First Militia Law in Puddleford.—Aunt Sonora opposed to it.—Turtle sets her right.—Meeting to choose Officers.—Longbow electioneers for Captain; Takes the Chair.—Turtle objects.—P'ints of Order.—Vivy VocyVote won't do.—Legally authorized Boxes must be had.—Longbow's Speech.—Turtle fined for Contempt.—Longbow elected Captain.—Great Military Turn-out.—Company turn a Circle; Break down.—Turn an Angle; Break down again.—Address to Troops.—Adjournsine die.
First Militia Law in Puddleford.—Aunt Sonora opposed to it.—Turtle sets her right.—Meeting to choose Officers.—Longbow electioneers for Captain; Takes the Chair.—Turtle objects.—P'ints of Order.—Vivy VocyVote won't do.—Legally authorized Boxes must be had.—Longbow's Speech.—Turtle fined for Contempt.—Longbow elected Captain.—Great Military Turn-out.—Company turn a Circle; Break down.—Turn an Angle; Break down again.—Address to Troops.—Adjournsine die.
This great republic has ever been notorious for its patriotism, and this patriotism used to break out everywhere, in days past, into a volcanic eruption on days of general militia muster. Puddleford began very early to feel the necessity of a spontaneous expression of its devotion to our common country. When it was very new, and before any law had been passed by the legislature organizing its people into companies, regiments, battalions, and divisions, very strong premonitory symptoms of war were frequently manifested. Beagle brought into the country an old snare drum, which gave out a very crazy sound. Swipes owned a fife that squeaked most hideously; and this fife and drum, with their owners tied to them, often went on one of the most public corners of the village, on moonlight nights, and roused up the war spirit of the whole neighborhood. They seemed to put the very furies into the dogs, whobarked and howled from every quarter. By and by, a law was passed by the legislature of the state, compelling every man to do militia duty, under fines and penalties that were really frightful; and Turtle most solemnly declared, upon the strength of a fee of one dollar to him paid for his advice thereon, "that the act was constitutional, and accordin' to the common la' and the staterts, and that it must be lived up to, fodder or no fodder!"
Aunt Sonora said, "she didn't see what under heavens an' airth anybody wanted of a war la'; they'd allers got along well 'nough in Puddleford mindin' their own business. Somebody allers got killed when there were so many guns and sogers, and so much powder; and for her part, she'd not stay round any such gath'rings, if she starv'd in jail. She'd quit the settlement fust!"
Turtle informed the old lady that "wimin wouldn't have-ter turn out; it was only the men over eighteen years of age—and that there was no fighting done, only in case of actual invasion of the country, when wimin and all would have-ter fight like blazes, or the whole settlement would be laid in ashes."
Aunt Sonora still insisted that "guns weredang-rous, any way; that theywouldgo off, nobody knew when, and she shouldn't be s'prised to hear of a dozen men bein' killed at every trainin'; if men would only be ker-ful, but then they wouldn't; they'd all get as crazy as March hares, and as wild as loons!"
By the law, every company was permitted to choose its own officers, and Puddleford counted just about people enough to make a respectable organization of one company in numbers. It was resolved to hold a meeting fororganization, and to immediately choose officers at the tavern of Bulliphant, no man under eighteen years of age to be present, because, as Longbow declared, "that would be agin the la', and the proceedin's would be all squashed."
In truth, Longbow had no doubt in his mind, from the very first, that he would be captain from the very necessity of the case. He was, he thought, the military pillar of the whole township, as well as the civil; and as he had generalled everything so far, he did not believe any one would dare to dispute his inalienable right to that eminent position. So the Squire began very early to talk learnedly about the last war, and the blood and fury which accompanied it; and he put on a very ferocious look when in public, and was frequently seen practising with his old fusee at a mark, which discharged like a funnel, wrong end foremost. "He had a brother," he said, "who fit at Lunder's Lane, and who was shot in the back, by savage Injuns in the rear, jest as he was a-bagnettin' some of the British!"
Turtle, who was a little ambitious for the office, and who saw the drift of the Squire's bravado, said, "he guessed he was a-runnin' when he got that are shot."
The Squire replied, that "he shouldn't sit still and hear such talk from any man. He didn't care 'bout his brother—it warn't that—but to hear the patriots of our country slandered was a species of high treason, and that was agin the constitution; and that 'ere insterment couldn't be violated in his presence by no man—hewas a sworn officer—and the glorious blood of the great wars was a sacred thing in his eye—and itshouldbe protected."
Turtle declared, "it didn't make any difference what the Squire'sbrotherdid, or did not do—it didn't help the Squire any. He guessed the Squire's blood had Peter'd out."
The Squire said, "he was the last man to boast of his relations, but blood was blood, whatever they might say."
On the famous night when the election came off, the tavern of Bulliphant was crowded. A dozen or more ragged urchins, who had been barred out by authority contained in the notice, had clustered around the windows, and were gazing in with awe upon the assemblage. The "wimin" had been admitted by special grace, and occupied the adjoining rooms. It was a most momentous occasion—a great day for Puddleford—"it looked so much like war," as Aunt Sonora said, "as if they were a-goin' to fight right off."
