PART II.
Now Wise Willie had a daughter, called Rolloching Jenny, because she spoke thick, sax words at three times, half sense and half nonsense, as her own words and actions will bear witness. She being with child, was brought to bed of a bonnie lass bairn: and a’ the wives in the town, cried, Be-go-laddie, its just like its ain daddy, lang Sandy Tason (or Thomson) we ken by its nose: for Sandy had a great muckle red nose like a lobster-tae, bowed at the point like a hawk’s neb, and Sandy himself said, that it was surely his or some ither body’s, but he had used a’ his birr at the getting o’t, to fey his ability, being the first time e’er he was at sic a business before, and when he had done a’ that man could do at it, said, it was nonsense and shamefa’ him, but he wad rather row his boat round the Bass and back again, or he did the like again: For Wise Willy gade wood at the wean, and said, it had mair ill nature in’t, than the auldest wife about the town, it piss’d the bed, and shute the bed, skirl’d like a wil-cat, and kept him frae his night’s rest; and a’ the auld haggs about the town, ca’d him Sandy de bairn’s daddy, and a’ the young gilly-gawkie lasses, held out their fingers, and cried, Tie, hie, Sandy, the kirk will kittle your hips for yon yet.
And after a’, the blear-ein’d bell-man came bladdering about the buttock-mail, summoned him and her before the hally-band, a court that held in the kirk on Saturday morning; and a’ the bred ladies[180] round about, cried, Ay, ay, Sandy, pay the bill-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 Willy had pity upon them, and gade wi’ them to the kirk-court, what learned folks call the session, Jenny was first called upon, and in she goes where all the hally-band were conveened, elders and youngers, deacons, and dog-payers keeping the door, the cankerdest Carles that could be gotten between Dysart and Dubby-side, white heads and bald heads sitting wanting bonnets, wi’ their white headed staves and hodden-grey jockey-coats about them.
Mess John says, Come away Janet, we’re a’ waiting on you here.
Min. Now Janet, where was this child gotten? you must tell plainly.
Jan. A deed stir, it was gotten amang the black stanes, at the cheek of the crab-holes.
Mess John stares at her, not knowing the place but some of the elders did; then said he, O Janet, but the de’il was busy with you at that time.
Jan. A by my fegs stir, that’s a great lie ye’re telling now, for the de’il wasna thereabout, it I saw, nor nae body else, to bid us do either ae thing or anither, we loo’d ither unco’ weel for a lang time before that, and syne we tell’d ither, and agreed to marry ither like ither honest fouk, than mightna we learn to do the thing married fouk does, without the de’il helping us.
Whisht, whisht, cried they, you should be scurged, fause loon quean it thou is, ye’re speaking nonsense.
Jan. The deil’s i’ the carles, for you and your minister is liars, when ye say it de de’il was helping Sandy and me to get the bairn.
Come, come, say they, pay down the kirk-dues, and come back to the stool the morn, four pound, and a groat to the bell-man.
Jan. The auld thief speed the dearth o’t stir, for less might sair you and your bell-man baith, O but this be a hard warld indeed, when poor honest fouk maun pay for making use o’ their ain a—, ye misca’ ay the poor de’il a-hint his back, and gie him the wyte o’ a’ de ill it’s done in the kintry, bastard barns and every thing, and if it be sae as ye say, ye may thank de de’il for that gude four pund and de groat I hae gi’en you, that gars your pots boil brown, and get jockey-coats, and purl-handed sarks and white-headed staves, when my father’s pot wallops up rough bear and blue water.
The woman’s mad, said they, for this money is a’ given to the poor of the parish.
