ANECDOTE.

Lewis XI. although an unprincipled Prince, (of whom it was remarkable, that he did not scruple to perjure himself, except when he swore by the leaden Image of the Virgin) was yet very attentive to every circumstance that could increase the wealth and happiness of his subjects. He behaved with the greatest affability to such merchants whose superior knowledge could suggest any means of extending the benefits of commerce; and that he might engage them to be more communicative, he frequently invited them to his table. A merchant, named Mr. John, intoxicated by the familiarity of the King, who very often admitted him in particular to dine with him, took it in his head one day, to request his Majesty to grant him letters of nobility. The King did not refuse his request; but when the new nobleman appeared at court, he affected not to know him. Mr. John, surprised at this unexpected reception, could not forbear complaining of it: “Go about your business, Mr. John, I mean my Lord,” said the King: “When I used to invite you to my table, I considered you as the first of your profession; but now I would insult my nobles, if I would treat you with the same distinction.”

THE END.

THE HISTORY OF

BUCHAVEN

IN FIFESHIRE,

CONTAINING THE WITTY AND ENTERTAINING EXPLOITS OF

WISE WILLIE,

AND

WITTY EPPY,

THE ALE WIFE.

WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THEIR COLLEGE, COAT OF ARMS, &C.

ADORNED WITH WOODCUTS.

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.


THE
HISTORY
OF
BUCHAVEN.

In the county of Fife, on the sea-cost, there stands a little town, inhabited by few but fishers, called Buckey harbour, because of sea buckies and shells to be found so plenty on the rocks about that place. There is little mention made of this town by historians, to know its original extraction and antiquities, but in their own Burges-ticket, which was partly truth, but more of it by way of lampoon. This Ticket was dated the two and thirtieth day of the month of Julius Cæsar. Their Coat of Arms was two hands gripping each other over a Scate’s rumple. Their oath was, “I wish that de de’il may tak me an I binna an honest man to you, an ye binna de like to me.” An article of good neighbourhood they had, whoever was first up in a good morning, was to raise all the rest to go to sea; but if a very bad morning, piss and go to bed again till break of day, then raise wise Willy, who could judge of the weather by the blawing of the wind. Their freedoms were to take all sorts of fish contained in their tickets, viz.:—Lobsters, partens, podles, spout-fish, sea-cats, sea-dogs, fluks, piks, dick-puddocks, and p—fish.

Again, these people are said to have descended from one Tom and his two sons, who were fishers on the coast of Norway, who, in a violent storm, were blown over, and got a-shore at Buck-harbour, where they settled; and the whole of his children were called Thomsons, and soon became a little town by themselves, as few of any other name dwelt among them. This is a traditional story handed down from one generation to another.—They kept but little communication with the country people about them, for a farmer, in those days, thought his daughter cast away, if she married one of the other hand; Witty Eppie the ale-wife, wad a sworn Bugo, laddie, I wad rather see my boat and a’ my three sons daded against the Bass or I saw ony ane o’ them married to a muck-a-byre’s daughter; a wheen useless tawpies, it can do naething but rive at a tow-rock and cut corn, they can neither bait a hook nor redd a line, hook sand-eels, nor gather pirriwinkles.

Now, Wise Willie and Witty Eppie the ale-wife, lived there about a hundred years ago. Eppie’s chamber was their College and Court-House where they decided controversies, and explained their wonders; for the house was like a little kirk, had four windows and a gavle door: the wives got leave to flyte their fill, but fighting was prohibited, as Eppie said, up-hands was fair play. Their fines was a pint o’ ale, and Eppie sold it at a plack the pint. They had neither minister nor magistrate, nor yet a burly bailie, to brag them wi’ his tol-booth. The Lord o’ the manor decided all disputable points, and Wise Willie and Witty Eppie were the rulers of the town.

Now Eppie had a daughter, she ca’d Lingle-tail’d Nancy, because of her feckless growth; her waist was like a twitter, had nae curpen for a creel, being Edinburgh bred, and brought up wi’ her Louden aunty, was learned to read and sew, make coarse claiths and calicoe mancoes; there was nae scholar in the town but hersel, she read the bible, and the book of kirk sangs that was newly come in fashion. Willie and Eppie tell’d them aye what he meant, and said a’ the letters in it was litted by my Lord, for they saw him hae a feather that he dipt in black water, and made crooked scores, just like the same; and then he spake o’er again, and it tell’d him what to say.

