Appeal of Case Filkinsvs.Beadle.—Turtle's Affidavit and "P'ints."—Longbow's Return.—County Court.—Turtle opens his Law "P'ints."—Bates replies.—A Fight.—Collateral Ish-ers.—Squire Longbow present.—The Court sustains Squire Longbow.—Turtle gets into a Passion.—Impanelling the Jury.—Mr. Buzzlebaum leaves.—Mr. Tumbleton upsets Ike.—Mr. Flummer is cut short bob off.—Ike opens to the Jury.—The Trial.—Charge of the Court.—Jury retire.—Can't agree.
Appeal of Case Filkinsvs.Beadle.—Turtle's Affidavit and "P'ints."—Longbow's Return.—County Court.—Turtle opens his Law "P'ints."—Bates replies.—A Fight.—Collateral Ish-ers.—Squire Longbow present.—The Court sustains Squire Longbow.—Turtle gets into a Passion.—Impanelling the Jury.—Mr. Buzzlebaum leaves.—Mr. Tumbleton upsets Ike.—Mr. Flummer is cut short bob off.—Ike opens to the Jury.—The Trial.—Charge of the Court.—Jury retire.—Can't agree.
Among the causes that were found in the county court for trial was the appeal of Filkins against Beadle. Turtle had carried it up. He had informed the court and the jury, when he argued the cause below, that he would carry it up if he didn't get a verdict, and he was as good as his word. Turtle was a long-winded attorney, and what he lacked in brains he made up in bottom. He could worry out any opponent in Puddleford, and drive the man against whom he had no case into a settlement, or starve him out. Turtle often said that "a man's peace was worth something, and he who wouldn't buy his peace, orter sweat. La' was la', and if a man didn't want to pay for it, he ought to keep out of it." It was necessary, at the time we speak of, for any party who desired an appeal, to make out an affidavit, stating the errors below. Mr. Turtle was a host on an affidavit. He could raise and swear to more "p'ints" than any man in Puddleford.
Turtle's affidavit was a curiosity. It coveredallthe "p'ints," as he called them—"all the 'ish-ers' of law and all the 'ish-ers' of fact."
According to this document, he set up error in the judgment below:—
1. "'Cause the justis' had counselled with the defendant, and had sworn to go for her anyhow.
2. "'Cause the justis' allowed Sile Bates, one of the jurymen, to leave the jury, and pettifog for Charity Beadle.
3. "'Cause there wern't but five jurymen to try the cause, and there had orter been six.
4. "'Cause counsel hadn't mor'n half got through arguing the case to the jury, when the justis' shut them off, and forcibly sent out the jury to deliberate on their verdict.
5. "'Cause the justis' err'd in everything from the beginnin' to the end of the cause.
6. "'Cause he 'low'd Charity Beadle's set-off, which was agin all kind-er law, and never heer'd on in the books.
7. "'Cause the justis' drank liquor while he was tryin' the cause.
8. "'Cause the justis' got inter a passion while he was tryin' the cause.
9. "'Cause the jury got drunk while they were tryin' the cause.
10. "'Cause liquor was sold clus by the court room all the time they were tryin' the cause.
11. "'Cause one of the jurymen warn't fit to sarve—he bein' no voter—or if he was, he never had voted.
12. "'Cause, as he understood, the jury flopp'd a copper to see who should win the cause.
13. "And, finally, the verdict warn't no verdict, 'cause the jury didn't agree."
Here were "p'ints" enough to overthrow the most righteous cause in the world. This affidavit was filed before Squire Longbow, within the time prescribed by statute, as appeared by the return of the magistrate to the county court, and thereturnitself of Squire Longbow was also spread out as large as life on the files of the same.
If there was anything that Squire Longbowdidpride himself upon, it was his returns to county court. He had often said, "that he would like to see the man who could pick a flaw in one of his papers." He said "that none of his decisions had ever been 'squashed' by the upper courts. He knew what la' was, and when a manknewthe law, he would allers be sustained."
I do not know as it is worth while to give the full return of the Squire to the threatening array of legal objections found in Turtle's affidavit. He argued every one of them as if his very existence, both as a man and a magistrate, depended on the result. In substance, he returned to the first point,—
"That of course he counselled some with both of the parties. He didn't want folks quarrellin' 'bout nothin'—a-spendin' their time and their money—and how could he know anything about the case, if the parties didn't tell him. He was a sworn officer, bound to do his duty, or throw up—if he should ish-er papers for everybody that axed him to, without lookin' into the case, he wouldn't do nothin' but try causes.Histime was worth sumthin', as well as other folkses. It was his business to see that every plaintiff had a case, and thatevery defendant had a defence. Turtle counsell'd with him first, and he tho't Turtle had a case—but he lied to him, or was greatly mistaken, at any rate—Miss Beadle counsell'd next, and he then saw it was all up with Turtle, but it was too late to stop proceedings, for the summons had gone out, and couldn't be stopp'd; if it could-er been, he'd stopp'd it."
To the second point, the Squire returned,—
"That hedid'low Sile Bates to leave the jury, and 'pear as counsel for Charity Beadle—thatthatwas constitutional right—right-er counsel in all crim'nal cases, thank the Lord, was presarv'd yet—and the case was a crim'nal case, or a kind-er crim'nal case—'twarn't for debt, and must be crim'nal.Hecouldn't choose counsel for anybody—thank the Lord that was a personal right—Charity Beadle had the right to choose herowncounsel—it warn't none of his business who she took—how could any one take her counsel away from her by putting him outer a jury—that would destroy the constitution itself. If the court would jist look inter Story on the constitution, he'd see how that was; and if he ever did make a righteous decision,thatwas a righteous decision. The woman sav'd her case by it—for if she hadn'thad anycounsel, the greatest injustice would-er come on't—maybe the jury would-er 'greed—andshe—nobody knows where she would-er been now."
To the third point he returned,—
"''Cause there wern't but five jurymen,' it is said. Well, therewarn't. What of it? Five were jist as good in this case, as six; 'cause if five couldn't agree, how could six?'"
To the fourth point, as follows,—
"He did choke off counsel while they were argerin' the cause to the jury, and swore the officer and sent out the jury to deliberate. He'd do it agin, under like circumstances. They vi'lated the dignity of the court—there wern't no order nor nothin'—everything went on hurly-burly—there was more racket than if there was a town-meetin'. One thing there had got-ter be, and that was order in his court—he might-er sent them all to jail for contempt—but he wanted to be mild with 'em—he didn't allers think it best to go to the length of the la'—two counsel talkin' to the jury at onct was agin all la'—it was a great contempt of court—they'd orter been fin'd ten dollars apiece—but he didn't want-er fine 'em—he took a shorter course—he acted in his discretion—and he had a discretion in sich cases—any other court would-er done as he did, or worse, maybe. So long as he was magistrate, he meant to be magistrate—and his court was a court—and that thing people had got-ter find out, sooner or later."
To the fifth point, as follows,—
"He'd jist submit that to the higher court."
