The Group at "The Eagle."--Entree of a Stranger.--His
Opinion of the Tavern.--Bulliphant wakes up.--Can't pick
Fowls after Dark.--Sad Case of Mother Gantlet and Dr.
Teazle.--Mr. Farindale begins to unbend.--Whistle & Sharp,
and their Attorney.--Good Pay.--Legal Conversation.--Going
Sniping.--Great Description of the Animal.--The Party start,
Farindale holding the Bag.--"Waiting for
Snipe."--Farindale's Solitary Return.--His Interview with
Whistle & Sharp.--Suing a Puddleford Firm.--Relief
Laws.--Farindale gets his Execution.--The Puddleford
Bank.--The Appraisers.--Proceeds of the Execution.
Late in the fall of the year, early one evening, Turtle, Longbow, Bates,
the "Colonel," Swipes, and Beagle were congregated at the Eagle. Turtle and
Bates were engaged at a game of checkers, and each one, fast-anchored at
his right hand, had a glass of whiskey and water, or, as Turtle called it,
"a little diluted baldface." Their mouths were pierced with a pipe, in the
left hand corner, which hung loosely and rakishly down, besmearing their
laps with ashes, and now and then they puffed forth a column of smoke. The
"Colonel," Longbow, and the other Puddlefordians were ranged round the
fire. The Colonel sat in a rickety chair, his feet hoisted up on the mantel
on a line with his nose, and his shoulders hitched over the ends of its
posts; the Squire was busily looking into the glowing coals, his hands
clasped across his breast, unravelling some question of law, and Swipes
sat very affectionately on Beagle's lap, his right arm thrown around his
neck.
While in this position, aloud call of "Hallo!" "Landlord!" "O-r-s-t-ler!"
was heard without.
"Stir yer stumps, old Boniface--a traveller in distress," exclaimed Ike, to
Bulliphant, who was asleep on a wooden box behind the bar, and was snoring
louder and louder at each succeeding blast.
"Another two-and-sixpence, old free and easy," added Bates.
"This ere's a licensed tavern, and you must be up and doing, or the la' 'll
be inter you," gravely remarked the Squire.
By this time the stranger dashed into the bar-room, his face flushed, and
his temper, or his offended dignity, or both, in the ascendant, and
exclaimed, ferociously, "Is this a tavern! are you all dead! where's the
landlord! the hostler! Got any hay--oats!--anything for a gentleman to
eat!--any place to sleep!"--when Bulliphant rubbed open his eyes with the
knuckle of his fore-finger, gave a sleepy nod, and stumbled towards the
door, to provide for his furious guest and his horse.
The stranger walked into the bar-room, unwound two or three gaudy shawls
from his neck, took off an overcoat, a surtout-coat, shed a pair of
India-rubber travelling-boots, run both of his hands deep into his
breeches-pockets, took half a dozen pompous strides across the floor,
looking down all the while in abstracted mood at his feet, paraded before a
glass, twisted one of the locks of his hair around his fore-finger, and
finally brought up with his back to the fire, where he stood, his hands
holding apart the skirts of his coat, and his attention fixed upon
something on the ceiling.
Turtle measured him with his eyes several times from head to foot; the
"Colonel" hitched out of his way and begged his pardon, when, in fact, he
was not at all _in_ his way; the Squire was quite overcome at the amount of
opposing dignity brought so directly in contact with him; Bates gravely
whistled Yankee Doodle, gazing out of the window, and winked over his
shoulder at Beagle and Swipes, who winked back again.
Bulliphant returned wide awake. "Any turkeys or chickens?" inquired the
stranger.
"All gone to roost," answered Bulliphant, with a grave kind of brevity.
"Take a broiled chicken," said the stranger, giving a heavy hawk, with his
hand upon his breast, and spitting half across the floor.
"Have to take it feathers and all, then," said Bulliphant--"wimin folks are
superstitious--don't b'lieve it's right to pick fowls in the night--'twas
jest so with my wife's grandmother--she had the same complaint."
The stranger looked very hard at Bulliphant, and spit again, somewhat
spitefully.
"Can give you mush, souse, slap-jacks, briled pork," continued Bulliphant,
looking quizzically towards Turtle.
The stranger said, "he thought he'd stopped at a _tavern_--but he'd a great
deal better turned himself into the woods, and browsed for supper"--and
heaving a long sigh, sat down, and crossed his legs in a settled mood of
desperation.