The Squire rose, after the crowd had gathered, and said, "the first thing in order was to drink—it wouldn't be proper to enter into any important military business, without first drinking to our common country—and he wished the landludto set on a gallon of baldface—the Puddleford name for whiskey—so the wheels could be started right."
"And another thing," exclaimed Turtle; "we want the American flag and an eagle, these 'ere glorious symbols that went along with our forefathers when they were a fightin' for the liberties of our country!" but as Puddleford had no flag, a compromise was made, and the meeting concluded to nail a shilling pocket-handkerchief, which had one painted on it, to the bar, leave out the eagle, and take the whiskey.
Squire Longbow took the chair, and said, "he wouldlisten to anything the meetin' had to say. He was by la' inspector of elections."
Turtle objected—"he didn't know whether he'd take the chair or not—that was for the meetin' to say."
The Squire said, "he took it by virtue of bein' a member of the board of inspectors of township elections—and this was one of 'em—a regular township 'lection, and nothin' else, held by authority of la', under the statert, past and 'proved, and sent him as justis to be lived up to."
Turtle replied, "he didn't see how the Squire was aboardof inspectors; 'cordin' to his own showin'—where's the township clerk, and where's the supervisor—have you swallow'd 'em all up, Mr. Longbow?" He objected, and he wanted his objection noted—taken down in black and white.
The Squire said, "that wastheirbusiness—if they neglected the defence of our common country,hecouldn't help it—he meant to be a patriot, and stand up to the constitution and staterts, if every man in Puddleford turned traitor." The Squire swelled out very large, after concluding this speech.
At this point, Aunt Sonora, who was intently absorbed in the earnestness which pervaded the meeting, and who sat in the next room, rose, and asked the Squire "if there was really goin' to be war?"
The Squire replied, "that the meetin' must not be disturbed; the wimin had been let in as a great favor—for he didn't think the statert meant to have a soul on 'em present, and he didn't know but jest that thing would blow all the proceedin's to flinders in the higher courts, and thatevery soulon 'em would be court-martialed."
Aunt Sonora slunk out of sight, drew her handkerchief, and heaved a long sigh.
Turtle rose and said, "he would nominate the Colonel captain of the first militia company of Puddleford."
"That's straight agin la'!" exclaimed the Squire; "that makes avivy vocyvote on't, and we can't take anyvivy vocyvote here; this 'ere thing has got-ter go through the town ballot-box, or it won't be legal—this vote must be returned in form to the governor, and ifheshould see it was avivy vocyvote, he'd squash everything quicker'n you could say Jack Robinson." The Squire didn't like the nomination—he was determined to be captain himself.
Turtle asked the Squire "if a hat would not do to collect votes?"
The Squire said, "nothing short of the legally authorized boxes; he couldn't trample down the la'."
The legally authorized boxes were procured, and the voting was ready to go forward.
Hereupon the Squire arose, and blowing his nose with one finger, a side at a time, and heaving a few sepulchral hems, said "that it was his duty to say a few words: He was something of a military man himself—he belonged to the Hos Guards down in the Susquehannas, when he was a young man, a great many years ago, and they had sham fights most every year." ("Was anybody killed?" exclaimed Aunt Sonora, who had forgotten herself, and whose nerves had been shocked by hearing the word "fight.")
The Squire turned to Aunt Sonora, and declared that "it was the last time sheshouldspeak. They had sham fights most every year," continued the Squire, "and herecollected that, while pursuin' the enemy in an open field, he fell from his horse, and bruised his head, but he caught his horse agin, and jined his company, 'fore anybody knew what had happened."
Turtle rose, and inquired, "What he put on his head? If it warn't opodildoc?"
"And that company," continued the Squire, disregarding Turtle's question, "is in existence yet, and is commanded by Captain Zekiel—Zekiel—Zekiel—I don't know what his t'other name is; and there ain't no time, feller-citizens, sin' it's bin a company, that it wouldn't er turned out in war if there'd bin a war, and they'd bin called on, feller-citizens."
Turtle Said "he know'd about the last war, and he never heer'd of that company of Hos Guards nowhere."
"Ah! but you see!" answered the Squire, "they weren't called on—and he might as well say that he waslef-tenant onc't in the great Pennsylvaney militia—not that he wanted to be captain ofthiscompany—and he might a 'gone higher, but he wouldn't take it—his former wife, that's dead and gone, know'd that. And then, feller-citizens, there's a great deal of la' 'bout our militia, and if a captin don't know the la', everything will be illegal, andeveryson of you will be called up and court-martialed, and fined, and 'prisoned, and your property taken and sold; and there ain't no 'peelin' it up, for military laws ain't like other laws, feller-citizens, they ain't—"
"That's a lie!" exclaimed Turtle.
"Whosays that's a lie?" vociferated the Squire, jerking his head around. "What'sa lie?"
"It'salla lie!" repeated Ike.
