THE CORNISH DROLL TELLER
"Seest thou not my harp?
Emblem of my peaceful calling."
--_Harper Ballad._
A servant opened the hall door and ushered in an old man, slightly bent
under the weight of a harp under its green covering. He was clad in the
ordinary garments of the time, except that he still clung to the long
stockings, knee breeches, and low silver buckled shoes that were now
generally being discarded by the gentry. From the hue of his hair, that
was of an iron-grey and thick and wavy like his beard, and the slight
stoop to his shoulders, he must have been in the neighbourhood of fifty
years of age. There was a trace of humour around the corners of his
mouth, and much fun-light in the gleam of his twinkling eyes that seemed
to belie the tragic nature of his heavy beetling brows.
"Uncle Billy! Uncle Billy!" shouted some of the younger ones, in glee.
"'Tis Uncle Billy, the droll teller," said the squire to one of his
eastern friends in a side tone, and then to the new arrival, "Welcome to
the Manor Hall, Uncle Billy, and to our Christmas cheer. Come nigh the
fire and get thy fingers loosened up, for we must have a tune to-night."
Uncle Billy, the droll, sat himself near the yule log and, while he
warmed up his cold hands, entered into conversation with the squire and
one or two of his elder friends.
The droll teller of Cornwall was a privileged character in the olden
times. Somewhat embodying the profession of the minstrel and the
story-teller, he was always assured of a ready welcome. For ages the
western part of Saxon England terminated at the River Tamar, and the
people west of that stream, girt with hills and wild moors, had little
communication with the outside world. Hence when the profession of the
minstrel began to decline in the days of Elizabeth, this section gave it
a ready welcome and asylum. The lack of railways and newspapers gave the
droll the profession of a news courier, and at any house he tarried he
was regarded with favour and reverence. How they stood around him in the
evening hours, in cottage or hall, and listened with eager interest to
the news of the great outside world, and how with awe upon their faces
they listened to the tales of Tregeagle, the giant Cormoran of St.
Michael's Mount! Many knew the tales, but none could tell them with the
vivid realism of the droll, and then how the eyes of the youths would
flash at the tales of King Arthur, the greatest king of the Cornish
line.
Of all droll tellers, Uncle Billy was the most loved and the most
famous. He could enter into the cottages of the common people and be one
of their midst, speaking in their own dialect, or could associate with
the gentry speaking in language as good as their own, and at times
better. He was not only gifted with oratorical and musical power, but
also had a fund of information in legendary lore and was as familiar
with the tales of Rome and Greece as a university scholar. Some even
went so far as to say that he was a scholar of Eton College when he was
a lad, had been disappointed in a love affair and had drifted away from
all who knew him in consequence. At times, after some legend told with
great power, some of his friends among the gentry would remonstrate with
him on his wandering life and offer to assist him into some greater
sphere of usefulness, in better keeping with his education.
"Sphere of usefulness," Billy would respond. "What profession is more
useful than that of the minstrel, or as people call me, the droll? I
have brought happiness into cottage and hall and wiped the tears from
sorrowing eyes with fun and laughter. I have made the youth's heart burn
with high purpose to emulate the heroic deeds of old, and I have
implanted thoughts of soberness in the giddy headed. What could be more
useful? And could I have a happier occupation were I in the position of
a servant? No, I prefer the old independent life of the droll; and as
for my high education," Billy would always stop here, and with a funny
twinkle in his eyes and dropping into the language of the country clout
say, "I beant much of a scholard."
"Well, Billy, give us a song," said the squire, seeing that the droll
teller had become sufficiently thawed out to finger the harp.
"Or a story," said a relative of the squire.
"Tell us of the oxen kneeling on Christmas night," piped in a young,
shrill, boyish voice.
"Les have Duffy and The Devil," said one of the "curl" singers.
"Or the Cornish Tale of King Arthur," said another.
"Well, well, one at a time. Suppose I sing ye one of the old Christmas
songs first," responded Uncle Billy, and tuning up his harp he swept
with rapid, light fingers the opening bars of "The First Good News That
Mary Had." This was followed by "I See Three Ships Come Sailing In," and
was greeted with great applause at the close.
