The Murdered Minstrel/Thrummy Cap

by John Burness

For other versions of this work, see Thrummy Cap.

THRUMMY CAP.

A TALE

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In ancient times, far i' the north,
A hundred miles ayont the forth,
Upon a stormy winter day,
Twa men forgather'd o' the way,
Ane was a sturdy bardoch chiel

An' frae the weather happit weel,
Wi' a mill'd plaiding jockey-coat
And eke he on his head had got
A thrummy cap baith large and stout,
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 spatterdashes
An' on his hands, instead o' gloves,
Large doddy mittens, whilk he,d roose
For 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 other 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'rdly John.
Sae on they gade at a gude scow'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;
Cheer up, says Thrummy, never dout.
But I'm some fly'd we've tint our way,
Howe'er at the neist house 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 peice 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 barked fair,
But Thrummy for him didna care;
He handled weel his aiken staff,
An’ spite o’s teeth he kept him aff
Until the Landlord came to see,
And ken fat might the matter be;
Then verra soon the dog did cease
The Landlord then did speir the case,
Quoth Thrummy, Sir, we ha’e gane rill;
We thought we'd ne’er a house got till,
We near were smor’d an o' the drift,
And sae, gudeman, ye’ll mak' a shift
To 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 bad to spare,
Whate’er ye charge we canna grudge.
But satisfy ye, ere we budge
To 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 foret
Aside the Kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret,
Wba 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 shower
Just 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 hide ava,
Chap aff, for ’tis na worth your while
To bide, when ye hae scrimp twa mile
To 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 you look so blate?
Sae in he gangs and sets him down,
Says he, there’s nae about your town.
Sall put me out till a new day,
Lang as I’ve siller for to pay,
The Landlord said, Ye’re rather rash,
To turn you 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 naine,
Unoccupied, except bare ane;
In it, I fear ye winna lye;
For stoutest heart has aft been shy
To 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 o’ our fowk saw.
Far better till 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 o’ our wit;
Preserve us ever frae all evil,
I widna like to see the devil!
Whisht gowk, quo Thrummy, hand your peace
That sauna 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 eery?
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 Landlord 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,
But sit by the fireside a' night,
And gang awa' whene'er 'tis light.
Says Thrummy 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 caution for ye be.
Then Johny faintly gaed consent,
Sine up the stairs to the room they went,
Where soon they gat baith fire and light,
To haud them hearty a' the night;
The Landlord likewise gave them meat;
Meikle as they baith could eat;
Shew'd them their bed and bade them gang
To it, whene'er they did think lang;
Sae wishing them a gude repose
Straight down 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 warme'd their feet,
Then soon gaed to their bed to sleep.
But cowardly John wi' fear was quaking,
He couldna sleep but still lay waking,
Sae troubled with his panic fright,
When near the twalt hour o' the night,
That Thrummy waken'd, and thus spoke,
Preserve's! quoth he, I'm like to chock
Wi' thirst, and I maun 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 yen gang awa';
Wow will you gang and leave me here
Alane to die wi perfect fear?
Rise and gae wi me then, quoth Thrummy
Ye senseless guid-for-naething bummy,
I'm only gaen to seek some water,
I will be back just in a clatter.
Na, na, says John, I'll rather lie
But as I'm likewise something dry
Gif ye can get a jug or cap
Fetch up to me a little drap.
Ay, ay, quoth Thrummy, that I will
Altho ye shouldna get a gill.
Sae down he goes to seek a drink,
But then he sees a little blink
O' light that shone upon the floor
Out through 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 surprise
That there he saw with wondering eyes
A spacious vault well stored wi' casks
O' reaming ale and some big flasks,
And stride-legs o'er a cask o' ale
He saw the likeness o' himsel.
Just in the dress that he cast aff,
A thrummy and an aiken staff,
Gammashes and the jockey coat;
And in its hand the Ghaist had got
A big four-legged timber bicker,
Fill'd to the brim wi' nappy liquor,