Bulliphant said "there warn't no cause for alarm--he'd seen sicker men than
he die--and get well, too."
The stranger grunted and shifted his legs.
There was a long silence. All the Puddlefordians, except Ike and Bates, who
were absorbed in their game, were looking soberly and steadily into the
burning logs.
"Turtle," exclaimed Swipes, at last, breaking the solitude--"is that man
goin' to die?"
"Can't tell," replied Turtle; "his life's on a pize--may turn one way, may
turn t'other," and he took out his pipe, and blew a long whiff.
"Sleep well, last night?"
"Groan'd some 'bout midnight."
Swipes looked very sad, and the stranger's eyes passed from face to face
with anxious looks.
"Ain't goin' to bleed to death?"
"Not zactly that, but mortification's goin' to set in, and he cannot stand
it long, when that takes him."
"Dear me!" exclaimed the Colonel.
"Very strange case!" added the Squire.
"Great loss!" rejoined Bates.
The stranger, who was none other than the junior member of the firm of
Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale, dry goods merchants, doing business in the
city of New York, and who was out at Puddleford hunting up the firm of
Whistle & Sharp, a couple of debtors, whose account had been in the rear
for some time--the stranger, I say, became very anxious to hear the
particulars of the man whose life was in jeopardy--and he exclaimed before
he thought--"What is it, gentlemen?--who's hurt?"
"Why," said Ike, his face all the while cast iron, and his eyes steadily
fixed on his game; "why, you see, old mother Gantlet was took with a
violent mis'ry in her head--sent for Dr. Teazle--our village doctor
here--the old 'oman said her head would bust--doctor said it wouldn't--the
old 'oman said it would--the doctor said he'd tie it up--and he _did_ try
to tie it up, stranger--and while he was busy, her head _did_ bust, and
blew off the doctor's thumb and fore-finger"--and Ike shoved a man into the
king-row and crowned him, without a look at Mr. Farindale, his face all the
while as rigid as a tombstone.
Mr. Farindale gave a long whistle, and immediately called for a cigar; the
Colonel dropped a quid of tobacco into his hand, and gave it a toss across
the bar-room; Longbow shot forth a dignified spit into the fire, or rather
it seemed to shoot out itself, without moving a muscle, and Bates stroked
his chin several times with his left hand.
A long pause ensued. "What became of the woman?" inquired Farindale, after
five minutes, looking sharply at Ike.
"She hain't been heer'd on since, as I knows on," replied Ike; "but the
_doctor's_ in a dref-ul state."
The game of checkers closed, and Ike and Bates moved around near Mr.
Farindale.
"Stranger," said Ike, "travelled long in these ere parts?"
"Not long--but long enough."
"Goin' on?"
"On where?"
"Why, on to the next place?"
"Does Whistle & Sharp live hereabouts?" inquired Farindale, without
answering Ike's question.
"To be sure they do," said Ike; "I know 'em like a book; am their 'torney."
"Their attorney--_you_ their attorney--attorney of Whistle & Sharp," said
the stranger, slowly and musingly, scratching his head with his
fore-finger.
"Got anything for 'em or agin 'em?" inquired Ike.
"Are they good pay?" inquired the stranger.
"Always pays at the end of an execution," replied Ike--"never
before--allers takes a receipt on the docket--makes their settlements a
matter of record--puts things where they can't be ripp'd up--best way,
ain't it, stranger?"
The stranger grunted, "Humph!"
"And then," said Ike, "there's no dispute 'bout authority to collect.
Everybody can't tell who everybody's agent is. One New York clark run'd
away one year with all the collections from Puddleford in his
breeches-pocket; but the court _has_ authority--gin'ral jurisdiction--and
the discharge of a court is a discharge what _is_ a discharge."
"That's a real opinion," exclaimed Longbow, who had not spoken for half an
hour; "there's nothin' like a _court_ to put a finish onter things;" and
the Squire gave two or three heavy coughs, and blew his nose into his red
cotton handkerchief, and doubling it up into a wad, looked around very
gravely at Farindale as he dropped it back into his hat.
"Authority! The authority of courts to collect debts! They may have
authority, but I never saw a court that had the _power_ to collect a debt
of me," exclaimed the Colonel, shifting his tobacco from one side of his
mouth to the other as he spoke; "and I never put in a plea in my life--the
plea always puts _itself_ in, and is a dead bar to further proceedings
every time--'no assets'--'nothing whereon to levy'"--
"_Nully Bony! Nully Bony!_ you mean," said the Squire, horror-stricken at
the Colonel's use of law language.
