The Puddleford Papers: or, Humors of the West

CHAPTER XIII

The "Fev-Nag." – Conflicting Theories. – "Oxergin and Hydergin." – Teazle's Rationale. – The Scourge of the West. – Sile Bates, and his Condition. – Squire Longbow and Jim Buzzard. – Puddleford Prostrate. – Various Practitioners. – "The Billerous Duck." – Pioneer Martyrs. – Wave over Wave.

During my first fall's residence at Puddleford, I frequently heard a character spoken of, who seemed to be full as famous in the annals of the place as Squire Longbow himself. He was called by a great variety of names, and very seldom alluded to with respect. He was termed the "Fev-Nag," the "Ag-an-Fev," the "Shakin' Ager," the "Shakes," and a great variety of other hard names were visited upon him.

That he was the greatest scourge Puddleford had to contend with, no one denied. Who he really was, what he was, where born, and for what purpose, was a question. Dobbs had one theory, Short another, and Teazle still another. Dr. Dobbs said "that his appearance must be accounted for in this wise – that the marshes were all covered with water in the spring, that the sun began to grow so all-fir'd hot 'long 'bout July and August, that it cream'd over the water with a green scum, and rotted the grass, and this all got stewed inter a morning fog, that rose up and elated itself among the Ox-er-gin and Hy-der-gin, and pizened everybody it touched."

Dr. Dobbs delivered this opinion at the public house, in a very oracular style. I noticed several Puddlefordians in his presence at the time, and before he closed, their jaws dropped, and their gaping mouths and expanded eyes were fixed upon him with wonder.

Dr. Teazle declared that "Dobbs didn't know anything about it. He said the ager was buried up in the airth, and that when the sile was turned up, it got loose, and folks breath'd it into their lungs, and from the lungs it went into the liver, and from the liver it went to the kidneys, and the secretions got fuzzled up, and the bile turn'd black, and the blood didn't run, and it set everybody's inards all a-tremblin'."

Without attempting the origin of the ague and fever, it was, and always has been, the scourge of the West. It is the foe that the West has ever had to contend with. It delays improvement, saps constitutions, shatters the whole man, and lays the foundation for innumerable diseases that follow and finish the work for the grave. It is not only ague and fever that so seriously prostrates the pioneer, but the whole family of intermittent and remittent fevers, all results of the same cause, press in to destroy. Perhaps no one evil is so much dreaded. Labor, privation, poverty, are nothing in comparison. It is, of course, fought in a great variety of ways, and the remedies are as numerous as they are ridiculous. A physician who is really skilful in the treatment of these diseases is, of course, on the road to wealth, but skilful physicians were not frequent in Puddleford, as the reader has probably discovered.

I recollect that, during the months of September and October, subsequently to my arrival, all Puddleford was "down," to use the expression of the country; and if the reader will bear with me, and pledge himself not to accuse me of trifling with so serious a subject, I will endeavor to describe Puddleford "in distress."

I will premise by saying that it is expected that persons who are on their feet during these visitations, give up their time and means to those who are not. There is a nobleness of soul in a western community in this respect that does honor to human nature. A village is one great family – every member must be provided for – old grudges are, for the time, buried.

I have now a very vivid remembrance of seeing Sile Bates, one bright October morning, walking through the main street of Puddleford, at the pace of a funeral procession, his old winter overcoat on, and a faded shawl tied about his cheeks. Sile informed me "that he believed the ager was comin' on-ter him – that he had a spell on't the day before, and the day before that – that he had been a-stewin' up things to break the fits, and clean out his constitution, but it stuck to him like death on-ter a nigger" – he said "his woman and two boys were shakin' like all possess't, and he railly believed if somebody didn't stop it, the log-cabin would tumble down round their ears." He said "there warn't nobody to do nuthin' 'bout house, and that all the neighbors were worse off than he was."