It happened on a day that two of their wives near the town, found a horse shoe, and brought it home and sent for Willie to see what it was; Willie comes and looks at it; Indeed, co’ Willie, its a thing and holes in’t. I kent, co’ they, he wad get a name till’t. A’ ho’! co’ Willie, whar did ye find it? Aneath my Lord’s ain house, Willie. Adeed, said Willie, it’s the auld moon, I ken by the holes in’t, for nailing it to the left; but I winder if she fell in Fyfe, for the last time I saw her, she was hinging on her back aboon Edinburgh. A-hech, co’ Willie, we’ll set her upon the highest house in the town, and we’ll hae moonlight o’ our ain a’ the days o’ the year. The whole town ran to see the moon! Honest tout, said Witty Eppie, ye’re but a’ fools thegither; its but ane o’ the things it my Lord’s mare wears upon her lufe.

At another time one of the wives found a hare with its legs broken, lying among her kail in the yard. She not knowing what it was, called out to her neighbours to see it; some said it was a gentleman’s cat, or my lady’s lap dog, or a sheep’s young kittlen, because it had saft horns. Na, na, cried Wise Willie, its ane o’ the maukins that gentlemen’s dogs worie, what will we do wi’t? Faith, co’ they all, we’ll singe the woo aff, and make fish and sauce o’t to my Tammy’s parritch. Na, na, said Witty Eppie, better gie’t to my Lord, and he’ll stap an iron stick through the guts o’t, and gart rin round afore the fire till it be roasted.

It happened on a dark winter morning, that two of their wives were going to Dysart to sell their fish; and on the road side there happened to be some tinker’s ass teeth red. The poor ass seeing the two wives coming with the creels, thought it was the tinkers coming to flit or relieve him, fell a-crying, the two wives threw their fish a’ awa’, and ran hame like mad persons, crying they had seen the deil, ay, the very horned deil, and that he spoke to them but they didna ken what he said, for it was waur than a highlandman’s; the whole town was in an uproar; some would go with picks and spades, and hagg him to pieces; others would go and catch him in a strong net, and then they would either hang or drown him. Na, na, co’ Wise Willie, we manna cast out wi’ him at the first, as he’s gotten the twa burden’s o’ fish, he’ll e’en gang his wa, and no fash us nae mair; he is o’er souple to be catch’d in a net; a’ your pith will neither hang nor drown him, and the kintra he comes frae is a’ het coals, he’d never burn. We’ll gae to him in a civil manner, and see what he wants. Get out Witty Eppie and lingle-tail’d Nancy wi’ the Bible and Psalm-book. So aff they came in a crowd, either to kill the deil, or catch him alive; and as they came near the place, the ass fell a-crying, which caused many of them to faint and run back. Na, na, co’ Willie, that’s no the deil’s words at a’, its my Lord’s trumpeter, routing on his brass whistle. Willie ventured till he saw the ass’s twa lugs. Now, said Willie, come forward, an’ haud him fast, I see his twa horns; hech, sirs, he has a white beard like an auld man. So they inclosed the poor ass on all sides, thinking it was the deil; but when Wise Willie saw he had nae cloven feet, he cried out, Scarna lads, this is not the deil, it’s some living beast; it’s neither cow nor horse. An’ what is’t then, Willie? Indeed, co Willie, it’s the father of the maukins, I ken by its lang lugs.

Now some say this history is too satirical, but it is according to the knowledge of those times, not to say one place by another. The old wives will tell you yet of many such stories of the devil appearing to their grandfathers and grandmothers, and dead wives coming back again to visit their families long after being dead. So this Buchaven was once noted for droll exploits; but it is now become better known, and a place that produces the hardiest sailors of any town on the Scots coast. Yet many of the old people in it still retain the old tincture of their ancient and uncultivated speech, such as Be-go, laddie; they are also of a fiery nature, for if you ask any of their wives where their college stands, they’ll tell you, if your nose was in their a—e, your mouth would be at the door of it.

Now, it happened when Wise Willie turned old, he took a great swelling in his wame, and casting up his kail, collops, and cauld fish, that nothing could stand on his stomach; and a stout stomach he had for crabs heads, and scate broo, or brose in a bridal morning; yet it fail’d him, and he fell sick. None could cure him, nor tell what ail’d him, till a mountebank stage doctor came to Kircaldy that could judge by people’s piss the trouble of their person. Wise Willie hearing of his fame, pissed into the bottle, and sent it away with his daughter. The bottle being uncorked, his daughter spilt it by the way, and to conceal her sloth in so doing, pissed in it herself, and on she goes till she came to the stage-doctor, when she cried out aloud, Sir Doctor, Sir Doctor, here is a bottle of my father’s wash, he has a sair guts, and needs na drite ony, but spues a’ he eats. It’s true I tell you, my dow. The doctor looks at it, then says, it’s not your father’s surely, it’s your mither’s. The deil’s in the man, said she, divna I ken my father frae my mother. Then, said he, he is with child. The deil’s in the man, co’ she, for my mither bare a’ de bairns before; dat’s no true, sir, fegs ye’re a great liar. Hame she comes, and tell’d Willie, her father, that the doctor said he was wi’ bairn. O waes me, co’ Willie, for I hae a muckle wame, an’ I fear its owre true. O plague on you, Janet, for ye’re the father o’t, an’ I am sure to die in the bearing o’t. Witty Eppie was sent for, as she was a houdie, an’ she fand a’ Willie’s wame, to be sure about it. Indeed, co’ Eppie, ye’re the first man ere I saw wi’ bairn before. and how ye’ll bare it, troth I dinna ken, but I would drink salt sea-water and drown it in my guts—for if men get ance the gate o’ bearing weans themselves, they’ll need nae mair wives. So Willie drank sea-water till his guts was like to rive, and out he got to ease himself among the kail; and with the terrible noise of his farting, up starts a maukin behind him, who thought it was shot. Willie seeing her jump o’er the dyke, thought it was a child brought forth, and cried out, come back, my dear, and be christened, and dinna rin to the hills to be a pagan. So Willie grew better every day thereafter, being brought to bed in the kail yard; but his daughter was brought to bed some months after, which was the cause of the doctor’s mistake.