"That's it," said Bates; "hain't got nothin' to get onter"--
"And ain't nowhere to be found, nor nothin'," added Turtle.
"Just so," said the Colonel; "a kind of general suspension for want of
capital--the fiddle's on hand, but the bow is gone."
The stranger was puzzled at the Puddlefordian view of paying debts, and
wondered if Whistle & Sharp were advocates of the same doctrine.
"Stranger!" said Bates, turning the subject of conversation, "do you ever
hunt?"
"Never," answered Farindale.
"Rare sport to-night, going a-sniping," said Bates.
"_Sni_-ping?" inquired the stranger, emphasizing the first syllable;
"_sni_-ping! what is _sni_-ping?"
"_Sni_-ping?" answered Bates--"why, catching snipe, to be sure."
"Great sport," said the Colonel; "bagged three hundred night before last."
"The real yaller legs, too!" remarked Turtle.
Farindale said "he would like to accompany them--never saw a snipe in his
life--would like to take one back to the city. Do they _sing_?" he
inquired, turning to Turtle.
"Great singers! catch any tune! s'prising critters to larn," answered Ike;
"got one up to my house that goes thro' half of 'Old Hundred,' by jest
hearing the folks hum it round the house."
"_Re_-markable!" exclaimed Farindale.
"Great eating, too," said Longbow.
"Hain't got mor'n two or three bones in their whole body; all the rest
meat," said Bates.
Preparations were immediately made for the sniping expedition. The stranger
put on his India-rubber boots, and shawls, and overcoat; Ike procured a
large bag of Bulliphant; and all hands, excepting Squire Longbow, whose
dignity forbade anything like sport, wended their way to the river, where,
Turtle said, "there were whole droves on 'em."
"Now," whispered Turtle, drawing Farindale close to him, and holding his
arm all the while as he spoke in his ear, "we must keep very still--snipe
are scary critters, and when they get frightened they put straight for the
river. There is a big log out yonder--a favorite spot of theirs--down which
they travel and jump off into the river. You jest take this ere bag, creep
softly down to the log, slip the bag over the end on't, and wait there
until we drive in the snipe. Don't speak--don't move; make 'em think you
are the trunk of a tree; and when the bag is full, slip it off, and close
it in a jiffy."
"Yes! yes!" whispered back Farindale.
"Mind, don't stir from your post till I halloo."
"No! no!" said Farindale.
Farindale did as he was directed. He found, however, a foot of black muck;
but, after "slumping" a while, he managed to plant his spread legs out like
a pair of extended compasses, and slide the bag over the log. Here he
stood, half bent together, grasping the bag, and waiting for snipe.
There was a beating of the bushes around him; then all was still; then
another beating, and another, and then a longer silence. Farindale was
sinking deeper and deeper in the mud, and the water was nearly to the top
of his boots. By and by, the noises ceased--no foot-step could be heard,
and the stranger was alone with the bag and the log, and half up to his
middle--_waiting for snipe_.
What ever became of the Puddlefordians is more than I can say. Farindale
returned to the Eagle alone. Early the next morning he might have been
found in anxious consultation with Whistle & Sharp concerning a claim there
of a hundred and twelve dollars, and interest after six months, which he
was very desirous to secure or settle. Mr. Whistle, the senior member of
the firm of Whistle & Sharp, was a very thin-faced man, with sandy hair
that had seldom been combed, and he wore a faded blue coat with metal
buttons, the two behind having been placed just under his armpits, which
made him look as though some invisible power was all the while lifting him
up from the ground. His woollen pantaloons had passed so many times through
the wash-tub, that he was obliged to strain out the wrinkles when he put
them on, and they clung as tight to his legs as his skin. Sharp was a
little man, had a long face, and his mouth seemed to have been bored--for
it was round--about midway between his chin and his forehead; and he was
always wasping around, giving consequential orders about nothing, and very
often spoke of the _firm_ of Whistle & Sharp, and what Whistle & Sharp had
done, and what Whistle & Sharp could do, and would do.
Mr. Whistle informed Mr. Farindale that "the debt could not be paid at
present, although," he added, "that the firm of Whistle & Sharp were good
for ten times that amount."