"Give me that 'ere statement," roared the Squire.It was handed up. "By authority in me vested, in that 'ere book, I fine you one dollar. It's a contempt, sir—a contempt upon both a justice of the peace, and a 'spector of 'lections. I oughter saytwodollars—it's a double contempt—I fine you one dollar, sir; and you can't vote, sir, here, sir, in this 'ere meetin', sir, while you're under contempt, sir, until you pay the dollar, sir—and I might sue you for special damages, sir, butIdon't care 'bout that, sir—it is my office that I am protectin';" and the Squire sat down in the midst of his unfinished speech, filled with wrath.
Squire Longbow was very sincere in his position which he had so confidently taken. He had been so long a magistrate, and "head man" of Puddleford, and he had been so closely identified with its public affairs, that he felt himself always in court, and every personal insult was construed by him into a contempt. Turtle humored the weakness of the old man, when his dignity was in jeopardy, and on this occasion he felt no alarm, for he knew that the fine would never be collected. Turtle owed the Squire more fines already than he was worth.
Squire Longbow was elected captain of the Puddleford company. When he spoke so eloquently of the liberty and property of the people being so likely to be jeopardized by an officer ignorant in the law, he carried his point, for there was no man in the settlement so mighty as the Squire in that respect, in the estimation of the public.
In the fall, the Squire exhibited the first Puddleford militia company ever assembled upon parade to the gaping wonder of its men, women, and children. He formed his raw recruits into a line by the aid of a board fence, which was supposed to be nearly straight, in theoutskirts of the place. The Squire was a very blood-thirsty looking captain, after he had mounted his regimentals. He had turned up a broad-brimmed felt hat, and tacked the sides by a flaming red cockade made of flannel, and had fastened an ostrich feather, which he found in the wardrobe of his second wife, Aunt Graves, in its top, which drooped heavily over his back. His coat was his best homespun, the same that was woven by the hands of his first wife, and in which he afterwards courted Aunt Graves, and it was bedizened with stripes of cloth of every color. His sword was an old-fashioned affair, which he had loaned of Ike Turtle, and was an heirloom in the Turtle family, it having been used by his grandfather in the revolutionary war. His waistcoat was red, and his boot-legs came over his pantaloons, each one supporting a heavy cotton tassel, which swung to and fro as he walked.
The company was as complete a specimen of ragamuffins as were ever congregated together. There were three guns to the crowd, and the balance of the arms were made up of the most murderous implements within reach, such as axes, pitchforks, &c.
But the Squire did not forget his dignity for a single moment. He put on a martial air, and felt himself every inch a captain. While his company stood erect in a line against the board fence, he marched backwards and forwards, looking at it over his shoulder, with the greatest military pride, while three dogs, his own property, and who had come out to witness the parade, trotted after him. When the Squire wheeled to retrace his steps, the dogs wheeled; when the Squire faced about to take a broadside view of his company, the dogs sat down ontheir haunches, and took a view with him. During the exercises, the Squire accidentally cut a low flourish with his sword, and upset one of his own curs, who went howling towards the fence, and lay down in the shade, perfectly satisfied with war, while the other two, taking warning, retired farther in the rear, where they thought they could see just as well. The Squire had not studied very deeply military works on tactics, and his orders were somewhat monotonous, and were mostly made up of two—"Shoul-derarms!" and "Rest!" Walking a few paces, he would suddenly wheel and cry, like the cracking of a pistol, in a most furious tone—"Shoul-derarms!" then taking a few strides, which seemed to soften his temper, he would turn softly, as if he repented his harshness, with—"Rest!" And the Puddleford company for an hour shouldered and unshouldered their arms, to the astonishment of the crowd of urchins that were looking on.
It had been announced for a week, that the field exercises would come off in the afternoon, at three o'clock. The ladies were invited to attend at that hour, to witness the display. Squire Longbow gave as a reason for this second eruption of patriotism, that the "Hos Guards down on the Susquehannas allers had field exercises in the arternoon,"—"that, if it hadn't-er been for field exercises, the Hos Guards wouldn't-er never been fit for war,"—and Aunt Sonora told Mrs. Swipes, and Mrs. Swipes told Mrs. Beagle, and they all told somebody else, that the field exercises were going to be "jist sich as the Squire used to have down on the Susquehannas." Aunt Sonora, however, sent down her boy Jabez to inquire of Squire Longbow's wife, if there was a-goin' to be anyshootin' there, for if there was, "she was the last critter that would go—she could tell 'em that."
At noon the Puddleford company adjourned for one hour, when the Squire thanked them, "one and all, for their grand military performance, which was a credit alike unto themselves and their country, and he hop'd they'd be on hand in the arter-noon, 'cordin' to law."
At three o'clock the troops assembled for field exercises, in a ten-acre lot, and they appeared to be very much recruited. Some eight or ten of the patriots, however, had evidently been indulging at the "Eagle," and they did not stand quite plumb. The captain found it very difficult to form them into a line. Beagle could not possibly shoulder arms without sagging against the column. Swipes stood much straighter than he did when sober in the forenoon. He was so anxious to disguise his condition, that he had planted himself in a most defiant attitude, with one foot advanced, and had fixed his eyes upon the sky; he went through the exercises in a twitching, nervous way, as if Longbow was moving him like a puppet by a string. Turtle felt mischievously well, and the colonel stood as stoical as if he expected to lay down his life before the enemy in fifteen minutes.
