The Puddleford Papers: or, Humors of the West

"Do tell now if he does," exclaimed Aunt Sonora, who had been listening to the Squire's story; "I tell'd our folks at hum, yesterday, that I hadn't any doubt but Puddleford would be turned enside out 'bout that."

"Yes!" continued the Squire, "Tibbits wants to bring suit – but I tell'd Tibbits that I wanted to know how much the cow was worth. 'Fourteen dollars,' said he. 'How much was the rifle worth?' ''Bout the same,' said he. 'Jest a set-off,' said I; 'the rifle pays for the cow, and the cow for the rifle.' Tibbits said that warn't la', and swore, and said I should issue the writ. I threatened to commit him for contempt. He said he'd get a ramdamus (mandamus) onter me, and there the matter stands."

"Well," said I, "you do have trouble, Squire – I'd resign."

"Nobody to fill my place," said the Squire, pushing his arms down into his breeches pockets and stretching out his legs and throwing his eyes up to the ceiling – "nobody that understands the staterts."

"There's Ike Turtle," said I.

"Ike arn't cool enough – it takes a cool man for justis in these parts – a man that arn't afear'd of nothin'."

"Just so," said I. Here was a rap, and Ike Turtle, Mr. and Mrs. Bates, and many others, entered.

We had a house full nearly. The elements, as I have said, were not harmonious. The Birds, and Swipes, and Beagles, and their friends were huddled together by themselves in one part of the room, and Longbow and his friends in another. You might hear whispers and suppressed laughs, and Ohs! and Ahs! from the circle of Mrs. Bird, and side-looks and other manifestations of uneasiness.

Ike Turtle, whose knowledge of human nature was equal to his humor, after eying the group a while, concluded to break into and scatter it, if possible. So turning around – "Mrs. Bird, you look un-comonly well, to-day," he said.

"Think I do," replied Mrs. Bird, pettishly.

"Why, you look as fresh as a new-blown rose."

Mrs. Bird held down her head, and actually appeared confused. Soon she gathered courage to speak. "Why, Mr. Turtle, how can you think so? I'm an old woman."

"Not so old, arter all," said Ike; "you've taken good care of your sperits and complexion."

"Why, Mrs. Bird don't use sperits!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, looking down over her spectacles, at Ike, with horror.

"Not them kind," said Ike – "but her nat'ral sperits, I mean. Now," continued Ike, "here's Squire Longbow, past fifty, hearty as a buck, full-er fire, and can kick up his heels as high as his head – all owin' to his sperits. Don't you think so, Mrs. Bird?"

Mrs. Bird said she didn't know much about Squire Longbow.

"O, nonsense now – yes, you do – liv'd neighbor to him in Puddleford these ten years or more. But if there's any doubt about it, I'll just introduce you. Squire Longbow," continued Ike, rising and pointing to Mrs. Bird – "Mrs. Bird – Mrs. Bird, Squire Longbow. And here's Mrs. Beagle and Mrs. Swipes – all of Puddleford – maybe you don't know 'em – all old residenters – come in when the country was new, and have cut their own fodder ever since."

The Squire rose, bowed, and said – he "know'd 'em all, and was glad to meet 'em looking so fust rate."

"Now," said Ike, "I've introduced you, enjoy yourselves."

This movement of Ike's broke the ice. The clique relaxed their brows, and conversation grew more general.

"Is Lavinny at school this winter?" inquired Mrs. Beagles of the Squire.

"Yes, marm, she is – studying 'stronomy – got inter the fix'd stars last week – and will be onter Capercorn, byme-by."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Aunt Sonora, her knitting-needles rattling with surprise, "how did she get out – got into the stars?"

"Yes, marm," continued the Squire, "she larned herself inter 'em – and she knows all 'bout 'em – what they're there for – and who put 'em there – jest as much as though she'd lived six months on the spot. And then, Mrs. Beagle, she's up to her eyes in hist'ry. She talks 'bout the Cæsars and 'Gustuses jest as though she'd allers know'd 'em. Tells all about how Christopher Columbus came over with the Puritans and settled onter Plymouth rock, 'cause Richard Third, king-er Spain, got mad at 'em, 'cause they would kiss the Pope's toe."

"Dear me suz, I wanter know," exclaimed Mrs. Brown again.

"And then she's at the head in the gography class – she's draw'd a map of the Cannibal Islands – and on one on 'em, Capt'n Cook lies with his head off, crying for marcy – and she says, down onter the squator it don't never snow, nor nothin', and it's hotter than blue-blazes, in the winter – and when it thunders and litenins, it tears everything inter pieces – she's goin' ahead wonderfully, Mrs. Beagle."

