CHAPTER X
Mrs. Longbow taken sick. – General Interest. – Dr. Teazle. – His Visit. – "The Rattles." – Scientific Diagnosis. – A Prescription. – Short and Dr. Dobbs. – "Pantod of the Heart." – Dismissal of Teazle. – Installation of Dobbs. – "Scyller and Charabides." – Ike's Views. – The Colonel's. – Bates's. – Mrs. Longbow dies. – Who killed her: conflicting Opinions. – Her Funeral. – Bigelow Van Slyck's Sermon. – Interment.
Not long after this jolly little gathering at my house, I heard that Mrs. Longbow was sick. Her symptoms were very alarming, and, as she was the wife of Squire Longbow, and as the Squire was the man of Puddleford, her critical condition was a matter of public concern.
"What is the matter with Squire Longbow's woman?" "How did she rest last night?" "Did she roll and tumble much?" "Is her fever brok't onto her?" were questions frequently put. Now Mrs. Longbow was a very worthy person, and entitled to all the sympathy she received; but that is not to be the subject of this chapter.
When Mrs. Longbow was first taken ill, Dr. Teazle was called – yes, reader, Dr. Teazle – who had been as good authority in medicine, as Longbow ever was in law. I say had been – "Things were different now."
Teazle was one of the pioneers of Puddleford. He was there when the first log-house was laid up – the first field cleared – the first child born. Teazle possessed a very little learning, a very great deal of impudence, and a never-ending flow of language. He was opinionated, and tolerated no practice but his own. (What physician ever did?) Teazle never let a doubt enter his mind – he intuitively read a case, as rapidly as though he were reading a printed statement of it. Teazle was about the size of Longbow, but he had two eyes.
"How long have you been attackted?" inquired Teazle, approaching the bedside of Mrs. Longbow, and placing his fingers over the lady's pulse.
Mrs. Longbow said "it was some time during the night."
"Run out your tongue," continued Teazle.
Mrs. Longbow obeyed.
"Very bad tongue – all full'er stuff – you ain't well, Mrs. Longbow; there's a kind of collapse of the whole system, and a sort of debility going on, everywhere all over you."
Squire Longbow, who sat by, anxiously inquired what the disease was.
Teazle said it might be a sour stomach, or it might be fever, or it might be rheumatiz, or it might be the liver, or it might be that something else was out of order – or it might be the rattles.
"Dear me!" exclaimed the Squire, "the rattles– what is that?"
"The rattles," answered Teazle, "the rattles is a disease treated of in the books – Folks catch cold; the nose stops up; the throat gets sore, and there is a kind of rattling going on when they breathe, whether we can hear it or not – and that's the rattles."
Mrs. Longbow said "she hadn't got any rattles as she know'd on."
Teazle said he would make up a prescription that would make a sure business of it, as he always did when he was in doubt. "He would prepare a compound of the particular medicines used for the particular diseases he had mentioned, and fire at random, and some of the shot would hit, he knew."
"Gracious! doctor!" exclaimed Longbow, "what comes of the rest on 'em?"
"All passes off – all passes off," answered Teazle glibly, with a flourish of the hand, "through the pores of the skin – " continued Teazle; "and you must also take four quarts-er water, two pounds-er salt, a gill-er molasses, a little 'cumfrey root, some catnip blows (but mind don't get in any of the leaves; that'll kill her), stir it all up together, and soak her feet just ten minutes; then get five cents worth-er sassyfarilla, three cents worth-er some kind of physic, pour in some caster-ile, and I'll put in some intergrediences and stuffs, and will give it inwardly every two hours; and in the morning I will 'quire agin into the condition of the patient."
This, reader, was the result of Teazle's call. Mrs. Longbow was really suffering under an attack of bilious fever.
In a few days there was an uproar among the physicians of Puddleford. Dr. Short and Dr. Dobbs had united their influence and tongues together, and Teazle was denounced as a quack and a fool. Short and Dobbs never united for any other purpose but the abuse of Teazle. Sometimes Short and Teazle abused Dobbs, and sometimes Dobbs and Teazle abused Short. Short declared that "Mrs. Longbow had nothing but a kind of in'ard strictur', and a little salts would clear it right out."
