The Comical Story of Thrummy Cap and the Ghaist/Thrummy Cap
For other versions of this work, see Thrummy Cap.
THRUMMY CAP.
A TALE.
In ancient times, far i‘ the north,A hunder miles ayont the forth,Upon a stormy winter day,Twa men forgather‘d o‘ the way,Ane was a sturdy bardoch chielAn‘ frae the weather happit weel,Wi‘ a mill‘d plaiding jockey-coatAnd eke he on his head had gotA thrummy cap baith large and stont,Wi‘ flaps ahind, as weel‘s a snout,Whilk button‘d close aneath his chin,To keep the cauld frae getting in:Upon his legs he had gammashes,Whilk sodgers term their spatterdashesAn’ on his hands, instead o’ gloves,Large doddy mittens, whilk he‘d rooseFor warmness, an‘ an aiken stick,Nae verra lang, but unco thick,Intill his nieve—he drave awa’,But car’d for neither frost nor snaw,The ither was just the reverse,O‘ claes and courage baith was scarce,Sae in our tale, as we go on,I think we’ll ca’ him cow’rldy John.Sae on they gade at a gude scowe’r,’Cause that they saw a gath’ring shower, Grow verra thick upon the wind,Whilk to their wae they soon did find;A mighty show’r o’ snaw and drift,As ever dang down frae the lift!Right wild and boist’rous Boreas roar’d,Preserves! quoth John, we’ll baith be smor’d.Our trystic end we’ll ne’er make out;Chear up, says Thrummy, never dout.But I’m some fly’d we‘ve tint our way,Howe’er at the neist hoose we‘ll stay,Until we see gif it grow fair,Gin no, a‘ night we‘ll tarry there.Weel, weel, says Johnny, we shall try,Syne they a mansion house did spy,Upo’ the road a piece afore,Sae up they gade unto the door,Where Thrummy chappit wi’ his stick,Syne to the door came verra quick,A meikle dog, wha baiked fair,But Thrummy for him didna care;He handied weel his aiken staff,An‘ spite o‘s teeth he kept him affUntil the Landlord came to see,And ken fat might the matter be;Then verra soon the dog did ceaseThe Landlord then did spear the caseQuoth Thrummy, Sir, we ha’e gane rill;we thought we’d ne’er a house get till,We near were smor’d amo‘ the drift,And sae gudeman; ye’ll mak’ a shiftTo gi’e us quarters a‘ this night;For now we dinna ha’e the light,Farer to gang, tho’ it were fair,See gin ye hae a bed to spare, Whate’er ye charge we canna grudge.But satisfy ye, ere we budgeTo gang awa’—and fan ’tis day,We’ll pack out all, and tak the way.The Landlord said, O‘ beds I’ve nane,Our ain fowks they will scarce contain;But gin ye’ll gang but twa miles foretAside the Kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret,Wha keeps a Change-house, sells guide drink,His house ye may mak out'I think.Quoth Thrummy, that’s owre far awa’,The roads are sae blawn up wi’ snaw,To mak it is na in our power;For, look ye, there’s a gathering showerJust coming on— you‘ll let us bide,Tho‘ we should sit by the fire side.The Landlord said to him, Na, na,I canna let you bide ava,Chap aff, for ’tis na worth your whileTo bide, when ye hue scrimp twa mileTo gang—sae quickly aff you‘ll steer,For faith, I doubt ye’ll na be here.Twa mile! quo’ Thrummy, deil speed me,If frae your house this night I jee,Are we to starve in Christian land?As lang’s my stick bides in my hand,An’ siller plenty in my pouch,To nane about your house I’ll crouch,Landlord, ye needna be sae rude,For faith we’ll mak our quarters good.Come, John, let’s in, we’ll tak a sate,Fat sorrow gars yon look so blate?Sae in the gangs, and sets him down,Says he, there’s nae about your town. Sall put me ont till a new day,Lang as I've siller for to pay,The Landlord said, Ye're rather rush,To turn von out I canna fash,Since ye're so positive to bide,But troth yese sit by the fire-side;I tald ye else of beds I've name,Unnocupied, except bare ane;In it, I fear, ye winna ly;For stoutest heart has aft been shyTo venture in within the room,After the night begins to gloom:For in it they can ne'er get rest,'Tis haunted by a frightful ghaist;Oursels are terrified a' night,Sae ye may chance to get a sight,Like that which some or our fowk saw,Gar better still ye gang awa',Or else ye'll maybe rue the day,Guide faith quo' John, I'm thinking sae ;Better into the neuk to sit,Than fla'd, Gude keep's, out of ont wit;Preserve us ever frae all evil,I widna like to see the devel!Whisht gowk, quo Thrummy, haud your peaceThat sanna gar me quit this place;Nor great nor sma' I ne'er did ill,The ghaist nor deil my rest shall spill.I will defy the meikle deil,And a' his warks I wat fu' weel ;What the sorrow then maks you sae erry?Fling by your fears, and come be cheery,Landlord gin ye'll mak up that bed,I promise I'll be verra glad, Within the same a' night to lie,If that the room be warm and dry,The Laulord says, Ye'se get a fire,And candle too gin ye desire,Wi' beuks to read, and for your bed,I'll orders gie, to get it made.John says, as I'm a Christian man,Who never likes to curse nor ban,Nor steal, nor lie, nor drink, nor roar,I'll never gang within its door,Bat sit by the fireside a' night,And gang awa' where'er 'tis light.Says Thrunmy till him, wi' a