Social War.--Longbow, Turtle & Co.--Bird, Swipes, Beagle &
Co.--Mrs. Bird.--Mrs. Beagle.--Mrs. Swipes--Turkey and
Aristocracy.--Scandal.--Husking-bees, and "such like."--The
Calathumpian Band.--The Horse-fiddle.--The Giant
Trombone.--The Gyastacutas.--Tuning up.--Unparalleled
Effort.--Puddleford still a representative Place.
I have taken the liberty, in the preceding chapters, to speak freely of
some of the leading characters of Puddleford. I have alluded to Longbow,
Turtle, and Bigelow, not because they were the only people of the village,
or the best; but because they were the rudder of society, and steered it
along in the same way that ships are guided over stormy waters. Now, there
were a great many more very excellent folks, who helped chink in and fill
up around these more important personages, and make up an harmonious whole.
Zeke Bird, the blacksmith, was one; Tom Beagle, the shoemaker, another; Lem
Swipes, the tailor, still another. These men were among the first settlers
of Puddleford, and had done as much towards its up-building as any other.
They had immigrated from a place in Ohio, and consequently knew something
about the world. All three families were cousins, or second cousins, to one
another, and they acted in unison upon any public or social question.
They hated, with a supreme hatred, Longbow, Turtle & Co., because they
were "aristocrats." Mrs. Bird, who was a very impulsive, peak-nosed sort of
a woman, and who always wore a red flannel petticoat protruding beyond her
dress, and her shoes slip-shod, used to often say, "that if there was
anything she did despise it was a stick-up. She didn't believe old Mrs.
Longbow, or any of her darters, were any better than common folks; and
she'd see the whole pack on 'em pumpin' lightning at two cents a clap,
before she'd skrouch to 'em!"
Mrs. Beagle was quite a different body. She was not so full of fire and
fury as Mrs. Bird. She didn't allow her feelings to get the advantage of
her malice. She moved more underground; yet she was always busy pecking
away at that "up-street clique," as she called them.
Mrs. Beagle was a neat, tidy body, and wore an air of great sincerity about
her face. She used to say that "nothing grieved her _so much_ as to be
compelled to believe anything bad 'bout her neighbors," and that "she never
spoke of nothing till it got all over, and there warn't no use of holding
in any longer." She made it her business to watch the morals and religion
of all the Longbows, and Turtleses, and Bateses, and report accordingly.
She said "she didn't know but it was all right for a member of the
Methodist church, like Miss Lavinia Turtle, to wear three bows to her
bonnet on Sunday--she didn't _know_--she warn't going to say--'haps she
hadn't orter say--but the way _she_ looked at religion, 'twas as wicked as
Cain--for herself, she made no pretensions, but when folks did, she wanted
to see 'em lived up to." She said, "she meant to have Mrs. Bates turned out
of the church for riding out on Sunday, for she'd seen her several times
with her own eyes, six miles from town; but she wouldn't speak of it, if
it warn't such a scandal on her profession;" besides, she had it from good
authority, that "she water'd her milk 'fore she sold it, but she wouldn't
say who told her, 'cause she promised not to."
Mrs. Swipes was a fat, blouzy-faced, coarse, ignorant woman, and revenged
herself by firing bombshells into the aristocratic camp every opportunity
she could get, and cared but little what she said, or whom she hit, if she
could only keep the enemy stirred up. "She'd heard that Mrs. Longbow's
father got into jail once down in Pennsylvania, and that the hull batch on
'em were as poor as Job's turkey; and that the old Squire himself had a
pretty tight nip on't; but his friends bailed him out, and he lean'd for
the west. As for Mrs. Bates, she _knew_ she'd lie, right flat out--she'd
catch'd her dozens of times; and, of course, Lavinia couldn't be any
better--for as the old cock crows, the young one learns. She wouldn't swap
characters with any on 'em, not she."
The husbands of these ladies thought just about as much of Longbow & Co. as
their wives did. They were an indolent trio, and labored only enough to
keep soul and body together. The rest of their time was devoted to the
"Eagle tavern," street-lounging, and commentaries upon the daily
developments of the aristocracy. Each one of the families of these cliques
were social centres, around which others revolved, and drew all their light
and heat. And then there were still other families, away down below the
Birds and Beagles in the scale of respectability, who were ever warring
upon _them_, proving
"That fleas have other fleas to bite 'em,
And so on, _ad infinitum_."