Dobbs said it "was either that or the pantod of the heart, and that Teazle's medicine would lay out the poor soul as cold as a wedge."
I endeavored to ascertain by Dobbs what he wished us to understand by "pantod of the heart."
Dobbs said it was "unpossible for him to explain it without the books – it was something that laid hold of the vessels about the heart, and throw'd everything into a flutter."
The war went on – Squire Longbow's friends finally joined the force of opposition to Teazle – and in two or three days Teazle was ejected very unceremoniously from the Squire's house, and Dobbs took his place.
The first thing Dobbs did, when he was fairly installed, was to gather up, and pitch headlong into the fire, all of Teazle's remaining medicines. He wondered whether Teazle "really intended to kill Mrs. Longbow! Perhaps he was only a fool!" The whole system of practice was now changed. A new administration had come into power, and with it new measures. Dobbs "didn't know but he might raise Mrs. Longbow, but he couldn't hold himself responsible – Teazle had nearly finished her – but he would try."
Dobbs immediately introduced a seton into the side of his patient, "to get up a greater fluttering somewhere else, and get away the flutter at the heart, and when that went, the fever would go away with it," he said.
Dobbs moved around Puddleford for a day or so, with great pomp of manner. He had unseated Teazle, and now occupied his place. But what was his surprise to find Short and Teazle united, and out upon him, in full cry! Short had become chagrined because Dobbs had been called to fill the place of Teazle, instead of himself.
The war was renewed with increased fury. Dobbs's seton failed to produce the desired effect, and he, therefore, resorted to blistering and calomel. In a week he had nearly skinned and salivated the poor woman, and yet she lived. The fact was, Dobbs was a greater blockhead than Teazle, if that were possible. Ike Turtle said the "old 'oman was between Scyller and Charabides!" – Ike had heard this classical allusion at some time, – "and she'd got-ter go for it – and she'd better just step out at onst, and save trouble and expense."
The "Colonel" said that he "once read a story in Æsop's Fables, called the 'Fox and the Brambles,' and he recollected that the Fox refused to shake off a swarm of flies that were sucking out his life-blood, because a more hungry swarm would succeed; and he thought Mrs. Longbow made a great mistake in discharging Teazle; for Teazle had exhausted his energies upon his patient, and nature was about restoring the ruin he had wrought."
Bates expressed a different opinion. He was a strong advocate of lobelia and cayenne-pepper – he was, in short, a supporter of the "hot-water" practice. All mineral medicine Bates declared poisonous. Bates said "Nature knew enough to take care of herself – for every disease a remedy had been provided – what we call weeds were all valuable remedies: and he thought Teazle and Dobbs ought both to be indicted for malpractice."
This war between men, soon became a war of systems. Philista Filkins, Aunt Sonora, Bates & Company, raised a tempest around Longbow's ears; and Dobbs was finally thrown overboard, and his medicines after him; and Mrs. Filkins was placed at the helm, and the hot-water practice introduced.
But what is the use, reader? – Mrs. Longbow died. Who wouldn't? Nature cannot endure everything – she died, and was buried. But who killed her? That was a question for months afterwards. Dobbs said Teazle – Teazle said Dobbs; and Teazle and Dobbs, when talking together on the subject, said Mrs. Filkins – and Bates said "the calomel" – and Turtle said "the 'oman had been conspir'd agin, and was killed."
