PIPERS OF THE GORDON HIGHLANDERS

The Gordon Highlanders owe much to their pipers. When the regiment was raised in 1794 the beautiful Duchess of Gordon did not rely entirely on her magic kiss for the recruits required; she went forth on her recruiting expeditions preceded by six pipers. So, at the risk of being considered ungallant, one may deem that in many instances it was the pipers, and not the dainty kiss, which lured the simple countryman from his peaceful paths to a soldier’s stirring life.

Throughout the early campaigns of the regiment — in Egypt, where the Gordons and the 90th (now 2nd Scottish Rifles) distinguished themselves, winning the battle honour of Mandora for their Colours — the pipers were a recognised institution, except by Army Headquarters. In the regimental Orders of June 1805, drummers are directed not to beat when the regiment marches past in open column, but “pipers may play.” It was also a recognised custom for the pipers to play the tune “Salute to the Prince” (“Failte am Prionsa”) as they marched on the flanks of their respective companies past the saluting base. Marching past was then performed in slow time, while the brass band played “The Garb of Old Gaul” — all which ceremonial was abolished after the Crimean War.

Drummers were long the highly privileged members of all regiments with their penny a day more than the pay of a private. They were officially established; the pipers were not; hence the stratagem to which most Highland regiments resorted, of styling their pipers “drummers.” In the regimental Orders of 1805 there is the candid statement: “Alexander Cameron, the piper, is to be taken on the strength of the Grenadiers as “drummer.” Cameron was a notable piper, whose name and exploits were long the talk of the regiment. Colonel Greenhill-Gardyne had the privilege of interviewing a very old ex-Gordon who had been a comrade of Cameron throughout the Peninsular War and at Waterloo. The old soldier mentioned to Colonel Gardyne that his heroes were the Duke of Wellington ; Colonel Cameron, or “Fassifern,” as he was styled, from the name of his estate; Norman Stewart, a private with the reputation of an unmatched marksman; and Cameron, the pipe-major, who had a lofty contempt for all generals and colonels who imagined that the music of the pipes was of secondary importance. Only when the pipes were absent was there risk of losing battle, was Cameron’s theory. In the engagement of Fuentes d’Onoro in 1811 he received the greatest insult he thought a piper could have; his pipebag was pierced by a musket shot from the enemy. Cameron was enraged and, tying his instrument around his neck, he seized the musket of a wounded comrade, loaded it and fired. Firing was too slow a business, however. Throwing the weapon away the fiery pipe-major drew his trusty claymore and dashed into the thick of the enemy “amid the cheers of the battalion” (Gardyne, p. 253).

Cameron occupied a prominent position in the history of the regiment at that period. An account of each action seems incomplete without reference to the special activities of the sturdy pipe-major who seems to have played when and where he liked. It was his firm belief that if he did not play the troops would suffer; nothing would shake that belief.

In the battle of Maya in 1813 the enemy were too strong numerically for the Gordons, being 3000 to the Gordons’ 200. Forced to remain quiescent on the slopes of a hill until supports arrived, the Highlanders had no peace from the impatient pipe-major, who argued that, with his music going strong, the enemy would be quickly overcome. Starting up the “Pibroch Donuil Dubh” he had the satisfaction of witnessing the Gordons rise to their feet, ready for action. But the general had not come to that stage. Ordering Cameron to stop and the men to lie down, General Stewart went back to his post; but Cameron, pointing to the enemy who were mustering at the base, assured his friends that it was a waste of time to stay there idle. Again he began a stirring air and again the men got a-foot, which once more brought the irate general to the recalcitrant piper. “If you play again without orders, I’ll have you shot,” thundered the general, and as he went off, the undisturbed musician told his friends, as though it were a personal grievance: “He’ll no’ let me play, and noo every man in France will be here.”

Just then the long-waited-for supports, in the shape of the 6th Foot and some Brunswickers, arrived. The men rose to cheer them and the pipe-major, regardless of the terrible threat of the general, set the men off with his best rendering of “The Haughs of Cromdale,” their own charging tune. On they rushed, men and pipe-major, before the word of command had been given, and drove the enemy before them. The victory was overwhelming, and all, curiously, gave the glory to the insubordinate pipe-major who had defied the orders of a general!