"And another ten top of that," added Sharp, from the other end of the
store, where he was tumbling down and putting up goods by way of exercise.
"Can you secure them?" inquired Farindale.
"Well, now, you _have_ said it!" exclaimed Whistle, with apparent
astonishment. "What can be safer than the firm of Whistle &
Sharp?--_secure!_--never had such a thing hinted before during the ten
years of our business."
"A mortgage," insinuated Farindale.
"Can't do _that_,--not no how; my old grandfather was swept out clean with
a mortgage once; took all he had, and he was compelled to emigrate; died of
broken heart at last."
"Then," said Farindale, "I must sue."
"What! sue the firm of Whistle & Sharp! Very well, sir, do, if you please."
"Yes-sir-_ee_--horse-cob! Mr. Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale," exclaimed
Sharp, springing at one bound over the counter; "just sue us
if--_you_--please; we'll pay the costs!" and Sharp whistled a tune with his
eyes fixed steadily upon Farindale.
"Court sits next month," said Whistle.
"And we'll confess judgment," said Sharp.
"And the _pay_ is sure," said Whistle.
"And no trouble hereafter," said Sharp.
Mr. Farindale began to think another sniping expedition was afoot. He was
not a coward, if his cockneyism had lured him after snipe; but he was
unable to determine what kind of people the Puddlefordians were. He had
never met anything like them. So he sat in his chair, the account against
Whistle & Sharp in his hand, tapping the floor with his right foot, trying
to devise some way to secure his claim.
A thought struck him. "Pay it, and I will make a discount of twenty-five
per cent.," said he.
"What's that you say?" indignantly exclaimed Sharp. "Do you mean to injure
our firm?--the firm of Whistle & Sharp, who pay dollar for dollar! That
ere, sir, is an insult. There's the door--walk! Sue! but you can't insult
_us_ on our own premises. That's the way to talk it, sir!" And Mr.
Farindale _did_ go, and he _did_ sue, and the firm recovered a judgment
against Whistle & Sharp for the sum of three hundred and twenty-four
dollars and sixteen cents, and costs of suit.
It was no great matter to recover a judgment against a Puddlefordian; but
it was something of a business to realize the damages. And that the reader
may understand what kind of a prospect Follett, Fizzlet & Farindale had for
their money, it is necessary to speak of the laws then in force for the
collection of debts. The new states at that time were entirely "shingled
over" with relief laws, which were passed to save the property of the
pioneer from sacrifice. There was scarcely any money in Puddleford, and
exchanges were made by barter. Personal property was valued by its relation
to other property; eight yards of calico were worth so much wheat, corn,
potash, cord-wood, or saw-logs. The merchant managed to turn his grain
into high wines, or put it in some other shape that would bear
transportation, and he was thus enabled to pay _his_ debts. The farmer gave
the mechanic an order on the merchant; the professional man took an order
on the merchant; the day-laborer took an order on the merchant; everybody
took an order on the merchant. The merchant was general paymaster; what he
could not, or would not pay, remained unpaid; and he, in his turn, swept
the farmer's crops, and took everything available; and the balance yet his
due, and remaining unpaid, if any, was carried over against the farmer, and
against the next crop. Thus the whole business of Puddleford ran through
the merchant like wheat through a mill, and generally at a profit to the
latter of from seventy-five to a hundred per cent.
It was this condition of the country that drove the legislature into the
enactment of relief-laws. As there was no money to pay debts, it was
enacted that property should be a legal tender. The law in force, at the
date of the judgment against Whistle & Sharp, was a beautiful specimen of
legislative impudence and ingenuity. It _was_ a relief law! One section of
the act provided, in substance, that upon the presentation of an execution,
issued by any court in the state, by the officer to whom the same shall be
directed, to the debtor or debtors mentioned therein, _such debtor or
debtors may turn out any property, personal or real, to said officer_ who
shall levy on the same; and the said officer shall cause the same to be
appraised by three appraisers, one to be chosen by the plaintiff, one by
the defendant, and one by the officer, who shall forthwith be sworn, etc.,
and proceed to appraise said property turned out at its true cash value;
and the said plaintiff in such execution shall receive said property at two
thirds its appraised value; and, if he refuse, he shall not proceed any
farther with his execution, or have another, _until he first pay up all the
costs of said appraisement_.[A]
An execution was issued by J. Snappit, Esq., attorney for Follett, Fizzlet
& Farindale, upon the judgment, recorded as foresaid, against the firm of
Whistle & Sharp, and put into the hands of the sheriff for collection.