To the sixth point, as follows,—
"He did let in the set-off of Charity Beadle, and he did it, arter examinin' all the 'thorities on that p'int. He consulted Squire Brown, too, who did business down inter the State of New York, as justis', more'n ten years, and who had a great many jist sich cases afore him. The Squire said it was la' there, and had bin ever sin' he was a boy—and York la' was good la' anywhere. Story was dead for 'lowin' sich kind-er set-offs, and his works were all in favor on't—and it would be a likely p'int for anybody to set up that sich a set-off couldn'tbe allow'd. Filkins sues for so much money for so many slanders—now, then, he would jist like to know, if five slanders are worth ten dollars toher, if five slanders wouldn't be worth ten dollars to Charity Beadle—and if one ten dollars ain't jist as good as another ten dollars—he would like to know if one don't suffer jist as much as t'other—and if one hadn't orter be paid jist as much as t'other. If you go lyin' round 'bout me, you've got to pay, but if I go lyin' round 'bout you, I hain't got-ter pay—he'd like to know what justis' there was in all that—he didn't b'lieve Turtle thought so himself, but he was allers tryin' to bull-rag the court—and he warn't goin' to be bull-ragg'd by him nor nobody else."
To the seventh point, as follows,—
"He didn't know whether Mr. Turtle meant to be personal or not. He didn't know whether he meant to say, right out, that he was drunk, or not. If he did, he was a liar. He had no right to slander him onter the public records of the higher courts, in that sort-er way. What if he did drink? he had a right to drink—that was his business—when anybody can say that Squire Longbow is unfit for business from 'licker,' then there's time 'nough to blow out at him, and not afore—he shouldn't notice that p'int any furder."
To the eighth point, as follows,—
"'Got inter a passion?' Hedidrise in his wrath onct or twict, to presarve the order of the court. He warn't goin' to sit and be trampled on. He was de-tar-min'd that justis' should take its course, if he had to fight to do it. He couldn't keep Turtle down any other way—he'd used up all the fines in the staterts agin him, andthat wouldn't do—he tore on worse than ever—and he'd jist say here, it was high time the fines were increas'd. He informed the court that Turtle said, 'he hadn't but one eye, and that he couldn't see but a little ways—that he hadn't as many brains as an 'ister—that his head was full-er cobwebs or bumble-bees, he didn't know which—that his judgment warn't good on a common note-er-hand—that he warn't up to the school-marm, for she could read—and that hedidget inter a passion that thecourtshould have been so trampled upon—for hewouldpresarve the dignity of his court so long ashewas magistrate—a great deal depended uponorderin court—and when everything was a-goin' topsy-turvy, there warn't no justis'—he should allers, use jist as much force as was necessary to presarve order—and get into a passion, too, if he wanted to."
To the ninth point, as follows,—
"He didn't know whether the jury were drunk or not—that'stheirbiz-ness, not his'n—they could answer for themselves on that p'int; and if Mr. Turtle wanted to know how that was, he'd better ax 'em; he warn't a-goin' to—he never took away any of the priv'leges of the jury—they were sacred things to him. When he tried cases, he did ashewas a mind-ter, and the jury did astheywere a mind-ter—if they wanted to drink, he wouldn't interfere—'twas out of his jurisdiction—he never did dabble with a jury, nor he never would—but he would say that the jury 'peared very well, listened to all the evidence as men should—stay'd out long 'nough to consider on the evidence and gin in a verdict, he verily believed, 'cordin' to their oath."
To the tenth point, as follows,—
"Licker might-er bin soldclusto the court-room—but it warn't soldinthe court-room—that he'd never 'low'd since he was a justice—every man who drank, went inter thebar-room, and thar was a strongpe-tition and a clus door atween the two rooms—he wouldn't-er 'low'd a drop in the court-room—he had allers bin very keerful 'bout that—they did drink onct or twict, but it was in thebar-room—the trial was very long and very troublesome—and the jury got dry—but they drank every time in thebar-room, and not in the court-room—and he waskeer-ful every time theydiddrink, to 'journ the court, to save all questions—and he would say that Turtle drank as often as anybody—and onct, certainly, he moved to 'journ the court for to drink, and nothin' else—and now he goes up to the higher court, and makes a fuss 'bout it—the staterts said there should be no licker soldin the roomwhere the court is held—notoutof it, nor in the next room—and he'd allers bin a la'-'bidin' man, and allers meant to be."
To the eleventh point, as follows,—
"He didn't know whether the juryman was a voter or not—'twasnone of hisbizness—best known to himself—if he set, knowin' he warn't a juryman, he orter to be proceeded agin by the next grand jury."
To the twelfth point as follows,—
"How in airth did he know anything 'bout floppin' coppers—he warn't thar—he warn't a juryman—he was the court—they might-er flopped for all he knew—but he had seen Mr. Swipes, who was one of the men who set, and he says thar warn't a copper flopped."
To the thirteenth point, as follows,—
"Therewasa verdict, and it was recorded on hisdocket—it was, 'that the jury couldn't agree, one of 'em standin' out 'cause he was a-feared or wanted to be pop'lar with somebody;' and that was jist as it was gin in."
Squire Longbow had returned much more matter to the court than he was required to do by his affidavit, which has not been stated—mere speculations of his own about the law and facts of the case as they appeared before him, all of which he said the court "orter know."
The judge of the county court was an enlarged edition of Longbow himself—enlarged, because his jurisdiction was greater. He was one of the foremost men of the county, because he was one of the most independent. He owned a great deal of land, and a great deal of stock—bought and sold much—and had acquired a practical knowledge of the way things were done in a new country. He had been school inspector, highway commissioner, supervisor, and member of the legislature, and he was now judge. He did not know any law, except what Bates, Turtle, and other kindred pettifoggers had taught him—and when he shot at a case, he shot in the dark. He was right half of the time upon the result of chances; and that, perhaps, was doing as well as half the judges do, who pretend to more knowledge in the profession. He was a stumpy, red-headed man, and very "percussion" in his decisions—gave very short or no reasons for them—and like Longbow, didn't know a technicality from a sign-post.
The law points in the appeal were first to be argued—if Turtle failed on them, he was then entitled to a trial on the facts.
Turtle argued his law points in a pile. He flung the whole return at the judge in gross, playing first upon thisstring, and then upon that, abusing everybody connected with the cause but his own witnesses and himself, until he blew himself almost entirely out of breath.
He began by flattering the court. "It was sunthin'," he said, "to have a county court to 'peal up to—if 'twarn't for that, he'd stop business—Squire Longbow had got so that la' warn't la' any more with him. When he first came inter the settlement, he was a pretty good justis, but he was as woolly as a sheep now. If he got a crotchet inter his head, you couldn't beat it out—he was worse now than he was afore he got married the second time. The cause below was killed by him—he was 'torney, and justis, and jury—he had 'greed to go for defendant from the start—had knock'd the jury inter fits by takin' Sile Bates off on't agin la'—had let folks in to swear that hadn't lived in the State six months, and nobody know'd whether they were to be believed or not; but the presumption of la' was agin 'em—that he cuss'd him for it, but that didn't do any good—that the Squire drank himself, and let the jury get drunk, shocking as the fact might be—and yet he warn't a drunken man—rather a sober man—but it was done by him to fuddle the jury, and spile his cause—that he let in the almight-i-est set-off he everdidhear on—the very thought on't was 'nough to give this court spasms—and this court orter for that, if for nothin' else, 'point a guar-dineover him—that he told him when he did it, that he'd foller the case to the backside of sundown, and blow him inter flinders, but he didn't seem to care 'bout it—that the jurydidflop on the verdict, and the justis' knew it, and his return warn't worth shucks on that p'int"—and so on for an hour or more, until he became exhausted.