The old butler brought in a steaming bowl of egg-nog punch which he
placed on the table near the harper's chair; after refreshing himself
the droll began the tale of Duffy and the Devil, telling it, as was his
custom, partly in verse to the accompaniment of the harp, and partly in
prose.
THE TALE OF DUFFY AND THE DEVIL.
An old bachelor squire of Cornubia's race
Was the master of old Lovell Hall;
He'd a jolly round face, and the fox he would trace
Over moor and through dale in a glorious chase,
But of women he would none at all.
Cider making was nigh and in Buryan church town
For more hands he was seeking one day;
Words and blows did resound, and with her swing-tail gown,
Old Janey was beating her stepdaughter around,
In her cottage, that was by his way.
"Hallo, what's the row," said the squire, as he dismounted and entered
the cottage. Being a magistrate, he thought it was his duty to settle
all quarrels, but he had scarcely got within when he was sorry he had
meddled. Old Janey had been using the skirt of her gown to carry out the
grate ashes, and beating Duffy, her stepdaughter, with the gown
afterward; there was such a dust in the air that the squire went into a
fit of coughing.
"'Tis Duffy," said old Janey. "She can't knit nor spin and does nothing
for her living. She's that lazy, your honour," and Janey, the dust
settling a bit, dropped a curtesy to the squire.
"'Tedn't so, your honour," said Duffy, as the tears gathered in her blue
eyes. "My knitting and spinning is of the very best."
Well, the upshot of the matter was that the squire took Duffy home with
him to Lovell Hall, and the hall housekeeper sent her into the attic to
spin. Old Janey was glad to get rid of her stepdaughter, and Duffy was
glad to get away and, though she had told an untruth to the squire, it
didn't bother her much, until she found herself surrounded by the wool
sacks in the upper part of Lovell Hall. There, casting herself down on
the wool sacks, she said: "The devil may spin for the squire, but I
can't and won't." Scarcely had she said this when a voice was heard:
"A bargain! A bargain!" said the voice loud and clear
Of a neat little man in garb black;
"But remember, my dear, since ye've called me here,
If ye can't guess my name, I'll have 'ee in a year,"
And he brought his tail down with a rap.
"All right," said Duffy undaunted, and tossed up her head in disdain,
and then fell to lolling on the wool sacks and idling and singing away
the whole day. In the evening the little man in black handed to her the
result of his day's spinning and she descended with it into the great
hall below.
"Zounds! What a liar old Janey was," said the squire, as he viewed the
fine amount of spun yarn, and casting a favouring glance on Duffy he
said she was the finest spinner in Cornwall.
The next day Duffy took the yarn with her to the attic to knit the
squire's hunting stockings, and the little man, true to his contract,
performed the work for her and soon,----
The stockings were finished, and knit strong as leather,
Squire Lovell was filled with delight;
With dogs all together, in all sorts of weather,
His old shanks were sound in furze, brambles or heather,
Whether hunting by day or by night.
But now came a worrying time for the old squire, for the lads from the
whole country around had heard of Duffy's fine spinning and were not
indifferent to Duffy's charms. The squire feared that she would marry
one of them and then he should lose his fine stockings, and so resolved
to forestall such a dire thing by marrying Duffy himself. They were
married in the old parish church before a great assemblage from far and
near. The old squire's heart was full of glee as he gazed at the young,
disappointed men around him. "Ha! Ha!" thought he, "she soon shall be
mine." But no sooner had he thought this than there was a terrible,
distinct voice echoing the same thoughts.
"Ha! Ha! She soon shall be mine!" blood curdling and dire,
Echoed a voice; the people were still,
And from window of choir gazed the black man in ire,
Yet knew that the end of his compact was nigh her,
When she must be subject to his will.
The people in the church heard the voice, but no one knew who had spoken
the words. The rector was indignant that the service should be
interrupted and would have had the party, then and there, up before the
gentlemen at the court if he could have found him. The supposition was
that some jealous suitor had spoken, and the thing was soon forgotten by
everyone but Duffy, or Lady Lovell, as we must now call her. She knew
and was nigh to fainting had not the squire supported her with his
sturdy arm. They were happy in their married life, for the squire loved
his wife and Duffy had always a secret regard for him, but there was a
dread in her mind that the words of the little man in black must soon
come true. The year was nigh up and she had tried all plans to discover
his name, but of little avail. She was nigh in despair when a person
whom she had befriended relieved her of much of her anxiety. That person
was old Betty of the mill, who was commonly supposed to be something of
a witch.
