The waking—Professor Blackie—Highland Society of Scotland—Highland Society of London—The system of competitions—The first competition—The venue changed—The gold medal—Present day competitions—Some suggestions—R.L.S.—Pipe bands—Examples from high life—Quality of music—The Pipes abroad—Sir Walter Scott.

The verse of Scott’s, quoted at the head of this chapter, referred to the harp, but we may use it as referring to the pipes, remembering at the same time that there is little hope of these ever occupying the position they once occupied. The waking must be to another life altogether. Civilisation ousted the pipes from the position of clan and war instrument of a native population, but it did not find them another. “Had the governing powers been anxious,” says Professor Blackie, “to do common educational justice to the sons of the brave fellows who so freely shed their blood in our defence, the last thing they would have suffered to be neglected in the Highland schools was the national music. For national purposes the “March of the Cameron Men,” and scores of such heroic lays in the true old Greek style, were worth all the Latin grammars that ever were printed. But an evil destiny hung over this noble foundation of national inspiration; a blight fell with deadening swoop over the brightness and the joy and the luxuriance of Highland life.” Professor Blackie himself did more than any other man to remove this blight, and to him in great measure is due the credit for the present revival of respect for Highland literature and Highland music. Other men of letters have, by writing of the Highlands, shown that the country has a past worth the attention of the romancist, and Scott, Stevenson, William Black, Fiona Mac Leod, and Neil Munro have brought Highland life into touch with the rest of the world better than centuries of ordinary “civilisation” could have done. But Professor Blackie was the champion enthusiast, though even he realised that if the harp of the Gael was to wake it must wake to new conditions, and be prepared to live in a world it knew not, and which, to a great extent, knew it not. There is no room in the world for the piper of the olden time; there is room for the piper of the olden time when he adapts himself to modern circumstances. That he has done, and the result is that the pipes are more the national instrument of Scotland than ever they were.

Foremost among the agencies which have kept alive the taste for pipe music are the Highland Society of London and the Highland Society of Scotland. The latter, founded in 1784, interested itself more particularly in agricultural matters and the general welfare of the people, but the former, established six years earlier for the special purpose of preserving the language, music, and literature of the Highlands, has done grand work. By deciding, on 12th July, 1781, “that a Pipe and Flag be given annually by this Society to the best Performer on the Highland Bagpipe, at the October Falkirk Tryst,” it practically inaugurated the system of competitions which has done so much to encourage rising talent, and without which no young piper could hope in these days to come prominently before the public. Many other organisations in different parts of Scotland, and in different parts of the world, have done good work in the same cause, but the winning of the Highland Society of London’s gold medal is still the highest honour coveted by the ambitious piper. The annual competition began with a salute to the Society by its own piper. This was followed by a dance. Then three or more of the competitors each played a pibroch. Then there was another dance and more pibrochs until the list of the competitors was exhausted. The judges then retired to consider their verdict, and by and by the prizes were distributed by the president. This, with a few alterations, may be said to be the programme at competitions to this day.

The Society’s first competition was held in 1781, at Falkirk Tryst, the first prize being a new set of pipes and 40 merks Scots, and the second and third each 30 merks. Thirteen pipers competed, and the judges were so placed that they could hear, but not see, the players. Each competitor played four different tunes, and the winner of the first prize was Patrick Mac Gregor, piper to Henry Balnaves of Ardradour. The second was Charles Mac Arthur, piper to the Earl of Eglinton, and the third John Mac Gregor, a man of 73, piper to Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell of Glenlyon. The winner of the first prize, curiously enough, wanted the third finger of the “upper” hand, but he was uncommonly clever at using the little finger instead. For this reason he was known as Patrick na Coraig. The competition was superintended by a “branch” of the Highland Society of London, which existed in Glasgow.