I attended the funeral of Mrs. Longbow. A funeral is solemn anywhere – in the wilderness it is impressive. In a city it is too often an exhibition of pride, carried down to the very gates of death – the poor handful of dust is used to glorify, a little longer, the living – it preaches no sermon, chastens no feeling; but a funeral in the wilderness is as lonely as one at sea. Nature becomes almost oppressive. The scattered population, for miles around, gathered at the log-chapel, and Bigelow Van Slyck preached over the remains of Mrs. Longbow. The sermon was characteristic of Bigelow – strange and inappropriate, perhaps, in the opinion of the reader; but, after all, the very thing for Bigelow's audience. This was his text: "Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble!" Bigelow said his "text used the word 'man that is born,' &c., but it was jest as applicable to a woman as to a man, for woman was, after all, a kind of a man; not that a woman was a man, nor a man a woman – but texts allers spoke of things in general, 'cause the Bible was writ for all time." In dwelling upon the words "that is born," Bigelow said, "he would go into the history of the Longbow family" – and he did go into their history, with a vengeance. He began with Squire Longbow's grandfather, who, he said, "fit in the old French war," and told us when he was born, and how he lived, and where he lived, and when he died, and gave us a kind of synopsis of the old man's services in the flesh. He then seized, violently, hold of the Squire himself, informed us he was born "down in the Pennsylvanys 'bout the old Tom Jefferson times, was the last of ten children, whose history he couldn't go into for want of time – that the Squire hadn't any larnin' until after he becom'd of age, and then got what he did get himself." Bigelow hoped his audience "would improve on this lesson, and get larnin' themselves." He then followed up the Squire through his immigration and settlement at Puddleford, and informed us, I recollect, among other things, that he built the first frame-house, being "twenty feet by thirty-four." Bigelow was still more specific in his history of Mrs. Longbow. If there was anything overlooked in the poor woman's life, I do not know what it was. Bigelow labored some half hour over her virtues, and brought them out so systematically, at last, that the list, when completed, reminded me of an inventory of the personal effects of a deceased person – of the preparation of a document, to file away somewhere.
The latter part of Bigelow's text, upon the brevity of life, was well managed – roughly, perhaps, but pointedly. He drew copiously from nature, by way of illustration, as all persons do who live more with nature than with man. "The corn," he remarked, "died in the ground, sprouted, grew green, then the blades died agin" – "the flowers jest breathed a few times, then they died" – "day died into night, and night died in the morning" – "everything died everywhere; and man died, and woman died, and we'd all got-ter die." I have selected only a few sentences, at random, from this part of Bigelow's discourse.
Then there was an address to the audience, an address to the aged, another to those in middle life, another to the young, and finally, one to the mourners, standing. Some two hours and a half were occupied in the sermon altogether; and when it finally closed, the remains of Mrs. Longbow were silently and sadly deposited in the grave.
The death of Mrs. Longbow created a great chasm in society. The "settlement" was so small, that the loss of any one was severely felt. In small places, every person has a great deal of individuality – in large, only here and there is one distinguished from "the crowd." Mrs. Longbow was certainly fortunate in one respect, if she was unfortunate in another. If the physicians of Puddleford hastened her end, its population have not forgotten her, nor her many virtues.
CHAPTER XI
Squire Longbow in Mourning. – The Great Question. – Aunt Sonora's Opinion. – Other People's. – The Squire goes to Church. – His Appearance on that Occasion. – Aunt Graves, and her Extra Performance. – "Nux Vomica." – Anxious Mothers. – Mary Jane Arabella Swipes. – Sister Abigail. – Ike Turtle and his Designs. – He calls on Aunt Graves. – She'll go it. – Sister Abigail's Objection. – The Squire's First Love Letter. – The Wedding. – Great Getting-up. – Turtle's Examination. – The Squire runs the Risk of "the Staterts." – Bigelow's Ceremony. – General Break-Down. – Not Very Drunk.
Squire Longbow sincerely mourned the loss of his wife – internally and externally. Externally, he was one of the strongest mourners I ever saw. He wore a weed, floating from his hat, nearly a foot long. It was the longest weed that had ever been mounted at Puddleford; but our readers must not forget who Squire Longbow was – a magistrate, and leading man in community. And while the reader is about it, he may also recollect that the Squire is not the only man, east or west, who has ventured upon a little ostentation over the grave of the departed – nor woman either.