Sile Bates rose and said, "that, 'cordin' to the return of the justice, Turtle's speech was alie!"
Mr. Turtle hurled an inkstand and contents at Bates's head, which besmeared him from head to foot.
Mr. Bates hurled another back at him, which emptied its contents upon Mr. Turtle.
The court called them both to order, reminding them that things were going too far.
Mr. Bates declared "itwasa lie!"
Mr. Turtle said "he should boot him if the word was repeated."
Mr. Bates repeated the word, and was booted through the court-house door.
Difficulties being settled, counsel appeared in court very amiable, covered with ink, ready to proceed.
Mr. Turtle attempted to 'pologize to the court—"he had no 'pology for Bates."
The court remarked that "it wasn't necessary—the doctrine of set-off would apply."
Mr. Bates said he had no speech to make—the court knew the justice who made the return—if it believed him, then Turtle might as well cave.
During this uproar, Philista Filkins withherfriends, and Charity Beadle withherfriends, each troop ranged round their counsel, were looking upon this war of words with the most intense anxiety. Miss Filkins had attired herself for the occasion in a mussy crape dress, a pinched-up hat, and a black shawl, being, as she said, in affliction. She declared that Miss Beagle tried to "spile" her character, and she felt it, for that when that was gone, one might as well give up, and die. She carried a deep-set grievance in her face, a fixed anguish, which occasionallybroke up into a snuffle. She was sustained, however, as has been seen, in her trials, by a few benevolent Puddleford ladies, who had most magnanimously followed her and her case, reckless of time and money, and who said, "they meant to see the end on't, cost what it might."
Miss Beadle andherfriends were a very different-looking tempered body. They were charged to the brim with acid and red pepper. They looked and felt lightning, and any one could see at a glance that they meant to fight as long as there was a hair of their friend left. It was generally understood that they had agreed to "throw in around" and help Miss Charity out, and her case had now, of course, become their case, and Bates was as much their lawyer as Miss Beadle's lawyer—and Turtle, when he got "ramptious," was jest as "sassy" to them as he was to the court, or Miss Beadle, they said—"and if they were not greatly mistaken, he'd see the day that he'd repent on't."
The women who composed these two hostile factions got into several side-fights between themselves, what Ike called "collateral ish-ers"—and twitted each other of a dozen or more dead and buried slanders, which had for a long time been forgotten. Mrs. Bird gave Aunt Sonora a regular "runnin' over," as she call'd it—"a piece of her mind, that would last her as long as she liv'd." She told Aunt Sonora, who was one of Miss Filkins's body-guard, that "she was aprettyold woman to come uptharand try to screen that Filkinscritter—she'd betterstick up forher—she was aniceold woman—ahandsumold woman—abeau-tiful old woman—she'd better be home a-takin' care on her children—she'd better be a mendin' her husband's old breeches—it would look agreat deal better. What if Filkins had lied as much about her, or her old man, she'd ask her that. Guess'd she'd make the fur fly some—guess'd she wouldn't-er stood it no longer than other folks—guess'd she couldn't get along without a character better'n other people—guess'd she hadn't got any too much to brag on, anyhow, if reports were true—s'pose she should rake up all she'd heer'd abouther, and go tellin' it round arter everybody, where wouldshebe. Bah! how I hate sich folks," she continued, putting on one of her most contemptible faces, and spitting like a mad cat, at Aunt Sonora.
Aunt Sonora was a philosopher on such occasions. She knew the storm would soon blow over, and that Mrs. Bird would be "round," to take tea with her, in less than a week—so she took a quiet pinch of snuff, and told Mrs. Bird in reply, that "she'd call onto the court, if she cut any more of her antics round her—she ought-er recollect she was in the high court, and they didn't 'low any flabbergastin' in sich places; she'd be in jail quicker'n scart first thing she know'd, and her hull pack with her, if they didn't keep mighty mum. She wasn't in Puddleford now,she'dfind, if she let her mouth spit bile at that rate."
Mrs. Bird sobered down.
Squire Longbow was also present, to see the end of this famous suit. The Squire usually followed his cases into the county court, "to look arter 'em," as he said, "and to explain things." He was dressed in his best suit of homespun, and also had on his most dignified air. He did not even wince during the scathing Turtle gave him and his return, feeling perfectly sure that he couldn't be hurt by any country 'torney in the upper courts. He"ray-ther thought he was known thar." The county judge, in a very summary and careless manner, decided, "the p'ints Mr. Turtle had raised warn't good; they were all agin the return of the justis'; and he must pay respect to the lower courts."
(Here Squire Longbow drew his pocket handkerchief and blew his nose like a trumpet, to call the attention of the by-standers to the decision.)
He would repeat—this for the benefit of the Squire, evidently—"they were all agin the return of the justis', who was an old magistrate, and had did a great deal of business."
(Here the Squire bowed his head, by way of assent, to the court.)
"The court orter say, further, that Mr. Turtle's affidavit wasswornto, and how he could have sworn to such an affidavit, right agin the return of the justis', was mor'n he know'd; perhaps Mr. Turtle know'dhimself, and could inform the court."
Mr. Turtle said that washisbusiness. Mr. Turtle spoke very short, for he was greatly nettled.
The court said, "it didn't make any difference—it warn't neither here nor thar—the p'ints were all squashed, and that was his decision; costs to go agin Turtle."
"Agin Turtle," exclaimed Ike, rising, "costs agin Turtle!"
"Agin Turtle'sclient," said the court, correcting himself.
"That sounds a leetle more like a court of justis'," added Ike; "but it was a bull-head decision, he would say that, if he rotted in jail for contempt, that is, if anybody could commit contempt agin such a bass-wood-headed court, as this had got-ter be!"
A jury was now about to be impanelled to try the case between Filkins and Beadle a second time, and this was no small matter. The whole county had heard of this remarkable suit, and had talked about it, and each person had allied himself or herself to the parties. A very small matter will throw a new country into a tempest of excitement, as a very few matters of importance exist to get excited about. When the panel was filled, and the clerk had announced that fact to the court, Ike saw, or thought he saw, some of the most violent Beadle men in the county among the number. He had only two peremptory challenges, and if he could not remove some of them for "cause," as the books say, "he was gone up," as he thought to himself.
Mr. Buzzlebaum, a hickory-headed farmer, with short hair, which stuck up all over his head like a porcupine's quills, was a very dangerous man. Ike knew he was a bachelor, and he had been strongly suspected of "paying some attention" to Miss Beadle; so Ike put a few questions to Mr. Buzzlebaum.
"Mr. Buzzlebaum," exclaimed Ike, "you a juryman in this case?"
Mr. Buzzlebaum said he was.
"Y—e—s," drawled Ike, "so I see," as if he had got on the panel fraudulently some way.
"Know Miss Beadle?"
"Yes!"
"You do know the 'oman then?"
"Yes!"
"Sot up at her house any?"
"Sot up!"
"Yes, sot up; don't you know what that is by this time, at your time-er life, Mr. Buzzlebaum?"
"Well, what of it?" asked Mr. Buzzlebaum.
"What—of—it! Je-ru-sa-lem!" exclaimed Ike, slapping a book on the table, and looking fury at the court. "The man says 'what of it?'—sittin' up with the defendantnightsa-courtin' her, and then wants to know what of it? Wouldn't he be a pretty man to try this case?"
