# The Exploits of Wise Willie (c. 1813)

The
Exploits
of
Wise Willie,
and
Witty Eppie
the Ale-Wife,
of
Buchaven.
Stirling:
Printed and Sold by M. Randall.
The
History
of
Wise Willy and Witty Eppie.
In the country of Fife, on the ſea-coaſt, there ſtands a little town, inhabited by few but fiſhers, called Bucky-harbour, becauſe of ſea-buckies and ſhells to be found ſo plenty on the rocks about that place. There is little mention made of this town by Hiſtorians, to know its original extraction and antiquities, but in their own Burget-Ticket, which was partly truth, but more of it by way of lampoon. This Ticket was dated the two and thirtieth day of the month of Julius Cæſar. Their Coat of Arms was two hands gripping ​each other over a Scate’s rumple. Their oath was, “I wiſh that de deil may tak me, an I binna an honeſt man to you, an ye binna de like to me.” As article of good neighbourhood they had, whoever was firſt up in a good morning was to raiſe all the reſt to go to ſea; but if a very bad morning piſs and go to bed again till break of day, then raiſe wiſe Willie, who could judge of the weather by the blawing of the wind.—Their freedoms were, to take all ſorts of fiſh contained in their tickets, viz. Lobſters, patrons, pedles, ſpout-fiſh, ſea-cats, ſea dogs, flocks, pikes, dick-puddocks, and p—fiſh.
Again, theſe people are ſaid to have decended from one Tom and his two ſons, who were fiſhers on the coaſt of Norway, who, in a voilent ſtorm, were blown over, and got aſhore at Buck harbour where they ſettled; & the whole of his children were called Thom-ſons, and ſoon became a little ​town by themſelves, as few of any other name dwelt among them. This is a traditional ſtory, handed down from one generation to another.—They kept but little communication with country people about them, for a farmer, in thoſe days, thought his daughter caſt away if ſhe married one of the fiſhers in Bucky-harbour; and, on the other hand, Witty Eppie the ale wife wada ſworn Be go laddie I wad rather ſee my boat and a’ my three ſons dadet againſt the Baſs, or I ſaw ony ane o’ them married to a muck-a-byre’s daughter; a wheen uſeleſs tappice, it can do naething but rive at a tow rock, and cut corn; they can neither bait a hook, nor rade a line, houk ſand eels nor gather piriwinkles.
Now Wiſe Willie and Witty Eppie he ale wife lived there about a hundred years ago. Eppie’s chapter was their College and Court-houſe, where they decided controverſies, & ​explained their wonders; for the houſe was like a little kirk, had four windows and a gavle door; the wives got leave to flyte their fill, but fighting was prohibited, as Eppie ſaid, Up-hands was fair play. Their fines was a pint o’ ale, and Eppie ſaid it at a plack the pint. They had neither miniſter nor magiſtrate, nor yet a burley bailie, to brag them wi’ his tolbooth. The Lord o’ the manor decided all diſputable points, and Wiſe Willie and Witty Eppie were the rulers of the town.
Now Eppie had a daughter, ſhe ca’d Lingle-tail’d Nancy, becauſe of her feckleſs growth; her waiſt was like a twitter, bad nae curpen for a creel being Edinburgh bred, and brought up wi’ her Loudin aunty, was learned to read and ſew, made coarſe claiths, and callicoe mancoes; there was nae a ſcholar in the town but herſel, ſhe read the Bible and the book o’ kirk langs that was ne ​aly come in faſhion. Willie and Eppie tell’d then aye what it meant, & ⟨ſa⟩id a’ the letters in it were litted by ⟨m⟩y Lord, for they ſaw him hae a feather that he dipped in black water, and made crooked ſcores, juſt like ⟨th⟩e ſame; and then he ſpoke 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 was get a name ⟨ti⟩ll’t. A ho! co Willie, whar did ye ⟨fi⟩nd it? Aneath my Lord’s ain houſe Willie. Adeed ſaid Willie, its the ⟨au⟩ld moon I ken by the holes in’t for ⟨n⟩ailing it to the lift; but I winder it ⟨ſh⟩e fell in Fife for the laſt time it I ⟨ſa⟩w her, ſhe was hinging on her back ⟨ab⟩oon Edinburgh. A hech co Willie, we’ll ſet her upon the higheſt ⟨h⟩ouſe 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! Hout tout ſaid Witty Eppie, ye’re but a’ fools thegither; i⟨ts⟩ but ane o’ the things it my Lord mare shears upon her lufe.