In December 1813 the pipers of the 92nd at St Pierre made themselves famous by their constant play throughout the attack by an overwhelming force of the enemy on the British troops. Backward and forward surged our troops until the order was given to retire. Still the notes of “Cogadh no Sith” sounded, but they were the notes of one piper alone, for the others had been killed whilst playing that pibroch. The 92nd had suffered severely, but the fate of the pipers and the doggedness of the surviving piper had apparently impressed the colonel (Cameron) more than all else. Reports of the pipers’ conduct reached the Highland Society, the news distributing agency then of all things Highland and military, and the pipers of St Pierre, who could have had no idea that their courage would be lauded far and wide, live in the painting that has been reproduced so often from the original in the British Museum. That shows the battlefield of St Pierre and the central figures are the three pipers, one of whom stands playing while his disabled comrades lie beside him. The standing piper probably represents Pipe-Major Cameron. In 1815 the pipers of the 92nd added to the gaiety of the scene at the famous ball given by the Duchess of Richmond at Brussels, where the pipe music and dances were the principal features of that historic evening. On the following day the pipe music was of a sterner kind. Led for the last time by “Fassifern” the pipers played the regiment to Quatre Bras to the tune of “The Camerons’ Gathering.” “Fassifern” was hit and fell, mortally wounded. As he lay he requested his friends to fetch the piper for one more melody before he died. What that melody was none knows, though James Grant, in his graphic Romance of War, gives it as “Oran an Oaig,” the Death Song of Skye. That, however, is not accepted by skilled pipers as at all likely, since it is not within the ambit of the bagpipe.

The death of the gallant colonel made a deep impression on all the battalion, particularly on the pipers, who looked upon “Fassifern” as the great patron of them and of their music. One piper at Waterloo swore he had a vision of the old colonel in the “Scotland for Ever” charge—where Highlanders and the Greys and the Inniskillings rushed on together — waving his bonnet in front as of yore. That fancy inspired D. H. Buchan to write:—

Of vision keen and versed in spells,
Strange tales the Colonel's piper tells.
How he with more of joy than fear
Again beheld his chieftain dear

High riding in a misty cloud
While war’s artillery thundered loud,
And broke o'er Waterloo.
That though he heard not there his voice,
He saw him wave his bonnet thrice.

Just as the pipers had introduced the Duchess of Gordon and her novel recruiting idea to the notice of all Scotland; as they had led the van in all the campaigns of their regiment since; so, at the termination of the momentous period 1793-1816, it was appropriate that the last “word” should be the piper’s — that is to say, so far as the 92nd Highlanders were concerned. For the farewell tune played by the pipe-major to the land of France was that same “Cogadh no Sith” which Lord Cathcart requested should be played for the benefit of the Emperor of Russia, an account of which is given in the chapter on the Cameron Highlanders.

Pipe-Major Cameron, who died on 18th October 1817, while with the regiment in Belfast, had the honour of receiving from his officers a handsome silver medal on which was engraved, “Presented to Pipe-Major Alexander Cameron.” The historian of the Gordons, writing so recently as 1894, thus describes the accomplishments of Cameron:— “Well versed in Highland lore and legend, the notes of his bagpipe suggested these more vividly than words. In the pibroch “Tarbh breac dearag” (“The Red-spotted Bull”) he told of Keppoch’s feud with Lochiel. “Mnathen na Glinne so,” or “Women of the Glen,” recalled the massacre of the MacDonalds at Glencoe. When he turned to the more joyful measure known as “Ochd fir Mhuidart,” or “Eighth Man of Moidart,” he was recalling the historic landing of Prince Charles and the joy of seven peat-cutters who celebrated the occasion by dancing a reel, with a spade stuck in the ground as eighth man.”

Duncan Smith was another Waterloo piper whose skill in pipe-playing was overshadowed by his eccentricities, one of which was his hatred of trousers. In “fatigues,” when everyone else was suitably clad in trews, Duncan was always found in the kilt. It was alleged that on one occasion, having received the present of a pair of trousers, he put them on wrong side foremost and became so indignant that he pitched them away and would never tolerate mention of them afterwards. He had also a theory that pipe music ought never to be dispensed to the “Sassunnach.” There was a time when part of the regiment was stationed at barracks along with parts of other units — all being under the command of an English colonel. When the composite battalion paraded Piper Duncan Smith was with his company which, on the march, was at the rear of the column, quite glad of the piper’s music. The colonel one day sent word for the piper to come forward and play at the head of the column. Duncan obeyed so far as to come forward and march; but his pipes were under his arm. “Play up, piper,” called out the colonel. To which the piper replied, “No more wind, sir.” “All right; fall-in with your company.” And Duncan went back and tuned up merrily, and the colonel, understanding, left him alone.