Who was to be the next Mrs. Longbow? That was the question. The public, indeed, asked it long before the Squire. Who was to have the honor of presiding at the Squire's table? What woman was to be placed at the head of society in Puddleford? The Swipeses and Beagles, Aunt Sonora, Aunt Graves, and Sister Abigail, and scores of others, all began to speculate upon this important subject. Even Turtle and Bates indulged in a few general remarks.
Aunt Sonora gave it as her mind, that "the Squire ought to be pretty skeery how he married anybody, kase if he got one of them flipper-ter-gibbet sort o' wimmin, she'd turn the whole house enside out, and he'd be one of the most miserablest of all men." She said, "if he know'd what was good for himself, he'd jest keep clear of all the young gals that were fussing and figeting round him, and go right in for some old stand-by of a woman, that know'd how to take the brunt of things – but, lors a-me," continued Aunt Sonora, "there's no doing nothing with these old widowers – they're all like my Uncle Jo, who married in a hurry, and repented arterwards – and the poor dear old soul arn't had a minute's peace since."
The Swipeses and Beagles, who, it will be recollected, belonged to a clique that had, in times past, warred against Longbow & Co., "tho't it would be shameful for the Squire to marry at all – it would be an insult agin the memory of poor old Mrs. Longbow, who was dead and gone." (Some people, you know, reader, abuse the living, but defend the dead.) "And if the Squire should marry, they should think, for their part, that she'd rise up out of her grave, and haunt him! She could never sleep easy, if she know'd that the Squire had got some other woman, who was eating her preserves, and wearing out her clothes, and lording it over the house like all possess'd."
Other opinions were expressed by other persons – in fact, the Squire's widowhood was the great concern of Puddleford. "He was so well on to do," as Aunt Sonora used to call it, that he was considered a great "catch."
After a few weeks of sorrow, the Squire himself really began to entertain notions of matrimony. It is true he had passed the age of sixty, and it required a great effort to get up a sufficient amount of romance to carry out such an enterprise. Symptoms began, however, to wax strong. The first alarming indication was his attendance at church. The Squire had always been a kind of heathen in this respect, and had for many years set a poor example; but people, who want to marry, will go to church. Whether this is done to get up a reputation, or simply to take a survey of the unappropriated female stock yet remaining on hand, I cannot say.
The Squire was "fixed up" amazingly, the first time I saw him at church. His hair had been cut, and thoroughly greased. His shirt-collar covered his ears; and his boots shone like a mirror. Aunt Sonora said he looked "enymost as good as new." Aunt Graves was in the choir that day, and she sang as she never sang before. She blowed all the heavy strains of music – strains that lifted her on her toes – directly into Squire Longbow's face. Whether Aunt Graves had any design in this, is more than I can say; but I noticed some twinges about the Squire's lips, and a sleepy wink of the eye, that looked a little like magnetism. It was ridiculous, too, that such an old castle should be stormed by music.
But the Squire exhibited other symptoms of matrimony. He grew more pompous in his decisions, disposed of cases more summarily, and quoted law Latin more frequently. It was about this time that he talked about the "nux vomica," instead of the "vox Populi." He used to "squash" proceeding's before the case was half presented; and, in the language of Turtle, "he tore around at a great rate." Turtle said, "the old Squire was getting to be an old fool, and he was goin' to have him married, or dismissed from office – there warn't no livin' with him."
There were a great many anxious mothers about Puddleford who were very desirous of forming an alliance with the Longbow family. Even Mrs. Swipes, as much as she openly oposed the Squire's marriage in general, secretly hoped a spark might be struck up between him and her daughter, Mary Jane Arabella Swipes; and Mrs. Swipes was in the habit of sending her daughter over to the Squire's house, to inquire of him "to know if she couldn't do sunthin' for him in his melancholy condition;" and Sister Abigail went down several times to "put things to rights," and was as kind and obliging, and attentive to all the Squire's wants, as ever Mrs. Longbow was in her palmiest days. On these occasions, Sister Abigail used frequently to remind the Squire of "his great bereavement, and what an angel of a wife he had lost; and that things didn't look as they used to do, when she was around, and she didn't wonder he took on so, when the poor thing died."