Now the sheriff of the county which included Puddleford within its limits
was an accommodating man, a humane man, a man of the people, a--politician.
He did not think it necessary to oppress debtors who were unfortunately
unable to pay their debts--for the people elected him. Follett, Fizzlet &
Farindale never voted for _him_--never could vote for him; Whistle & Sharp
had, and would again. So the sheriff went down to Puddleford, and very
politely informed them, with a wink, that "he had _that_ execution against
them, and it must be paid."
"Jest so--jest so," answered Sharp, reading over the writ: "Whistle & Sharp
always pay--always have a pile of assets ready for a levy;" and returning
the execution to the sheriff, begged a moment's delay, until "_we_ could
consult with our attorney."
Mr. Turtle was consulted, and the conclusion of Sharp's interview with him
amounted to this: that Turtle should go immediately, and purchase for
Whistle & Sharp the old steamboat cylinder, crank, and shaft; and the
parties separated.
The steamboat cylinder, crank, and shaft, alluded to, was what Turtle
called the "Puddleford bank--metallic basis." Some years before, a
steamboat, on an exploring expedition up the river, among its windings and
sand-bars, was wrecked, and a heavy cylinder, crank, and shaft, thrown
ashore at Puddleford, where they lay at the period I speak of, and had for
a long time, deeply imbedded in sand. This mass of iron, weighing many
tons, had for a long time been a perpetual bar to the collection of all
debts against Puddlefordians. Chitty, in his Pleadings, never invented one
so omnipotent. It suspended every execution directed against it. It was
transferred, by bill of sale, from one Puddlefordian to another (as no
creditor was ever found willing to receive it at any price), as necessity
required, and was considered, by common consent, public property--a "bank"
as Turtle called it, "to which any person had a right to resort in
distress."[B]
Turtle took a bill of sale of this iron from the last man in trouble, and
turned it out to the sheriff on the execution against Whistle & Sharp.
"Now, Mr. Sheriff," said Turtle, triumphantly, "bring on your ap_pri_zers;
a thousand dollars' worth of property to pay a little over three hundred.
My clients, Whistle & Sharp, are bunkum yet--allers stand up to the rack at
the end of an execution. Bring on your ap_pri_zers, Mr. Sheriff."
Mr. Turtle chose an appraiser first--a second cousin of Mr. Whistle, of
the firm of Whistle & Sharp, and a man who was deeply in debt on their
books--a bilious, weazen-faced, melancholy-looking man, who had acquired a
great reputation for wisdom by saying nothing--whose name was Clinket. No
one appearing to choose for the plaintiffs, the sheriff selected the other
two. He named Mr. Troper, a seedy old fellow, whose crown was half out of
his hat, whose beard was white, his nose red, and who had a whiskey-cough,
and who was in the habit of visiting the barrel-tap of Whistle & Sharp
three or four times a day, in consideration of odd jobs performed by him
around the store; also, Mr. Fatler, a chubby-faced, twinkle-eyed wag, who
would not hesitate to perpetrate a good joke, even under oath, particularly
upon non-residents.
The Puddlefordians were out in mass to see Follett & Co. try a run on their
"bank." Many remarks were made.
Bulliphant said "the cylinder alone cost five hundred dollars."
Swipes said "it was a bully piece of stuff."
"How much is the debt?" inquired Bates.
"Two thirds of twelve hundred," exclaimed Turtle, loudly, "is eight
hundred."
"Worth the debt for old iron," said the Colonel.
These remarks, designed for the appraisers, had their effect; they
examined; they figured; retired for consultation; returned; retired again;
and finally appraised the property turned out at sixteen hundred dollars;
paying, at two thirds its _value_, the debt of Whistle & Sharp, and leaving
a very handsome surplus due them from their creditors. But I am very happy
to be enabled to say that Whistle & Sharp most magnanimously offered to
release all _their_ claim on the levy to Follett & Co., if they would take
the property, and discharge the judgment and costs, "making," as they said
in their letter to them, "a clear profit on their part of from four to five
hundred dollars."
FOOTNOTES:
[A] This is the substance of a portion of the act, as it stood in force
some years.
[B] This is a literal fact.