The Puddleford Papers: or, Humors of the West

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'd nor '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 you said, 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 you think he 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-tive proof 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, I do," answered the man.

"Your name is Flummer?"

"Flum what?" 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 sit here." 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. "He did s'pose, that if there ever was a woman that had grief, and stood it, 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 distressed family. 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 in thunder was it that Miss Filkins came inter the settlement?"

"Wal, now, let me think," answered Aunt Sonora, – "Brumijim's youngest boy died – died – when did he die? – but no matter – but when we bought our brindle cow – we got her of old lame Gosander, and I recollect jist 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 some strang-ers on the road – and I axed him who they were? And Jim said – "

"When – in thunder —was it?" 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 – that he didn'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 that that very 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 hear that, don't you, gentlemen? They know her like a book."

"No! he warn't goin' to say anythin' 'bout the defendant now. He might say enough 'bout her to blow her sky-high; perhaps she wouldn't steal, he didn't think she would, but folks who do lie, will steal; but she hadn't stole nothin' yet, as he know'd on; he warn't goin' to say so '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 for her character; 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 religus institution, or to orphin children, and she'd do it 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 the sheriff – 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 – and such a 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 that his law was the law – 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 that he had 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 straightened out somewhere else, by somebody else. 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 in this case, 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 so they swear – and so the witnesses on one side are just as good as the witnesses on t'other side, and you must believe them all, just as fur, gentlemen of the jury, as if none of 'em had been impeached; and the court tells you so. Any objection to that, 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. Turtle would object, of course – he is 'torney for plaintiff, but I tell you the set-off is law, 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 matter what anybody 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, if you b'lieve it – the court has its own notions on that subject too – but 'tain't for the court to say – I say, if you b'lieve, gentlemen, the plaintiff has slander'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 say if– 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 has not slandered the plaintiff, gentlemen – it's a hard 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, as he understood 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.

CHAPTER XXIII

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's cho-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 it now." "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 his face 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 a lafin'."

Aunt Sonora said "it did seem as if her sides would split right open."

Mrs. Swipes said "she know'd that it did beat all – he was the oddest critter that ever com'd into the settlement."

Ike Turtle said "he was sum, 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! 'Tis raal fire!"

"O – d-e-a-r!"

"Take him some wa-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 that tow on fire? Don't it burn, 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 in terror, 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 be keerful 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 his butes," roared Turtle.

"They don't come out of his butes at all," said Aunt Sonora; "they're all in his mouth."

"He didn't put 'em in his 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 would confer 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 just the hat he wanted – it was sometimes difficult for him to find just the hat – 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 your hat!"

"In my beaver hat?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Cook eggs?"

"Yes, sir! Cook 'em!"

"That hat!"

"Yes, sir! I say that hat!"

"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 – "there it 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 – you borrow'd that hat, sir – you borrowed it of me, sir – it is my hat, sir, that you've got, sir – my name is Longbow, sir —Squire Longbow, 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.