At another time one of the wives found a hare with its legs broke, lying among her kail in the yard: She not knowing what it was called o⟨ut⟩ to her neighbours to ſee it. Some ſaid it was a gentleman’s cat, or my Lady’s lap dog, or a ſheep’s your kitlen becauſe it had faſt horns: Na na, cried Wiſe Willie, its one o’ the maukins it gentlemens dogs worrie⟨s.⟩ What will we do wi’t? Staith, ⟨co’⟩ they all, we’ll ſing the woo aff, an⟨d⟩ mak’ fiſh and ſauce o’t to my Tammie’s parrich. Na, na, ſaid Wittie Eppie, better gie’t to my Lord, an⟨’⟩ he’ll ſtap an iron ſtick through t⟨he⟩ guts o’t, and gar’t rin round afore th⟨e⟩ 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 tinkler’s aſs tathered. The poor aſs ſeeing the two wives coming with their creels, thought it was the tinkers coming to flit or relieve him fell to crying; the two wives threw their fiſh away, and ran home like mad perſons, crying they had ſeen the deil ⟨a⟩y the very horned deil, and that he ſpoke to them, but they did na ken what he ſaid, for it was waur than a highlandman’s; the whole town was in an uproar; ſome would go with ſticks and ſpades and hagg him to pieces; others wad go and catch him in a ſtrong net, and then they could either hang or drown him. Na, na, co’ wiſe Willie, we mauna caſt out wi him at the firſt, as he’s gotten the twa burdens o’ fiſh, he’ll e’en gang his wa’ and no faſh us nae mair; he ⟨i⟩s o’er ſouple to be catch’d in a net; ⟨a’⟩ your pith will neither hang him ​nor drown him, and the kintry he comes frae is a’ hot 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 on 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, quo 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’ hand him faſt, I ſee his twa horns; hech, ſirs, he has a white beard like an auld man. So they encloſed 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; its neither cow nor horſe. An’ what ist then, Willie? Indeed, quo ​Willie, its the father o’ the maukins, I ken by its lang lugs.
Now ſome ſay this hiſtory is too ſatirical; but it is according to the knowledge of theſe 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 Buckhaven was once noted for droll exploits; but it is now become more known, and a place now 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 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.
​Now, it happened when Wiſe Willie turned old, he took a great ſwellling in his wame and caſting up his kail collops, and cauld fiſh; that nothing could ſtand on his ſtomach; and a ſtout ſtomach he had for crabs, beads, and ſcate bree, or broſe in a bridal morning; yet it failed him & he fell ſick. None could cure him, nor tell what ail’d him till a mountebank ſtage doctor came to Kirkcaldy, that could judge by people’s piſs, the trouble of their perſon. Wiſe Willie hearing of his fame, piſſed into a bottle, and ſet it away with his daughter. The bottle being uncorked, his daughter ſpilt it by the way; and to conceal her ſloth in ſo doing piſſed in it herſelf and on the goes, till ſhe came to the ſtage-doctor, when ſhe cried cut aloud, Sir doctor, Sir doctor, here is a bottle of my father’s waſh, he has a ſair guts, and needs na drite ony, but ſpues a’ he eats. Its true I tell you, my dow, The doctor looks at it, then ſays its ​not your father’s, ſurely its your mither’s. The deil’s in the man, ſaid ſhe , divna I ken my father frae my mither. Then, ſaid he, he is with child. The deil’s in the man, quo ſhe, for my mither bares de bairns before, dat’s no true ſir; tegs ye’re a great liar. Hame ſhe comes, and tell’d Willie her father, that the doctor ſaid he was wi bairn. O waes me, co’ Willie, for I hae a muckle wame, and I fear its our true. O plague on you Janet! for ye’re the father o’t, and I am ſure to die in the bearing o‘t. Wittie Eppie was ſent for, as ſhe was a heudie; an ſhe fand at Willie’s wame, to be ſure about it. Indeed, co Eppie, ye‘re the firſt man ere I ſaw wi bairn before, and how ye‘ll bear it, I dinna ken; but I would drink ſalt ſea-water and drown it in my guts: for if men get ance the gate o‘ bearing weans themſelves, they‘ll ſeek nae mair wives. So Willie drank ſea water till his guts was like to rive, and out he got to eaſe ​himſelf among the kail; and with the terrible noiſe of his farting, up ſtarts a maukin behind him, who thought it was ſhot: Willie ſeeing her jump o’er the dike, thought it was a child brought forth, and cries, Come back my dear, and be chriſtened, and dinna rin to the hills to be a Pagan. So Willie grew better every day thereafter, being brought to bed in the kail-yard; but his daughter was brought to bed ſome months after, which was the cauſe of the doctor’s miſtake.