"Sot upwhere?" inquired Buzzlebaum.
"How doIknow where! Ever talk of marryin' the 'oman, hey?"
"Wal!" heaved Buzzlebaum.
"No wals here; you're sworn now; out with it. Didn't you tell old Soper, if she warn't so old and rusty-like, you'd strike, hit or miss? What, sir?"
"Wal!" groaned Buzzlebaum again.
"Guilty as a dog; won't answer; is a-goin'-ter die game, right inter the face of the court," exclaimed Ike.
Mr. Buzzlebaum began to scratch his head, and just got an idea of what "sot up" meant, and declared, "he'd never sot up with Miss Beadle, nor nobody else, but he warn't goin' to answer any more questions;" and asking another juryman for his hat, which stood among a huddle of hats outside the jury-box, "leaned" for the door, amid the cries of the court, clerk, Bates, &c., of "hold on," "don't go," "stop him," "bring him back, sheriff," &c. But Buzzlebaum didn't return.
The next juryman who Ike thought was "dang-rous," was Mr. Tumbleton.
"Mr. Tumbleton," exclaimed Ike, "form'd or 'spressed any 'pinion in this case?"
"No, sir!"
"Hain't form'dnor'spressed any?"
"No, sir!"
"Hain't said that you hop'd the old maid would come out hunk?"
"No, sir!"
"Hain't said that Turtle was a jackass for pushin' on this 'ere suit?"
"No, sir!"
"Hain't thought he was?"
"Sir?"
"Pretty clus questions," said Mr. Tumbleton, balancing on one leg, and looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling.
"Now don't you think—and haven't yousaid, that Turtle was a jackass for pushin' on this suit?" inquired Ike, rising from his chair.
"No, sir!—haven't said any such thing."
"Don't youthinkhe is, is the question, Mr. Tumbleton?"
"Think you are a jackass!" repeated the juror.
"Yes, sir!"
"Very likely I do."
Mr. Turtle submitted to the court, if that "warn't 'nough to break him from sittin'."
Mr. Bates said, "the man show'd his good sense—best juryman on the whole panel."
The court thought the juryman was entitled to his own opinion; it was not pos-i-tiveproof that Turtle was a jackass 'cause the juryman might have thought so; shouldn't drive him out the box for that.
"Ever been in state-prison?" continued Turtle, resuming the examination.
"S—i—r!" ejaculated Mr. Tumbleton, moving towards Ike, with his arm raised.
"Or, in the county jail," added Ike, almost in time, and cocking his eye saucily at Mr. Tumbleton.
Mr. Tumbleton rushed upon Ike, and upset him, before Ike knew that he really was in danger.
Mr. Turtle rose in a very unruffled manner for him, and asked the court, "if sich a contempt as that was to go unnoticed—a reg'lar admitted 'torney assaulted right inter the face of the court—he moved that Mr. Tumbleton be confined in the log jail for twenty-four hours—out of respect to his honor the court."
The judge ordered Mr. Tumbleton to be confined, and thus the second juror was disposed of.
"You live up on Poverty Common—don't you?" continued Ike, as if nothing had happened, addressing himself to a runt of a man, who looked as if he had been on short feed, and who had strayed on the jury no one knew how.
"Yes, Ido," answered the man.
"Yourname is Flummer?"
"Flumwhat?" inquired the juror.
"Flum-mer," answered Ike, tartly.
"Well, whose business is that, if it is?"
"Mine," said Ike. "Wasn't old Zeb Flummer your grandfather?"
"Old Zeb? yes."
"Didn't old Zeb Flummer marry old Sally Beadle?"
"That's what they say."
"And wasn't old Sally Beadle, Charity Beadle's grandmother?"
"S'pose so," said Flummer.
"Well, sir, you can just step out," said Turtle; "the statert cuts you short-bob-off; no blood relatives sithere." And the court seemed to assent, and Flummer left—nine jurymen remaining in the box.
Bates "knocked off" three more for "causes," leaving six; and by this time the first day was about exhausted. Talesmen were picked up from the by-standers to supply the places of the "missing," and the court adjourned.
On the next day, Ike opened the cause in his best style. He gave a biography of Philista Filkins, and dwelt upon her ups and downs in this mortal life. "Hedids'pose, that if there everwasa woman that had grief, andstoodit, too, 'twas his client, and she was nothin' but a woman, nuther. She lik'd to gone off with the measles when she was a child, and had been puny-like ever since; her father was kill'd by an oak-tree 'fore she could do anythin' for herself, down on the Catta-ra-gus, leaving a pile of young-uns, he didn't know how many. Her father warn't rich, but that warn't neither here nor thar; he was honest, and paid up his debts afore he died, to the last cent; he was a man that struggled a good deal for a livin', but he got it; allers kept a stiff upper lip, as tho' the skies were bright, and the sailin' good. Arter he died, they were a most distressedfamily. His client, 'bout the year—'bout the year—[Ike stopped and scratched his head]—'bout the year—[he had forgotten when, and turning, exclaimed to Aunt Sonora], When inthunder was it that Miss Filkins came inter the settlement?"
"Wal, now, let me think," answered Aunt Sonora,—"Brumijim's youngest boy died—died—whendidhe die?—but no matter—but when we bought our brindle cow—we got her of old lame Gosander, and I recollectjist as well as if it was yesterday, that when my boy Jim was drivin' off that 'ere cow from Gosander's—one warm spring mornin'—that he tell'd me, arter he got home, that he met somestrang-ers on the road—and I axed him who they were? And Jim said—"
"When—in thunder—wasit?" ejaculated Ike again, who hung suspended in the middle of his speech, while the old lady was fogging away over the history of the past.
"I was jist a-goin' to tell you! You needn't get so fluster'd 'bout it," answered Aunt Sonora—"where was I—O, yes! Jim said, when I axed him—thathedidn't know who they were—guess'd 'twas sumbody that was movin' in to settle—he tell'd me that the woman had on an old legun bunnit—and arterwards I found out thatthatvery woman was Philista Filkins. Now you've got it," concluded Aunt Sonora.
As Ike was no wiser than he was before, and he could not wait to investigate the point any further, he proceeded: "At any rate, his client came inter Puddleford, and had been one of the fust 'mong 'em ever sin'. He warn't goin' to repeat what he said afore the court below,now, he would wait 'til he summ'd up. He warn't goin' to say nothin' 'bout the unspotted character of his client; he warn't goin' to say nothin' 'bout the defendant nuther. He warn't a-goin' to say how she would lie, nor how she went around a-backbitin' everybody she could get a dab at; there were twenty persons within the sound of his voice that know'd that—that know'd the woman like a book."
"Yes, sir-ee!" exclaimed a voice from the crowd, being one of Filkins' supporters.
"Silence!" roared the court.
"You hearthat, don't you, gentlemen? They know her like a book."
"No! he warn't goin' to say anythin' 'bout the defendant now. Hemightsay enough 'bout her to blow her sky-high; perhaps she wouldn'tsteal, he didn't think she would, but folks whodolie, will steal; but she hadn't stole nothin'yet, as he know'd on; he warn't goin' tosayso 'tany rate;" and thus Ike rambled on for more than an hour before the jury, in the opening of his cause, touching upon almost everything connected with the rise of Puddleford, and closed by saying, "That they only claimed ten dollars damages; but 'twern't the money they were arter; 'twas the great principle; his client scorned money as pay forhercharacter; she'd never touch a cent on't so long as her name was Filkins—and he might as well say that he, as her counsel, had 'vised her to give every jot on't to some religusinstitution, or to orphin children, and she'ddoit too—catch her takin' that money!"
