years.
[A]This is the substance of a portion of the act, as it stood in force some years.
[B]This is a literal fact.
[B]This is a literal fact.
The "Fev-Nag."—Conflicting Theories.—"Oxergin and Hydergin."—Teazle's Rationale.—The Scourge of the West.—Sile Bates, and his Condition.—Squire Longbow and Jim Buzzard.—Puddleford Prostrate.—Various Practitioners.—"The Billerous Duck."—Pioneer Martyrs.—Wave over Wave.
The "Fev-Nag."—Conflicting Theories.—"Oxergin and Hydergin."—Teazle's Rationale.—The Scourge of the West.—Sile Bates, and his Condition.—Squire Longbow and Jim Buzzard.—Puddleford Prostrate.—Various Practitioners.—"The Billerous Duck."—Pioneer Martyrs.—Wave over Wave.
During my first fall's residence at Puddleford, I frequently heard a character spoken of, who seemed to be full as famous in the annals of the place as Squire Longbow himself. He was called by a great variety of names, and very seldom alluded to with respect. He was termed the "Fev-Nag," the "Ag-an-Fev," the "Shakin' Ager," the "Shakes," and a great variety of other hard names were visited upon him.
That he was the greatest scourge Puddleford had to contend with, no one denied. Who he really was, what he was, where born, and for what purpose, was a question. Dobbs had one theory, Short another, and Teazle still another. Dr. Dobbs said "that his appearance must be accounted for in this wise—that the marshes were all covered with water in the spring, that the sun began to grow so all-fir'd hot 'long 'bout July and August, that it cream'd over the water with a green scum, and rotted the grass, and this all got stewed inter a morning fog, that rose up and elated itself among the Ox-er-gin and Hy-der-gin, and pizened everybody it touched."
Dr. Dobbs delivered this opinion at the public house, in a very oracular style. I noticed several Puddlefordians in his presence at the time, and before he closed, their jaws dropped, and their gaping mouths and expanded eyes were fixed upon him with wonder.
Dr. Teazle declared that "Dobbs didn't know anything about it. He said the ager was buried up in the airth, and that when the sile was turned up, it got loose, and folks breath'd it into their lungs, and from the lungs it went into the liver, and from the liver it went to the kidneys, and the secretions got fuzzled up, and the bile turn'd black, and the blood didn't run, and it set everybody's inards all a-tremblin'."
Without attempting the origin of the ague and fever, it was, and always has been, the scourge of the West. It is the foe that the West has ever had to contend with. It delays improvement, saps constitutions, shatters the whole man, and lays the foundation for innumerable diseases that follow and finish the work for the grave. It is not only ague and fever that so seriously prostrates the pioneer, but the whole family of intermittent and remittent fevers, all results of the same cause, press in to destroy. Perhaps no one evil is so much dreaded. Labor, privation, poverty, are nothing in comparison. It is, of course, fought in a great variety of ways, and the remedies are as numerous as they are ridiculous. A physician who is really skilful in the treatment of these diseases is, of course, on the road to wealth, but skilful physicians were not frequent in Puddleford, as the reader has probably discovered.
I recollect that, during the months of September and October, subsequently to my arrival, all Puddleford was"down," to use the expression of the country; and if the reader will bear with me, and pledge himself not to accuse me of trifling with so serious a subject, I will endeavor to describe Puddleford "in distress."
I will premise by saying that it is expected that persons who are on their feet during these visitations, give up their time and means to those who are not. There is a nobleness of soul in a western community in this respect that does honor to human nature. A village is one great family—every member must be provided for—old grudges are, for the time, buried.
I have now a very vivid remembrance of seeing Sile Bates, one bright October morning, walking through the main street of Puddleford, at the pace of a funeral procession, his old winter overcoat on, and a faded shawl tied about his cheeks. Sile informed me "that he believed the ager was comin' on-ter him—that he had a spell on't the day before, and the day before that—that he had been a-stewin' up things to break the fits, and clean out his constitution, but it stuck to him like death on-ter a nigger"—he said "his woman and two boys were shakin' like all possess't, and he railly believed if somebody didn't stop it, the log-cabin would tumble down round their ears." He said "there warn't nobody to do nuthin' 'bout house, and that all the neighbors were worse off than he was."
Sile was a melancholy object indeed. And in all conscience, reader, did you ever behold so solemn, woe-begone a thing on the round earth, as a man undergoing the full merits of ague and fever? Sile sat down on a barrel and commenced gaping and stretching, and now and then dropped a remark expressive of his condition. He finallybegan to chatter, and the more he chattered, the more ferocious he waxed. He swore "that if he ever got well, he'd burn his house, sell his traps, 'bandon his land, pile his family into his cart, hitch on his oxen, and drive 'em, and drive 'em to the north pole, where there warn't no ager, he knew. One minit," he said, "he was a-freezin', and then he was a-burnin', and then he was a-sweatin' to death, and then he had a well day, and that didn't 'mount to nothin', for the critter was only gettin' strength to jump on him agin the next." Sile at last exhausted himself, and getting upon his feet, went off muttering and shaking towards his house.
The next man I met was Squire Longbow. The Squire was moving slower, if possible, than Bates. His face looked as if it had been just turned out of yellow oak, and his eyes were as yellow as his face. As the Squire never surrendered to anything, I found him not disposed to surrender to ague and fever. He said "he'd only had a little brush, but he'd knock it out on-him in a day or two. He was jist goin' out to scrape some elder barkup, to act as an emetic, as Aunt Sonora said if he scraped itdown, it would have t'other effect—and that would kill it as dead as a door-nail."