Now Wiſe Willie had a daughter called Rolling Coughing Jenny, becauſe the ſpak thick, ſax words at 3 times, half ſenſe, and half nonſenſe, as her own records will bear witneſs. She being with child, was delivered of a bonny laſſie; and a’ the wives in the town cried out Be-go laddie, its juſt like its ain father, Lang Sandy Taſon (or Thomſon) we ken by its lang noſe; for Sandy had a great ​muckle red noſe, like a lobſter’s tae, bowed at the point like a hawk’s neb, and Sandy himſel ſaid, that it was ſurely his or ſome other body’s: but he had uſed a’ his birr at the getting o’t to try his abilities, being the firſt time e’er he was at fic a buſineſs before; and when he had done a’ that man could do at it he ſaid it was nonſence; and ſhame fa’ him but he would rather row his boat round the Baſs and back again or he’d do the like again, for wiſe Willie gade wude at the w an and ſaid it had mair ill nature than the auldeſt wife about the town; for it piſſed the bed, ſhit the bed, and ſkirl’d like a wild cat, and kept him frae his night’s reſt; and the auld hags about the town ca’d him Sandy the bairn’s daddy; and a’ the young gillie gaukie laſſies held out their fingers and cried Ti hi hi Sandy, the kirk will kittle your hips for that; An’ after a’ the blear eyed bell-man came blethering about the buttock meal, ​ſummoned him and her before the haly band, a court that was held in the Kirk on Saturday morning; and all the herd laddies round about cried Ay, ay, Sandy pay the bull-ſiller or we‘ll cut the cow‘s tail awa‘, So poor Sandy ſuffered ſadly in the fleſh, beſides the penalty and kirk penance.
But wiſe Willie had pity on them, and gade wi‘ them to the Kirk-court what learned folk call the Seſſion. Jenny was firſt called upon, and in ſhe goes where a haly band was convened, elders and younger deacons, and dog-payers keeping the door, the cankardeſt carls that could be gotten between Dyſart and Dubyſide, white heads and bald heads ſitting wanting bonnets, wi their white-headed ſtaves, and hodden grey jockey coats about them.
Meſs John ſays, come away Janet, we’re waiting on you here.
​Min. Now Janet, where was this child gotten? You muſt tell us plainly
Jan. A deed ſir, it was gotten at the black ſtanes, at the cheek of the crab holes
Meſs John ſtares at her, not knowing the place but ſome of the elders did. Then ſaid he, O Jane but the devil was buſy with you at that time.
Jan. A by my fegs ſir, that’s a great lie ye’re telling now, for the deil was nae there that I ſaw, nor ony body elſe, to bid us do ae thing or anither; we lo’ed ither unca well for a lang time before that; and ſyne we tell’d ither, an agreed to marry ither, like honeſt folk; then might na we learn to do the thing married folk do without the deil helping us.
Whiſht, whiſht, cried they, ye ſhould be ſcourged, ſau e loonquein it thou is, ye’re ſpeaking nonſenſe.
​Jan. De deil’s i’ the caries, for you and your miniſters are liars, when ye ſay it de deil it was helping Sandy and me to get de bairn.
Come, come, ſaid they, pay down the Kirk dues, and come back to the ſtool the morn; the price is four pund, and a groat to the bell-man.
Jan. The auld thief ſpeed the darth o’t ſir, far leſs might fair you and your bell-man b i h. O but this be a warld indeed, when poor honeſt fouk maun pay for making uſe o’ their ain a—e: Ye miſca the poor deil a bint his back, and gies him de wyte of a’ de ill in de kintry, baſtard bairns and every thing; and if it be ſae as ye ſay, ye may thank the deil for that four pund and a groat I hae gien ye; that gars your pot play brown, an’ gets you jockey coats & purl-handed ſarks, an’ white-headed ​⟨ſt⟩icks, when my father’s pot wallops ⟨u⟩p through bear and blue water.
The woman is mad, ſaid they, for this money is all given to the poor of the pariſh.
Jan. The poor of the pariſh! fint a ⟨h⟩eit ye gie to them but wee pickles o’ ⟨p⟩eaſe meal, didna I ſeed i’ their packs and the miniſter’s wife gies naething ⟨a⟩va to unca beggars, but bids them ⟨g⟩ae to their ain pariſhes, and yet ye’ll tak the purſe frae us for naething but ⟨p⟩laying the loon a wee or they be married, and ſyne cock them up to be looked and laughed at by every body: A deil ſpeed you and your juſtice ſir. Hute, tute, ye’re a’ coming on me like a wheen colly dogs hunting awa a poor ragget chapman frae the door. So out ſhe goes curſing and greeting. Sandy is next called in upon, and in he goes.