The competition was held at Falkirk until 1783, when the award of the committee caused so much dissatisfaction that a number of the candidates resorted to Edinburgh in quest of other patronage. There a new committee was formed and arrangements made for another competition. At this Mac Donald of Clan Ranald presided, and after the prizes had been awarded, the pipers, twelve in number, marched round St. Andrew Square playing “Clan Ranald’s March.” This revolt of competitors resulted in the formation, in 1784, of the Highland Society of Scotland, which afterwards co-operated with that of London in the matter of competitions. The 1784 gathering was held in “the Assembly Hall, back of the City Guard,” better known afterwards as the Commercial Bank. In 1785 the place of meeting was rooms in West Register Street, long since pulled down, and among those present was “Professor” Mac Arthur, the last of the hereditary pipers to Mac Donald of the Isles. He opened the proceedings with a salute to the Society and closed with “Clan Ranald’s March,” both played in masterly style. There were twenty-five competitors, and fifty-two pieces were played. Afterwards the competition was held in various places, including a church, but at last the gathering found a home in what was then the Adelphi Theatre. From the first up till 1826 the gathering was annual. Then it became triennial, but whether the change was an improvement is questionable. It resulted, for one thing, in fewer first-rate performers presenting themselves. At all the competitions private rehearsals were held in advance, when those obviously unfit were weeded out and the programme thereby shortened. The first gold medal offered by the Highland Society of London was won in 1835 by John Mac Kenzie, piper to the Marquis of Breadalbane. Present day competitions differ only in matters of detail from those of former years. The plan of keeping the performers out of sight of the judges has been abandoned. That, too, was a questionable step. There is often a deal of heartburning over the decisions, and charges of partiality are often flung at the judges. The dissatisfaction of candidates has made itself felt most often at local competitions, where the judges knew all the men. There are, of course, many difficulties. The music is of such a peculiar character, subject to so few hard and fast rules, and leaving so much to the taste of the performer; it is, besides, produced in a continuous torrent, by quickly following players, many of whom are almost equal in skill. The ordinary auditor is simply bewildered, and remembers little beyond a confusion of noises, and with the judges themselves the final decision is often a matter of difficulty. But there are not many judges like those who presided over the piping competitions at the great Jubilee gathering at Balmoral in 1887. William Mac Lennan got all the firsts for open dancing, and as he was the only first-class piper present he felt sure of all the firsts for piping. But he only came in second. Whereupon he inquired of the judges what mistake he had made.

“Oh, nae mistake,” they said. “Ye played capital.”

“Surely, then,” he asked, “I was entitled to first prize?”

“Maybe ye wis; but, ye see, ye had a’ the firsts for dancing.”

“But was I not the best dancer?”

“Nae doot aboot that.”

“And was I not the best piper, too?”

“We’re no sayin’ but ye wis.”

“But I thought the best piper ought to get the first prize!”

“Oh, nae doot; but we thocht ye had gotten plenty already.”

Mac Lennan always told this story afterwards with great glee. “Do you know,” he would say, “these judges were the most interesting men I ever met. I wonder what they would have done if the competitor was a hammer-thrower or a jumper. They could not say thirty feet was less than twenty-five feet.

Taken all over, however, the bigger competitions are honourably conducted, and the best men always come out first. These now competing are mostly the retainers of titled gentlemen, with a number of private individuals who unite to an ordinary occupation an enthusiasm for the pipes. There are several ways in which the gatherings could be improved and made more interesting to the general public and of more value to the devotees of the pipes. The names of the tunes played might be published with the list of results, as well as the names of the prize-winners; prizes might be offered for new tunes, and for essays on the history or merits of tunes; and thus composition would be stimulated; and, above all, the old plan whereby the player was kept out of sight of the judge might be reintroduced. The judging at local competitions is often looked on as a joke, and not worth protesting against. Were the judges ignorant of the identity of the players, the charge of favouritism could not be made, and that in itself would be a great step gained. If pipers would form a society among themselves and insist on only thoroughly competent men being allowed to act as judges the charge of ignorance of the music would fall to the ground. And again, some attempt might be made to put a stop to the liberty which everybody seems to have to organise a competition, call it “amateur championship” or whatever he likes, issue medals of little or no value, and pocket the receipts. All the gatherings, say in Scotland, could be managed by one organisation, a pipers’ society such as that suggested, or a more comprehensive Highland society of some kind, and a certain uniformity of grades in confined and open and amateur and professional competitions introduced which would give confidence to the competitors, make the principal prizes a known quantity, and interest the general public in the results. That, of course, would not preclude the holding of competitions under the auspices of well-known and accredited athletic or patriotic organisations.

The idea of competing with each other, even with no inducement in the way of medals or prizes, is an old one. It has given inspiration to the novelist, and Robert Louis Stevenson in one of the best passages of Kidnapped tells how Alan Breck and a son of Rob Roy exchanged a duel with swords for a duel with pipes, and finished very good friends indeed. “Robin Oig,” said Alan, when the duel was over, “ye are a great piper. I am not fit to blow in the same kingdom with ye. Body of me! ye have mair music in your sporran than I have in my head; and though it still sticks in my mind that I could maybe show ye another of it with the cold steel, I warn ye beforehand—it’ll no be fair! It would go against my heart to haggle a man that can blow the pipes as you can.” At swordsmanship it is certain that Alan would not have come off second best.

After competitions, perhaps the next potent force in keeping alive the music of the pipes is bands—regimental, volunteer, police, and private. Regimental bands have already been referred to at length, and of the others, although a good many exist, there is little to be said. The Glasgow Highlanders are said to possess more men who can play the pipes than any other volunteer battalion, and they have no less than four pipe bands in the regiment. The 1st Sutherland H.R.V. again have the strongest pipe band in the kingdom, if not in the world. There are seventy members, and although they live far from each other, scattered over an extensive and wild county, they are brought together regularly for training, and have reached a high degree of efficiency.

