Q. Why is a brewer’s horse like a tap-ster?
A. Because they draw drafts of drink.
END OF THE CARICHES.
THE
STRANGE ADVENTURES
OF
TAM MERRILEES
A True Story.
Some years ago there dwelt in the “south side” of the gude town of Edinburgh a wight of the name of Tam Merrilees, who, saving that he occasionally took rather more of “strong waters” than he could walk steadily under, generally got the name of an honest, industrious, hard-working man. It happened one evening that Tam, in going home, met with an old crony of his, who vehemently pressed him to adjourn to a favourite haunt of their’s to wit a well frequented taproom in the neighbourhood. As Tam had an unfortunate weakness of never being able to withstand the pressing solicitations of a friend “to tak a gill wi him,” he was in the present instance constrained to accept Jock Thomson’s invitation, more especially as Jock declared that “he would stand the damage himsel”. Whether they exceeded the original stipulation of “just one gill” or Tam had been previously refreshing himself I cannot say, certain it was, that when the friends parted, Tam found it extremely difficult to walk in a straight line.
It was considerable past the witching hour of night that Tam Merrilees proceeded towards his house, rather a little in dread of a curtain lecture. The night was dark; and the wind blowing hard in his teeth, added to his unsteadiness, caused him several times to reel against the sides of the houses, as he passed the Chapel of Ease. One of these unlucky staggers brought his shoulder to bear full against the door which led into the kirk-yard. To Tam’s great astonishment it flew open; and having lost his equilibrium, he made a sort of semicircular movement, and found himself standing in the midst of tombs and headstones. “Hech,” said he, “the door open at this hour o’ the night! that’s extraordinar’—its incomprehensible. What in a’ the warld’s that?” continued he, perceiving something at his feet. Upon stooping down he discovered that the object of which had arrested his attention was a wheelbarrow, having upon it a dead body, thurst neck and heels into a sack. Tam lifted up his hands in amazement, and stepping forward perceived at the other end of the ground some men engaged in filling up the grave from which the corps had been taken. “Resurrectioners, as I’m a living man!” he exclamed. “Wha wad hae thought it?—but I’ll gi’e the devils such a fright as they never got the like o’t.” The whiskey had undoubtedly raised his courage to the highest pitch; for, untying the sack, he drew the body from it and carrying it on his back to the opposite side of the church-yard, he reared it upright against the wall. He then returned to the barrow, and having placed the sack upon it, he crept in and disposed himself in the same manner as he found the body.
He had scarcely laid down when the men approached.—They spoke a few words sufficient for him to discover that one of the party was the sexton himself. The barrow was wheeled off, and he heard the gate locked immediately. As the wheelbarrow rattled over the rough causeway, Tam’s stomach began to feel rather queer—he nevertheless resolved to lie quiet until they should stop. After a short time, however, he became aware that, if his jolting was not put an end to, his stomach would be speedily emptied of the contents.—In short, he found it almost impossible any longer to refrain from vomiting. He had therefore no alternative but to raise himself up in the vehicle; and accordingly, he suddenly started up, and stretching out his arms with great violence soon disencumbered the upper part of his body from the sack in which he had been inveloped. The consternation of the body-lifters may be imagined. The one who was wheeling the barrow suddenly let go his hold, by which means it upset, and both taking to their heels, they ran as if the evil one himself had been in chase of them. By the upsetting of the barrow, Tam Merrilees was rolled upon the ground: however, having managed to get entirely free from the sack; and regain his legs, he found himself at the end of the Cross causeway, near St. Leonard’s. He scratched his head, and taking a snuff, began to consider how he was to dispose of the barrow. “It is no sic a bad wheelbarrow,” said he; “I’ll just tak it hame wi’ me;” so throwing into it the sack, he made the best of his way home, feeling a good deal soberer for his adventure.—On his arrival at home he deposited the barrow in a small yard at the back of the house; and without facing his expectant spouse, he proceeded straightway to the dwelling of Maister Peter Mitchell, an old acquaintance, and moreover an elder of the kirk. On his road thither he indulged in no very gentle denunciations against the sexton. “A fine fellow to trust folks’ bodies wi’! I’se warrant all the corpses that’s been buried thonder for the last twalvemonth hae gaen the same gate as that yin wad if I had na’ prevented it. It’s an awfu’ thing that folk canna get leave to rest in their graves now-a-daye for thae doctors.” Tam’s reflections were interrupted by his arrival at the elder’s house; the inmates were all gone to bed, with the exception of the elder himself, who was doubtless rather surprised at so late, or rather early, a visit from his friend Tam Merrilees. (It was, now between one and two of the morning.) ‘Mr. Merrilees!’ exclaimed he, ‘what was brought you here at this time of the night? Nothing serious, I hope.’ ‘Serious enough,’ muttered Tam. ‘I’m just come, Maister Mitchell, ye see, about an unco queer kind o’ a circumstance.’ Aye, Mr. Merrilees, what is it? Sit down and lets hear it.’ ‘I’ll just speer at ye a sma’ question first,’ answered Tam.—‘What kind o’ a body is that grave-digger o’ yours?’ ‘Is it Willie Scrymgeour ye mean?’ asked the elder. ‘Aye, man, its just him; dy’e think he’s an honest man?’ ‘An honest man!’ echoed Mr. Mitchell ‘what should make you ask that; he’s no been stealing surely.’ ‘I’m no saying that,’ responded Tam, ‘but div ye think he wad lift a corpse or any thing o’ that kind?’ ‘Surely not, Mr. Merrilees,’ said the anxious elder, drawing his chair closer? ‘you do not mean body-lifting—the man that’s trusted with the keys of the burial-ground!’ ‘I’m no saying, Mr. Mitchell, that he lifts bodies. I’ll no say that the noo; but I’ll tell ye what, he disna mak them bide in their graves. What will ye wager, Mr. Mitchell, that there’s no a dead woman standing up against the wa’, in the kirk-yard?’ ‘The man’s daft!’ uttered the astonished Mr. Mitchell. ‘Gang awa’ hame to your wife, Tam Merrilees, and sleep yourself sober.’—‘Sober,’ said Tam, very dryly, ‘did ye say sober? Hum! that’ll be just as muckle as saying that I’m fou’; may be I am, may be no, but if you think sae, Mr. Mitchell, that’ll no hinder ye fra taking a bet upon it.’ After a lengthened parley, in which Tam strenuously supported his assertion, Maister Mitchell, in order to get rid of his visitor’s company, was fain to accept a bet of a dozen of ‘strong ale’ that no such thing existed, save in Tam’s imagination; and it was agreed that the two should call at the sexton’s house at seven o’ clock, and procure the keys, after which they were to proceed to the scene of dispute. Who can imagine the amazement of the horror-struck elder, at perceiving the corps of a woman standing upright against the wall, in the very identical spot that Tam had described? It was some time ere he could sufficiently compose himself to interrogate Tam upon so mysterious an affair. On his explaining the whole circumstance, the elder’s risibility was not a little raised at Tam’s description of the jolting he had suffered, while his indignation was as much roused against the dishonest Willie Scrymgeour. ‘Well. Mr. Merrilees,’ said he, ‘you have been soberer last night than I thought you were; and as for that worthless grave digger, he has had these keys too long already; but he has now seen the last of them.’ The elder was as good as his word; the sexton was dismissed, and his place filled by a more trust-worthy individual, while the dozen of ‘strong ale’ was drank with much glee.
FINIS.