Now Wise Willie had a daughter called Rolling Coughing Jenny, because she spak thick, sax words at three times, half sense and half nonsense, as her own records will bear witness. She being with child, and delivered of a bonnie lassie; and all the wives in the town cried out be-go, laddie, it’s just like its ain father, lang Sandy Tason (or Thomson), we ken by his lang nose; for Sandy had a great muckle red nose, like a labster’s tae, bowed at the point like a hawk’s neb, and Sandy himself said that it was surely his, or some other body’s; but he had used a’ his bir at the getting o’t to try his abilities, being the first time ever he was at sic a business before; and when he had done a’ that man could do at it, he said it was nonsense; and shame fa’ him, but he would rather row his boat round the Bass and back again, or he’d do the like again; for Wise Willie gade wude at the bairn, and said it had mair ill nature than the auldest wife in the town, for it pissed the bed, skirl’d like a wild cat, & kept him frae his night’s rest; the auld hags about the town ca’d him Sandy the bairn’s daddy; and a’ the young gillie-gaukies o’ lasses held out their fingers and cried, Ti hi hi, Sandy, the Kirk will kittle your hips for that: And after a’ the blear-eye’d bell-man came bladering about the buttock meal, summoned him and her before the haly band—a court that was held in the Kirk on Saturday morning—and all the herd laddies round about cried, Ay, ay, Sandy, pay the bull-siller, or we’ll cut the cow’s tail awa’. So poor Sandy suffered sadly in the flesh, besides the penalty and Kirk penance.

But Wise Willie had pity on them, and gade wi’ them to the Kirk-court, what learned fouk call the Session. Jenny was first called upon, and in she goes where a’ the haly band was convened, elders and younger deacons, and dog payers, keeping the door, the cankerdest carles that could be gotten between Dysart and Duddy-side—white heads and bald heads sitting wantin’ bonnets, wi’ their white headed staffs, and hodden grey jockey-coats about them.

Mess John says, come away, Janet, we’re waiting on you here.

Min.—Now, Janet, where was this child gotten? you must tell us this plainly.

Jan.—Adeed sir, it was gotten at the black stanes, at the cheek of the crabb holes.

Mess John stares at her, not knowing the place, but some of the elders did. Then said he, O Janet, but the devil was busy with you at that time!

Jan.—A, by my fegs sir, that’s a great lie ye’re telling now, for the deil wasna there that I saw, nor ony body else, to bid us do ae thing or anither: we lo’ed ither unco weel for a lang time before that, an syne we tell’d ither, and agreed to marry ither, like honest fouk; then might na we learn to do the thing married fouk do, without the deil helping us.

Whisht, whisht, cried they, ye should be scourged, sausie loon quien that thou is, ye’re speaking nonsense.

Jan.—De deil’s i’ the carles, for you and your ministers are liars, when ye say it is de deil it was helping Sandy and me to get de bairn.

Come, come, said they, pay down the Kirk-dues, and come back to the stool the morn; the price is four pound, and a groat to the bell-man.

Jan.—The auld thief speed the darth o’t, sir, far less might sair you and your bell-man baith. O but this be a world indeed, when poor honest fouk maun pay for making use o’ their ain a—! Ye misca the poor deil a-hint his back, an’ gies him the wyte of a de ill in de kintry, bastard bairns and every thing; and if it be say as ye say, ye may thank de deil for that four pound and a groat I hae gien you; that gars your pat play brown, an gets you jockey-coats, and purl-handed sarks, and white-headed staves, when my father’s pot wallops up nought but bear and blue water.

The woman is mad, said they, for this money is all given to the poor of the parish!!