Min. Now Sanders, you muſt tell ​us how this child was gotten?
San A now Meſs John ſir, ye hae bairns o’ your ain, how did you get them? But yours are a’ laddies, and mine is but a laſſie; if you tell me how you got your laddies, I’ll tell you how I got my laſſie, and then we’ll be baith alike good o’ the buſineſs.
The miniſter looks at him, and ſays Hute tute, Sanders, lay down four pund and a groat, and come back the morn to the ſtool and give ſatisfaction to the congregation; you had more need to be ſeeking repentance for that abominable ſin of uncleanlineſs that ſpeaking ſo to me.
San. Well here’s your ſiller ſir, I hae gotten but poor penny-worths for’t, and ye tell me to repent for’t; what the auld thief needs I repent when I’m gaun to marry the woman an then I hae to did cure again every day, or there’ll be nae peace in the houſe: figs its nonſenſe to pay ſiller repent and did again too; a fine advice indeed, maſter miniſter! and ​that is the way the like o’ you live.
Now ſir, ſays wiſe Willie, ye manna put them on the black creepy till they be married, they’ve ſuffered enough at ae time.
A weel, a weel, ſaid they, but they muſt marry very ſoon.
I true, ſays Sandy, ye’ll be wanting mair clink; ſoul hate ye do for naething here.
The next exploit was an action at law againſt the goodman of Muiredge a farmer who liv’d hard by, that kept ſheep and ſwine. His ſheep came down and broke their yards, and ate up their kail; the wild hares they thought belonged to the ſame men, as they ran to his houſe when they were hunted. The ſwine came very often in about their houſes, ſeeking fiſh guts and ony thing they could get: So it happened when one of the children was ſitting eaſing itſelf, that one of the ſwine tumbl’d it over, and bit a piece out of its backſide! The whole town roſe in a uproar againſt ​poor grunkie, as they called her, and takes her before wiſe Willie. Willie took an ax and cut two or three inches of her long noſe. Now ſays Willie I trow I hae made thee ſomething like another beaſt, thou had ſic a lang mouth before it wad frighted a very de’il to look at ye, but now ye’re fac’d like a little horſe or cow. The poor ſow ran home roaring all blood and wanting the noſe; this cauſed Muiredge to warn them in before my Lord. So the wives that had their kail eates appeared firſt in the Court complaining againſt Muiredge. Indeed my Lord, ſaid they, Muiredge is no a good man, when he is ſic an ill neighbour; he keeps black hares and white hares, little wee brown backed hares wi’ white arſes, and looſe wagging horns; they creep in at our gu⟨ſh⟩ holes and does the like, when we cry puſſie, puſſie, they rin hame to Muiredge; But I’ll gar my colly had there by the fit, and I’ll haud them by the horn, and pou the hair aff them, and ​ſend ’em hame wanting the ſkin, as ſhe did Sowen Tammie’s wee Sandy for codin o’ his peaſe, he took aff the poor laddie’s coat, and ſae did he een. And Willie ſaid, if ye were a ſow my Lord, an’ me ſitting driting, and you to bite my arſe, ſudna I hae amends o’ you for that? od my Lord, ye wadna hae a bit cut o your arſe for twenty marks: Ye man e’en gar Muiredge gie ten marks to buy a plaiſter to heal the poor bit wean’s arſe again.
Well ſaid Willie, ſays my Lord; but who puts on the ſows noſe again?
A fegs, my Lord, ſaid Willie, ſhe’s honeſter like wantin’t, an ſhe’ll bite nae mair arſes wi’t; An ye had hane a noſe my Lord, as lang as the ſow had, ye’d been obliged to ony body it was cut a piece af’t.
A gentleman coming paſt near their town aſked one of their wives where their college ſtood? ſaid ſhe, gie me a ſhilling and I’ll let you ſee baith ſides o’t. He gives her the ſhilling thinking to ſee ſomething curious. Now ​ſays ſhe, there’s the one ſide o’ your ſhilling, and there’s the other; ſo is is mine now.
There was a cuſtom in Bucky harbour, when they got a hearty drink, that they went down to dance among the boats, two or three of the oldeſt went into a boat to ſee the reſt dance, and when they admitted a burgher, there was always a dance. One day thcy admitted gly’d Rob, who was a warlock, and made them all ſtop their dancing, for which he was carried before wiſe Willie to anſwer for that, for which he was baniſhed to the iſle of May, to carry coals to the Lignt Houſe.
Finis.
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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