Jan. The poor of the parish, said she, and that’s the way o’t, a fint hate ye gie them but wee pickles o’ pease-meal, didna I see’t in their pocks, and the minister’s wife gie’s naething ava to unco beggars, but bids them gang hame to their ain parish, and yet ye’ll tak de purse frae poor fouks, for naething but playing the loun awee or they be married, and syne cocks them up to be looked on and laught at by every body, a de’il speed you and your justice stir; hute, tute, ye are a coming on me like a wheen colly dogs, hunting awa’ a poor ragget chapman frae the door, and out she comes cursing and greeting: Sandy’s next called upon, and in he goes.
Min. Now Saunders, you maun tell us how this child was gotten?
San. A wow, Mess John stir, you hae bairns o’ your ain, how did you get them? but yours is a’ laddies, and mine is but a lassie, if you’ll tell me how ye got your laddie, 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, hute, tute, Saunders, lay down four pund and a groat, and come back to-morrow 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. Then there is your siller stir, I hae gotten but poor penny-worths for’t, and ye’ll tell me to repent for’t, what the auld thief needs I repent, when I’m gaun to marry de woman, and then I’ll hae to do’t o’er again every day, or they’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 is how ye live.
Wise Willy. Now stir, you and master elders, ye manna put them on the black creepy till they be married; they suffered enough at ae time.
A well, a well, said they, but they must marry very soon then.
I trow sae says Sandy, ye’ll be wanting mair siller, fule hate ye’ll do for naething here.
Hame came Sandy, starving o’ hunger, ye might a casten a knot on his lang guts, his mither was baking pease bannocks, up he gets a lump of her leaven into his mouth, auld thief be in your haggies-bag, Sandy, kirk-fouks is ay greedy, ye been wi’ the minister the day, ye’d get a good lang grace, he might a gi’en you meat thou filthy dog that tu is, thou hast the bulk of a little whalpie o’ my leaven in your guts, it wada been four good bannocks and a scone, and a sair’d our Sunday’s dinner, sae wad it een, but an ye keep a reeking house and a rocking cradle three eleven years as I hae done, less o’ that will sair ye yet, baggity beast it tu is, mair it I bore thee now, a hear ye that my dow.
The next exploit was an action at law, against the goodman of Muir-edge, a farmer who lived near by, that kept sheep and swine, his sheep came down and broke into their yards and ate up their kail; the wild hares, they thought, belonged to the same man, as they ran towards his house when they were hunted; the swine came very often in and about their houses, seeking fish guts and ony thing they cou’d get, so it happened that one of their children, sitting easing itself, one of the swine tumbles it over, and bites a piece out of the child’s backside: The whole town rose in an uproar, and after Grunkie, as they called her, they catched her and took her before Wise Willy: Willy takes an ax and cuts two or three inches off her long nose, now says Willy, I trow I have made thee something Christian-like, thou had sic a long mouth and nose before, it wad a frighted a very de’il 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 Muir-edge to warn them in before my Lord: so the wives that had their kail eaten, appeared first in the court, complaining against Muir-edge. Indeed, my Lord, Muir-edge is no a good man, when he’s sick an ill neighbour, he keeps black hares and white hares, little wee brown backed hares wi’ white arses, and loose wagging horns, de muckle anes loups o’er the dyke and eats a de kail, and de little anes wi’ de wagging horns, creeps in at our water gush-holes, and does the like, when we cry pisue, they ran awa’ hame to Muir-edge, but I’ll gar my colly hand ’em by the fit, and I’ll hand ’em by the horn, an pu’ a’ de hair aff ’em, and send ’em hame wanting the skin, as he did wi’ Sowen Tammy’s wi’ Sandy, for codding o’ his pease, he took aff de poor laddies coat, a sae did he e’en.
A well then, said my Lord, what do you say, but call in Wise Willy.
In he comes, A well my Lord, I shall suppose an ye were a sow, and me sitting d——g, and you to bite my arse, sudna I tak amends o’ you for that? Od my Lord, ye wadna hae sic a bit out o’ your arse for twenty merks, ye maun just gar Muir-edge gie ten merks to buy a plaister to heal the poor bit wean’s arse again. Well said, Willy, says my Lord, but who puts on the sow’s nose again? A figs my lord, said Willy, she’s honester-like wanting it, and she’ll bite nae mair arses wi’t, and gin ye had hane a nose, my Lord, as lang as the sow had, 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, Give me a shilling, and I’ll let you see both sides o’t, he gives her a shilling, thinking to see some curious sight, now there’s one side of your shilling and there’s the other, and ’tis mine now.