The Squire's three dogs, who had been out during the forenoon, had returned to see the end of the parade. Thirty or forty women and children were also present, sitting upon stumps, and hanging upon fences in a very miscellaneous sort of confusion. Aunt Sonora and Mrs. Longbow had procured a couple of chairs, and the old lady seated herself, and took up her knitting. Mrs. Longbow did not mix very much with the crowd, because she could not forget that her husband was "captin ofthe day," as she said, and she and her husband she felt to be one.
The Squire formed the company into a line. "The fust thing to be did," exclaimed he, drawing his sword, and swinging it three times around his head, as a kind of three cheers, and scaring his dogs by this frightful flourish, repeated before their eyes, and who had not forgotten the accident of the morning—"the fust thing to be did, feller-sogers, is to turn a circle."
"To turn awhat?" roared Turtle from the ranks.
"To turn a circle," repeated the captain, "as the Hos Guards used to do, down inter the Susquehannas."
"T-h-u-n-d-e-r!!" ejaculated Ike.
"No talking in the ranks—'tis finable—and 'twon't be permitted. We're under martial law, and that'svery sum'ry, Mr. Turtle, verysum'ry! And to turn a circle," continued the Squire, "is one-er the most complercated revolutions ever performed by the Hos Guards. I hereby appoint Mr. Beagle the centre pin. Mr. Turtle will head the column—Mr. Beagle will stand still, and the column will sweep round him, to the point from which they started. Heads up! Shoul-derarms! Ev'ry man to his post!"
The captain drew his sword, and cried terribly, "For-erd, men!" Turtle ran—the man behind him ran—and all ran, helter-skelter, some whooping, some groaning, and in their sweep they took in a score of ragged boys, and hurled them upon Aunt Sonora and Mrs. Longbow, who keeled over backwards in their chairs, their petticoats fluttering, in their somerset, in the face of the whole company. The Squire, forgetting his own position, when he saw the position of his second wife, hastened to herrescue, set her up, and pointed with his sword to the road, and she and Aunt Sonora pushed desperately for the fence, their hair streaming behind them, bellowing "Murder!" while the company brought up in the shape of a pot-hook, having about half described the circle,—Beagle, the "centre-pin," crying to them to "come on!"
"H-ll!" involuntarily ejaculated the Squire, as he looked upon the confusion.
"That's swearin'," said Ike from the ranks, "and is agin the statert."
The Squire explained. "He didn't swear as a justis', he swore as a captin', and captins allers swore on the field-er action—but he'd take that 'ere oath back.—What do you s'pose the Hos Guards would think of such a revolution as that 'ere,"—continued the Squire, looking at the huddle before him, "wouldn'ttheyswear? Do you call that a circle?—Every man to his post in a line!" and the company straggled back into a column.
Aunt Sonora sat upon the fence, panting with fright, and fanning her flushed face with her cotton handkerchief. She told Mr. Longbow that "she know'd that somebody'd be kill'd afore night—these sogers were soker-less—everybody was so hurly-burly, they'd run anybody right down, and stomp on 'em; and if she hadn't got out-er the way jist as she did, she would have been a dead woman, she know'd."
"Now," said the Squire, "we'll try to turn an angle; if you can't turn a circle, maybe you can turn an angle; and we'll drive a stake to turn it by, and Mr. Turtle will again head the column."
The stake was driven at the point of the right angle,"where," said the captain, "you will all turn square around." The column moved forward solemnly, in a line like a scythe snath, and, reaching the corner, began to waver. Beagle at last fell headlong over the stake, and the whole company brought up in a pile around him; whereupon the Squire threw his sword on the ground, and declared, "he'd throw up his commission—and the country might go to grass for all him."
Turtle, who had brought about this confusion, "regretted the misfortune. It was all an accident—Beagle had fallen, and discomboberated the whole proceedings—accidents would occur on the field—and, in fact, he know'd a man shot down dead once in the ranks—he guess'd the movement had better be tried over; the stake, he thought, was a leetle too high."
The Squire said, "it was very discouragin'—the Hos-Guards down on the Susquehannas turned an angle the fust time tryin'—and on hosses, too. His fust wife, now dead and gone, know'd that, for she was thar—it was one of the simplest revolutions in all military tactics. He would like jist to know what a company would be good for, on a field-er battle, that couldn't turn an angle? He would jist like to know what they would do if they were following the enemy through a hilly country, if they couldn't turn an angle?—they'd all be butcher'd 'fore they could get round to the spot they'd started for. War was war—and the revolution ought to be did jist as if we were to-day fightin' for our liberties. He'd like to know what the Hos Guards would say if he should tell 'em that one of his sogers had fallen down turnin' an angle! He would throw up his commission afore he'd tell 'em any such thing."