Bates occupied about as much time as Turtle did in opening for the defence; the law permitting both counsel to open together, if they chose to do so; and he finished his speech by reading Squire Longbow's return to the jury, which he said was more full than anything he could say.
The trial went forward. But I shall not attempt to detail the vicissitudes which accompanied it for two days. Every question and every answer was objected to, and entered by the court formally on the record. The lie was given backward and forward a dozen times or more; the court had often been obliged to interfere through thesheriff—all the witnesses on the part of the plaintiff were impeached by the defendant's witnesses, who swore their reputation for truth and veracity was bad, and that they would not believe them under oath; all the witnesses on the part of the defendant were also impeached for the same reason. Of course the reputation of the witnesses had been utterly destroyed before the trial came on, and long before, by each backbiting the other; and when the trial closed, and the arguments were ended, the case, if it could have been painted, would have looked very much like a militia training, without beginning, middle, or end, form or substance, and the jury were about as wise as if they just awoke from a hard nightmare.
The court charged the jury—andsucha charge was never "fired off" by any man outside of a new country.
Some hundred "p'ints of la'" had been handed up by Turtle and Bates, which they said must be noticed—but Turtle's law and Bates's law were in conflict—but each one declared thathislaw wasthelaw—and they were, they said, ready, if necessary, to swear to it before any tribunal.
The judge went off with his charge upon the same principle that a man fires an old musket into a tree, where he supposes a bird is concealed. Some of the shot must hit, and the rest won't do any harm, anyhow.
He told the jury thathehad got somethin' to say now—he was the judge of the court, and the jury must pay special attention to what he had to offer. 'Torneys were paid for their talk, and the jury could believe 'em jest so far as they were a mind-ter and no furder—the law come from him—if he made a mistake in the law, it was none of the jury's business, that would be straightenedout somewhere else, by somebodyelse. He would proceed now. The action was trespass.
"Not by a long shot!" said Turtle, rising.
"Or," continued the judge, "a-kinder trespass—it was one woman a-tryin' to carry away another woman's character. Now, gentlemen, there has been a great deal of evidence inthiscase, and it don't all 'mount to much nuther—"
"'Cept to that part of the charge!" exclaimed Ike. "'Don't 'mount to much nuther."
"That is," continued the judge, "there ain't much on't to the p'int—and when evidence ain't to the p'int, the court will knock it outer the case, if a row of 'ceptions is filed as long as the moral law. Now take the impeaching testimony—what does that all amount to?—why just this:—Filkins' witnesses don't believe Beadle's witnesses, and so they swear—Beadle's witnesses don't believe Filkins' witnesses, and sotheyswear—and so the witnesses on one side are just as good as the witnesses on t'other side, and you must believe themall, just as fur, gentlemen of the jury, as if none of 'em had been impeached; and the court tells you so. Any objection tothat, Mr. Turtle?"
Turtle said nothing.
"No objection to that, then. Now, then, gentlemen, the defendant below set off slanderous words agin slanderous words she had used agin the plaintiff, and I let it in agin here, and Mr. Turtle objected. Gentlemen of the jury, Mr. Turtlewouldobject, of course—he is 'torney for plaintiff, but I tell you the set-off islaw, and I agree with Squire Longbow, who let it in. It was right."
Squire Longbow drew his handkerchief and blew a heavy blast out of his nose at this compliment.
"Now, then, gentlemen, slander is slander—you all know what slander is—as I said before, it is slander—it ain't refusing to pay one's debts—it ain't 'zactly takin' one's property—though character is a kinder property—it ain't stealin'—but—but—it is slander—if you lie 'bout me, 'tis slander—if I lie 'bout you, 'tis slander—if anybody lies 'bout anybody, 'tis slander—it don't matterwhatanybody says 'bout anybody, if 'tis a lie, 'tis slander. You can now see, gentlemen of the jury, what slander is—how the law looks at slander—how it is laid down in the books. This action is for slander—and if I should examine all the books, and go inter the hull subject fully, you would not know any more 'bout slander, gentlemen, than you know 'bout slander now. Any objection to that, Mr. Turtle?"
No objection was raised.
"Now, then," continued the court, "you're to look the evidence all over, and if you b'lieve the plaintiff has slandered the defendant—I say,ifyou b'lieve it—the court has its own notions onthatsubject too—but 'tain't for the court to say—I say,ifyou b'lieve, gentlemen, the plaintiffhasslander'd the defendant—if you b'lieve it upon your oaths—you're under oath, gentlemen—you should never forget you're under oath, gentlemen—very solemn duty, gentlemen, you've got-to perform—I sayif—after looking all the testimony all over, you b'lieve it on your oaths—why, then, gentlemen, the court tells you, gentlemen, that you must render a verdict for the plaintiff, gentlemen, you must. But if, gentlemen—and here comes the p'int—the great p'int for you to consider, gentlemen, under oath—if you b'lieve the defendant hasnotslandered the plaintiff, gentlemen—it's ahard charge, slander is, gentlemen—if you b'lieve the defendant has not slandered the plaintiff, why, then, render the verdict for the defendant. Mr. Clerk, swear an officer to take charge of this jury."
The jury retired and deliberated one day and one night—but could not agree. They returned into court, and were again charged on some law points, about which they differed, they said—they retired again, and after quarrelling another half a day, came into court once more, and declared they differed this time about the evidence. The court set them right upon the particular disputed point of testimony, asheunderstood it, when they appeared a third time, and the foreman announced that they could not agree any way, and they wouldn't go out again for the court, or anybody else—and thus forever was ended the famous trial between Filkins and Beadle.
Amusements in Puddleford.—The Highland Fling.—A Fire-eater comes next.—Runs a Sword down his Throat.—Starts his Ribbon Factory.—Borrows Squire Longbow's Hat.—Boils Eggs in it.—The Squire gets into a Passion.—The Grand Caravan is posted.—Squire Longbow lectures on the Lion.—Bigelow Van Slyek follows on the Ichneumon—The Caravan arrives.—Great Excitement.—Jim Buzzard still himself.—Aunt Sonora in Trouble.—The Band blows away.—The Canvas is raised.—Terrible Press of Puddlefordians.—The Keeper shows up the Lion.—Explains why he has no Hair.—The Ichneumon is found at last—The Monkey Ride.—Breaking up.
Amusements in Puddleford.—The Highland Fling.—A Fire-eater comes next.—Runs a Sword down his Throat.—Starts his Ribbon Factory.—Borrows Squire Longbow's Hat.—Boils Eggs in it.—The Squire gets into a Passion.—The Grand Caravan is posted.—Squire Longbow lectures on the Lion.—Bigelow Van Slyek follows on the Ichneumon—The Caravan arrives.—Great Excitement.—Jim Buzzard still himself.—Aunt Sonora in Trouble.—The Band blows away.—The Canvas is raised.—Terrible Press of Puddlefordians.—The Keeper shows up the Lion.—Explains why he has no Hair.—The Ichneumon is found at last—The Monkey Ride.—Breaking up.