Sile was a melancholy object indeed. And in all conscience, reader, did you ever behold so solemn, woe-begone a thing on the round earth, as a man undergoing the full merits of ague and fever? Sile sat down on a barrel and commenced gaping and stretching, and now and then dropped a remark expressive of his condition. He finally began to chatter, and the more he chattered, the more ferocious he waxed. He swore "that if he ever got well, he'd burn his house, sell his traps, 'bandon his land, pile his family into his cart, hitch on his oxen, and drive 'em, and drive 'em to the north pole, where there warn't no ager, he knew. One minit," he said, "he was a-freezin', and then he was a-burnin', and then he was a-sweatin' to death, and then he had a well day, and that didn't 'mount to nothin', for the critter was only gettin' strength to jump on him agin the next." Sile at last exhausted himself, and getting upon his feet, went off muttering and shaking towards his house.

The next man I met was Squire Longbow. The Squire was moving slower, if possible, than Bates. His face looked as if it had been just turned out of yellow oak, and his eyes were as yellow as his face. As the Squire never surrendered to anything, I found him not disposed to surrender to ague and fever. He said "he'd only had a little brush, but he'd knock it out on-him in a day or two. He was jist goin' out to scrape some elder bark up, to act as an emetic, as Aunt Sonora said if he scraped it down, it would have t'other effect – and that would kill it as dead as a door-nail."

I soon overhauled Jim Buzzard, lying half asleep in the bottom of his canoe, brushing off flies with an oak branch. Jim, too, was a case, but it required something more than sickness to disturb his equilibrium. Jim said "he warn't sick, but he felt the awfulest tired any dog ever did – he was the all-thunderest cold, t'other day, he ever was in hot weather – somethin' 'nother came on ter him all of a suddint, and set his knees all goin', and his jaws a quiv'rin', and so he li'd down inter the sun, but the more he li'd, the more he kept on a shakin', and then that are all went off agin, and he'd be darned to gracious if he didn't think he'd burn up – and so he just jumped inter the river, and cool'd off – and, now he feel'd jist so agin – and so he'd got where the sun could strike him a little harder this time. What shall a feller do?" at last inquired Jim.

"Take medicine," said I.

"Not by a jug-full," said Jim. "Them are doctors don't get any of their stuff down my throat. If I can't stand it as long as the ager, then I'll give in. Let-er-shake if it warnts to – it works harder than I do, and will get tir'd byme-by. Have you a little plug by-yer jest now, as I haven't had a chew sin' morning, as it may help a feller some?" Jim took the tobacco, rolled over in his canoe, gave a grunt, and composed himself for sleep.

This portrait of Buzzard would not be ludicrous, if it was not true. Whether Socrates or Plato, or any other heathen philosopher, has ever attempted to define this kind of happiness, is more than I can say. In fact, reader, I do not believe that there was one real Jim Buzzard in the whole Grecian republic.

But why speak of individual cases? Nearly all Puddleford was prostrate – man, woman, and child. There were a few exceptions, and the aid of those few was nothing compared to the great demand of the sick. It was providential that the nature of the disease admitted of one well day, because there was an opportunity to "exchange works," and the sick of to-day could assist the sick of to-morrow, and so vice versa.

I looked through the sick families, and found the patients in all conditions. One lady had "just broke the ager on-ter her by sax-fax tea, mix'd with Colombo." Another "had been a-tryin' eli-cum-paine and pop'lar bark, but it didn't lie good on her stomach, and made her enymost crazy." Another woman was "so as to be crawlin'" – another was "getting quite peert" – another "couldn't keep anything down, she felt so qualmly" – another said, "the disease was runnin' her right inter the black janders, and then she was gone" – another had "run clear of yesterday's chill, and was now goin' to weather it;" and so on, through scores of cases.

It is worthy of note, the popular opinion of the character of this disease. Although Puddleford had been afflicted with it for years, yet it was no better understood by the mass of community than it was at first. I have already given the opinion of Dobbs and Teazle of the causes of the ague; but as Dobbs and Teazle held entirely different theories, Puddleford was not much enlightened by their wisdom. (If some friend will inform me when and where any community was ever enlightened by the united opinion of its physicians, I will publish it in my next work.) Aunt Sonora had a theory which was a little old, but it was hers, and she had a right to it. She said "nobody on airth could live with a stomach full of bile, and when the shakin' ager come on, you'd jest got-ter go to work and get off all the bile – bile was the ager, and physicians might talk to her till she was gray 'bout well folks having bile – she know'd better – twarn't no such thing."

