The Highland bagpipe

Preserving the pipes—Regimental bands—Pay of army pipers—The seven pipers of Falkirk—Duties of regimental pipers—The meaning of “Retreat”—A story of Napoleon—In a social capacity—An army wedding—A military funeral—At the officers’ mess—Awkward incidents—“Boberechims.”

Nothing has helped more to preserve the bagpipe as our national musical instrument than the fact that it has always been used in connection with the Highland regiments. On several occasions officers, always English, it should be noted, have tried to get the bagpipe superseded by instruments more to their own taste, but they have always failed. The sentiment in favour of the pipes was too much for them, and the arguments were too strong to be slighted by the Crown authorities. In one case, indeed, a regiment did lose its pipes. The 91st, or Argyllshire Highlanders, landed at Dover in April, 1850, and were inspected by Major-General G. Brown, C.B., K.H., then Adjutant-General to the Forces. For some reason which has never been explained he ordered the immediate abolition of the pipes, which the men clung to as the last that was left to remind them of the origin, history, and nationality of the corps. This seemed a harsh and uncalled for proceeding, and that it was so is proved by the fact that the authorities afterwards made ample amends to the regiment.

In the British army there are twenty-two pipe bands, one to each battalion of the following regiments:—

The number of men allowed to each band as full pipers, that is, the number authorised by the War Office, is six—one sergeant-piper (formerly pipe-major) and five pipers—but each battalion has always ten or twelve men in its pipe band, those above the regulation number being acting pipers. Only the Highland regiments and the Scots Guards are allowed a sergeant in excess of the ordinary strength to perform the duties of sergeant-piper. Members of the band get the same pay as drummers—1d. per day more than ordinary privates—with the opportunity to earn “extras” by playing outside at parties, in public parks, or in any other way. The sergeant-piper and his five comrades are clothed by Government, and a fund is supported by the officers of each battalion, out of which the cost of the pipes, both for full and acting pipers; long hose, buckled shoes, etc., and the uniform for the acting pipers is defrayed. Captains of companies, however, supply their pipers with banners. The pipers are all drilled in the same way as other soldiers, their training as pipers only beginning after they have served in the ranks for some time. Tuition is given free of charge by competent sergeant-pipers, and any lad joining a Highland regiment will be taught the pipes properly if he chooses. Pipers are generally Highlanders, and it is a remarkable fact that in the time between the middle of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, Skye alone furnished five hundred pipers for the British Army—an average of ten a year. Regimental pipers are, however, quite often Lowlanders, and it is doubtful if any Highland town can boast of having had five pipers in one regiment, as Falkirk, a Lowland town, can. Robert Galbraith, from Falkirk, joined the 42nd in 1854, and served through the Crimea, the Indian Mutiny, and the fighting which ended at Coomassie. Pipe-major James Honeyman, still alive, came through the Mutiny and Ashanti Wars, leading his regiment into Coomassie. John Honeyman, his brother, was also a piper, and so was their father before them. The fifth 42nd piper was James Wotherspoon, who joined after the Mutiny and followed his colours to the Gold Coast. Besides, two other Falkirk men were pipers in the Black Watch—Alexander Mac Intosh and George W. Alexander—making a record which can hardly be beat by any other town of similar size, Highland or Lowland. When, during the Mutiny, the four Highland regiments marched from Lucknow, their pipers numbered one hundred and forty all told, quite a respectable number of fighting musicians.

The duties of regimental pipers are too numerous to give in detail, but it may be worth while to describe “Reveille” and “Tattoo.” “Reveille” is generally sounded at early morn by the bugler on duty, or sometimes by all the buglers followed by the pipers and drummers playing round the camp to rouse the troops. No sooner is “Reveille” sounded than the camp becomes animated with busy men preparing for the routine of the day. The tune is usually “Up and waur them a’, Willie,” “Hey, Johnnie Cope,” or sometimes “Up in the morning’s no for me.” As “Reveille” begins the day, so “Tattoo” is the signal that another day has gone. The guards turn out and stand under arms, picquets are mounted and sentries posted, all in undress and greatcoats, and gates are closed for the night. Of all ceremonies in which a pipe band is engaged, “Tattoo” is the most attractive to spectators. Drummers and pipers march to the ground in full kilt and feather, and form up in perfect silence, save for the curt word of command. The buglers form up in front of the pipers, and at the order, “Sound off,” a shrill blast is sounded by the buglers, who then disappear. Drums are slung and pipes placed in position. At the word of command the tattoo rolls are gone through, then the order, “Quick march,” is given, and the band steps off, taking up the usual rolls as in an ordinary march. They march and counter-march the length of the parade ground, and come to the halt in the exact position they started from. Then the music ceases, and the tattoo rolls are beat off as before, after which all are marched back to quarters and dismissed. Old Highland tunes are invariably played for “Tattoo,” “My Faithful Fair One,” and the “Cock o’ the North” being favourites. Other tunes, too, have been dedicated by custom for special occasions—as, for instance, “Highland Laddie” for the march past, or when troops advance in review order; “The Crusaders’ March,” for reviews and inspections, at mess, tattoo, or parade; “Bannocks o’ Barley Meal,” or “Brose and Butter,” for breakfast, dinner, or tea, and sometimes for officers’ mess; and “Hey Johnnie Cope” as the warning for parade. “The Haughs o’ Cromdale,” as is well known, is always played by the Gordons’ pipers when the regiment is at the charge, though, by some inexplicable slip, it got mixed up with the “Cock o’ the North” at Dargai.