Beagle said he "stumbled." "Stumbled!" roared the Squire. "You stumbled!—who ever heard of the Hos Guards stumblin'! Stumbled? by the great Bonyparte—that ain't swearin', Mr. Turtle—you'd be hung by the neck, sir, if you stumbled on the field-er battle—it's a hangin' offence, sir—a hangin' offence, sir. We are under martial law, sir, to-day, sir, and if it was war time, sir, I'd order you to be stretch'd, sir, in five minutes, sir, from that 'ere tree, sir—I'd show you war, sir—real war, sir! bloody war, sir!"
Turtle suggested that a lower stake had better be driven—or the outside angle of the fence would be still better, thatwouldstand—they could walk round a fence corner, he knew.
Aunt Sonora "hop'd for massy-sakes they warn't a-goin' to come out of the field—they ought-er be fenced in—she thought it warn't safe!"
Mrs. Longbow, who had great confidence in her husband, said, "she needn't be alarm'd any, the capt'n would take care on 'em."
The Squire declared, "he wouldn't try any sich revolution over agin, but he thought theycouldmarch in platoons;" and thereupon he cried, "Company, form in pla-toons!"
Turtle said, "he wasn't any war character, and he didn't know what aplatoonwas, but he know'd Injun file."
"Well, Injun file, then," exclaimed the captain; and from Injun file, Longbow set them around into a hollow square, put the women in the centre, and he delivered to his troops the address of the day, with uncovered heads, and in the most affecting silence.
The address was a very patriotic production. The Squire drew heavily from the great revolutionary war to find inspiring materials to stimulate his forces. He told them, among other things, that his own grandfather was "wounded in the hip a-fightin' for his country, and that he draw'd a pension arterwards as long as he lived. He hop'd they'd all get ready for the great muster that was a-goin' to come off in a few weeks; for the gin'ral would be there, then, and a good deal was expected of the Puddleford company on that occasion." The Squire had forgotten the unfortunate blunders of the day, in his enthusiasm, or, at any rate, he did not allude to them, for he said, "he was proud of the soldier-like bearin' of his men, and the great respect they all seem'd to have for their capt'n—that their arms were not 'zactly accordin' to la'."
"'Cording to the Lord," whispered Aunt Sonora, horrified, very audibly—"Hear that."
"'Cording tola'," repeated the Squire, who overheard her, "not 'zactly 'cordin' to la', but it is a constructive compliance with the statert, and will pass muster on the first turn-out;" and, thankin' them all for their attendance, he adjourned the companysiney die.
Mrs. Bird gets in a Rage.—Starve a Child.—Mrs. Bird blows off at Mrs. Beagle.—Takes Breath.—Blows off again.—Mrs. Beagle gives a Piece of her Mind.—Aunt Sonora drops in.—She has no Faith in Second Wives.—All adjourn to the House of Mrs. Swipes.—General Fight of Tongues.—Mrs. Swipes gives her Opinion.—A Dead Set by all upon Mrs. Longbow.—Mrs. Longbow raps at the Door.—The Scene changes.—Final Wind-up.
Mrs. Bird gets in a Rage.—Starve a Child.—Mrs. Bird blows off at Mrs. Beagle.—Takes Breath.—Blows off again.—Mrs. Beagle gives a Piece of her Mind.—Aunt Sonora drops in.—She has no Faith in Second Wives.—All adjourn to the House of Mrs. Swipes.—General Fight of Tongues.—Mrs. Swipes gives her Opinion.—A Dead Set by all upon Mrs. Longbow.—Mrs. Longbow raps at the Door.—The Scene changes.—Final Wind-up.
Aunt Graves had not got warm in her seat as mistress of Squire Longbow's household, when she found half of the female portion of Puddleford upon her in full cry. The Swipeses, and the Beagles, and Birds, who were very jealous of the sudden elevation of the old spinster, gave her no peace night nor day. They had seen the time when she looked up to them, and now she was the wife of a Squire—had taken good old Mrs. Longbow's place, and "really," as they said, "tried to lord it over them."
Mrs. Bird went all the way in the rain, mud over shoe, to inform Mrs. Beagle "that she warn't a-goin' to stand it any longer;she'd seen enough, and if other people were a-mind to blind their eyes, they might—she guessed she know'd what was what—she warn't brought into the world for nothin'—they might humbug her if they could—she only wished old Mrs. Longbow could jist rise from her grave—jistonce—that's all she would ask—she'dmake a scatterin' among the dry bones—jist to think—to think—"
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Beagle, who stood waiting for the climax, with her mouth wide open, holding her dish-cloth in her hand.