I recollect attending a party, one evening during the winter, at Bird's,
when the aristocracy took a regular broadside fire. It seemed that Longbow,
some days previous, had a turkey on his table for dinner, which roused up
all the wrath of his adversaries. Mrs. Bird said, "she really s'posed that
he thought poor people couldn't have such things; but she'd let him know
she'd lived on' turkeys before he ever know'd there was such a thing--and
she had good sass with 'em too. Mrs. Longbow," she said, "cooked it for
nothing in the world but to make her knuckle to her; but she'd never give
in as long as _she_ drew the breath of life--that she wouldn't!"
Mrs. Sonora Brown said, "that warn't all--Longbow had bo't a bran new
carpet for down-stairs, and used sales-molasses for common, eenamost every
day--and the clark in Clewes' grocery had got a goin' arter Lavinny every
night--and Mrs. Longbow had got mift at Mrs. Weazel, because Weazel said he
wouldn't stand any more of Longbow's decisions--and they'd got a burning
sperm ile in the house instead-er taller--and they were a puttin' on the
drefulest sight of airs, old woman and all, that ever was seen."
Mrs. Beagle said "it was all true about the ile--she see'd it burn through
the winder--and she'd seen a great many more things through the winder--but
she warn't a going to tell what they were!"
Mrs. Sonora Brown threw up her hands in horror, and said, "she had always
suspected it, but darsn't say so."
"O, shaw!" exclaimed Mrs. Beagle; "that's nothing to Bates' wife; she walks
out arm-in-arm in broad daylight with her cousin that's been sneaking round
there on a visit." She said, "Puddleford used to be a 'spectable village,
but there warn't any morals any more since these high-flyers had got into
it--and she guess'd Bates' wife was flaring out, and trading at the stores
as much as Longbow."
Mr. Bird very grumly said, "he'd better hold in, for if he didn't _hist_ a
little note he had again' him 'fore long, he'd sue him to judgment, and
_level_ an execution on everything he had, and clean him out."
A yellow-looking woman, who sat in the corner, and who had just before
remarked that "she'd had the shakin' ager onto her all winter," wanted to
know if "the new _mar_chant was going to jine the upper crust, or be one of
our folks."
It was not long, however, before all were rattling away together, so that
nothing but the emphatic words could be distinguished. Artillery,
fire-arms, and all, were blazing. Such a scorching as the aristocracy
received had hardly ever been equalled.
Longbow & Co. did not care for their enemies. They rather felt proud of the
notice bestowed upon them. Ike Turtle used to say, "'twas fun to stand and
take the fire of fools;" but Squire Longbow's dignity was so profound, that
he never permitted himself to know that there was really any war going on.
Society in the country, among the farmers, was quite another thing.
Puddleford village _had_ a country, and village pride looked down upon it,
just as it does in larger places. The amusements and frolics of the country
were more simple and hearty. In the winter, husking-bees, apple-parings,
and house-warmings were held every week at some of the farm-houses. Great
piles of corn were stacked up in barn, the girls and boys invited in for
miles around, long poles run through strung with lanterns, and the husking
rushed through, 'mid songs and jokes. Then all hands adjourned to the
house, and drank "hot stuff," ate nuts, and played games, and stormed
around, until they started the very shingles on the roof; while the great
fireplace, piled up with logs into the very throat of the chimney, shook
its shadows around the room in defiance of the winds that roared without.
Now and then the country quality held a regular blow-out at Bulliphant's
tavern. On these occasions, dancing commenced at two in the afternoon, and
ended at daylight next morning. Dry goods and perfumery suffered about
those days. The girls and boys dressed their hair with oil of cinnamon and
wintergreen, and the Eagle smelt like an essence shop. It fairly
overpowered the stench of Bulliphant's whiskey-bottles. Every one rigged
out to within an inch of their lives. The girls wore ruffles on their
pantalets frizzled down over their shoes, nearly concealing the whole foot;
and all kinds and colors of ribbons streamed from their heads and waists.
The "boys" mounted shirt-collars without regard to expense, and flaunted
out their brass breast-pins, two or more to each, with several feet of
watch-chain jingling in front. The landlord of the Eagle termed these
gatherings his "winter harvest."