"Well, now, that is satisfying," said Mrs. Beagle. "It does one so much good to see one's children get larnin'!"

"That's just what I tell'd Mr. Brown when Jim was first born," said Aunt Sonora. "I tell'd him the boy had genus, for there never was one of our family that didn't. 'But you've got-ter give him schooling,' said I, 'to bring it out.' And so he did – and you orter to have see'd how he run'd to books and newspapers. When he was fifteen, he tell'd the old man, as he called his father, he orter to go to district-school – (he was a wonderful boy; know'd everything, then) – that he was way ahind the age. Then he went off a roamin', a seekin' his fortin' – and when he com'd back, nobody would know'd him – he was so improved – he fling'd his legs onter to the stove, and smoked and chewed, and talk'd about furrin parts – and didn't take any notice of the old man – said how the old man didn't know nothin' – (warn't he genus, Squire Longbow?) – he wouldn't work any, because he said genuses never work'd – that they wouldn't be genuses if they did – he made the old man give him a fast horse, and a p'inter dog, and a gun, all kivered with silver plates, and then he rid, and hunted, and courted – (warn't he genus?) – he courted Squire Boson's darter, and Mr. Fogg's two darters, and all the gals in the western settlement, till he finally settled down, as I was tellin' Mr. – a while ago, into jest as much of a genus as ever – the dear massy on us, what won't larnin' do?"

"'S'prisin' boy," answered the Squire.

The conversation ran on about everything, until Ike had really broken up the clique of Bird & Co., and one would have thought there never had been a social war in Puddleford. There never lived a mortal, I believe, who could hold out against the humor of Ike Turtle. He magnetized all who came within his influence. He was shrewd, keen, far-seeing, full of good sense, and had a stock of fun that was positively inexhaustible. Ike, in reality, never cared about the antipathy of Bird, Beagle & Co. – all their malice and slander had never "ruffled a feather," as he used to say. He was amusing himself in the experiments he had been making to bring the factions together; but he did not in fact care whether they ever came together or not.

About nine o'clock in the evening, and after "supper," as Mrs. Sonora called it, had passed off, Ike inquired of me if my fiddle was in the house, as he intended to have Squire Longbow, Aunt Sonora, Mrs. Bird, Swipes, and "all hands," dancing before the company broke up.

The fiddle was produced – rather an asthmatic instrument – that strayed into the country among my lumber, and was somewhat out of order. Ike tinkered it up with his jack-knife, until it finally emitted a few strains of something like music. He then played "Over the Hills," "Fisher's Hornpipe," and several other lively airs, until old Squire Longbow unconsciously began to rap the time with his heels, and Mrs. Bird to grow quite nettlesome.

Ike finally bowed himself up to Mrs. Bird, sawing away all the time on his fiddle – and declared that "nothing on airth would do him so much good as a country dance, and she must consent to walk straight out without wincing." Mrs. Bird looked pleased and provoked, by turns, but she finally took Ike's arm, and was duly placed on the floor. Squire Longbow and Mrs. Sonora were next hauled out by Ike; Mrs. Swipes and Sile Bates, and so on, until he had united (with the exception of Squire Longbow and partner) the most discordant elements of Puddleford.

The dance opened, Ike himself fiddling, shuffling, and calling off. He and Mrs. Bird went down in the middle, up outside, and crossed over, Ike's feet playing all the while like drum-sticks to the music of "Fisher's Hornpipe," which he was sawing off with inconceivable rapidity, while Mrs. Bird followed after him, panting and blowing, without much regard to time or tune.

Squire Longbow and Mrs. Sonora trotted through their parts – Mrs. Sonora having declared, before she took the floor, "that she never was one of them are dancing critters, but she'd try and hobble through the figger the best she could."

By and by the general "wind-up" came, when "all hands" went into it heart and soul. Ike's fiddle, and Ike's voice, and the pattering of feet, were all that was heard. "Right and left!" "Cross over!" "Don't run agin Mrs. Bird, Squire Longbow!" "A leetle faster, Mrs. Swipes!" "Pardners keep clus arter one another!" "Don't cave!" "Not quite so much cavortin' down thar!" exclaimed Ike, giving expression to his words with his bow, when at last he drew the whole to a close by a long, high squeak, and the company rushed to their seats puffing, and covered with perspiration.