But, reader, Ike Turtle had ordered things otherwise. He was determined to strike up a match between the Squire and Aunt Graves. So Ike made a special visit to Aunt Graves one evening, for the purpose of "surveying and sounding along the coast, to see how the waters laid, and how the old soul would take it," to use his language.
I have already given an outline of Aunt Graves; but I will now say further, that she never had an offer of matrimony in her whole life. She was what is termed a "touchy" old maid. She professed to hate men, and affected great distress of mind when thrown into their society. Aunt Graves was just ironing down the seams of a coat that she had finished, when Ike called.
Ike opened the conversation by reminding Aunt Graves that "she was livin' along kinder lonely like."
"Lonely 'nough, I s'pose," she replied, snappishly.
"Don't you never have the blues, and get sorter obstrep'rous?"
Aunt Graves "didn't know as she did."
"Why, in the name of old Babylon, don't you marry?"
"Marry? me marry – marry a man – a great awful man!" and the iron flew through the seams like lightning.
"Yes," continued Ike, "marry – marry a man – why, woman, you are getting as old and yellow as autumn leaves. What have you been livin' for? – you've broken all the laws of Scripter inter pieces – and keep on breakin' on 'em – adding sin unto sin, and transgression unto transgression, and the thing's got-ter be stopped. Now, Aunt Graves, what do you think – there's Squire Longbow, as desolate as Sodom, and he's got-ter have a woman, or the old man'll run as crazy as a loon a-thinkin' 'bout his household affairs; and you know how to cook, and to wash, and to iron, to make pickles and soap; and then, you're a proper age – what say?"
Aunt Graves ran to the fire, plunged her goose into the ashes, and gave the coals a smart stir. She then dropped down in her large rocking-chair, leaned her cheek upon her elbow, fixed her eyes upon the floor, and came near going off into hysterics.
Ike dashed a little water into Aunt Graves' face, and she revived. After having gained strength, she replied in substance to Ike's query in a very languishing, die-away air: "She couldn't say – she didn't know – if it was a duty – if she could really believe it was a duty – if she was called on to fill poor old dead-and-gone Mrs. Longbow's place – folks were born inter the world to do good, and she had so far been one of the most unprofitablest of sarvants; but she could never marry on her own account – "
"In other words," exclaimed Ike, cutting her short, "you'll go it."
Aunt Graves agreed to "reflect on't."
It was not long after this consultation that Mrs. Swipes began to "smell a rat," as she said. She commanded Mary Jane Arabella "never to darken the doors of that old hog, Longbow, agin; and as for that female critter, Graves, she'd got a husband living down at the East'ard, and they'd all get into prison for life, the first thing they know'd."
Sister Abigail declared, "she'd have Aunt Graves turned out of church, if she married a man who warn't a member." This was a great deal for Sister Abigail to say, for she had been the bosom friend of Aunt Graves: "people out of the church, and people in the church, shouldn't orter jine themselves together – it was agin Scripter, and would get everything inter a twist."
But Ike Turtle had decreed that the marriage should go on. He even went so far as to indite the first letter of the Squire's to Aunt Graves. This letter, which Ike exhibited to his friends, as one of his best literary specimens, was indeed a curiosity. I presume there is nothing else like it on the face of the globe. It opened by informing Aunt Graves that since the "loss of his woman, he had felt very grievous-like, and couldn't fix his mind onto anything – that the world didn't seem at all as it used to do – that he and his woman had liv'd in peace for thirty years, and the marriage state was nat'ral to him – that he had always lik'd Aunt Graves since the very first time he see'd her, and so did his woman too;" and many more declarations of similar import, and it was signed "J. Longbow, Justice of the Peace," and sealed too, like his legal processes, that his dignity might command, even if his person did not win, the affections of this elderly damsel.
