The Puddleford Papers: or, Humors of the West

"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, that would stand – 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 they could march 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 a platoon was, 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 to la'," 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 company siney die.

CHAPTER XXI

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 – jist once– that's all she would ask – she'd make 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 – the darling 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, what a 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 – to think, 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 I do know, 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 allers have liv'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 such things – but Mrs. Bird don't forget such things – she has a long memory – and her mother warn't none too good, 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, I dare; 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 day nor night; 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 the stingiest 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 will out – 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 in her malice. "She had thought for a long time," she said, "that affairs were all wrong-end-foremost at the Longbows. She could see some things too. But she didn't want to say a word agin nobody. She had allers tried to be a keerful woman – and she was a 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 she did think 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 for sumthin' – 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 as cowed-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 she did hate, 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 leetle too tight to be honest – there wern't no slander in that – she hadn't said she was dishonest, nor she warn't a-goin' to say it – she would skin a copper the closest of anybody she ever see'd; such people can't be honest – they will cheat in the dark – not that she meant to say that Mrs. Longbow would cheat – she slandered nobody – but the child did look half-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 a mother, and it'll be a long time before that woman will fill her place – 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 been cross-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 the very worst on 'em all. They were the awfullest dead-settest people she ever know'd. They will have 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 anybody else, for it wasn't no business of her'n, but then she know'd that, if it was her child, and she was 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 a time 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.

"That that thing!" – "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.

"Only to 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 at all!" 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 – if he didn't know what Poll Graves was, then it was his fault; if he hadn't liv'd long-er enough in this community to find her out, then the old fool ought-er suffer – good 'nough for him. He tried to get our Mary Jane Arabella, 'fore he went arter her– but I let him know that I was the mother of that gal. He found that Mrs. Swipes had a word to say, and it took me to 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 – that bunnit, 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 same bunnit, and she had it on; and she had on, at the same time, old Mrs. Longbow's gown, and shawl too; and she did come—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 make you scatter, she would – she'd tear them clothes off on you – she'd let you know where your place was; she'd learn you to dress up inter her clothes. 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 see how 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 folks have so 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 have come 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 you have spruc'd up the children – I didn't hardly know Elvira Julia last Sunday. I thought her mother had come back agin."

"She looked so happy!" exclaimed Mrs. Beagle.

"And the old Squire begins to hold up his head agin, like somebody," added Aunt Sonora.

"Nothin' like a woman in 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. There certainly 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.

CHAPTER XXII

Appeal of Case Filkins vs. 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.