This movement of Ike's was a masterly performance. He had actually danced with Mrs. Bird, one of his bitterest enemies. He had melted the two hostile cliques of Puddleford into one. His flattery and music had accomplished this, and it was productive of lasting good, for the war from this time began to decline in Puddleford, and the hostile cliques were finally dissolved.

Perhaps the reader is disposed to smile at my description of a Puddleford tea-party. Perhaps he thinks the ingenuousness of Aunt Sonora, the free-and-easy humor of Ike Turtle, the peevish jealousy of Mrs. Bird, are the fruit simply of what he terms "western vulgarity." Don't be too fast, my friend. You belong, perhaps, to a society that wears a mask – made up, nevertheless, of "envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness." Your Mrs. Bird is just as jealous, but for another reason, and with this difference, too, that she can smile upon her bitterest enemy, when and where the rules of fashionable life demand it. You've got a Squire Longbow or two with you in all probability – not dressed in homespun, but "broadcloth" – one who has been favored by fortune, and no god beside – one who hums and haws, and looks as wise and solemn as an owl, and to whom, perhaps, you unconsciously pay homage. We are all alike, dear reader – we look at your society through the telescope of education and refinement – at Puddleford, with the naked eye.

CHAPTER X

Mrs. Longbow taken sick. – General Interest. – Dr. Teazle. – His Visit. – "The Rattles." – Scientific Diagnosis. – A Prescription. – Short and Dr. Dobbs. – "Pantod of the Heart." – Dismissal of Teazle. – Installation of Dobbs. – "Scyller and Charabides." – Ike's Views. – The Colonel's. – Bates's. – Mrs. Longbow dies. – Who killed her: conflicting Opinions. – Her Funeral. – Bigelow Van Slyck's Sermon. – Interment.

Not long after this jolly little gathering at my house, I heard that Mrs. Longbow was sick. Her symptoms were very alarming, and, as she was the wife of Squire Longbow, and as the Squire was the man of Puddleford, her critical condition was a matter of public concern.

"What is the matter with Squire Longbow's woman?" "How did she rest last night?" "Did she roll and tumble much?" "Is her fever brok't onto her?" were questions frequently put. Now Mrs. Longbow was a very worthy person, and entitled to all the sympathy she received; but that is not to be the subject of this chapter.

When Mrs. Longbow was first taken ill, Dr. Teazle was called – yes, reader, Dr. Teazle – who had been as good authority in medicine, as Longbow ever was in law. I say had been – "Things were different now."

Teazle was one of the pioneers of Puddleford. He was there when the first log-house was laid up – the first field cleared – the first child born. Teazle possessed a very little learning, a very great deal of impudence, and a never-ending flow of language. He was opinionated, and tolerated no practice but his own. (What physician ever did?) Teazle never let a doubt enter his mind – he intuitively read a case, as rapidly as though he were reading a printed statement of it. Teazle was about the size of Longbow, but he had two eyes.

"How long have you been attackted?" inquired Teazle, approaching the bedside of Mrs. Longbow, and placing his fingers over the lady's pulse.

Mrs. Longbow said "it was some time during the night."

"Run out your tongue," continued Teazle.

Mrs. Longbow obeyed.

"Very bad tongue – all full'er stuff – you ain't well, Mrs. Longbow; there's a kind of collapse of the whole system, and a sort of debility going on, everywhere all over you."

Squire Longbow, who sat by, anxiously inquired what the disease was.

Teazle said it might be a sour stomach, or it might be fever, or it might be rheumatiz, or it might be the liver, or it might be that something else was out of order – or it might be the rattles.

"Dear me!" exclaimed the Squire, "the rattles– what is that?"

"The rattles," answered Teazle, "the rattles is a disease treated of in the books – Folks catch cold; the nose stops up; the throat gets sore, and there is a kind of rattling going on when they breathe, whether we can hear it or not – and that's the rattles."

Mrs. Longbow said "she hadn't got any rattles as she know'd on."

Teazle said he would make up a prescription that would make a sure business of it, as he always did when he was in doubt. "He would prepare a compound of the particular medicines used for the particular diseases he had mentioned, and fire at random, and some of the shot would hit, he knew."

"Gracious! doctor!" exclaimed Longbow, "what comes of the rest on 'em?"