Now Aunt Sonora practised upon this theory, and the excellent old lady administered a cart-load of boneset every season – blows to elevate the bile, and the leaf as a tonic. However erroneous her theory might have been, I am bound to say that her practice was about as successful as that of the regular physician.

Mr. Beagle declared "that the ager was in the blood, and the patient must first get rid of all his bad blood, and then the ager would go along with it." Swipes said "it was all in the stomach." Dobbs said "the billerous duck chok'd up with the mash fogs, and the secretions went every which way, and the liver got as hard as sole-leather, and the patient becom' sick, and the ager set in, and then the fever, and the hull system got-er goin' wrong, and if it warn't stopped, natur'd give out, and the man would die." Teazle said "it com'd from the plough'd earth, and got inter the air, and jist so long as folks breath'd agery air, jist so long they'd have the ager." Turtle said "the whole tribe on 'em, men-doctors and women-doctors, were blockheads, and the surest way to get rid of the ager, was to let it run, and when it had run itself out, it would stop, and not 'afore."

Here, then, was Puddleford at the mercy of a dozen theories, and yet men and women recovered, when the season had run its course, and were tolerably sure of health, until another year brought around another instalment of miasma.

How many crops of men have been swept off by the malaria of every new western country, I will not attempt to calculate! How many, few persons have ever attempted! This item very seldom goes into the cost of colonization. Pioneers are martyrs in a sublime sense, and it is over their bones that school-houses, churches, colleges, learning, and refinement are finally planted. But the death of a pioneer is a matter of no moment in our country – it is almost as trifling a thing as the death of a soldier in an Indian fight. There is no glory to be won on any such field. One generation rides over another, like waves over waves, and "no such miserable interrogatory," as Where has it gone? or How did it go? is put; but What did it do? – What has it left behind?

Any one who has long been a resident in the West, must have noticed the operation of climate upon the constitution. The man from the New England mountains, with sinews of steel, soon finds himself flagging amid western miasma, and a kind of stupidity creeps over him, that it is impossible to shake off. The system grows torpid, the energies die, indifference takes possession, and thus he vegetates – he does not live.

And, dear reader, it does not lighten the gloom of the picture to find Dobbs, and Teazle, and Short, quarrelling over the remains of some departed one, endeavoring to delude the public into something themselves have no conception of, about the manner in which he or she went out of the world. Not that all the physicians are Dobbses or Teazles, but these sketches are written away out on the rim of society, the rim of western society, where the townships are not yet all organized, and a sacred regard to truth compels me to record facts as they exist.

CHAPTER XIV

Uncommonly Common Schools. – Annual School District Meeting. – Accounts for Contingent Expenses. – Turtle and Old Gulick's Boy. – "That are Glass." – The Colonel starts the Wheels again. – Bulliphant's Tactics. – Have we hired "Deacon Fluett's Darter," or not? – Isabel Strickett. – Bunker Hill and Turkey. – Sah-Jane Beagles. – The Question settled.

Common schools are said to be the engine of popular liberty. I think we had some of the most un-commonly common schools, at Puddleford, that could be found anywhere under the wings of the American eagle. Our system was, of course, the same as that of all other townships in the state, but its administration was not in all respects what it should be. Our schools were managed by Puddlefordians, and they were responsible only for the talent which had been given them. Every citizen knows that our government is a piece of mechanism, made up of wheels within wheels, and while these wheels are in one sense totally independent, and stand still or turn as they are moved or let alone, yet they may indirectly affect the whole. In other words, our government is like a cluster of Chinese balls, curiously wrought within, and detached from each other, and yet it is, after all, but one ball. There is something beautiful in the construction and operation of this piece of machinery. A school district is one machine, a township another, a county another, and a state another – all independent organizations, yet every community must work its own organization. They are not operated afar off by some great central power, over the heads of the people; but they are worked by the people themselves, for themselves.

However clumsily the work may be performed at first, practice makes perfect, and men become the masters, as well as the administrators of their own laws.