PART III.[181]
Now Wise Willy was so admired for his just judgement in cutting off the sow’s nose, that my Lord in a mocking manner, made him burly-bailie[182] of Bucky-hine. Lang Sandy was provost, and John Thrums, the weaver, was dean of guild, but Witty Eppie had ay the casting vote in a’ their courts and controverses.
There happened one day a running horse to stand at one of their doors, and a child going about, the horse trampled on the child’s foot, which caused the poor child to cry, the mother came running in a passion; crying, A wae be to you for a ’orse it ere ye was born o’ a woman, filthy barbarian bruit it t’ou is, setting your muckle iron lufe on my bairn’s wee fittie, od stir, I’ll drive the hair out o’ your head, gripping the horse by the mane and the twa lugs, cuffing his chafts as if he had been her fellow creature, crying, Be-go-laddie, I’ll gar you as good, I’ll tak you before Wise Willy the bailie, and he will cut aff wi’ de iron lufe, and dan you will be cripple, and gang thro’ the kintry on a barrow, or on twa shule-staffs[183] like Rab the Randy, an a meal-pock about your neck; Her neighbour wife hearing and seeing what past, cried, A ye fool taupy, what gars you say that a ’orse was born o’ a woman, do you think dat a ’orse has a fadder or a midder like you or me, or ony ither body about; a what way do they come to the world dan? A ye fool taupy, divna they whalp like the louses, ae auld ’orse hobbles on anither anes back, and dat whalps a young ’orse: Gosh woman, it wad be ill-far’d to see a woman sitting wi’ a young ’orse on her knee, dighting its arse, and gien it de pap.
The next occasion was Lang Sandy, and Rolloching Jenny’s wedding; which held three days and twa nights, my Lord and my Lady, with several gentlemen and ladies, attended for diversion’s sake,[184] the piper of Kirkcaldy and the fidler of Kinghorn, were both bidden by Wise Willy the bride’s father, and if ony mae came to play unbidden, Wise Willy swore they should sit unsair’d, for these twa should get a’ the siller that was to be gien or won that day, the dinner and dorder-meat sat a’ in Eppie’s college, and the dancing stood in twa rings before the door, and the first day with dunting and dangling of their heels, dang doun the sea-dyke, some tumbled in and some held by the stanes, the fidler fell o’er the lugs an drouket a’ his fiddle, the strings gade out of order, and the tripes turned saft like pudding skins, so the bagpipe had to do for a’, and the fidler got nought to do but sup kail, and pike banes wi the rest o’ them.