She carefully inquired of Lady Lovell when the squire went on his next
hunting trip, and having ascertained the time to the very hour, she
obtained from her a jack of the squire's best beer.
That day the squire went hunting far from home and even at nightfall
returned not to Lovell Hall. As the hours of nightfall came on, the
dogs, one by one, came back all lathered in foam, but no Squire Lovell.
At ten o'clock came the squire and he was visibly excited and seemed
bubbling over with laughter.
"Duffy," said he, "I have had as great a lark as I have ever had in my
life. I hunted all day over all the moors and downs, Trove, Trevider,
Lemorna and Brene, and didn't catch a thing. The mare was tired out and
so was I, when up jumped as fine a hare as I had ever seen, from a hedge
along the road-side. She was away and so were the dogs instantly, and I
followed. What a chase! This way and that way she doubled, and at length
entered the mouth of Fugoe's dark cave."
In went the dogs and in follow'd I, water dripping,
Mud flying, dogs yelping in full cry,
Owls wheeling, bats flapping, the place was nigh sick'ning
And black as the night, but the pace was now quickening,
When a singular sight caught my eye.
We had gone nigh a mile when the dogs turn'd to flight,
For Alack! On the farthermost shore
Of a lake was a light of a fire. What a sight!
There was old Nick a-dancing with all his might
With witches; there was more than a score.
"And there was old Bet of the mill a-thumping and a-beating her crowd,
giving music for the dance, and, as I live, by her side was my best jack
of beer, and each time old Nick would come around he would take a
drink. The old witches sang as they danced,
"Here's to the devil,
With wooden pick and shovel,
Digging tin by the bushel
With his tail cocked up."
The wild dance and frolic grew fast and furious,
Brighter blaz'd the fire-flames, blue and hot,
Then Nick in full chorus, with witches, uproarious,
Shouted and sang like the spirit of Boreas,
"My name is Terrytop, Terrytop."
"Aye, and he kept shouting it as if he had lost his head with the
drinking of too much of my beer. Then he jumped among the old witches,
and such a sight!"
He kicked the old witches and Bet the old dame,
'Till I laughed out aloud at the lark,
Then he whirl'd and he came, in a reel, through the flame,
"Go it, old Nick," said I, "you are worthy your name,"
And then--in a moment--'twas dark.
And away galloped I, with the mare at full speed;
With a din, the whole crowd followed fast;
With old Nick in the lead, over moor and o'er mead,
But I distanc'd them soon, for the mare knew my need,
And now here I am, Duffy, at last.
"Why doesn't 'ee laugh, Duffy?" said the squire. Duffy, who had turned
pale at the mentioning of the little man's name, now regained her good
spirits and laughed merrily and long, for she knew she was safe. The
squire stretched out his limbs in weariness, for he had hunted far and
wide and felt the need of sleep, so he soon retired. But not so Duffy,
for she knew that in an hour or so the little man in black would come to
claim his prize. First she said the Creed, and then she prayed, for she
had resolved to become an exemplary woman could she escape the
consequences of the rash vow she had made a year before. Then in the
midst of her devotions there was heard the wild neighing of a horse
without, and then the door, though shut with bolt and bar, opened, and
in stepped the little man in black, bowing low, and yet with a cunning
leer in his eyes.
"I 'ave come for 'ee, Duffy," said he, "unless"--and he paused,--"unless
ye can guess my name."
"Terrytop!" said Duffy, with a confident look on her features.
"Correct, m'lady," said Terrytop with a sigh of regret, and then with a
sweep of his tail he was gone.
* * * * *
The droll ceased his tale and was greeted by a round of applause, for it
was not only the story, but the manner of the harper, at one time frank,
ruddy and jovial like Squire Lovell, at another time with a cunning leer
like the man in black, at another time disdainful or tearful, fearful or
glad, according to the mood of Duffy, that drew forth the appreciation
of his auditors. He calmly sipped a bowl of punch, while the auditors
entered into conversation, though expecting more tales when the harper
had rested himself.