The amusements of a new country are on a scale with everything else. As every people are set to some scale, from the most refined and luxurious, to the most rustic and simple, that scale is always preserved in whatever may exist. Puddleford was not without its public amusements. It was not beyond the reach of strolling vagabonds, and impudent mountebanks. These troops, like light, penetrate every quarter of the globe, and, of course, visited Puddleford.
One of the first exhibitions which wormed its way among the Puddlefordians was made up of a drunken Irishman and a vixen of a woman, a cracked fiddle and a greasy fife, all of whom and which performed the "Highland fling" with variations and other tunes as the man declared (there were no bills), in full costume.The Highlander was drunk, and the woman was out of temper; the fiddle was crazy, and the fife could scarcely squeak. The performance opened with the "Highland fling," was succeeded by the "Highland fling," continued by the "Highland fling," and closed by a grand display of the "Highland fling." This exhibition being the first that ever found its way into the settlement, everybody was delighted. Aunt Sonora said, "she didn't b'lieve there war any such Highlanders—nor any such flings nuther—but the music was very purty, say what they would."
After the Irishman and woman departed, and their memory had nearly faded out, a "fire-eater" came on, and positively turned Puddleford nearly topsy-turvy. He was certainly a most ferocious character. He boiled eggs in a hat, hatched chickens, ate tow, and pulled out ribbons from his mouth; swallowed swords, point foremost, burned all the handkerchiefs in the room, and restored them to their owners again; and did divers more astonishing things, which completely upset the brains of the Puddlefordians, and they began to think, before he finished, that he was fresh from the infernal regions, and had been sent on by Satan himself.
There had never been such a crowd collected at Puddleford for any purpose as assembled to see the wonderful performance of this fire-eater. Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Longbow, Mrs. Beagle, Mrs. Swipes, Aunt Sonora, and a few more of the female aristocracy of Puddleford, occupied the front seats, which were covered with green baize, as a mark of respect and distinction. The background was composed of a very miscellaneous sort of people—Jim Buzzard being in the extreme rear, perched upon a barrel.
It was exceedingly fearful to hear the screams of the women, when the performer had a sword half down his throat.
"What is the man a-goin'-ter to do?" exclaimed Mrs. Bird.
"O, murder!—mur-der!" screamed Aunt Sonora, jumping from her seat.
"O, twitch it out quick—he'scho-kin'!" gasped Mrs. Swipes.
"See him!—see him!" exclaimed a dozen voices at once. "Stop him!" "Run!" "'Tis goin' right straight inter his throat." "He's dyin'! How his eyeballs glare!" "Squire Longbow!—Squire Longbow!—run—run—you're a peace officer—don't see him die!" "There! O, dear me—'tis gone down—it's outer sight—he's swaller'd itnow." "He's got it inter him, mor'n three feet long." "How it must cut!" "There—there!" "I see it—he's pullin' it up agin." "I can jest see the tip end of the handle—but there ain't no blood on't." "How can he get it out?" "Well, if it ain't a comin' right out, I wouldn't say so, handle and all!" "O, dear me—whoever heer'd of a man swallerin' a sword afore!" "How his in'ards must feel!" And so on, keeping the house in a tempest of noise and alarm.
When the performer, however, began to make ready to run his "ribbon factory," as he called it, the women recovered from their fright, and were in high glee, particularly during the preliminary remarks, and during the tow-stuffing exercises. He was, beyond all question, a very funny man, and said a host of very funny things. He threw himself into many strange shapes, twisted hisface out of form—looked gay and looked solemn by turns, and kept the house in a continual burst of merriment.
Mrs. Bird declared "she should die alafin'."
Aunt Sonora said "itdidseem as if her sides would split right open."
Mrs. Swipes said "she know'd that itdidbeat all—he was the oddest critter that ever com'd into the settlement."
Ike Turtle said "he wassum, if not more."
Bates declared "he must stay over another night."
Squire Longbow said but little. He sat and shook his sides. "It was as good as anything he ever see'd down on-ter the Susquehannas. He was so glad the man had come so far jist to amuse 'em a little."
But when the man began deliberately to light up the tow, and to set his mouth all in a blaze, the screams commenced again.
"He will blow up—he will blow up!" said one.
"He's all-on-a fire!" another.
"How the sparks do fly out of his mouth!"
"'Tis fire! 'Tisraalfire!"
"O—d-e-a-r!"
"Take him somewa-ter!"
"I say,mister—mister," exclaimed Mr. Longbow, who had become really frightened, and who could sit still no longer, when he saw the man positively burning up—"Did you really mean to set thattowon fire? Don't itburn, mister? Don't you want some help? I say, sir, mis-ter!"
The man answered by blowing a stream of sparks out of his mouth straight at the Squire, who started back interror, and overset Mrs. Longbow, who uttered an unearthly scream.
The fire flickered out at last, and order was restored.
This was followed by the "ribbon factory," and the man pulled a pile of them out of his mouth, of all sizes and colors, and scattered them around his feet in the most reckless manner.
"Don't tromp on 'em," said Aunt Sonora.
"He ought to bekeerful on 'em," said another.
"If Whistle & Sharp only sold sich ribbons," another.
"And to think," continued Mrs. Bird, "they come right out on him, too."
"He keeps 'em in hisbutes," roared Turtle.
"They don't come out of hisbutesat all," said Aunt Sonora; "they're all in hismouth."
"He didn't put 'eminhis butes," said Mrs. Swipes; "how could they come out on 'em?"
"Put 'em in 'fore he come," said Turtle.
"I say, mister," inquired Squire Longbow, who wished to settle the disputed point for the benefit of all, "did you put them 'are ribbons inter yer butes 'fore you come?"
The man cocked his eye, and kept pulling away.
The Squire looked indignant.
"Ask him if they are raal ribbons," said Aunt Sonora.
"I say, mister," stammered the Squire, again rising, "are them 'are raal ribbons?"
The man still pulled.
"Won't answer no questions!" exclaimed the Squire, and he sat down. The ribbon factory at last ran out.
The only other exercise of importance was cooking eggs in a hat. The performer had borrowed the Squire's hat in the most polite way possible, saying, "he wouldconfer a great favor upon him for the loan of it for a few moments; it would so much aid him in his feats. It was justthehat he wanted—it was sometimes difficult for him to find justthehat—but the Squire's hat filled his eye to a dot."
Now the Squire's hat was the most remarkable hat in all Puddleford. It was a broad-brimmed affair, "raal beaver," he said, which he'd worn mor'n twenty years. He bought it down on the "Susquehannas," and had watched it with sacred care ever since he had owned it. He wore it on Sunday, Fourth of July, on town-meeting days, and on all special occasions. He kept it the rest of the time in a closet in the "cham-ber," covered with a piece of "ile-cloth," which was about as ancient as the hat. There was one grease spot on it, and only one, and there was not a man, woman, or child in the settlement who did not know how it "come on," for the Squire had detailed the circumstances that led to the catastrophe, a hundred times.
The hat was set upon the floor, and the performer brought out a basket of eggs, and bowing gracefully, holding one in his hand at the same time, said he would cook a dozen in that hat, pointing to the Squire's hat significantly.
"S-i-r!" exclaimed the Squire.
"Keep easy, sir!" said the man.
"In—my—hat!"
"Yes, sir! in yourhat!"
"In mybeaverhat?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Cookeggs?"
"Yes, sir!Cook'em!"