Aunt Graves surrendered – and all this within two months after the death of Mrs. Longbow. The Squire cast off his weeds, and made violent preparations for matrimony; and on a certain night – I shall never forget it – the affair came off.
There was a great gathering at the Squire's – a sort of general invitation had been extended far and near – the Swipeses and Beagles, Aunt Sonora, and all. Great preparations had been made in the way of eatables. The Squire was rigged in a new suit of "home-made," (made by Mrs. Longbow, too, in her life-time), – a white vest, and he wore a cotton bandana neck-handkerchief, with heavy bows, that buried his chin, and a pair of pumps and clouded blue stockings. Aunt Graves' dress cannot be described. She was a mass of fluttering ribbons, and she looked as though she would take wings and fly away.
Bigelow Van Slyck and Ike Turtle conducted the marriage ceremony – the one took the ecclesiastical, the other the civil management. When the couple were ready, Turtle sat down in front of them with the statutes under his arm, with Bigelow at his right hand.
Turtle examined the statutes amid profound silence for some time, turning down one leaf here and another there, until he found himself thoroughly prepared for the solemn occasion. Finally, he arose, and with a gravity that no man ever put on before or since, exclaimed, —
"Miss Graves, hold up your right hand and swear."
Miss Graves said "she was a member of the church, and dar'sent swear."
Ike said it was "legal swearing he wanted, 'cording to the staterts – not the wicked sort – he wanted her to swear that she was over fourteen years of age – hadn't got no husband living, nowhere – warn't goin' to practise no fraud nor nothin' on Squire Longbow – and that she'd jest as good a right to get married now as she ever had."
Miss Graves looked blank.
Squire Longbow said "he'd run the risk of the fourteen years of age and the fraud, and finally he would of the whole on't. The staterts was well enough, but it warn't to be presumed that a justice of the peace would run agin 'em. Some folks didn't know 'em – he did."
Ike said "there was something another in the statert about wimin's doing things 'without any fear or compulsion of anybody,' and he guessed he'd take Miss Graves into another room, and examine her separately and apart from her intended husband." This was a joke of Turtle's.
The Squire said "that meant married wimin – arter the ceremony was over, that ere would be very legal and proper."
Mrs. Swipes said, "for her part, she thought the oath or-ter be put – it would be an awful thing to see a poor cretur forced into marriage."
Sister Abigail thought so, too.
Aunt Sonora hoped there wouldn't be nothin' did wrong, "so people could take the law on 'em."
Turtle said, "that they needn't any on 'em fret their gizzards —he was responsible for the la' of the case."
Bigelow then rose, and told the parties to jine hands, and while they were jined, he wanted the whole company to sing a psalm.
The psalm was sung.
Bigelow then commenced the wedding process. "Squire Longbow," exclaimed Bigelow – "this is your second wife, and some folks say the third, and I hope you feel the awful position in which you find yourself."
The Squire said "he felt easy and resigned – he'd gone inter it from respect to his woman who was now no more."
"You do promise to take this ere woman, to eat her, and drink her, and keep her in things to wear, so long as you and she lives."
"I do that very thing," responded the Squire.
"And you, on your part," continued Bigelow, turning to Aunt Graves, "promise to behave yourself and obey the Squire in all things."
Aunt Graves said "she would, Providence permitting."
This marriage ceremony, I believe, is nearly word for word.
"Then," said Turtle, "wheel yourselves into line, and let's have a dance;" and drawing out his fiddle the whole crowd, in five minutes, were tearing down at a most furious rate; and when I departed, at about midnight, the storm was raging still higher, the whiskey and hot water circulated freely, Turtle looked quite abstracted about his eyes, and his footsteps were growing more and more uncertain, Bulliphant's face shone like a full moon, the voices of the females, a little stimulated, were as noisy and confused as those of Babel, and your humble servant – why, he walked home as straight as a gun – of course he did – and was able to distinguish a hay-stack from a meeting-house, anywhere along the road.