"All passes off – all passes off," answered Teazle glibly, with a flourish of the hand, "through the pores of the skin – " continued Teazle; "and you must also take four quarts-er water, two pounds-er salt, a gill-er molasses, a little 'cumfrey root, some catnip blows (but mind don't get in any of the leaves; that'll kill her), stir it all up together, and soak her feet just ten minutes; then get five cents worth-er sassyfarilla, three cents worth-er some kind of physic, pour in some caster-ile, and I'll put in some intergrediences and stuffs, and will give it inwardly every two hours; and in the morning I will 'quire agin into the condition of the patient."

This, reader, was the result of Teazle's call. Mrs. Longbow was really suffering under an attack of bilious fever.

In a few days there was an uproar among the physicians of Puddleford. Dr. Short and Dr. Dobbs had united their influence and tongues together, and Teazle was denounced as a quack and a fool. Short and Dobbs never united for any other purpose but the abuse of Teazle. Sometimes Short and Teazle abused Dobbs, and sometimes Dobbs and Teazle abused Short. Short declared that "Mrs. Longbow had nothing but a kind of in'ard strictur', and a little salts would clear it right out."

Dobbs said it "was either that or the pantod of the heart, and that Teazle's medicine would lay out the poor soul as cold as a wedge."

I endeavored to ascertain by Dobbs what he wished us to understand by "pantod of the heart."

Dobbs said it was "unpossible for him to explain it without the books – it was something that laid hold of the vessels about the heart, and throw'd everything into a flutter."

The war went on – Squire Longbow's friends finally joined the force of opposition to Teazle – and in two or three days Teazle was ejected very unceremoniously from the Squire's house, and Dobbs took his place.

The first thing Dobbs did, when he was fairly installed, was to gather up, and pitch headlong into the fire, all of Teazle's remaining medicines. He wondered whether Teazle "really intended to kill Mrs. Longbow! Perhaps he was only a fool!" The whole system of practice was now changed. A new administration had come into power, and with it new measures. Dobbs "didn't know but he might raise Mrs. Longbow, but he couldn't hold himself responsible – Teazle had nearly finished her – but he would try."

Dobbs immediately introduced a seton into the side of his patient, "to get up a greater fluttering somewhere else, and get away the flutter at the heart, and when that went, the fever would go away with it," he said.

Dobbs moved around Puddleford for a day or so, with great pomp of manner. He had unseated Teazle, and now occupied his place. But what was his surprise to find Short and Teazle united, and out upon him, in full cry! Short had become chagrined because Dobbs had been called to fill the place of Teazle, instead of himself.

The war was renewed with increased fury. Dobbs's seton failed to produce the desired effect, and he, therefore, resorted to blistering and calomel. In a week he had nearly skinned and salivated the poor woman, and yet she lived. The fact was, Dobbs was a greater blockhead than Teazle, if that were possible. Ike Turtle said the "old 'oman was between Scyller and Charabides!" – Ike had heard this classical allusion at some time, – "and she'd got-ter go for it – and she'd better just step out at onst, and save trouble and expense."

The "Colonel" said that he "once read a story in Æsop's Fables, called the 'Fox and the Brambles,' and he recollected that the Fox refused to shake off a swarm of flies that were sucking out his life-blood, because a more hungry swarm would succeed; and he thought Mrs. Longbow made a great mistake in discharging Teazle; for Teazle had exhausted his energies upon his patient, and nature was about restoring the ruin he had wrought."

Bates expressed a different opinion. He was a strong advocate of lobelia and cayenne-pepper – he was, in short, a supporter of the "hot-water" practice. All mineral medicine Bates declared poisonous. Bates said "Nature knew enough to take care of herself – for every disease a remedy had been provided – what we call weeds were all valuable remedies: and he thought Teazle and Dobbs ought both to be indicted for malpractice."

This war between men, soon became a war of systems. Philista Filkins, Aunt Sonora, Bates & Company, raised a tempest around Longbow's ears; and Dobbs was finally thrown overboard, and his medicines after him; and Mrs. Filkins was placed at the helm, and the hot-water practice introduced.

But what is the use, reader? – Mrs. Longbow died. Who wouldn't? Nature cannot endure everything – she died, and was buried. But who killed her? That was a question for months afterwards. Dobbs said Teazle – Teazle said Dobbs; and Teazle and Dobbs, when talking together on the subject, said Mrs. Filkins – and Bates said "the calomel" – and Turtle said "the 'oman had been conspir'd agin, and was killed."