A good deal of misunderstanding sometimes crops up through the use of the word “retreat” in relation to the pipes. A story is told of the great Napoleon which illustrates this very forcibly. Having heard from afar the skirl of the pipes, the Emperor wished to know more of the music, and so when a Highland piper was captured, he sent for him that he might hear him play. “Play a Pibroch,” said Napoleon, and the piper played a pibroch. “Play a March,” next asked the Emperor, and a march was played. Then “Play a Retreat”; but at this the Highlander looked up in surprise. “Play a Retreat! I have not learned to play a Retreat,” was the reply, and the pipes remained silent. The story is improbable on the face of it. First, because it is the buglers and not the pipers who sound the retreat; second, because there is no historical record of Napoleon having ever captured a piper; third, because the same story has been told of a drummer boy of the Guards who fell into the hands of the French; and fourth, because, in any case, the word “retreat” used in this sense does not mean that the men are running away from the enemy. It only means “retire,” or if in barracks it means that the time when the gates are shut for the night has come. There is no doubt, however, that the word is not very well chosen, and that on account of its significance in other connections, it might with advantage be dispensed with in favour of a better.

Many stories are told, showing that the regimental pipers not only keep up the spirits of the men, but are themselves worthy of their position as a social force. At the Cape of Good Hope in 1805 the Seaforths suffered excessively from the heat. On one of their marches, although the fatigue was extreme, during a momentary halt the grenadier company requested the pipers to play for them, and they danced a Highland reel, to the astonishment of the 59th Regiment, which was close in the rear. In the Indian Mutiny, again, in a time of imminent peril, “as we,” writes the author of The Highland Brigade, “approached a big bungalow our hearts were cheered by the sound of the bagpipes playing a foursome reel. When we were halted and dismissed I went into the building, and there were four or five sets dancing with all their might.” The terrors of the Mutiny did not quench their musical ardour—more likely they intensified it.

In the Gordons and in some other Scottish regiments, when a marriage occurs in the ranks, the happy bridegroom is forcibly seized by his comrades and placed on a table elevated on the shoulders of four stout fellows. On the table a man ludicrously dressed to represent a woman and personate the bride has been placed to await him. Both are furnished with a bag, one of soot and the other of flour, and they belabour each other unmercifully, while their uproarious following form up in military order, and march after them round the camp to the tune of “Woo’d an’ Married an’ a’,” played by one of the regimental pipers. The procession is most grotesque, and is headed by a stalwart comrade acting as drum-major, and absurdly dressed in old blankets, etc., his staff of office being a mop, crowned by a 4lb. loaf, which he majestically brandishes in a style irresistibly comic. The procession ends at the canteen, where the bridegroom, as the price of release from his by no means enviable position, must treat his merry following in suitable style.

At a military funeral the band draws up in two ranks facing each other on the right flank of the procession, with a space of about two paces between the men, and forming a lane wide enough to allow of the passing of a gun carriage or hearse. As the cortege begins to move the firing party first pass through the lane in file, with arms reversed. The band follows, closing up in playing order. Next comes the body, the following party, and civilians and friends. When well clear of the house or hospital, the command “Slow march” is given, when the rolls are taken up in slow time. After the start one half the side drummers keep up the rolls during the first part of the tune, and are relieved in the second part by the other half. The drums, of course, are muffled. Should the cemetery be some distance off, the procession breaks into quick time, in which case the pipers play no more until within a reasonable distance from the ground, when slow time is again taken up, and the band plays till the cortege has passed in. They then cease, and follow up, placing themselves in a convenient position near the grave. On the first volley being fired, the first bar of the “Dead March” is played, on the second two bars, and on the third the whole of the first part once through. This ends the ceremony, and the band marches out, and forms in front of the firing party, stepping off with them at quick march, playing tunes on the way home, as on ordinary parade. In the case of Volunteer funerals, however, where local sentiment might be roused by such a custom, the band usually marches home in silence.