"That hat!"
"Yes, sir! I saythathat!"
"Down in front!" exclaimed Turtle; "can't see."
"That hat!" gasped the Squire again.
"He's gummin' you," roared Turtle; "can't cook eggs in a hat. Down in front!"
Squire Longbow was very much excited, and had turned very red in the face. He could not help but think what his first wife would say if she was there—what she would say if she saw that hat with eggs "a-bilin'" in it—but perhaps the showman was "a-tryin'" to scare him, as Turtle said—he would wait a little and watch him closely.
"And now," said the performer, "examine this egg—it is a real egg—and now you see me break it—and now it is broke—and now," cracking it apart with his thumb nails, and looking down into the Squire's hat—"thereit goes!"
"Twenty-five dollars! twenty-five dollars for that!" ejaculated the Squire, filled with fury, and jumping towards the performer, with his fist doubled, and his teeth firm set. "You're a great scoundrel, sir—youborrow'dthat hat, sir—you borrowed it of me, sir—it ismyhat, sir, that you've got, sir—my name is Longbow, sir—SquireLongbow, sir—that's my beaver hat, sir—twenty years old, sir—cost ten dollars, sir!"
"And there goes another," continued the performer, amid the stamping and roars of the audience, popping another egg into the Squire's hat, in the coolest manner possible, disregarding the tempest around him.
"I call upon Mr. Turtle to witness!" continued the Squire; "I'll ish-er a warrant for you, sir—I'll haveyou up, sir—beforeme, sir—you can'tpayme for that 'ere hat, sir—you'll be imprison'd—you'll go to jail, sir—you won't spile any more people's hats, sir—you won't bile eggs, arter this, sir—it's your last bilin', sir—"
By this time the smoke was rising out of the Squire's hat and curling away towards the ceiling, and the smell of cooked eggs was waxing strong in the nostrils, and the hat, so they all said, was "gone for sartin."
"La!" exclaimed Aunt Sonora, as she saw the fate of the hat, "what wicked critters these performers are; sit right down and burn up a hat—a-bilin' eggs in it!"
The performer returned Squire Longbow's hat, after he had concluded his wonderful experiment of cooking eggs, but the old man looked upon it with suspicion. He turned it over and over, and smelled of it, but declared, at last, that it was his old beaver, and jest as good as new; whereupon he apologized for his getting into a passion, and gave as a reason, that it "was the first time he ever saw the trick done—but now he know'd the man was a gentleman, every inch on him."
But the most remarkable exhibition that ever fell upon Puddleford occurred after this. A caravan of wild animals, about the autumnal days, took Puddleford in its way. It was called thegrandcaravan. Quite a flaming poster preceded the animals themselves. The bill was indeed a very attractive-looking affair. There was a lion and a tiger painted on it, at a dead lock. The lion, it appeared, had opened the tiger's bowels, and the tiger had opened the lion's bowels—the lion had torn the tiger's head, and the tiger had torn the lion's head—these two furious beasts seemed to beabout on an equal footing. An elephant was also portrayed in a very stately manner, carrying a house full of people on his back, who were armed to the teeth, for some unknown purpose, and who also supported a stern-looking gentleman, seated upon his tusks, who carried a long pole in his hand. Monkeys of all sizes were scattered around the picture. Some climbing trees, some chattering higher up in the branches, and some cutting curious antics, evidently for the gratuitous amusement of the public who might choose to look on. This bill was posted up at the Eagle, and it created a very great excitement throughout Puddleford and the adjacent country. Scores of people came in from "round about," to wonder over and digest this wonderful "picter." Aunt Sonora, Mrs. Swipes, Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Beagle, Mrs. Longbow, and their husbands, the "Colonel," Bigelow Van Slyck, Jim Buzzard, and scores of ragged children, pressed into the bar-room, day after day, and "Oh'd" and "Ah'd" over it. All kinds of comments were made by the multitude. The origin, history, habits, and ferocity of the animals were sagely discussed and settled. Squire Longbow, among the rest, told wonderful stories about the "roar" of the lion—how he "shak't the whole woods, when he got his wrath up, and made all the other animals run and hide themselves—he said they'd all have to stop their ears if that feller (pointing to the said lion on the show-bill) giv' 'em a blast—he heer'd one roar onct, down onter the Susquehannas, and he shouldn't forget it the longest dayhelived."
Aunt Sonora inquired of Squire Longbow, "where lions came from, and how they got 'em here, and if they weredang-rous animals, and would bite people."
The Squire drew a long a-hem! stretched out his legs, and looked very wise, for he thought if there was anything that hedidknow about, it was about lions. He recollected just how that lion looked that he saw down on the Susquehannas. He knew, too, that there was no other person in Puddleford that could throw any light upon the subject of lions. So the Squire began in the most profound manner to answer Aunt Sonora. "The lion," said the Squire, "the great African lion—jist sich a lion as you see on that 'ere bill—inasmuch as you have axed me, I tell you, comes from the jungles of the torrid zone."
Mr. Bates wanted to know what "a jungle was, while he was about his lion story?"
"A jungle—a jungle," continued the Squire, coughing in his embarrassment; "a jungle—is—a—place—a kind-er cave, where the lions go, deep inter the airth, and where they can growl and roar, without disturbin' anybody."
"Inter theairth?" exclaimed Turtle; "how do they catch 'em, then?"
"How do they ketch 'em?—how do they ketch 'em?" exclaimed the Squire; "how doIknow?—how canItell?—I'venever been in Africa—I was only tellin' how the lions liv'd."
Mrs. Bird asked the Squire what the lions ate?
"Anything they can get," answered the Squire, very philosophically; "they ain't 'tall particular."
"Don't eat grass, do they?"
The Squire said he "shouldn't be s'prised if they did."
"Do they eat up men and women?"
"Wal," answered the Squire, "to tell you the plain truth, I s'pose they do."
"O Lordy!" exclaimed Mrs. Bird. "Ugh! how he looks!"
During all this time the young Puddlefordians, dirty and barefooted, who had crowded themselves into a corner in a distant part of the room, were filled with terror during the Squire's sage remarks, and fairly trembled for their safety.
Jim Buzzard took occasion to say that "he s'posed the an-er-malswouldbite, but he warn't goin' to be scart, if they had 'em fasten'd in cages—but if they were goin' ter run loose, he'd be gaul-blasted if they seed him round thar when they com'd—he'd jest let 'em know he warn't a-goin' to be eat up by their lions and elephuntses—he didn't care nothin' 'bout their monkeys—he warn't 'fraid of them, nohow—but them 'are lions—whatteeththey have got—O! mighty!—guess'd they wouldn't ketch him round them grinders."
The bill, among other startling announcements, declared that "the celebrated animal mentioned in Holy Writ, and now known as the Ichneumon," would be exhibited—that it was the first time any company had ever succeeded in carrying him so far into the interior, as he was very partial to salt water, and suffered very much, and grew very faint and weak, when removed any distance away from it.
The showman had been very careful not to furnish a picture of the Ichneumon, whose peculiarities had been so vividly portrayed in print, and the Puddlefordians were in great doubt about his real appearance. There were many curious speculations, and sage reflections indulged in by the more learned portion of the crowd, about his origin and history. It was very difficult, in the first place, to pronounce his name.