Now my Lord’s cook was to order the kettle, but Pate o’ the Pans[185] play’d a sad prat, by casting in twa pounds of candle among the kail, which made them fat, for some could not sup them, for the candle wicks came ay into their cutties like sutter’s lingles in the dish, but some wi’ stronger stomachs, stripped them thro’ their teeth like ratton tails, an said, Mony a ane wad be blythe o’ sic a string to tie their hose wi’ in a pinch; my Lord and the Gentry, Mess John and the clerk were all placed at the head of the table, opposite to the bride, but would sup none of the candle kail. Wise Willy and the Bridegroom served the table, and cried, Sup and a sorrow to you, for I never liked sour kail about my house; when the flesh came, the bride got a ram’s rumple to pick, she takes it up and wags it at my Lord, saying, Ti hie; my Lord, what an a piece is dat? O, said he, bride, that’s the tail-piece, it belongs to you, Me, my Lord, it’s no mine, I never had a ting like dat, it’s a fish tail, see as it wags, it’s a bit o’ a dead beast. O yes, said he, bride, you hit it now; but how come you to eat with your gloves on! Indeed my Lord, there is a reason for dat, I hae scabbit hands. O fy, said he, I cannot believe you, so she pulls down a piece o’ her gloves, and shows him, O yes, said he, I see it is so; Aha, but my Lord, I wish you saw my a—, it’s a’ in ae hatter; O fy, said he, bride, you should not speak so before Ladies and your maiden; I wonder, said he to Wise Willy her father, you do not teach your daughter to speak otherwise. A be my sae, my Lord, ye may as soon kiss her a—, as gar her speak otherwise; I find so, said my Lord, but it lies much in lack of a teacher.[186]
The next dish that was presented on the table, was roasted hens, and the bride’s portion being laid upon her plate, she says to my Lord, will ye let me dip my fowl arse, amang your sauce? Upon my word, and that I will not, said he, if it be as you tell’d me; hout my Lord, it’s no my arse, it’s but de hen’s I mean; O but, said he, bride, it’s the fashion to every one to eat off their own trencher; you may get more sauce, I can manage all mine myself; indeed, my Lord, I thought ye liket me better than ony body; O but, said he, I love myself better than you, bride; Deed my Lord, I think ye’re the best body about the house, for your Lady’s but a stinking pridefu’ jade, she thinks that we sud mak the fish a’ alike, be-go, my Lord, she thinks we sud mak the haddies a’ like herrin, and that we can shape them as the hens do their eggs wi’ deir arse. O bride, said he, you, should not speak ill of my Lady; for she hears you very well: O deed my Lord, I had nae mind o’ that, a well then, said he, drink to me, or them ye like best; then here’s to you a’ de gither, arse o’er head. Very well said, says my Lord, that’s good sense or something like it.
Dinner being over, my Lord desired the bride to dance; Indeed, my Lord, I canna dance ony, but I’ll gar my wame wallop foment yours, and then rin round about as fast as ye can; very well, said he, bride, that will just do, we shall neither kiss nor shake hands, but I’ll bow to you, and ye’ll beck to me, and so we’ll have done.
Now, after dinner and dancing, my Lord exhorted the bride to be a good neighbour, and to gree well, wi’ every body round about, I wat well my Lord, ye ken I did never cast out wi’ nae body but lang Pate o’ de Pans, and he was a’ de wyte o’t, it began wi’ a hiertieing, and a jamffing me about Sandy, de black-stanes and de crab-holes, where de wean was gotten, and then it turn’d to a hub-bub and colly-shangy, an or e’er ye wad said kiss my a—, my Lord, we are aboon ither on the mussel midden, I trow I tell’d him o’ Randy Rob his uncle, his feif-titty it steal’d de sarks and drank de siller, an how his midder sell’d mauky mutton, an mair nor a’ that, a sae did I een, my Lord.
My Lord had a friend of his own who was a captain in the army, who came to visit him, and hearing of the Buckers’ sayings and exploits; was desirous to see them, and my Lord as desirous to put them in a fright, sent his servant, and ordered them, both men and women, to come up before his gate, directly the morn about kail-time, and all that did not come, was to flit and remove out of my Lord’s ground directly, this put the whole of them in great terror, some ran to Wise Willy to see what it mean’d, Willy said, it was before something, and he was sure that death would be the warst o’t, come what will; But Witty Eppie said, I ken weel what’s to come, he’s gaun to mak de men o’ us sogers, and the wives dragoons, because we’ve de best fighters; I ken there is something to come on the town, for our Nancy saw Maggy’s gaist the streen, it was bury’d four ouks syne;[187] a hech co’ Willy, that’s a sign the meal is dear i’ the ither warld, when she comes to think on’t again; we will tak our dinner or we go, we’ll may be ne’er come back again, so away they went lamenting all in a crowd. My Lord and the Captain were looking out at the window to them, the Captain cries to them, To the right about, to which they answered, good bliss you my Lord, what does that man say? Then said my Lord, turn your face to Maggy Millheads, and your arse to the sea; this they did in all haste. And what will we do now? said Willy; no more, said my Lord, but gang away home Willy; O my bows, O my blessings come o’er your bonny face, my Lord, I wish you may never die, nor yet grow sick, nor naebody kill you: ye’re the best Lord I ken on earth, for we thought a’ to be made dead men and sogers, ye’re wiser than a’ the witches in Fife.