I attended the funeral of Mrs. Longbow. A funeral is solemn anywhere – in the wilderness it is impressive. In a city it is too often an exhibition of pride, carried down to the very gates of death – the poor handful of dust is used to glorify, a little longer, the living – it preaches no sermon, chastens no feeling; but a funeral in the wilderness is as lonely as one at sea. Nature becomes almost oppressive. The scattered population, for miles around, gathered at the log-chapel, and Bigelow Van Slyck preached over the remains of Mrs. Longbow. The sermon was characteristic of Bigelow – strange and inappropriate, perhaps, in the opinion of the reader; but, after all, the very thing for Bigelow's audience. This was his text: "Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble!" Bigelow said his "text used the word 'man that is born,' &c., but it was jest as applicable to a woman as to a man, for woman was, after all, a kind of a man; not that a woman was a man, nor a man a woman – but texts allers spoke of things in general, 'cause the Bible was writ for all time." In dwelling upon the words "that is born," Bigelow said, "he would go into the history of the Longbow family" – and he did go into their history, with a vengeance. He began with Squire Longbow's grandfather, who, he said, "fit in the old French war," and told us when he was born, and how he lived, and where he lived, and when he died, and gave us a kind of synopsis of the old man's services in the flesh. He then seized, violently, hold of the Squire himself, informed us he was born "down in the Pennsylvanys 'bout the old Tom Jefferson times, was the last of ten children, whose history he couldn't go into for want of time – that the Squire hadn't any larnin' until after he becom'd of age, and then got what he did get himself." Bigelow hoped his audience "would improve on this lesson, and get larnin' themselves." He then followed up the Squire through his immigration and settlement at Puddleford, and informed us, I recollect, among other things, that he built the first frame-house, being "twenty feet by thirty-four." Bigelow was still more specific in his history of Mrs. Longbow. If there was anything overlooked in the poor woman's life, I do not know what it was. Bigelow labored some half hour over her virtues, and brought them out so systematically, at last, that the list, when completed, reminded me of an inventory of the personal effects of a deceased person – of the preparation of a document, to file away somewhere.

The latter part of Bigelow's text, upon the brevity of life, was well managed – roughly, perhaps, but pointedly. He drew copiously from nature, by way of illustration, as all persons do who live more with nature than with man. "The corn," he remarked, "died in the ground, sprouted, grew green, then the blades died agin" – "the flowers jest breathed a few times, then they died" – "day died into night, and night died in the morning" – "everything died everywhere; and man died, and woman died, and we'd all got-ter die." I have selected only a few sentences, at random, from this part of Bigelow's discourse.

Then there was an address to the audience, an address to the aged, another to those in middle life, another to the young, and finally, one to the mourners, standing. Some two hours and a half were occupied in the sermon altogether; and when it finally closed, the remains of Mrs. Longbow were silently and sadly deposited in the grave.

The death of Mrs. Longbow created a great chasm in society. The "settlement" was so small, that the loss of any one was severely felt. In small places, every person has a great deal of individuality – in large, only here and there is one distinguished from "the crowd." Mrs. Longbow was certainly fortunate in one respect, if she was unfortunate in another. If the physicians of Puddleford hastened her end, its population have not forgotten her, nor her many virtues.

CHAPTER XI

Squire Longbow in Mourning. – The Great Question. – Aunt Sonora's Opinion. – Other People's. – The Squire goes to Church. – His Appearance on that Occasion. – Aunt Graves, and her Extra Performance. – "Nux Vomica." – Anxious Mothers. – Mary Jane Arabella Swipes. – Sister Abigail. – Ike Turtle and his Designs. – He calls on Aunt Graves. – She'll go it. – Sister Abigail's Objection. – The Squire's First Love Letter. – The Wedding. – Great Getting-up. – Turtle's Examination. – The Squire runs the Risk of "the Staterts." – Bigelow's Ceremony. – General Break-Down. – Not Very Drunk.

Squire Longbow sincerely mourned the loss of his wife – internally and externally. Externally, he was one of the strongest mourners I ever saw. He wore a weed, floating from his hat, nearly a foot long. It was the longest weed that had ever been mounted at Puddleford; but our readers must not forget who Squire Longbow was – a magistrate, and leading man in community. And while the reader is about it, he may also recollect that the Squire is not the only man, east or west, who has ventured upon a little ostentation over the grave of the departed – nor woman either.

Who was to be the next Mrs. Longbow? That was the question. The public, indeed, asked it long before the Squire. Who was to have the honor of presiding at the Squire's table? What woman was to be placed at the head of society in Puddleford? The Swipeses and Beagles, Aunt Sonora, Aunt Graves, and Sister Abigail, and scores of others, all began to speculate upon this important subject. Even Turtle and Bates indulged in a few general remarks.