glow'r,Ye cowardly gowk I'll mak ye cow'r;Come up the stair alang wi me,And I shall cautioun for ye be.Then Jonny faintly gaed consent,Sine up the stairs to the room they went,Where soon they gat baith fire and light,To haud then hearty a' the night;The Landlord likewise gae them meat;Meikle as they baith could eat;Shew'd then their bed and bade them gangTo it, whene'er they did think lang;Sae wishing them a gude reposeStraight syne to his ain bed he goes.Our trav'llers now being left alane,'Cause that the frost was nipping keen,Coost aff their shoon, and warmed their feet,Then syne gaed to their bed to sleep.But cowardly John wi' fear was quaking,He coudna sleep but still lay waking,Sae troubled with his panic fright,When near the twalt hour of night, That Thrummy wakend; and thus spoke,Preserv's ! quotly he, I m like to chockWi' thirst, and I manu hae a drink,I will gang down the stair, I think,And grapple for the water-pail,O for a waught o' caller ale!Johnny grips till him, and says, Na,I winna let you gang awa':Wow will yon gang and leave me hereAlane to die wi perfect fear?Rise and gae wi me then, quoth ThrummyYe senseless, gude-for-naething bummy,I'm only gaen to seek some water,I will be back just iu a clatter.Na na says John I'll rather lie.But as I'm likewise something dryGif ye can get a jug or capFesh up to me a little drap.Ay ay quoth Thrummy that I willAltho ye shouldna get a gill.Sae down he goes to seek a drink,But then he sees a little blinkO'light that shone upon the floorOut throngh the lock-hole o' the door,Which wasna fast but stood a gee,Whatever's, there he thinks he'll see:Sae bauldly o'er the threshold ventures,Then in within the door he enters,But reader judge of the surpriseThat there he saw with wondering eyesA spacious vault well stored wi' casksO' reaming ale and some big flasks,And stride-legs o'er a cask ale utHe saw the likeness oʻhimsel. Just in the dress that he coost aff,A thrummy and an aiken staff,Gammashes and the jockey coat;And in its hand the Ghaist had gotA big four-legged timber bicker,Fill'd to the brim wi' nappy liquor,Our hero at the spectre stared,But neither daunted was not car'd,But to the Ghaist stright up did step,An' says, dear brother, Thrummy, Cap,The warst ye surely dinna drink,So I wi' you will taste I think;Syne took a jug, pou'd out the pail,And fill'd it up wi' the same ale,Frae under where the spectre sat,And then up stairs with gat;Took a gude drink, gae John anither,But never tald him o' his bri'herThat he inta the cellar saw,Mair than he'd naething seen ava,Light brown and nappy was the beer:Whar did you get it? John did speir,Says Thrummy, sure ye needna care,I'll gae and try and get some mair,Sae down the stair again he goes,To get o' drink anither dose.Being positive to hae some mairBut still he faud the Ghaist was there.Now on a butt behind the door:Says he, ye didn't ill before,Dear brother Thrummy, sae I'll tryYou ance again, because I'm dry.He fills his jug stright out below,An' up the stair again does go. John marvelled sair, but didna speirAgain where he did get the beer,For it was stronger then the first,Sae they baith drank till like to burst,Syne did compose themsels to rest,To sleep a while they thought it best.One hour in bed they hadna been,They scarcely weel had closed their een,When just into the neighbouring chamberThey heard a dreadfu' din and clamour.Beneath the bed-claes John did cow'r,But Thrummy jump'd upon the floor,Him by the sark tail John did haud ;Lye still, quoth he, fat are ye mad ?Thrummy then gaed hasty jump,Syne took John on the ribs a thump,Till on the bed he tumbled down,In little better then a swoon,While Thrummy fast as he could rin,Sets aff to see what made the din.The chamber seem'd to him as light,Gif as the sun where shining bright,The Ghaist was staneu at the door;In the same dress he had afore ;And o'er anent it, at the wa',Were ither apparitions twa.Thrammy beheld them for a-wee,But deil a word as yet spake heThe spirits seeme'd to kick a ba',The Ghaist against the other twa;whilk close they drave baith back and fore,Atween the chimney and the door.He stops a while and sees the play,Syne, rinnin up, he this did say, Ane for ane may weel compare,But twa for ane is rather sair ;The play's nae equal, say I vow,Dear brother Thrummy, I'll help you.Then wi' his fit he kicked the ba',Gard it play stot against the wa';Quick then, as lightning fra the sy,The spectres with a horrid cry,A' vanished in a clap o' thun'er.While Thrummy at the same did won'er.The room wes quiet now aud dark,An' Thrummy striping in his sark;Glauming the gate back to bis bed,He thinks he hears a parson tread,An' ere he gat withont the door,The Ghaist again stood him before,And in his face did staring stand,wi' a big candle in its hand.Quoth Thrummy, Friend, I want to knowwhat brings you frae the shades below,I in goodness' name commandYou tell your story just aff hand ?Fat wad ye hae? --I'll do my bestto let you