The comical stories of Thrummy Cap and the Ghaist (NLS104185773)/Thrummy Cap

by John Burness

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 chiel
An' frae the weather happit weel,
Wi' a mill'd pleiding jockey-coat
And eke he on his head had got
A thrummy cap baith large and stout,
Wi' naps ahind as weel's a shout,
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,
Intil his neive---he drave awa,
And card for neither frost: nor sna,
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 scow'r
'Cause that they a saw gath'ring show'r,
Grow Terra 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 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 barked fair,
But Thrummy for him didna care;
He handled weel his aiken staff,
And 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 hae 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 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 bed to spare,
What e’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 hut twa miles forret
Aside the Kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret,
Wha keeps a Change-house, sells guid 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,
canna let you bide ava,
Chap aff, for ’tis na worth your while
To bide, when ye hae scrimpt 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,
As lang's 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 sit by the fire-side;
I tald ye else of beds I've nane,
Unoccupied, except bare ane;
In it, I fear, ye winna ly;
For stoutest hearts 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 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 o' our wit;
Preserve us ever frae all evil,
I wadna like to see the devil!
Whislit gowk, quo' Thrummy, hand your peace
That sanna gar me quit this place,
Nor great nor sma' I ne'er did ill,
The chaist 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’ heuks 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 whore,
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 Johnny faintly gaed consent,
And up the stairs to the room they went,
Where soon they gat baith fire and light,
To baud them hearty a’ the night;
The Landlord likewise gae them meat;
As 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 syne to his ain bed he goes.
Our travelers now being left alane,
’Cause that the frost was nipping keen,
Coost aff their shoon, aud warm’d their feet,
And 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 o’ night,
That Thrummy waken’d, and thus spoke,
Preserve’s! quoth he, I’m like to choak
Wi’ thirst, and I maun hae a drink;
I will gang down the stair, I think,
And grapple for the water-pail,
0 for a waught o’ caller ale!
Johnny grips till him, and says, Na,
1 winna let you gang awa’:
w ow will ye gang and leave me here
Alane, to die wi’ perfect fear?
Rise an’ gae wi’ me then, quoth Thrummy,
Ye senseless gude for naething bummy,
I’m only gaen to seek some water
I will he back just in a clatter.
Na, na, says John, I’ll rather lye,
But as I’m likewise something dry,
Gif ye can get jug or cap,
Fesh up to me a little drap.
Ay, ay, quo’ Thrummy that I will,
Altho’ ye sudna get a gill.
Sae down he gaes to seek a drink,
And then he sees a blink
O’ light, that shone upo’ the floor,
Out thro’ the lock-hole o’ the door,
Which was na fast, but stood a-jee;
Whatever’s there he thinks he’ll see:
So bauldly o’er the threshold ventures,
And in within the door he enters.
But, Reader, judge of the surprise,
When there he saw, with wond’ring eyes,
A spacious vault well stor’d wi’ casks
O’ reaming ale, and some big flasks,
An’ stride-legs o’er a cask o’ ale,
He saw the likeness o’ himsel.
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 got
A big four-legged timber bicker,
Fillä to the brim wi' nappy liquor,
Our hero at the spectre stared,
But neither daunted was nor 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 up the stair wi' it he gat;
Took a gude drink, gae John anither,
But never tald him o' his brither,
That he into the cellar saw,
Mair than he'd naething seen awa,
Light brown and nappy was the beer:
Whar did you get it? John did speir,
Says Thrummy, sure ye needna care,
gae and try to get some mair,
Sae down the stair again he goes,
To get o' drink anither dose,
Being positive to hae some mair;
But still he fand the Ghaist was there,
Now on a butt bebind the door:
Says he, ye didna ill before,
Dear brother Thrummy, sae I'll try
You ance again, because I'm dry.
He fills his jug stright out below,
An' up the stair again does go.
John marvelled sair, hut didna speir
Again where he did get the beer,
For it was stronger than the first,
Sae they haith drank till like to burst,
Syne did compose themsels to rest,
To sleep a while they thought it best.
An hour in bed they hadna been,
And scarcely weel had clos a their e’en,
Whan just into the neighbouring cham’er,
They heard a dreadfu’ din and clamour.
Beneath thebed-olaes John did-cow’r,
But Thrummy jumpt upon the floor,
Him by thd sark-tail John did haud;
Lye still, quoth lie, fat, are ye mad?
Thrummy then gaed a hasty jump
And took John on the ribs a thump,
Till on the bed he tumbled down,
In little better than a swoon,
While Thrummy fast as he could rin,
Set aff to see what made the din.
The chamber seem’d to him as light,
As gif the sun were shining bright;
The Ghaist was stanen at the door,
In the same dress he had afore;
And o’er anerit itj at the wa’,
Were ither apparition's twa.
Thrummy beheld them for a-wee,
But deil a word as yet spake he:
The spirits seem’d to kick a ba’,
The Ghaist against the other 'twa;
Whilk close they drave baith. hack and fore,
A tween 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 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 hack to his bed,
He thinks he hears a parson 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 my Maker s 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,
Sae on your tale, quoth Thrummy, I
To do you justice sure will try.
Then mark me weel, the Ghaist replied,
And 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 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 whare they did lie,
Some days before the Laird did die
His son at that time was in France,
And sae I thought I'd had 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 reef n' rair,
What sorrow was come of the Rights?
They sought thenı several days and nights,
But never yet hae they been seen,
As I aneath a muckle stane,
Did hide them i' this cham’er wa',
Weel sew'd up in a leather ba';
But I was ne'er allow'd 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 reveal'd it a to you;
And now I'll tell you what to do.
Till nae langsyne nae mony kent,
That this same Laird the Ilights did want;
But now they hae him at the law,
And the neist owk the Laird maun shaw,
Afore the court, the Rights o’s land,
This puts him to an unco stand:
For if he dinna shaw them there,
O’ a’ his lands he’ll be stript bare;
Nae hopes has he to save his ’state,
This maks him sour and unco blate:
He canna think whar’s Rights may be,
And ne’er 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 that you did see,
When you said that you would help me;
The Rights are sew’d 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 from all my care.
This Thrummy promised to do,
And syne the Ghaist bid him adieu
And vanish’d with a pleasant sound
Down thro' the laft and thro’ the ground,
.Thrummy gaed back syne to his bed,
/And cowardly John was verra glad,
That he his neighbour saw ance mair,
For of his life he did despair.
Wow man, quoil 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 charhber quick he gaes,
Taks out the stane into the wa',
And soon he found the leathein 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, says 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 na verra lang;
In the mean time its calin' and clear,
Ye lose your time in biding here.
Quoth Thrummy, Sit, mind what I tell,
1 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 nair then ye can do.
What! quo' the Laird, can that be true?
'Tis true, quöthi Thruinmy, look and see,
D'ye think that I would tell a lie.
The Parchments frae hi- pouch then drew,
And down upon the table threw,
The Laird at this up tfl 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,
Resides 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 maun 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, by my said, I Sir, qno' 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 gay smart lass,
But now she’s come to sic a pass,
That a’ my cudgeling and wheeping,
Will hardly wake her out o’ sleeping;
To plague her mair I winna try,
But dight my pen and lay it by.