We had an annual school district meeting in the village of Puddleford – and there were many others in the country at the same time – for the township was cut up into several districts, and I never attended one that did not end in a "row," to use a western classical expression. The business of these meetings was all prescribed by statute, and it amounted to settling and allowing the accounts of the board for the last school year, voting contingent fund for the next, determining whether a school should be taught by a male or a female teacher, and for how many months, and the election of new officers.

The last meeting I attended, Longbow was in the chair by virtue of his office as president of the school district board. Being organized, the clerk of the board presented his account for contingent expenses, and Longbow wished to know "if the meetin' would pass 'em."

Turtle "wanted to hear 'em read."

Longbow said "the only account they had was in their head."

Turtle said "that warn't 'cordin' to the staterts."

Longbow said "he'd risk that – his word was as good as anybody's writin', or any statert."

Turtle said "he'd hear what they was, but 'twarn't right, and for his part, he didn't b'lieve the board know'd what they'd been about for the last six months."

Longbow raised his green shade from his blind eye, rose on his feet, looked down very ferociously upon Turtle, stamped his foot, and informed Ike "that this was an org'nized meetin', and he mustn't reflect on-ter the officers of the de-strict; 'twas criminal!"

The account was then repeated by Longbow, item by item, and among the rest was two shillings for setting glass.

When glass was mentioned, Turtle sprang to his feet again. "Thar, old man," he exclaimed, rapping his knuckles on the desk, "thar's where I'se got you – thar's a breach er trust, a squand'rin' of funds, that ain't a-going to go down in this ere meetin'. Old Gulick's boy broke that are glass just out of sheer dev'ltry, and you s'pose this ere school de-strict is a-goin' to pay for't? What do you s'pose these ere staterts was passed for? What do you s'pose you was 'lected for? To pay for old Gulick's boy? – Well, I rather caklate not, by the light of this ere moon – not in this ere age of Puddleford."

Squire Longbow took a large chew of plug-tobacco, which I thought he nipped off very short, and remained standing, with his eyes fixed on Turtle.

Sile Bates rose, and said "he wanted to know the particulars 'bout that are glass."

Longbow said "the board 'spended money in their 'scretion, and 'twarn't fur Turtle or Bates, or anybody else, to 'raign 'em up 'fore this 'ere meetin'."

Here was a long pause. The "Colonel" finally arose, put his hand deliberately into his pocket, drew out a quarter, and flung it at the Squire, and "hop'd the meetin' would go on, as it was the first public gathering that he ever knew blocked by twenty-five cents."

This settled the difficulty, and the report for contingent expenses was adopted.

Bulliphant then said he had a motion. He "moved that we hire Deacon Fluett's darter to keep our school."

The Squire said "the meetin' couldn't hire, but it could say male or female teacher."

Bulliphant "moved we hire a female, and we recommend Deacon Fluett's darter."

Bates said "he jest as 'lieve have one of Fluett's two-year olds."

The "Colonel" said "she couldn't spell Baker."

Swipes thought "she was scarcely fit to go to school."

Turtle said "the meetin' hadn't got nothin' to do with it, nohow, and the whole motion was agin law."

Bulliphant, who had become a little out of humor, then "moved that we don't hire Deacon Fluett's darter."

Bates declared "the motion out of order."

The Squire said "he guess'd the motion was proper. The staterts said the meetin' shouldn't hire anybody, but the de-strict board should; and this ere motion was jest 'cordin' to statert."

But the meeting voted down Bulliphant's motion, and Bulliphant then declared that the vote was "tan-ter-mount to a resolve to hire the woman."

Here was a parliamentary entanglement that occupied an hour; but the "Colonel" settled it at last, by reminding the president "that it was two negatives that made one affirmative – not one;" and the Squire said "so he believed he had seen it laid down inter the books."

But I cannot attempt to report the proceedings of this miscellaneous body. The business occupied some four or five hours, and was finally brought to a close. A new school board was elected, and your humble servant was one of the number; positively the first office that was ever visited upon him.

The great question with two of the members of our board, in hiring a teacher, was the price. Qualification was secondary. The first application was made by a long-armed, red-necked, fiery-headed youth of about nineteen years, who had managed to run himself up into the world about six feet two inches, and who had not worn off his flesh by hard study, and who carried about him digestive organs as strong as the bowels of a thrashing-machine. He "wanted a school, 'cause he had nothing else to do in the winter months."

