CHAPTER XIII

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.