"What?—what"—repeated Mrs. Bird, "you may well say what—that Longbow woman abuses little Elvira Julia Longbow like sixty—thedarling creature—how my heart bleeds. That child," continued Mrs. Bird, putting down each word in a measured way by striking her fist on the table—"that child—that dear—Elvira Julia—the idol—you know of her mother—and what a mother she had, too, Mrs. Beagle—O,whata mother! That child is starved! She don't get half enough to eat—I know it just as well as if the child had told me so with her own lips. She looks puny-like. She didn't hold up her head in church all sarvice time, last Sunday—how my heart ached for her—I couldn't think of nothin' else—and to think—tothink, Mrs. Beagle, that that woman who warn't nobody, and who'd come onto the town if she hadn't fooled the old Squire, is now goin' to turn round and starve his children. One thing Idoknow, I shall never knuckle to her—not while my name is Bird—I'll let her know who Mrs. Bird is. She'll find out that the Birds can hoe their own row—the Birds allershaveliv'd, and will live, I guess, and they never were beholdin' to the Longbows, nuther. Starve a child!—and if she thinks I ever mean to know her as anybody but old Poll Graves, she is most grandly mistaken. I'll jist tell her who old Graves, her father, was, and what he was, and how he used to drink, the old brute. She knows it all—but she thinks Mrs. Bird forgets suchthings—but Mrs. Bird don't forget such things—she has a long memory—and her mother warn't nonetoogood, nuther—I could touch her up a little on that. Starve a child! Lord-a-massey, I s'pose she thinks she is the queen of Puddleford, now, and can do as she has a mind-ter. If she don't run agin a snag some day, then call Sally Bird a liar, that's all. Pride must have its fall, Mrs. Beagle;" and here Mrs. Bird took the first long breath, after entering the house.
"How—you—do—talk!" ejaculated Mrs. Beagle, her eyes half started from her head. "I'd thought just as much, but dare not say so."
"Darsen't! darsen't!" popped Mrs. Bird, "Well, thank the Lord,Idare; I'll pull down the whole Longbow nest around her ears; I'll complain to the town officers; I'll have her taken up, and then let her show her hand; to think that the child of that dear, good woman we lov'd so much, should be starved! And that ain't all: old Longbow is one of the most miserablest men livin'; he don't have a minute's peace daynornight; he rolls and tumbles, and talks to himself—thinks, in his dreams, that his former wife is back agin, and he talks to her jest as if she was; he hain't had a full meal for a mouth. She is thestingiest of all mortals! She liv'd on nothin' afore she was married—why she counts the very coffee kernels she uses—she allers was afraid of goin' to the poor-house—pity she hadn't-er gone—but la-sa-me, you can't get one of the Longbows to say a word about it—they are as whist as mice—fairly caught—less said the better, you know—they are so everlastin' etarnal proud, the hull pack on 'em would die before they'd let anything out—but they can't deceive Mrs. Bird—murder willout—starve a child!" and here Mrs. Bird took another long breath.
Mrs. Beagle looked still wilder, if possible, than before. But she was a very cautious woman, as has been seen. There was a method inhermalice. "She had thought for a long time," she said, "that affairs were all wrong-end-foremost at the Longbows.Shecould see some things too. But she didn't want to say a word agin nobody. She had allers tried to be akeerful woman—and shewasa keerful woman—and although she said it, who had not orter say it, she was a keerful woman. She tried to live in peace and Christian charity with everybody—and she would put up with enymost anything rather than to have hard feelings 'gin anybody. She had allers been a friend of Mrs. Longbow, and was really glad when she heard she had at last got married, for shedidthink she would make a good wife—she had orter, for Squire Longbow had been the makin' on her, and had set her up in the world forsumthin'—but things warn't-er a-goin' right, that she know'd, and had know'd it for a long time; the old Squire looked ascowed-like as if he'd give all his old shoes to see his old wife back agin—he didn't look so chirck as he used to do—but then she didn't want-er say nothin' about it, for there was one thing she didn't do—she didn't talk about her neighbors—if there was any kind of people that shedidhate, it was the slanderers—she never slandered nobody—but she allers did know that Mrs. Longbow was tighter than bark to a tree—she used to jest keep soul and body together 'fore she married—a leetletootight to be honest—there wern't no slander in that—she hadn't said shewasdishonest, nor she warn't a-goin' to say it—shewould skin a copper the closest of anybody she ever see'd; such peoplecan't behonest—they will cheat in the dark—not that she meant to say that Mrs. Longbowwouldcheat—she slandered nobody—but the childdidlookhalf-starved, and anybody could see it with one eye, and you can't learn old dogs new tricks—what's bred in the bone stays there—and the old Squire's darter, Livinny, looks like death, too—she's lost amother, and it'll be a long time before that woman will fillherplace—this is between you and me, Mrs. Bird—'twarn't no longer than t'other day that Mrs. Swipes told me that old Longbow wanted to marry Mary Jane Arabella, but Mrs. Swipes said she jest put her foot down and said No! and he's beencross-grained at her ever since. Well—well—so it goes."
Aunt Sonora dropped in "to take a breath," as she said. Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Beagle had to repeat to her the new developments in the Longbow family, with some new additions.
Aunt Sonora said she never did have any faith in second wives. "Depend upon't," said the old lady, "no good comes out on 'em. And the old maids were theveryworst on 'em all. They were the awfullest dead-settest people she ever know'd. Theywillhave their way. They allers rule the roost. She guessed that her old man knew when he was well off. He hated second marriages like pizen."
