Rough Scan
JEEMS AND THE MAJOR
BETTY an’ me,
BAILIE, gaed through last week to the International Exhibition in Edinburgh.
Man, it wis a gran’ sicht yon, sae mony things o’ ae kin’ an’
anither I never saw, nor, what’s mair, it never entered into my heart
to conceive.
But’s it no
aboot the International that I’m writin’ tae ye the day. Ye maun ken that efter we had gaen ower a’
the Exhibition, I thocht I wid gi’e Betty anither treat, so I hires
an open machine, a phaeton, I think they ca’t — there wis quite a raw
o’ them stannin’ in Princes Street — an’ I drives her up tae the Castle.
We lichtit doom
at the tap o’ the Esplanade, an’ I paid the driver, an’ gied him tippence
tae himsel’ as he seemed a decent lad.
I then turned tae look for Betty, when ower she comes tae me
wi’ a face fu’ o’ importance, an’ cries: —
“Jeems, d’ye
min’ o’ Wullie Jamieson, that ran awa’ an’ listed awhile syne? Weel, I saw him walking back an’ forrit up
there wi’ his kilts on, an’ a gun, an’ he tell’t me he wis there for
a century.”
“Great sticks!
for a century,” says I; “we maun go up an’ see him;” so up we goes,
an’ there wis Wullie wi’ a big gun, an’ a feather bonnet, an’ kilts,
an’ a’ thegither.
“Wullie! Wullie, is this you? an’ are ye really here
for a century? what ha’e ye been daein’ at a’?”
“Naething.”
“Naething, an’
they expect ye tae be here for a century!
It bates a’ !”
“It’s the custom,
Mr Kaye.”
“Oh, Wullie,
Wullie! for a hale century, summer an’ winter, an’ nae troosers on! Ye astonish me, but a’ that I can say is, if
ye’re here for a century, ye’d better come awa’ an’ get some refreshment
tae help ye tae survive.”
Wullie wis vera
sweered tae come, but I said, “Here’s a wee laddie, I’ll gi’e him
tippence,
an’ he’ll hand yer gun till ye come back.” So puir Wullie, no kenning when he micht get the chance again, handed
the laddie his gun, an’ awa we walked doon the Lawnmarket, an’ in tae
a decent public-hoose tae ha’e a refreshment.
“An’,” says
I, as we sat doon, an’ got oor glesses filled, “are ye really there
for a century, Wullie?”
“Aye,” says
he, “it’s my turn.”
“An’ whase turn
will’t be efter yours, Wullie?”
“Oh, some o’
the ither sodgers.”
“Michty me,
I never heard the like o’ that: I maun tell oor minister aboot it! He’s aye preaching awa’ aboot life being uncertain,
an’ telling us that we’re here the day an’ awa’ the morn. Weel, Wullie, your guid health, if it’s the
rules o’ the army I suppose I needna offer ony opinion. Aye! aye! Wullie, an’ ye’re noo ane o’ oor
noble defenders at a shilling a-day.”
Just then a
corporal keekit in, an’ said he had been sent by the sergeant tae look
for Wullie, wha had gane awa’ an’ left his post.
“Och,” says
I, “sit doon, my man, and mak’ yersel’ at hame. As the poet says, ‘When shall we three meet again?’”
The corporal
sat doon, an’ we cracked awa’, an’ in a wee a sergeant cam’ in, an’
asked Wullie if he wis aware he had gaen awa an’ left Edinburgh Castle
in charge o’ a wee laddie.
“Tuts,” says
I, “I’m sure Edinburgh Castle’s no gaun to rin awa’; sit doon, sergeant,
an’ we’ll ca’ in the landlord again;“ an’ the sergeant sat
doon, an’
we a’ got quite great, an’ in a wee the door opens, an’ in comes a
colour-sergeant.
“Wullie,” says
I, “hoo mony corporals an’ sergeants hae ye in your regiment?”
“Why dae ye
ask that?” says he.
“Because I wis
wondering if this room wid haud them a’.
Wid ye jist ring that bell again.”
Weel, BAILIE,
we sat still, an’ sang turn aboot, an’ I gied a recitation, an’ in a
wee five mair cam’ in wi’ their guns, an’ looked at us, and I says,
“Heck, I’ll stop staunin’ ony mair rounds noo.
This is goin’ ower the score.”
Them the sergeant cries cot, “This is the picket.”
“What ticket?”
says I.
“The picket,”
says he.
“Weel, an’ wha
invited them here?” But,
BAILIE,
the question wis soon answered, we fun’t oot for oorsels as we were
marched up tae the Castle, and intae a room where the major wis sittin’
strokin’ his moustache, an’ lookin’ vera fierce indeed.
As we entered,
he says in a sharp, crabbit voice,
“I’ll speak
to the soldiers by an’ by; but, first, who is this stout old civilian?”
At this I stepped
up tae him, an’ handed him my card, and he read—
AS
WE BUY ONLY FOR CASH DIRECT FROM THE
BEST
MAKERS, WE SUPPLY COALS AT
WHOLESALE
PRICES.
NO
OTHER FIRM CAN DO THIS.
BEWARE
OF SPURIOUS IMITATIONS.
ONE
TRIAL SOLICITED.
“What’s this?”
thundered the major.
“Oh,” says I,
“ye’ve looked at the wrang side; turn it roon.” So he did, and read—
LIEUT.-COLONEL
KAYE,
1st
ROYAL STRA’BUNGO FUSILIERS.
Motto—
“Aye
put your richt fit foremost.”
“Colonel Kaye,
and is it really you?”
“It is,” says I, “attended by my bodyguard.”
“I know the
Queen took notice of you at the Review.”
“If she saw
me noo,” says I.
“But she won’t,
Colonel. As your inferior officer,
I tender you my humble apologies, an’ if you’ll promise to say nothing
more about this unfortunate affair I’ll make your friend Wullie a lance-corporal
on the spot, and advance all the others one step upwards.”
“Major, I’m
no’ a man tae harbour illwill; there’s my haun. It’s a wee rough, for I’m only one o’ the horny-handed sons o’ toil,
altho’ in a manner I’m your superior officer.”
So he took my
haun, BAILIE, an’ him an’ me lichtit a ceegaur each, an’ walked arm
in arm roon the ramparts, an’ I pointed oot tae him various little improvements
that could be made. As we partit
I had tae promise tae send him my portrait in full regimentals.
You may believe,
BAILIE, when Betty an’ me gaed intae the train at the Lothian Road Station
on our homeward journey, that I was as prood as a monkey wi’ twa tails.