Jan.—The poor of the parish! Feint a hate ye gie to them but we pickles o’ pease-meal, didna I see their pocks? an’ the minister’s wife gies naething ava to unco beggars, but bids them gae to their ain parishes; and yet ye’ll tak the purse frae us for naething but playing the loon a wee or we be married, and syne cock them up to be looked on, and laugh’d at by every body: a deil speed you and your justice, sir. Hute tute, ye’re a’ coming on me like a wheen colly dogs, hunting awa a poor raggit chapman frae the door. So out she goes cursing and greeting.

Sandy is next called upon, and in he goes.

Min.—Now, Saunders, you must tell us how this child was gotten.

San.—A now, Mess John, sir, ye hae bairns o’ your ain, how did ye get them? But yours are a’ laddies, and mine is but a lassie; if you tell me how you get your laddies, I’ll tell you how I got my lassie, and then we’ll be baith alike good o’ the business.

The minister looks at him and says, Hute, tute, Saunders, lay down four pund and a groat, and come back the morn to the stool, and give satisfaction to the congregation; you had more need to be seeking repentance for that abominable sin of uncleanness than speaking so to me.

San.—Well, here’s your siller, sir, I hae gotten but poor penny-worths for’t, an’ ye tell me to repent for’t; what, the auld thief, needs I repent! when I’m gaun to marry the woman, an’ then I’ll hae to do’t o’er again every day, or there’ll be nae peace in the house; figs, it’s nonsense to pay siller, repent, and do’t again, too: a fine advice, indeed, master minister! and that’s the way the like o’ you live.

Now, sir, says Wise Willie, ye manna put them on the black creepy till they be married; they’ve suffered enough at ae time.

A-weel, a-weel, said they, but they must marry very soon.

I, true, says Sandy, ye’ll be wanting mair clink; foul haet ye do for naething here.

The next exploit was an action at law against the goodman of Muiredge, a farmer, who lived near by, that kept sheep and swine. His sheep came down and broke their yards, and ate up their kail. The wild hares they thought belonged to the man, as they ran to his house when they were hunted. The swine came very often in about their houses, seeking fish guts, and ony thing they could get. So it happened, when one of the children was sitting easing itself, that one of the swine tumbled it over, and bit a piece out of its backside! The whole town rose in an uproar against poor grunkie, as they called her, and takes her before Wise Willie. Willie took an axe and cut two or three inches off her long nose. Now, says Willie, I trow I hae made thee something like anither beast: thou had sic a lang mouth before, it wad a frighted a very deil to look at ye; but now your fac’d like a little horse or cow. The poor sow ran home roaring, all blood, and wanting the nose; which caused Muiredge to warn them in before my Lord. So the wives that had their kail eaten appeared first in the court, complaining against Muiredge. Indeed, my Lord, said they, Muiredge is no a good man, when he is sic an ill neighbour. He keeps black hares an’ white hares, little wee brown-backed hares wi’ white arses, and loose waggin horns; they creep in at our gush-holes, an’ does the like; when we cry, pussie, pussie, they rin hame to Muiredge: but I’ll gar my colly had them by the foot, an’ I’ll had them by the horn, an’ pull the hair aff them, and send ’em hame wanting the skin, as he did Sowen Tammie’s wee Sandy, for codin o’ his pease, he took aff the poor laddie’s coat, and sae did he e’en. And Willie said, if ye were a sow, my Lord, and me sitting driting, and you to bite my arse, sudna I hae amends o’ you for that? Odd, my Lord, ye wadna hae a bit out o’ your arse for twinty marks. Ye maun e’en gar Muiredge gie ten marks to buy a plaster to heal the poor bit wean’s arse again.

Well said, Willie, says my Lord; but who put on the sow’s nose again.

A, fegs, my Lord, said Willie, she’s honester like wantin’t, an’ she’ll bite nae mair arses wi’t. An ye had hane a nose, my Lord, as lang as the sow, ye’d been obliged to ony body it wad cut a piece aft.

A gentleman coming past near their town, asked one of their wives where their college stood? Said she, gie me a shilling an’ I’ll let you see baith sides o’t. He gives her the shilling, thinking to see something curious. Now, says she, there’s the one side of your shilling, and there’s the other; so it is mine now.

There was a custom in Buckey-harbour, when they got a hearty drink, that they went down to dance among the boats; two or three of the oldest went into a boat to see the residence, and when they admitted a burgher, there was also a dance. One day they admitted gly’d Rob, who was a warlock, and made them all stop their dancing, for which he was carried before Wise Willie to answer for that, for which he was banished to the Isle of May, to carry coals to the Light House.

THE
DOMINIE DEPOSED,

WITH THE SEQUEL.

BY WILLIAM FORBES, A.M.

LATE SCHOOLMASTER AT PETERCOULTER.

TO WHICH IS ADDED,

MAGGY JOHNSTON’S ELEGY.

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.