The session of the Circuit Court in the “——— year of the Commonwealth,” as the writs ran, and “in the sixteenth year of Aleck Thompson's Sheriffalty,” as that official used to say, was more than usually important. The noted case of “ Dolittle et al. vs. Dolittle's Executrix ” was tried at the autumn term of the court, and caused considerable excitement in the county; for, in addition to the amount of property and the nice questions of law which were involved, the two sides had been severally espoused by two sister churches, and nearly half the county was in attendance, either as witnesses or interested spectators. Not only was every available corner in the little village filled to overflowing with parties, witnesses, and their adherents, but during the first week of the term the stable yards and road-sides were lined with covered wagons and other vehicles, in or under which some of those who had not been fortunate enough to obtain shelter in the inn used to sleep, and “Briles's bar” under the tavern did a thriving business.
As the case, however, wore on, and the weather became inclement, the crowd dropped off somewhat, though a sufficient number still remained to give an air of life to the little roadside village.
Certain of these visitors found the bar-room on the ground floor of the tavern across the road more attractive than the court-room, and as evening came the loud talking in that direction told that the visits had not been fruitless.
Perfect order, however, prevailed in the court, until one evening one of these visitors, a young man named Turkle, who had been spending the afternoon at the bar, made his way into the court-room. He was clad in a dingy, weather-stained overcoat and an old slouch hat. He sank into a seat at the end of a bench near the door and, being very drunk, soon began to talk aloud to those about him.
“Silence!” called the Sheriff over the heads of the crowd from his desk in front, and those near the man cautioned him to stop talking. A moment later, however, he began again. Again the Sheriff roared “Silence!” But by this time the hot air of the court-room had warmed up Mr. Turkle, and in answer to the warning of those about him, he declared in a maudlin tone, that he “Warn't goin' to keep silence.”
“I got 's much right to talk 's anyone, and I'ma goin' to talk 's much 's I please.”
His friends tried to silence him, and the Sheriff made his way through the crowd and endeavored to induce him to leave the court-room. But it was to no purpose. Jim Turkle was much too “far gone” to know what he was doing, though he was in a delightfully good humor. He merely hugged the Sheriff and laughed drunkenly.
“Aleck, you jist go 'way f'om here. I ain't a-goin' to shet up. You shet up yourself. I 'm a-goin' to talk all I please. Now, you hear it.”
Then as if to atone for his rudeness, he caught the Sheriff roughly by the arm and pulled him toward him:
“Aleck, how 's the case goin'? Is Mandy a goin' to win? Is that old rascal rulin' right!”
The Sheriff urged something in a low voice, but Turkle would not be silenced.
“Now you see thar,” he broke out with a laugh to those about him, “did n't I tell you Aleck wa' n 't nothin' but a' ol' drunkard? What d' you s'pose the ol' rascal wants me to do? He wants me to go over there to the bar and git drunk like 'im, and I ain't goin' to do it. I never drink. I 've come here to see that my cousin Mandy's chil'ern gits their patrimony, and I ain' a goin' to 'sociate with these here drunken fellows like Aleck Thompson.”
The Sheriff made a final effort. He spoke positively, but Turkle would not heed.
“Oh, 'Judge' be damned! You and I know that ol' fellow loves a dram jest 's well 's the best of 'em—jest 's well 's you do. Look at his face. You think he got that drinkin' well-water! Bet yer he 's got a bottle in 's pocket right now.”
A titter ran through the crowd, but was suddenly stopped.
A quiet voice was heard from the other end of the court-room, and a deathly silence fell on the assemblage.
“Suspend for a moment, gentlemen, if you please. Mr. Sheriff, bring that person to the bar of the Court.”
The crowd parted as if by magic, and the Sheriff led his drunken constituent to the bar, where his befuddled brain took in just enough of the situation to make him quiet enough. The Judge bent his sternest look on him until he quailed.
“Have you no more sense of propriety than to disturb a court of justice in the exercise of its high function?”
Turkle, however, was too drunk to understand this. He tried to steady himself against the bar.
“I ain't is-turbed no Court of function, and anybody 't says so, Jedge, iz a liar.” He dragged his hand across his mouth and tried to look around upon the crowd with an air of drunken triumph, but he staggered and would have fallen had not the Sheriff caught and supported him.
The Judge's eyes had never left him.
“Mr. Sheriff, take this intoxicated creature and confine him in the county gaol until the expiration of the term. The very existence of a court of justice depends upon the observance of order. Order must be preserved and the dignity of the Court maintained.”
There was a stir—half of horror—throughout the court-room. Put a man in that jail just for being tight!
Then the Sheriff on one side and his deputy on the other, led the culprit out, now sufficiently quiet and half whimpering. A considerable portion of the crowd followed him.
Outside, the prisoner was sober enough, and he begged hard to be let off and allowed to go home. His friends, too, joined in his petition and promised to guarantee that he would not come back again during the term of court. But the Sheriff was firm.
“No. The Judge told me to put you in jail and I 'm goin' to do it.” He took two huge iron keys from his deputy and rattled them fiercely.
Turkle shrank back with horror.
“You ain't goin' to put me in thar, Aleck! Not in that hole! Not just for a little drop o' whiskey. It was your whiskey, too, Aleck. I was drinkin' yo' health, Aleck. You know I was.”
“The Judge won't know anything about it. He 'll never think of it again,” pleaded several of Turkle's friends. “You know he has ordered a drunken man put there before and never said any more about it—just told you to discharge him next day.”
Turkle stiffened up with hope.
“Yes, Aleck.” He leaned on the Sheriff's arm heavily. “He 's drunk himself—I don't mean that, I mean you 're drunk—oh, no—I mean I'm drunk. Everybody 's drunk.”
“Yes, you 've gone and called me a drunkard before the Court. Now I 'm goin' to show you.” Thompson rattled his big keys again savagely.
Turkle caught him with both hands.
“Oh, Aleck, don't talk that a-way,” he pleaded in a tremulous voice. “Don't talk that a-way!” He burst into tears and flung his arms around the Sheriff's neck. He protested that he had never, seen him take a drink in his life; he would go and tell the Judge so; if necessary, he would swear to it on a Bible.
“Aleck, you know I love you better than anybody in this world—except my wife and children. Yes, better than them—better than Jinny. Jinny will tell you that herself. Oh! Aleck!” He clung to him and sobbed!
His friends indorsed this and declared that they would bring him back if the Judge demanded his presence. They would “promise to bring him back dead or alive at any time he sent for him.”
As Turkle and his friends were always warm supporters of the Sheriff, a fact of which they did not fail to remind him, Thompson was not averse to letting him off, especially as he felt tolerably sure that the Judge would, as they said, forget all about the matter, or, if he remembered it, would, as he had done before, simply order him to discharge the prisoner. So, after dragging the culprit to the jail door to scare him well and make his clemency the more impressive, he turned him over to the others on condition that he would mount his mule and go straight home and not come back again during the term. This Turkle was so glad to do that he struck out at once for the stable at what Thompson called a “turkey trot,” and five minutes later he was galloping down the road, swinging mightily on his sorrel mule, but whipping for life.
That night Thompson was much toasted about the court-house for his humanity. Several of his admirers, indeed, got into somewhat the same condition that Turkle had been in.
Even Dick Creel, who had come to court that day, lapsed from virtue and fell a victim to the general hilarity.