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.