The expression, “Caledonia, stern and wild,” is very apt. The sternness has been seen in the Solemn League and Covenant, in Sabbath observance, and in the Disruption of 1843. The wildness has been seen on many a battlefield in every quarter of the world. Lord Byron refers to it in his description of Waterloo:—

Sir Walter Scott, dealing with the same subject, uses a similar expression. In Ossian it occurs over and over again. Stern and wild applies to country, people, and music as much to-day as it did a hundred years ago. The qualities which Napoleon admired in the Scots at Waterloo in 1815 were displayed at Dargai and Atbara in 1898.

The Scots being a warlike race, it followed that the Volunteer movement should be popular. We all know the story of the urchin who laughed immoderately at the mounted Volunteer officer. The officer turned on him with the wrathful remark, “Boy, what are you laughing at; did you never see a war horse?” The urchin responded, “Oo, aye, I hae seen a waur horse mony a time, but I never saw a waur rider!”

Geordie Gardiner was a member of Trowan’s company, Crieff, which was composed chiefly of country lads. They used to squat down on the grass as soon as they entered the park, and no bugle call could bring them to their feet till Geordie would get into a frenzy, running about like a drover at Falkirk Tryst, shouting to the recumbent redcoats, “Rise and dress up there, or I’ll tak’ ye a crack wi’ a stane!”

A lad who got his living by the manufacture of horn spoons applied for admission into what was known as the Daft Company in Crieff. Lord John addressed the Company, and asked, “if they would be willing to serve along with the lad who was a tinker.” Gill Jock replied, “Ou, aye, sir, tak’ him by a’ means. We get the name o’ the Daft Company ony way, and then there’ll be naething but daft folk and tinkers in’t.” Poor Lord John, feeling himself, as it were, “rebuked and put down,” merely added, “Oh, I’ll inform the young man that he’ll not be accepted of.”

A story is told of a Haddington tinsmith, Harry Galbraith, who, when checked for inability to perform some military evolution in the Volunteer Corps, replied in a tone of disgust, “Every man to his trade, Captain Kinloch. Can ye mak’ a caffee-pat?”

The Tranent Volunteers, a very good company, consisting almost entirely of miners, were being drilled, a good many years after 1859, by Adjutant Ross, afterwards colonel of the Royal Scots. The order was new to them, “Stand at ease. Stand easy.” They stood easy, as miners do, by settling on their hunkers! I hope the expression is not too vague. The expression used by the adjutant was not. It is told of the same company that on one occasion, at a big affair in Annisfield Park, they were told to “ground arms.” This was done by every man. Afterwards, when the order was given, “take up arms,” one member had to be prompted, and this was how it was done: “Hi, Johnnie, man, lift yir cannon.”

This reminds me of another from the same company. It was during refreshment time after a big sham fight. “Hi, man,” says one, “a’ lost the skin o’ ma baagnet comin’ through that —— wud.” “Man, that’s naethin,” exclaims a comrade, “A’ lost the lid o’ ma cannon.” The worthies were deploring the loss of a scabbard and a sight protector.

I am not sure whether he was a member of Tranent company or not that was travelling one night by rail from Edinburgh when an old gentleman searched his pockets, grew very fidgety, and said it was a most extraordinary thing that he should lose his railway ticket. Our hero calmly replied, “Lose a bit ticket! That’s naethin. A’ lost the big drum.”

In one of the Haddington Volunteer companies there was a member named Porteous, who was not a crack shot, but it was understood that his bullets all went to the same place, which came to be known as Porteous’s hole. Whenever a Volunteer missed the target and asked, “I wunner whaur’ll that ane hae gane,” the reply was, “It’ll be in Porteous’s hole.”

It does not pay crack shots to brag too much, however. A squad of the 8th (Crieff) Volunteers, firing at Bennybeg Range, happened to hit a horse that was standing near—probably with a splinter from a bullet after it had struck the target. A short time afterwards the excellences of the “gallant eighth” were being extolled in presence of a well-known Breadalbane Highlander named Duncan. Becoming exasperated, he exclaimed, “Tamm you and ye gallants and eights and things, the first man ye shot was a horse!”

A private of the 7th V. B. R. S., of extreme weight, took part in a forced march from Stow to Dingleton Common, and, it being a very hot day, had to succumb. The doctor asked him if he knew his weight, and the answer gasped out was, “A’ no’ ken, but I was auchteen stane when I left Longniddry.”

At some Volunteer manoeuvres in the South of Scotland a young sergeant in charge of a squad was asked by a private, “Where are we to go now?” “Dae ye no see that beer barrel below the trees? Left turn. Quick march.”

It was a commissioned officer who, having to lead his company through a narrow gap in a hedge, gave the order, “Halt, disperse, form on other side of hedge.”

Adjutant Gordon, Haddington, once startled his company with the command, “When the bugle fires begin to sound.”