I soon overhauled Jim Buzzard, lying half asleep in the bottom of his canoe, brushing off flies with an oak branch. Jim, too, was a case, but it required something more than sickness to disturb his equilibrium. Jim said "he warn't sick, but he felt the awfulest tired any dog ever did—he was the all-thunderest cold, t'other day,heever was in hot weather—somethin' 'nother came on ter him all of a suddint, and set his knees all goin', and his jaws a quiv'rin', and so he li'd down inter the sun, butthe more he li'd, the more he kept on a shakin', and then that are all went off agin, and he'd be darned to gracious if he didn't think he'd burn up—and so he just jumped inter the river, and cool'd off—and, now he feel'd jist so agin—and so he'd got where the sun could strike him a little harder this time. What shall a feller do?" at last inquired Jim.
"Take medicine," said I.
"Not by a jug-full," said Jim. "Them are doctors don't get any of their stuff down my throat. If I can't stand it as long as the ager, then I'll give in. Let-er-shake if it warnts to—it works harder than I do, and will get tir'd byme-by. Have you a little plug by-yer jest now, as I haven't had a chew sin' morning, as it may help a feller some?" Jim took the tobacco, rolled over in his canoe, gave a grunt, and composed himself for sleep.
This portrait of Buzzard would not be ludicrous, if it was not true. Whether Socrates or Plato, or any other heathen philosopher, has ever attempted to define this kind of happiness, is more than I can say. In fact, reader, I do not believe that there was one real Jim Buzzard in the whole Grecian republic.
But why speak of individual cases? Nearly all Puddleford was prostrate—man, woman, and child. There were a few exceptions, and the aid of those few was nothing compared to the great demand of the sick. It was providential that the nature of the disease admitted of one well day, because there was an opportunity to "exchange works," and the sick of to-day could assist the sick of to-morrow, and sovice versa.
I looked through the sick families, and found the patientsin all conditions. One lady had "just broke the ager on-ter her by sax-fax tea, mix'd with Colombo." Another "had been a-tryin' eli-cum-paine and pop'lar bark, but it didn't lie good on her stomach, and made her enymost crazy." Another woman was "so as to be crawlin'"—another was "getting quite peert"—another "couldn't keep anything down, she felt so qualmly"—another said, "the disease was runnin' her right inter the black janders, and then shewasgone"—another had "run clear of yesterday's chill, and was now goin' to weather it;" and so on, through scores of cases.
It is worthy of note, the popular opinion of the character of this disease. Although Puddleford had been afflicted with it for years, yet it was no better understood by the mass of community than it was at first. I have already given the opinion of Dobbs and Teazle of thecausesof the ague; but as Dobbs and Teazle held entirely different theories, Puddleford was not much enlightened by their wisdom. (If some friend will inform me when and where any community was ever enlightened by theunitedopinion of its physicians, I will publish it in my next work.) Aunt Sonora had a theory which was a little old, but it was hers, and she had a right to it. She said "nobody on airth could live with a stomach full of bile, and when the shakin' ager come on, you'd jest got-ter go to work and get off all the bile—bilewasthe ager, and physicians might talk to her till she was gray 'bout well folks having bile—she know'd better—twarn't no such thing."
Now Aunt Sonora practised upon this theory, and the excellent old lady administered a cart-load of bonesetevery season—blows to elevate the bile, and the leaf as a tonic. However erroneous her theory might have been, I am bound to say that her practice was about as successful as that of the regular physician.
Mr. Beagle declared "that the ager was in the blood, and the patient must first get rid of all his bad blood, and then the ager would go along with it." Swipes said "it was all in the stomach." Dobbs said "the billerous duck chok'd up with the mash fogs, and the secretions went every which way, and the liver got as hard as sole-leather, and the patient becom' sick, and the ager set in, and then the fever, and the hull system got-er goin' wrong, and if it warn't stopped, natur'd give out, and the man would die." Teazle said "it com'd from the plough'd earth, and got inter the air, and jist so long as folks breath'd agery air, jist so long they'd have the ager." Turtle said "the whole tribe on 'em, men-doctors and women-doctors, were blockheads, and the surest way to get rid of the ager, was to let it run, and when it had run itself out, it would stop, and not 'afore."
Here, then, was Puddleford at the mercy of a dozen theories, and yet men and women recovered, when the season had run its course, and were tolerably sure of health, until another year brought around another instalment of miasma.
How many crops of men have been swept off by the malaria of every new western country, I will not attempt to calculate! How many, few persons have ever attempted! This item very seldom goes into the cost of colonization. Pioneers are martyrs in a sublime sense, and it is over their bones that school-houses, churches, colleges, learning, and refinement are finally planted.But the death of a pioneer is a matter of no moment in our country—it is almost as trifling a thing as the death of a soldier in an Indian fight. There is no glory to be won on any such field. One generation rides over another, like waves over waves, and "no such miserable interrogatory," as Where has it gone? or How did it go? is put; but What did it do?—What has it left behind?
Any one who has long been a resident in the West, must have noticed the operation of climate upon the constitution. The man from the New England mountains, with sinews of steel, soon finds himself flagging amid western miasma, and a kind of stupidity creeps over him, that it is impossible to shake off. The system grows torpid, the energies die, indifference takes possession, and thus he vegetates—he does not live.
And, dear reader, it does not lighten the gloom of the picture to find Dobbs, and Teazle, and Short, quarrelling over the remains of some departed one, endeavoring to delude the public into something themselves have no conception of, about the manner in which he or she went out of the world. Not that all the physicians are Dobbses or Teazles, but these sketches are written away out on the rim of society, the rim of western society, where the townships are not yet all organized, and a sacred regard to truth compels me to record facts as they exist.