“How did you feel at Waterloo, Duncan?” inquired a fresh young ensign. “Och! I shust plaw awa’ an’ no gie a tawm whether I be shot or no’!” That very question was again asked of the piper many years later in a law court, where he was a witness, except that it took the form of, “I believe you fought at Waterloo?” Duncan, with much contempt for all lawyers, rudely replied, “How could I be fighting when I wass plawing the pipes aal the time?” adding still more rudely, “It wass more wind than work wi’ me—like a lawyer.”

Yet, in spite of all his vagaries, Duncan quitted the regiment with the rank of pipemajor and with pension, gratuity, Good Conduct, Long Service Medal, and with a set of bagpipes which was presented by the officers.

In those days all the ancient regimental pipe customs begun by Colonel Cameron wrere maintained inviolate. They had tunes which one always associates with the Cameron Highlanders, pipe tunes of Clan Cameron, the reason for their popularity in the 92nd being explained by the presence of many of that clan among the personnel of the 92nd. It used to be a rule that one pibroch had to be played at officers’ mess, and, on guest nights, nothing but pibroch. On parade the pipers played without drum accompaniment, and, while the battalion was being inspected, the men marched past the saluting base at slow time, each piper on the flank of his company, playing a salute to the general, most of which usages went into disuse after the Crimean War.

Two years before that war the 92nd were inspected by Major-General J. E. Napier, who dropped a “bomb” on all ranks by his disapproval of pipers as being contrary to regulations. His subsequent report to the commander-in-chief, the Duke of Wellington, in which he mentioned that “these were not authorised by Headquarters,” brought forth a stinging observation from the “Iron Duke” which benefited not only the 92nd but every other Highland regiment. “I am surprised,” wrote the Duke to Napier, “that an officer who has seen, as you must have seen, the many gallant deeds of Highland regiments, in which their pipers have played so important a part, should make such a report.”

The Duke of Wellington died in that year, but it was in all probability owing to his letter and action that, two years later, an Army Order was issued authorising an establishment of one pipe-major and five pipers for every Highland regiment, the daily pay of a pipe-major to be 2s. and that of each piper 1s. 2d.

The Crimean War saw officers and men in action — not as a battalion, but scattered in several other units, an arrangement which naturally was disappointing to the 92nd. In the Indian Mutiny they were also present and there the pipers under Pipe-Major M‘Phail were reported to be of great assistance in maintaining the moral of all ranks.

It was not, however, until the Afghan War of 1878-80 that the 92nd had an opportunity of exhibiting that marvellous combination of “dash” and steadiness which characterised them in action in the early days of the nineteenth century. The Afghan War of 1878-80 provided occasions in many engagements where, under two distinguished officers, Sir Frederick Roberts, later the famous Lord Roberts, and Sir Donald Stewart, the Gordons with their major, George S. White, who was destined to attain the pinnacle of his profession, won the admiration of all. As in the Peninsular War Sir John Moore had selected a Gordon Highlander as one of the supporters for his coat-of-arms, so in the Afghan War Sir F. Roberts paid a like compliment to the regiment. There is no room here to epitomise the stirring events of the period, but space must be made for one episode or two in which the pipers were prominent. In the turmoil and rapine occasioned by Ayub Khan and his rebellious subjects it became necessary to relieve Kandahar, and to effect this, troops had to be sent from Kabul, some 320 miles distant, through a dense forest country and sand-swept areas. The heat was torrid and only the strongest of the army were considered fit for service. Four brigades were formed, and of the infantry battalions composing these only three were white —the 60th (King’s Royal Rifles), the 72nd (Seaforths), and the 92nd (Gordons) —all the others being made up by Gurkhas, Sikhs, and Punjabis; while the 9th Lancers was the only English cavalry corps.

These 10,000 men were expected to overawe all the rebels in the intermediate villages between Kabul and Kandahar, as well as put down the insurgents in Kandahar. Accompanying the force were twenty pipers and drummers, whose music was never more appreciated than during the trying stages of this journey, which, remarkable as it was for many episodes, was long remembered for one dramatic incident, and that one due to the magic spell of the bagpipes. It was in March 1880 that the 92nd marched through the streets of Ghazni in Afghanistan, and as they passed through the lines of natives, with pipes and drums ringing, the unexpected happened. A tall young man, apparently an Afghan, darted out from the crowd, gazed wistfully on the pipers, as he marched alongside, and danced at intervals to the lively airs of the pipes. Ue kept looking at the Gordons as though he had found his long-lost brothers. The soldiers were strangely moved, rightly suspecting in the peculiar behaviour of the man some mystery relating to his nationality. They made inquiries and learned that he was a Scot, named Dawson, who had, when a child of four, been kidnapped from his home in Peshawar by Afghans. Dawson had apparently lost all the habits of his race, all the ways of the ordinary Briton, but the sound of the bagpipes and the drums had awoke some chords in his memory. He clung to the regiment; the officers gave him a post in their mess, and there he remained until the eve of action. Then he disappeared, none knew whither; though it was suspected that he could not endure the thought of deserting his adopted friends the Afghans, still less to be with those who were to fight them. Thus the Scot who was reclaimed by the medium of the bagpipes, was again lost for ever.

