CHAPTER VII.
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 marchant 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."