be at rest.Then says the Ghaist, 'Tis thirty yearSinse I've been doom'd to wander here ;In all that time there has been noneBehave'd sae bold as ye have done :Sae if you'll do a job for me,Disturbance mair I'll never gie.Sae on your tale, qnoth ThrummyTo do ye justice sure will try.Then mark me weel, the Ghaist repliedAnd ye shall soon be satisfied: Frae this aback near forty year,I of this place was overseer,When this Laird's father had the land,A' thing was then at my command,Wi' power to do as I thought fit,In ilka cause I chief did sit:The Laird paid great respect for meBut I an ill return did gie,The Title-Deeds of his EstateOut of the same I did him cheat,And stale them frad whare they did lieSome days before the Laird did dieHis son at that time was in France,And sae I thought I'd hae a chance,Gif he sud never come again,That the Estate would be my ain.But scarcely three bare weeks were past,When death did come and grip me fast,Sae sudden that I hadna pow'r The charter back for to restore,Soon after that hame came the heir,And syne got up the reefu rair,What sorrow was come o' the Rights?They sought them several days and nightsBut never yet had they been seen,As I aneath a muckle staneDid hide them i' this cham'er wa',Weel sew'd up in a leather ba';But I was ne'er allow'd to restUntill that I the same conifest;But this to do I hadna power,Frae yon time to his verra hourThat I've revealed it a to you,And now I'll tell you what to do. Till nae langsyne nae niony kent,That this same laird the rights did want;But now they hae him at the law,And the neist week the laird maun shaw,Before the court the rights o's land,This put him to an unco stand,For if he didna shaw them there;O a' his lands he'll be striped bare;Nae hopes has he to save his state,This makes him sour and unco blute:He canna think whar's rights may be,And ne're expects them thair to see,But now my friend mark what I tellAnd ye'll get something to yoursel.Tak ont the stane there in the wa',And there ye'll get the leather ba',Tis just the same that you did see,When you said that you would help me;The rights are sewed up in its heart,But see you dinna wi' them part,Until the laird shall pay you downJust fifty guineas and a crown,Whilk at my death was due to me,This for thy trouble I'll give thee;And I'll disturb this house nae mair,Cause I'll be free frae all my care.This Thrummy promised to do,And syne the Ghaist bid him adieuAnd vanished with a pleasant soundDown through the laft and thro' the ground.Thrummy gaed back sine to his bed,And cowardly John was verra glad,That he his neibour saw ance mair,For of his life he did despair. Wow man, quo' John, whare hae you beenCome tell me a fat ye hae seen.Na, bide, says Thrummy, till day-light,And syne I'll tell you hale and right.Sae baith lay still and took a nap,Until the ninth hour it did chap.Thrummy syne raise, put on his claes,And to the chamber quick he gaes,Taks ont the stane into the wa',And soon he found the leathern ba';Took ont the Rights, replac'd the stane,Ere John did ken whar he had been :Then baith came stapping down the stair,The morning now was calm and fair.Weel, quoth the Laird, my trusty frien',Hae ye ought in our chamber seen?Quoth Thrummy, Sir, I naething sawThat did me ony ill ava.Weel, qnoth the Laird, ye now may gang,Ye ken the day's verra lang;In the meantime its calm and clear,Ye lose your time in biding here.Quoth Thrummy, Sir, mind what I tell,I've mair right here than you yoursel.Sae till I like I here shall bide,The Laird at this began to chide:Says he, my friend, you're turning rude.Quoth Thrummy, I'll my claim make good,For here I just before you a',The Rights of this Estate can shaw,And that is mair than ye can do.What ! quo' the Laird, can that be true ?Tis true, quoth Thrummy, look and see,D'ye think that I would tell a lie. The Parchments frae his pouch then drew,And down upon the table threw.The Laird at this up to him ran,And cried, Whar did you get them, man?Syne Thrummy tald him a' the tale,As I've tald you, baith clear and hale.The Laird at this was fidgin fain,That he had gat his Rights again:And fifty guineas down did tell,Besides a present frae himsel.Thrummy thanked him, an' syne his gowdIntil a muckle purse he stow'd.And cramm'd it in his oxter-pouch,And syne sought out his aiken crutch:And fare-ye-weel, I maun awa,And see gin I get thro the sna';Weel, fare-ye-weel, replied the Laird:But how comes it ye hanna shar'dOr gien your neibor of the money?Na, by my saul I, Sir, quo' Thrummy,When I the siller, Sir, did win,(To ha'e done this wad be a sin)Before that I the Ghaist had laid,The nasty beast had ——— the bed.And sae my tale I here do end,I hope no one it will offend:My muse will na assist me langer,The dorty jade sometimes does anger,I thought her ance a gay smart lass,But now she's come to sic a pass,That a' my cudgeling ond weeping,Will hardly wake her out of sleeping;To plague her I wiana try,But dight my pen and lay it by.