Another amusement, frequent in the country, was the turnout of the
"Calathumpian Band." The band, I am aware, did not originate with
Puddleford. Newly-married couples were serenaded before it ever had an
existence there. But _this_ band was one of the very finest specimens. No
one knew exactly who its members were; but they were always on hand, soon
after a wedding, in full uniform, with all their instruments in order. It
was organized when the country was very new, and was, at the period I refer
to, in the highest state of prosperity.
One of its instruments was called the "horse-fiddle;" another the "giant
trombone;" another the "_gyastacutas_." The "horse-fiddle" was two enormous
bows, made of hoops, heavily stringed and rosined, with a beef-bladder,
fully inflated, pushed between the string and the bow. The "great trombone"
was a dry goods box, turned bottom-side up, and was played upon with a
scantling eight or ten feet long. The edge of the box and the scantling
were rosined, and it was worked by two men sawing up and down. The
"gyastacutas" was a nail keg, with a raw hide strained over it, like a
drum-head, and inside of the keg, attached to the centre of this drum-head,
a string hung, with which this instrument was worked by pulling in the
string and "let fly."
Besides all these, the band were supplied with dinner horns, conch-shells,
sleigh-bells, and sometimes guns and pistols.
It assembled, usually about eleven o'clock at night, around the quarters of
the newly-married couple, and within a day or two after marriage. Its
members were dressed up like an army of scare-crows. Some wore their shirts
outside, some their coats and vests buttoned behind, and some were attired
in female dress. Its leader marched and countermarched this strange medley,
and announced and conducted all the music. The band never moved without
orders--it was thoroughly disciplined.
The instruments were first put in tune. The trombone gave out a low and
heavy growl--the "gyastacutas," a bung! the horse-fiddle sullenly
replied--a chink-chink from a few pairs of bells, and a toot-e-toot from
the horns and shells, showed the blast was near at hand.
And such a blast! The infernal regions could not equal it. It roared and
echoed for miles around. It fairly tore out the inside of one's head. The
cows bellowed and the dogs barked, honestly believing that the dissolution
of all things was at hand. The whole surrounding population roused up, for
no person pretended to sleep when the Great Calathumpian Band was
assembled.
The reader must not suppose that this band was a mere congregation of boys.
Not by any means; it was one of the institutions of the country--one of the
public amusements of the day, and was patronized by young and old. Men had
lived and died members of the Calathumpian Band, and are remembered in
Puddleford for this, if nothing else.
It is said that the songs and the amusements of a people determine their
character. If this be true, the reader can judge something of the country
population about Puddleford from the little sketch I have given of them.
The amusements of the villagers themselves were quite miscellaneous. The
"aristocracy," as Bird & Co. termed them, gathered every night at the
Eagle, where they played cards, checkers, backgammon, made bets, discussed
the affairs of the nation and the private affairs of their neighbors, drank
a little whiskey, and went home at eleven or twelve o'clock deeply
impressed with their own importance. Bulliphant's bar-room was their
centre of gravity, and it was a matter of deep concern, if any member of
the club was not found in his accustomed place. Longbow, Turtle, and Bates
had actually unseated several pairs of pantaloons on the landlord's chairs,
which proved clearly enough that _they_ were faithful members.
Important business was transacted by this club. It made all the justices of
the peace, constables, school inspectors, &c., &c., and was a controlling
clique, in all political matters, within the township.
The reader discerns that Puddleford, in most respects, was like other
places. It had its divisions in society, its importance, its pomp and show,
and relatively speaking, its aristocracy. It played through the same farce
in a small way that larger places do on a more extended plan. Longbow felt
just as omnipotent, walking up and down the streets of Puddleford, as the
tallest grandee treading a city pavement. The scale of greatness was not as
long in his village, but he stood as high on it as any other man in the
world on his--and so long as he headed his own scale, it mattered but
little to him where the "rest of mankind" were.
It must have been a very remarkable character who once said, "human nature
is always the same"--that the only difference in human pride and folly is
one of degree. And I really hope there are none of my readers who feel
disposed to look down upon Puddleford with contempt, because I have
presented a few personages who have innocently caricatured what others
daily practise, who have been polished in the very laboratory of fashion.
Puddleford ought not, for that reason, to be condemned.
It seems to me that it may, on the contrary, be a lesson to such, _because_
it makes a burlesque of itself in chasing folly. Puddleford is a great
looking-glass, which reflects the faces of almost every person who looks
into it, and proves, what that remarkable character said, "that human
nature is always the same."