He was a Highland sergeant who told the men in camp, “If she’ll be findin’ pottles here and pottles there, and if she’ll find no more whatever the innocent will be punished as well as those that’s not guilty.”

On one occasion a sham fight was going on and two men were supposed to have been shot. One of them, however, got up and fired off a blank cartridge, when the other, a joiner, pulled him down, exclaiming, “Dae ye no ken yir a casualty?”

Colonel Ross of the Royal Scots, while adjutant of the Haddingtonshire Volunteers, allowed full sway to his humour and impulsiveness. On one occasion he took in hand the “sizing” of a company, and after stating the book instructions that the tallest man was to be placed on the right and the smallest on the left, shouted “Six feet two, three paces to the front.” There was no response. “Six feet one,” etc. One stepped forward. And so on down to five feet four, when one man was left. “Five fut,” shouted the adjutant, and little J—— responded to the order amid laughter which was not easily suppressed.

Old Sergeant Law of the Haddington company had a hunchback, no chest to speak of, and a head which reached far forward. When drilling he used to ask the members of the company to “Stand straight, head up, just like me.” The same old sergeant was a good shot, and on one occasion when putting on bull’s eyes in succession was asked by a man of position, who was a member of the company, how he managed to score so well. The reply was, “Oh, I juist shut ma een and pu’ the tricker!”

A good story of practice at “the butts” is told of a Volunteer who was observed to lower his rifle frequently and blow something from about the foresight. Asked by a comrade what was wrong, he said there was a blasted fly that persisted in landing on the barrel whenever he took aim. The comrade took the rifle and lay down, when he discovered that the mysterious fly was none other than the rangekeeper painting out bullet marks in front of the target. The old man had no idea how near he was to a future state.

It was a red-letter day in the annals of the Haddington Volunteers when the Marquis of Tweeddale invited them to have a sham fight in the neighbourhood of Goblin Ha’, famed through “Marmion.” The commander, a burly citizen who had attained to high honours in the birthplace of John Knox, placed himself in front of his company and addressed them in martial strains. “When the bugle sounds the charge,” he concluded, “follow me, my brave men.” The bugle sounded, the charge was made—for about thirty yards, when the gallant leader, looking back to see how his men were advancing, fell into a ditch. The rank and file pursued their wild career, but two kind-hearted sergeants remained by their discomfited leader. “Oh, captain, I hope you are not mortally wounded,” said one. “My breeks are wounded,” said the officer on being pulled out of the ditch. “Duncan, hae ye a needle and thread?” Duncan, who was a tailor, had the necessaries; at any rate the unmentionables were patched up in some way, and the officer was sympathized with in being so unfortunate as to get wounded in the back, thereby suggesting that he had been disgracefully fleeing from the enemy.

The old soldier was at one time a prominent personage in country districts. One of the earliest stories I remember is of a veteran who touched his hat whenever he spoke to anybody. Some one checked him for this, remarking that he was a very poor man and unworthy of such honour. The reply of the old warrior was, “Am I to spoil my good manners for your d—— poverty?”

The old warriors were not always well educated. A veteran in the Crieff district, John M’Niven, was one of the advance companies, or forlorn hope, which entered Washington, of which only eleven survived to tell of their daring. When asked by one of his neighbours how he felt when marching to the town he answered, “I dinna ken; I was just there.” John was religious and read his Bible on Sundays, spelling the difficult words, and giving pronunciations unknown in English dictionaries. He had several parts of a work entitled, “The Life of Christ,” and one of his lodgers had some parts of a work entitled, “The Scottish Chiefs,” and both publications had similar covers. One Sunday his lodgers and a neighbour were talking of things worldly to such a degree that John thought fit to challenge their proceedings, and told them it would be wiser were they reading their Bibles, and if they would not do so he would read it himself. He took “The Scottish Chiefs,” and commenced reading and spelling at a determined rate. After a little he got bewildered with an adventure connected with Wallace. His hearers could scarcely keep their gravity, but one ventured to ask who this Wallace was. He replied, “Ye micht ken that brawly, wi’ yer education. He was one i’ (of the) apostles.” John once offered to put up a dyke “at a penny below the lowest offer.” On another occasion the laird sent a servant asking John to make an offer. John, not being a ready writer, asked the servant to write out the offer. This the servant refused. “Well,” said John, “just tell the laird that I’ll put the dyke up for what he likes.”

When Tam Black, another Crieff worthy, went to the Highlands to buy yarn he always was attired in full regimentals, and if any one asked the reason the ready reply was, “Oh, a person’s money is always safe under a red coat. No one would ever think of robbing a soldier.”

Old Andrew Creach, Bower, was most unscrupulous in his dealings with those he did not like. He was very ready-witted. In a Thurso tavern he got into a discussion with a blacksmith about sweating, and the son of Vulcan, having got the worst of the argument, said, “Andrew, come down to the back of the chapel and I’ll put your soul ou’ of your body in five minutes.” “At leisure, at leisure,” said Andrew, “they’re no so easy putten thegither again.”