The Puddleford Papers; Or, Humors of the West

by Henry Hiram Riley

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.