The only police band now in Scotland is that of Govan, which may be said to have been the first pipe band in connection with any police force. It was started in 1885, and is now more popular than ever, thanks to the encouraging care of Chief Constable Hamilton. The members of the force all take a thorough interest in the band, and when it plays in the public parks of Glasgow and neighbourhood it is always listened to by large crowds of the general public. The necessary funds are provided by two concerts annually, and the men cost the burgh nothing, either in the way of time lost from ordinary duty, or in the way of financial assistance. The tartan of the band is specially made to a pattern designed by the Chief Constable.

The fact that “people of quality” keep pipers also helps wonderfully to preserve the music. The Sovereign’s example in this respect has been followed by a great many of the old nobility, and even these men who rise from the ranks, and whose only claim for admission into aristocratic circles is their wealth, must needs do as the others do. In other words, it is now fashionable to keep a piper. Non-Highlanders have adopted the kilt—the once proscribed dress—and wear it while holidaying in the Highlands, and whether or not they appreciate pipe music, they have it. This results in a state of affairs not always pleasing to the true Highlander, but it does much to preserve what the true Highlander, if left to himself in these latter days, would certainly neglect. There is undoubtedly a lot of sham and affectation about the Highland sentiment of to-day, but that is inevitable, and so long as with it all the old customs are maintained, we ought not to grumble.

As to the quality of the music in these days of ours, it is to be feared that since the piper became a domestic servant he has found it to his interest to cultivate the tastes of strangers, and hence the warlike character of the pipes has been considerably toned down. The composition of salutes and pibrochs is still attempted, and with a certain degree of success, but pipers would gain quite as much credit by paying more attention to the first-rate works of their predecessors as by composing and playing tunes of their own. Where a musical ear is accompanied by scientific knowledge, the present-day piper has a great advantage over those of a hundred years ago, but the fact remains that there are no tunes like the old tunes, and their intrinsic merit is the pride of the piping fraternity. Present-day conditions are not conducive to the production of good music, and we should be glad that we have a race of men capable of adequately interpreting the old.

The emigration boom that existed before and after 1870 resulted in the music and language of Scotland being scattered all over the world. In all the British colonies there are Highland societies, and competitions are held periodically, at which bagpipe playing is a prominent feature. In consequence, the exportation of pipes from Scotland has increased, and is still increasing. But the long distances between townships in the colonies tells very severely on the efforts of the Highland clubs. In Sydney, New South Wales, for instance, there are from twelve to twenty pipers, and a pipe band in connection with the Sydney Scottish Volunteers, the members of which practice all the year round. There is a big gathering on New Year’s Day, at which some 20,000 people usually assemble, and another similar gathering no less than 400 miles away. In November there is a gathering at Newcastle, sixty miles distant, and in January another at Goulburn, 130 miles by rail. So it is not easy for pipers to attend where prizes may be won. The only places, again, where pipes are made, or piping is taught, are in the towns of Sydney and Melbourne. Some of the native-born pipers are good players, having been taught by those who came from Scotland, and many of the old tunes are favourites, though the Colonials generally prefer the newer styles. The highest prize given is £5 for each event, but £3 for pibrochs, and £5, £4, £2, and £1 for marches, strathspeys, and reels grouped together is more common. Putting the three events together is a sore point with the Colonial pipers, and a strong effort is being made to restore the prize-list to its original form, giving three prizes for each event. The Pipers’ Association of Sydney have already started a movement for obtaining a voice in the choice of judges, and have been so far successful that their nominee was appointed last year, with the result that there was general satisfaction. This might be particularly noted by home pipers.

In Canada, says the late Mr. Alexander Mac Kenzie, the jumping, tossing the caber, stone throwing, and various other Highland competitions, would do credit to some of the best athletes at home gatherings, although, he adds, “the pipe music was nowhere.” Since he travelled through Canada, however, there have been great improvements, and the visits of leading pipers from home have borne good fruit. Canada now has her own Highland pipers and dancers, reared on her own soil but on the home model, not perhaps so good as the best at home, but better than the average. Scotland abroad is more Highland than Scotland at home, and the hope of the future of the language and music lies as much in Canada and Australia as it does in Argyllshire, Perthshire, or Inverness-shire.

It was Sir Walter Scott who wrote:—

“The Highlands may become the fairy ground for romance and poetry or subject of experiment for the professors of speculation, political and economical. But if the hour of need should come—and it may not perhaps be far distant—the pibroch may sound through the deserted regions, but the summons will remain unanswered. The children who have left her will re-echo from a distant shore the sounds with which they took leave of their own.—Cha till, cha till, cha till, sinn tuillie.—We return, we return, we return no more,”

but the Wizard of the North hardly saw into the future so clearly as he might have done. Had he seen the latest war in South Africa, he would not have put the “return no more” so strongly. The hour of need did come, the pibroch did sound, and from Canada, Australia, and New Zealand the answer came, in the shape of regiments of loyal Britons, who fought and died for the old land. There is now a far bigger Scotland than ever existed, or could exist, between Maiden Kirk and John o’ Groats. Thus has good come out of evil.