There are often striking incidents at military funerals which are not pre-arranged. At the battle of Fort-Rohya, in India, in April, 1858, General Hope, of Pinkie, and of the 93rd Highlanders, was killed. At the funeral his body was wrapped in a Highland plaid and accompanied to the grave by the pipers of the 42nd, 78th, 79th, and 93rd, playing the “Flowers of the Forest.” This action, it may be added, was the first occasion after the battle of Waterloo on which these four regiments met in active service, and the incident of General Hope’s death and funeral made it all the more memorable.

In military circles, when pipers play round the officers’ mess, they generally start at some considerable distance outside, usually in an adjoining room or the open air, the object of this being that the strains of the instrument may be heard as coming from a distance. After finishing inside, the performers play to and wind up where they started from. The usual procedure may not in strict detail be the same in all Highland or Scottish regiments, but it is something like the following:—The men assemble at the appointed place under their pipe-major, who, on a given order, arranges his men and starts the tune (a march), everything being pre-arranged. When all is steady he turns to his right or left, the others marching in Indian file into the mess-room, round which they go two or three times, afterwards forming up behind the senior officer’s chair, when they change into strathspey and reel. When they stop the pipe-major receives a glass of “mountain dew,” with which he drinks the company’s health, the toast being usually given in Gaelic. After this he starts another march round the table and then out. All obstacles, animate or inanimate, must be kept out of the leading piper’s path. If not he may sometimes find himself in an awkward case. He may have stairs to go up and come down, corners to turn, doors to pass through which are too low for the drones, projecting pegs and all sorts of things to negotiate. The following are a few instances of the difficulties of pipers in such positions:—

The first is in regards to playing in file, which is generally acknowledged to be the most difficult formation in which pipers can be placed. This will become apparent when notice is taken of the fact that the drones of the player immediately in front drown to a considerable degree the sound of the player’s chanter. It is therefore only by listening carefully to the different parts of the tune, and watching the marching swing of the pipers in front, as well as keeping the regular step, that one can decide whether the performers are adept players or not, and, as efficient pipers know, such performances require long practice and confidence. Then it sometimes happens that a central piper wanders into the wrong part, thus knocking the pipers in front and behind completely out. There at once ensues a stampede, so to say, no one being able to detect who the erring piper is. This is one of the occasions when the pipe-major looks ferocious, for, being in front, he is powerless to rectify matters, and is compelled to march on and listen to the row. The discordant notes will, of course, continue unless the defaulters and others who are “put out” have confidence enough to stop and catch up the tune at its proper place. Failing this, the pipe-major’s only alternative is to form up his men behind the senior officer’s chair as quickly as possible, and at once strike into the next tune in his programme. Blunders of this sort, it is only right to state, are usually committed by nervous men or beginners, but seldom through carelessness. Again, when pipers are performing this duty, waiters who, in the exercise of their own functions, are eager to serve their guests, often bump against or unintentionally obstruct the pipe-major. In some cases the chanter is knocked out of his hand, thus causing a temporary derangement as the pipers swing round in their course. Pipers are sometimes called upon to go into queer places. For instance, let us take the huts at Aldershot and elsewhere. Here the pipers start from the outside or from the kitchen, and wend their way round corners and through very narrow and low doors, which necessitate their marching in a crouching position in order to prevent the big drone coming in contact with the top of the door. As they enter the mess-room, they are invariably obstructed by the inevitable draught-screen, which some one has neglected to draw aside at the proper time. “Through an obstruction of this kind,” writes a pipe-major of one of the Highland regiments, “an accident happened to myself on the first occasion that I, as a pipe-major, went round the table to play a pibroch in my regiment. I started in an adjoining room, and as I entered the mess-room door, immediately behind the draught-screen, the latch caught the ribbons of the outside drone and pulled the pipes off my shoulder. This caused me to make a few ‘boberechims,’ and I stopped. This being my maiden tune as pipe-major in my new regiment, a sudden suspicion seemed to seize the officers, who promptly sent out the mess, sergeant to see and report what state I was in. After my explanation, which was regarded as satisfactory, I restarted my tune, for the playing of which the officers indicated their approval.”