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 apprizers; 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 apprizers, 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.