There was in Bucky-harbour, a method when they got a hearty drink, that they went down to dance among the boats, one, two, or three of the oldest went into a boat to see the rest dance; when e’er they admitted a burgher there was always a dance. One day they admitted a glied Rob Thomson, from the island of May, an’ after he was admitted they got account from Wise Willy that glied Rob was a witch, which made them all stop their dancing, and Rob was cried on to make answer to this weighty matter. Gly’d Rob cried none of you shall stir a fit for two hours, I’se warrand you: so Rob spang’d and jump’d over the boat several times and put them in great terror, some cried, O ’tis i’ the air, and then they cried they saw him i’ the air hinging, so that Rob was obliged to go back to the May, and carry coals to the light house.[188]
It was reported that gly’d Rob was born in Bucky and that his father was Willy Thomson’s son, who was banish’d for a slave to the May,[189] to carry coals; he would not tak with him, on account he had but ae eye. After that there was no more dancing at admitting of burgers; but the old usual way of scate rumple, and then drink until they were almost blind.
Upon the Rood day,[190] four young Bucky lasses were away early in the morning with their creels full of fish, and about a mile from the town, they saw coming down a brae like a man driving a beast, when they came near Tardy-Tib says, ’tis a man driving a big mauken Tib flang her creel and fish away, the other three ran anther way, and got clear; they said it was a horned devil. Tib told the frightsome story, and many ran to see the poor cadger man and his ass driving the auld mauken. The fishers look on all maukens to be devils and witches, and if they but see the sight of a dead mauken, it sets them a trembling.[191] The fisher lasses look with disdain on a farmer’s daughter, and a’ country lasses; they call them muck-byers and sherney-tail’d jades.
The Bucky lads and lasses when they go to gather bait tell strange stories about Witches, Ghosts, Willy with the Wisp, and the Kelpy, Fairies and Maukens, and boggles of all sorts.
The Ghosts, like old horses, go all night for fear they are seen, and be made to carry scate or fish, or be carted; and witches are the warst kind of devils, and mak use of cats to ride upon, or kill-kebbers, and besoms, and sail over seas in cockle-shells, and witch lads and lasses, and disable bridegrooms. As for Willy and the Wisp, he is a fiery devil, and leads people off their road in order to drown them, for he sparks sometimes at our feet, and then turns before us with his candle, as if he were twa or three miles before us, many a good boat has Spunkie drown’d; the boats coming to land in the night-time, they observe a light off the land, and set in upon it and drown.
The Kelpy[192] is a sly devil, he roars before a loss at sea, and frightens both young and old upon the shore. Fairies are terrible troublesome, they gang dancing round fouks lums, and rin through the houses, they haunt, and play odd tricks, and lift new born bairns from their mothers, and none of them is safe to ly with their mothers, a night or two after they are born, unless the mother gets a pair of men’s breeches under her head for the first three nights; when the Fairies are frighted, they will leave an old stock with the woman, and whip away the child. One tried to burn an old stock that the Fairies left in the cradle; but when the fire was put on, the old stock jumped on upon a cat and up the lum.[193] Maukens are most terrible, and have bad luck, none will go to sea that day they see a Mauken, or if a wretched body put in a Mauken’s fit in their creels, they need not lift them that day, as it will be bad luck, either broken backs, or legs, or arms, or hear bad accounts of the boats at sea.[194]
They are terrified for all sorts of boggles both by land and by sea.