Our hero at the spectre stared,
But neither daunted was not ear’d,
But to the Ghaist straight 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 wi' it he gat:
Took a gude drink, gae John anither,
But never tald him o' his his brither
That 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 doze
Being positive to hae some mair
But still he faund the Ghaist was there,
Now on a butt behind the door:
Says he, ye didna ill before,
Dear brother Thrummy, sae I'll try
You once again because I'm dry.
He fills his jug straight out below,
An' up the stair again does go.
John marvelled sair, but didna speir
Again where did he get the beer,
For it was stronger than the first,
Syne 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 scarceley weel had closed their een,
When just into the neighbouring cham'er
They 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, far, are ye mad?
Thrummy then gaed a hasty jump,
Syne took John on the ribs a thump,
That made him quickly to lie down,
In little better than 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 was shining bright,
The Ghaist was stanen at the door,
In the same dress he had afore;
And o'er anent it, at the wa',
Were ither apparitions twa.
Thrummy beheld them for a-wee
But deil a word as yet spake he
The spirits seemed 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 compair,
But twa for ane is rather sair;
The play's nae equal, says I vow,
Dear brother Thrummy, I'll help you.
Then wi' his fit he kicked the ha',
Gard it play stot against the wa';
Quick then as lightning frae the sky,
The spectres with a horrid cry,
A' vanished in a clap o' thun'er.
While Thrummy at the same did won'er.
The room was quiet now and dark,
An' Thrummy striping in his sark;
Glauming the gate back to his bed,
He thinks he hears a person tread,
An' ere he gat without 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 know
What brings you frae the shades, below,
I in goodness' name command
You tell your story just aff hand?
Fat wad ye hae?—I'll do my best
For you to let you be at rest,
Then says the Ghaist, 'Tis thirty year
Since I've been doom'd to wander here:
In all that time there has been none
Behav'd sae bold as ye have done;
Sae if you'll do a job for me,
Disturbance mair I'll never gie.
Say on your tale, quoth Thrummy
To do ye justice sure I'll try.
Then mark me well, the Ghaist replied
And ye shall soon be satisfied;
Fine 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,
In ilka cause I chief did sit:
The Laird paid great respect for me
But I an ill return did gie,
The Title-Deeds of his Estate
Out of the same I did him cheat,
And stale them frae where they did lie
Some days before the Laird did die
His son at that time was in France,
And sae I thought I'd hae a chance,
Gif he should never come again,
That the Estate would he 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 rufu rair.
What sorrow was come o' the Rights?
They sought them several days and nights,
But never yet hae they been seen,
As I aneath a muckle stane
Did hide them i' the cham'er wa',
Weal sew'd up in a leather ba';
But I was ne'er allowed to rest
Until that I the same confest;
But this to do I hadna power,
Frae yon time to this verra hour,
That I've revealed it a' to you,
And now I'll tell you what to do.
Till nae langsyne nae mony 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' his 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 blate:
He canna think whar's rights may be,
And ne're expects them mair to see,
But now my friend mark what I tell
And ye'll get something to yoursel.
Tak out the stane there in the wa',
And there ye'll get the leather ba',
Tis just the same as 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 down
Just 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 adieu
And vanished with a pleasant sound
Down 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 been,
Come 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 out the stane into the wa',
And soon he found the leathern ba';
Took out 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 saw
That did me ony ill ava,
Weel, quoth the Laird, ye now may gang,
Ye ken the day's no 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 o' 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 gowd
Intil 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 mann awa,
And see gin I get thro' the sna;
Weel fare-ye-weel, replied the Laird:
But how comes it ye hanna shar'd
Or gien your neibor o' the money?
Na, na, my soul 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 cudgelling and weeping,
Will hardly wake her out o' sleeping;
To plague her I winna try,
But dight my pen and lay it by.