Bigelow Van Slyck, who was a host at Puddleford in philology, attempted to give the most correct pronunciation of the word. It was "Ich, something," he said—"probably the whole word was taken from Ich—and that was an animal that scratched himself—and yet he didn't believe this animal had any hair—and it was only hairy animals thatdidscratch themselves—and the reason why he thought the animal hadn't any hair, was, that he must be a salt-water animal—for the bill said he was mentioned in Holy Writ—and also, that he couldn't live away from salt-water. He thought he knewsun-thin' 'bout Holy Writ—hethoughthe did—and sunthin' 'bout animals, too—and ifhewas to give his opinion, he should say the Ichneumon was the great Le-vi-a-thern, that went into the mighty deep!" (Here Bigelow raised upon his toes, and spread out his arms, as if to show the crowd how big the great Le-vi-a-thernwas.)
Bigelow's oration produced a very solemn effect on the Puddlefordians. The idea that the great Leviathan, of Holy Writ, was really coming into their midst, was a most astounding thought to every man, woman, and child present.
Mrs. Longbow, who was a member of Bigelow's church, as has been seen, wanted to know "in what part of Holy Writ that 'are Ich-what-do-ye-call-it was found?"
Bigelow said it was somewhere—he couldn't 'zactly tell—it was either in theOldorNewTestament, he was very—"sartin."
Mrs. Longbow said "she'd never see'd it."
Bigelow said "he'd never seen him nuther."
Mrs. Longbow explained—"she'd never seen the animal in theHoly Writ."
Bigelow thought, "if she'd look, she'd find it."
Mrs. Longbow said "she'd look now."
Bigelow said "he hadn't timenow, but he'd look it up by next Sunday, and preach on't."
Turtle, who had been carefully watching Bigelow in his attempt to identify the Ichneumon, and who had great respect for his opinion in all matters connected with Holy Writ, thought he discovered a flaw in the argument. He would "jest like to know how they could carry around a salt-water animal on land?"
Bigelow said "he warn't alive—he was stuff'd. It didn't say the celebratedliveanimal called the Ichneumen."
"But it did say," replied Turtle, "that it was the first time they had succeeded in carrying the animal so far in the interior."
Bigelow was a little puzzled at this—but said, "he s'posed it was in great danger of being stolen—but at any rate, the Ichneumen was the great Leviathern, or some other—very—strange—animal,—thathe was sure of."
Squire Longbow, who had listened in the most dignified manner to all that Bigelow had said, heaved a long sigh at his last remark, and declared that Bigelow had, in his opinion, "s'plained the whole thing—and 'twas clear 'nough to him that the Ich-nu-men was the Viathen—'tany rate, he know'd the Viathen was the Ich-nu-men."
The excitement was very great from the time the bill was posted until the grand caravan actually arrived. Very little else was talked about, or thought of in Puddleford, and the region round about. Every business,and every domestic and social arrangement had reference to the coming event. Squire Longbow had declared, two weeks before the day fixed for the performance, that no law business would be done in his office on show-day. Turtle had issued a similar proclamation. Important financial arrangements were everywhere matured to enable the Puddlefordians to "raise the wind," so they might procure an entrance behind the canvas. The draft of ready money upon the people threatened to be very disastrous, for the admission was two shillings per head, children half price—cash down.
The caravan was expected to arrive at about ten o'clock in the forenoon. But the mighty multitude, who had some distance to travel, packed and provisioned, and started on their way the day previous. Everybody was determined to be on the ground when the first blow was struck. The morning of the long-looked for period presented a spectacle more stirring and sublime than anything which had ever been before known. Every man, woman, and child was dressed in his or her best. Many had strained a point, and appeared in a style so rich that they were scarcely known by their best friends. And then, too, every person appeared to be so full of good humor and smiles, that it really seemed to be the only desire of all to make each other happy. Squire Longbow shone like a dollar. The old homespun coat and beaver hat wore a new brightness about them; and, what was very unusual for the Squire, he had procured a new hickory cane, and had cut "Longbow" upon it, which very much added to his dignity. Turtle had actually mounted a clean collar, which was one of the most remarkable occurrences of the season. Jim Buzzard, however, had notmet with any change, outwardly or inwardly. He wore the same hat, coat, and boots that were found with him when he was first seen sunning himself on a dry-goods box, one morning, in the streets of Puddleford. The hat was a little more jammed up, and the boots gaped a little wider—but he was still the same Jim Buzzard, and they were still the same hat and boots. They bade fair to last as long as he did. His garments seemed to have growntohim, and to have become a partofhim—to have formed a sort of attachment for him, and he really looked as if he had been born with these very clothes on.
Jim sauntered around and said nothing. Sometimes he might be seen perched away off by himself upon a post, overlooking the crowd—sometimes stretched out on a box in the sun, snoring, and making ready for the coming occasion. He knew he would get in. He had no money, but he was a philosopher. He let matters take care of themselves, and as he had always been provided for, he felt perfectly satisfied that he always would be.
Everybody inquired very particularly about everybody's family on that day; and why shouldn't everybody inquire about everybody's family, for it was the day of the great caravan, and everybody was of course overflowing with joy. Mrs. Longbow assured Aunt Sonora, that "she would sartinly call on her the very next afternoon;" and Aunt Sonora apologized for not having dropp'd in to take tea with Mrs. Longbow, long afore. Mrs. Bird went so far as to inquire of Mr. Longbow, "how his cousins," which she said she had heer'd on, were gettin' along down on the Susquehannas—the only time before or since that the old lady ever alluded to the Squire's cousins, down on the Susquehannas, or anywhere else.
The grand caravan at last appeared in the distance, preceded by a cloud of dust, and heralded by distant strains of music. The shock was electrical—the rush was immense. The boys ran, and turned somersets—the men ran after the boys, and the women ran after the men. Jim Buzzard, disturbed by the "noise and confusion," actually rolled off a box, where he was dozing; crawled to his feet, and rubbed his eyes open with his fist. The jam was really terrific—women lost portions of their dresses, men's hats flew off, and somehow, in the hurly-burly and jam, Squire Longbow missed his beaver hat, cane, and eye-shade. The Squire was in great mental excitement, as well as in bodily danger. He panted for breath, and plodded on the best way he could. Even a man of his distinction was not regarded on that day. Among other trials and reverses, he found himself separated from Mrs. Longbow, who, for anything he knew, was "trampled to death," somewhere; and with one eye on the grand caravan, and the other (the blind one) looking after his second wife, he hurried along, muttering to himself like some mad animal. He was dashed on to Mr. Turtle in his progress, and nearly upset that respectable legal gentleman. Mr. Turtle rose, filled with wrath, and with drawn fist, and just saw his mistake in time before the blow descended. "O, it'syou, Squire!" said Mr. Turtle. Squire Longbow asked Mr. Turtle where his wife was? Mr. Turtle, very much excited, said something which the Squire did not understand, and pointed nowhere in particular, and then bounded on after the grand caravan. The Squire, after twisting and turning, and panting and blowing, and after having overturned three or four innocent women, who happened to be in his way,found himself at last out of the rush, in the corner of a rail fence, blowing his flushed face with his best cotton handkerchief. When he came to himself, he began to think. He recollected that he was a magistrate yet, and if anybodyshouldsteal his hat, cane, or his eye-shade, he muttered, "he'd bring 'em afore him by daylight next morning, he would—he'd have some kinder la' in town, if'twascaravan day."