He was accordingly introduced to our School Inspectors; the only one of whom I knew was Bates. The other two were rather more frightened at the presentation than the applicant himself.

Bates proposed first to try the gentleman in geography and history. "Where's Bunker Hill?" inquired Bates, authoritatively.

"Wal, 'bout that," said Strickett – our applicant called his name Izabel Strickett – "'bout that, why, it's where the battle was fit, warn't it?"

"Jes so," replied Bates; "and where was that?"

"Down at the east'ard."

"Who did the fightin' there?"

"Gin'rul Washington fit all the revolution."

"Where's Spain?"

"Where?" repeated Strickett – "Spain? where is it?"

"Yes! where?"

"Wal, now," exclaimed Strickett, looking steadily on the floor, "I'll be darn'd if that ere hain't just slipped my mind."

"Where's Turkey?"

"O, yes," said Strickett, "Turkey – the place they call Turkey – if you'd ask'd me in the street, I'd told you right off, but I've got so fruster'd I don't know nothin';" and thinking a moment, he exclaimed, "it's where the Turks live. I thought I know'd."

"How many States are there in the Union?"

"'Tween twenty-live and thirty – throwin' out Canady."

Bates then attempted an examination in reading and spelling. "Spell hos!" said Bates.

"H – o – s."

"Thunder!" roared Bates. Bates did know how to spell horse. He had seen notices of stray horses, and a horse was the most conspicuous object in Puddleford, excepting, of course, Squire Longbow. "H – o – s! that's a hos-of-a-way to spell hos!" and Bates looked at Strickett very severely, feeling a pride of his own knowledge.

Strickett said "he us'd the book when he teach'd school – he didn't teach out of his head – and he didn't believe the 'spectors themselves could spell Ompompanoosuck right off, without getting stuck."

Izabel's examination was something after this sort, through the several English branches; yet a majority of the Board of School Inspectors decided to give him a certificate, if we said so, as he was to teach our school, and we were more interested than they in his qualifications; and whether the Inspectors knew what his qualifications really were, "this deponent saith not." Strickett "sloped."

The next application was by letter. The epistle declared that the applicant "brok'd his arm inter a saw-mill, and he couldn't do much out-door work till it heal'd up agin, and if we'd hire him to carry on our school, he tho't he would make it go well 'nough," – but the School Board decided that all-powerful as sympathy might be, it could scarcely drive a district school under such orthography, syntax, and prosody.

Next appeared Mrs. Beagle, in behalf of her "Sah-Jane." "She know'd Sah-Jane, and she know'd Sah-Jane was jist the thing for the Puddleford school; and if we only know'd Sah-Jane as well as she know'd Sah-Jane, we'd have her, cost what it might." She said "Sah-Jane was a most s'prisin' gal – she hung right to her books, day and night – and she know'd she had a sleight at teachin'. Mr. Giblett's folks told Mr. Brown's folks, so she heer'd, that if they ever did get Sah-Jane into that ere school, she'd make a buzzin' that would tell some."

Sah-Jane's case was, however, indefinitely postponed. Some objections, among other things, on the score of age, were suggested. This roused the wrath of Mrs. Beagle, and she "guessed her Sah-Jane was old enough to teach a Puddleford school – if she tho't she warn't, she'd bile her up in-ter soap-grease, and sell her for a shillin' a quart! – and as for the de-strict board, they'd better go to a school-marm themselves, and larn somethin', or be 'lected over agin, she didn't care which;" and Mrs. Beagle left at a very quick step, her face much flushed and full of cayenne and vengeance.

There were a great many more applications, and at last the board hired – I say the board—I didn't. But the other members overruled me, and price, not qualification, settled the question at last.

This was the way the machinery was worked in our school district, during the very early days of Puddleford. As the stream never rises above the fountain-head, education was quite feeble. But we do better now – there is less friction on our gudgeons, and if Puddleford should turn out a President one of these days, it would be nothing more than what our glorious institutions have before "ground out" under more discouraging circumstances.