Finally, the women, after exhausting themselves, all agreed to adjourn to the house of Mrs. Swipes, to see what could be done to improve the domestic arrangements of the Longbow family. Mrs. Bird said at first she wouldn't move an inch, to see Mrs. Swipes or anybodyelse, for it wasn't no business of her'n, but then she know'd that, if it washerchild, andshewas dead, and Mrs. Longbow wasn't dead, Mrs. Longbow would do just as she did.
Mrs. Swipes was delighted to see such a crowd of her friends, but declared "she couldn't for the life of her tell what was up."
By the time the "ladies" had arrived at the house of Mrs. Swipes, they were very highly charged with electricity. They had lashed themselves into a very respectable sort of fury. Even Aunt Sonora, amiable as she was, muttered to herself, while crossing the road—"Starve a child!"
Nobody ever told Mrs. Swipes any news—that was not possible—she had always heard of it, seen it, or expected it; the most astounding development was no more than she had "allers known would come about." There was no story so large that it was unexpected, or beyond her power to add a little to it—no black so black, that she couldn't make it a little blacker—no slander so public, but that she had heard a little more than her neighbors of it. A piece of scandal melted like sugar in her mouth, and it seemed to send a glow over her whole being while she digested it; it braced her up for a whole day, and carried her through the most fiery domestic trials—no story, therefore, ever lost strength or sting while in her keeping—it gathered weight and power like a snowball—she paid it out with interest. Her husband, Zeb Swipes, she didn't like, for he did not care a pin about his neighbors, "'specially the women folks," as he said; and Mrs. Swipes declared she never could interest him in the wickedness of the place. Many atime she had talked him to sleep, flaring, and foaming, and fretting about Puddleford.
When Mrs. Bird, and Beagle, and Aunt Sonora entered Mrs. Swipes's room, the clap burst at once from the whole delegation.
"Don't you think!" exclaimed Mrs. Bird.
"Did you ever!" snapped Mrs. Beagle.
"Pretty doin's these!" chimed in Aunt Sonora.
"Thatthatthing!"—"that Longbow woman," continued Mrs. Bird.
"Starve!" added Mrs. Beagle.
"Yes, starve!" repeated Mrs. Bird.
"A child!" groaned Aunt Sonora.
"Yes, a child!" gasped Mrs. Bird.
"And to think!" said Mrs. Beagle.
"Yes, to think!" said Mrs. Bird.
"Onlyto think!" repeated Aunt Sonora.
"That," continued Mrs. Beagle.
"Yes,that," said Aunt Sonora.
"What she was," said Mrs. Beagle.
"Only—jest—to—think," screamed Mrs. Bird.
"Nobody," continued Mrs. Beagle.
"Nobody atall!" snapped Mrs. Bird.
"But"—said Mrs. Beagle.
"But what?" inquired Mrs. Bird.
"But—old—Poll—Graves!" screamed the whole three together.
"Hadn't the second gown to her back," added Mrs. Bird.
"Foller'd sowing, too, for a livin'," hinted Mrs. Beagle.
"And glad enough to get it, too," sputtered Mrs. Bird.
"Couldn't-er worn Squire Longbow's old shoes, then," said Mrs. Beagle.
"And now she puts on more ker-ink-tums than the governor's darter," spit out Mrs. Bird.
"Starve a child!" exclaimed another.
"Yes, starve a child!" chimed in all the rest, in a most furious tone of malicious spite that almost raised the roof. When the storm had spent itself on the head of Mrs. Swipes, who stood it with philosophy, for she liked it, all hands "set in" to tell her of the barbarous cruelty of Mrs. Longbow.
Mrs. Swipes replied, "that nothin' more could have been expected on her—old Longbow might-er known she'd-er taken the very hide off on him, and off all on 'em—ifhedidn't know what Poll Graves was, then it washisfault; if he hadn't liv'd long-er enough in this community to findherout, then the old fool ought-er suffer—good 'nough for him. He tried to get our Mary Jane Arabella, 'fore he went arterher—but I let him know thatIwas the mother of that gal. He found that Mrs. Swipes had a word to say, and it tookmeto send the old codger adrift—it jest did. It's 'nough to make one's blood run cold to see the highty-tighty airs that woman puts on. Last Sunday she had on all of old Mrs. dead and gone Longbow's finery-finery—thatbunnit, the very same that she bought at Whistle and Sharp's store—price, twenty shillings and sixpence—bought it not mor'n two weeks afore she died. That drab of her'n, you know; the dear good woman never worn it mor'n onct or twict, 'tended Deacon Pettibone's funeral with it, I remember—that very samebunnit, and she had it on; and she had on, at the same time, old Mrs. Longbow'sgown, and shawl too; and she didcome—a—sailing right inter church, jest as if she was lord of the manor! I thought old Mrs. Longbow had rose from her grave, and I shed tears on the spot. It made my blood run cold. Thinks I to myself, old critter, if Mrs. Longbow should jest come back agin, she'd makeyouscatter, she would—she'd tear them clothes off on you—she'd let you know where your place was; she'd learnyouto dress up interherclothes. You'd rue the day you ever tried that game with her. Starve a child? Why, of course she will; anybody that don't care nothin' 'bout dead folkses clothes don't care nothin' 'bout folkses children."
At this point, the whole pack made another dead set at Mrs. Longbow, with the exception of Aunt Sonora, who sat rocking violently, and taking snuff. It is impossible to repeat the jargon that made up the hurly-burly that followed. All the troop were firing together, all kinds of shot, and epithets, and sentences were violently broken up into fragments by each other, and hurled in a mass at Mrs. Longbow's head with the hottest vengeance.
It might have looked something like the following: "Nobody!" "Who cares!" "I'll let her!" "Just to think!" "Starve!" "Yes, starve!" "A child!" "That new bonnit!" "Twenty shillings!" "Sowed for a livin'!" "And sixpence!" "Yes, and sixpence!" "Right in church!" "Hardly cold in!" "The poor child!" "And gown, too!" "Her grave!" "Hardly cold in her grave!" "Marry!" "Was as poor!" "Marry my Mary!" "As poor as Job's!" "Marry my Mary Jane Arabella!" "Was as poor as Job's turkey!" "I can see!" "I only wish!" "I can seehow it!" "I only wish old Mrs. Longbow could!" "Goes!" "Rise from her!" "Starve!" "Grave!" "I'll complain!" "I wonder!" "To the town!" "If she thinks!" "Starve!" "I'll knuckle!" "A child!" "To her!" "Poll!" "No!" "Old!" "Not as long as my—" "Poll!" "Name is—" "Graves!" "Bird!"
There was a rap at the door, and the uproar ceased, and the vixens were magnetized as instantaneously and as completely as if they had all been stricken with palsy, and their tongues fastened to the roofs of their mouths.
Mrs. Swipes put on a smile, and courtesied to the door, opened it, and there stood Mrs. Longbow!
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Longbow. Well, I do declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Swipes, putting on one of her blandest faces, "you have raaly got out at last. It warn't no longer than this very morning that Swipes and I were wondering what had become of you. Swipes said he know'd you must be sick, but I told Swipes you had so many cares—we women folkshaveso many cares, Mrs. Longbow. And who do you think is here?—Mrs. Bird, and Mrs. Beagle, and Aunt Sonora—and we were jest a-talkin' 'bout you—and we all wonder'd how you did manage to get along so well in your family;" and after Mrs. Swipes had chatted and bowed Mrs. Longbow through the hall, Mrs. Longbow was introduced to the nest of hornets which had just been buzzing so unconsciously about her ears.
"Why—Mrs. Longbow!" cracked Mrs. Bird's voice at the same time, jumping from her chair with a convulsive jerk, and grasping her hand, and imprinting a kiss upon her. "You have—done it—now—you havecome out at last. Goin' to call at our house, I s'pose. Let me see—it's one, two—yes—three weeks since you've show'd your face, Mrs. Longbow—lookin' as bright as a spring mornin', I see."
"All-er that," said Mrs. Beagle.
"But then you have had so much to do," continued Mrs. Bird; "the Squire's house had got inter an awful muss while he was a wid'wer. Lavinny didn't—know—how—to—do—but the people say that it shines like a pink now—and how youhavespruc'd up the children—I didn't hardly know Elvira Julia last Sunday. I thought her mother had come back agin."
"She lookedsohappy!" exclaimed Mrs. Beagle.
"And the old Squire begins to hold uphishead agin, likesomebody," added Aunt Sonora.
"Nothin' like awomanin a house," chimed in Mrs. Swipes.
"Nothin' like it," said Aunt Sonora.
"Everything goes to loose ends where there ain't no woman," said Mrs. Bird.
"Jest look at old Fluett's house," said Aunt Sonora; "'tis chaos come agin—woman gone—everything spilt from garret to cellar."
"And jest so at Dobbins," added Mrs. Bird.
"I do raaly b'lieve," said Mrs. Beagle, "that if Longbow had put off gettin' him a woman six months longer, he'd a brok't down."
"Jest what the old man himself said," added Mrs. Bird.
"And—then—to—think," drawled out Mrs. Swipes, "that he should have been so fort'nit."
"Might-er tried a hundred times," said Mrs. Bird.
"And got bit," said Mrs. Swipes.
"Yes, and got bit," repeated Mrs. Bird. "There was a kind-er Providence in it. Therecertainly was."
"Jest what Parson Bigelow said," added Aunt Sonora; "he said he could see the hand-er Providence inter it, jest as plain as he wanted to."
"Strange world," said Mrs. Beagle.
"Full-er sorrow," said Mrs. Bird.
"Never know when it's comin'," added Aunt Sonora.
"The only way's to be ready for't, and do our duty," said Mrs. Swipes.
Thus the conversation ran on. Mrs. Longbow supposed herself looked upon as a martyr by the crowd of "friends" among whom she had unconsciously fallen, and felt almost crushed by the weight of sympathy which they had so gratuitously thrust upon her; and finishing her call, returned to her domestic labors with a lighter heart, and a satisfied conscience, while those she left behind her, on her departure, took the advantage of her absence to completely finish up the remainder of the woman's reputation.