In all the battles that were so soon to follow, the pipers were generally in the forefront; on the one occasion when, at Pir Paimal village, they were in the rear, the battalion was doing badly against an overwhelming force of Afghans. “Fetch up the pipers,” called General Macpherson to the officer-in-command. The pipers were soon at the front and the familiar notes of “The Haughs of Cromdale” floated around each Gordon. It was there that one canny piper had a bullet shot through his bag, a fact unnoticed at the time when his music was cut short, the piper inquiring of a neighbour, “Fat’s wrang wi’ the auld wife the day?”

Among the casualties was one young piper from Strathspey, Grant, whose right hand had two fingers shot off. “Cheer up, my lad,” said the surgeon, “the pain will soon be gone.” To which the lad sadly answered, “It’s no’ the pain I mind, sir, but that I’ll nevermore play the pipes.”

In 1881 the battalion took a distinguished part in the disastrous action at Majuba Hill, South Africa, where, among those who died of their wounds, was Piper David Hutcheon, a Kincardine man. It was also in that year that the 92nd received as their first battalion the 75th (Stirlingshire) Regiment, which, though not a Highland unit, had performed much excellent service since it was raised in 1787 by General Robert Abercromby. In the wars in India at the close of the eighteenth and the opening decades of the nineteenth century, the 75th had won much merit, which they later increased by their valour in South Africa and again in the Indian Mutiny. Though the 75th had thus many claims to be considered a highly suitable partner for the 92nd, bringing with them, as they did, the battle honours: “Seringapatam, Guzerat, South Africa, 1835,” and the badges of the Tiger and Sphinx, there was the customary grumble among many of both regiments.

It is unlikely that the 75th had then pipers. Until 1809 it was dressed in the Highland garb, but that had been taken from the corps—as from other units similarly termed “Highland.” The 75th, however, had no grounds for complaint as their members were either Lowland or Irish; in 1863 the round Kilmarnock bonnet with diced border had been issued to show its nationality, but these were apparently all the Scots characteristics of which they could boast. When in 1881 it became the 1st Battn. Gordon Highlanders, almost the first step taken was the appointment of Pipe-Corporal M‘Lean of the 2nd Battalion as Pipe-Major of the ex-75th. M'Lean doubtless took with him some of the spare pipers of the 92nd.
It was the 1st Battalion which was sent to the Egyptian War of 1882-84, where, in the battle of Tel-el-Kebir, its pipers played during the advance through a hail of bullets from the enemy who lined the ramparts. Over the ditch in front of the parapet and up and over that parapet the Gordons with their pipers went; after close hand-to-hand fighting the enemy were routed within twenty minutes.

For their gallant conduct there the 1st Battn. Gordon Highlanders were authorised to bear among their battle honours “Egypt, 1882” and “Tel-el-Kebir.”

Two years later (1884) the 1st Battalion was again employed in war — on this occasion against the Mahdi and Osman Digna. This was a protracted affair consisting of several severe engagements. During one of those intervals of fighting, when opportunities offered of rendering aid to wounded friend and foe, one of the Gordon pipers, Macdonald, while handing cold water to a prostrate Soudanese, was well-nigh scalped. The enemy did not know the golden rule.

Of all the campaigns in which the Gordons have borne a distinguished part, none outshines the Dargai war of 1897. The eyes of the world were drawn to it; the successful ascent by the 1st Battalion of the steep hill, dominated by the tribesmen who had till then been masters of the situation, provided one of the dramatic thrills. The Gurkhas and the Dorsets had attempted to storm the enemy’s entrenchments but had to give up; and their commanding officer reported it impossible, owing to the great numbers of the enemy lining the edge of the plateau. It was then that the general officer commanding the 2nd Division ordered the brigadier-general to move up the Gordon Highlanders and the 3rd Sikhs. The task was great and the odds seemed all against the successful achievement. The general, however, had deputed it to the Gordon Highlanders and the pride of the regiment was touched. The words of Colonel Matthias to his battalion, “The General says this hill must be taken at all costs — the Gordon Highlanders will take it,” sounded like a clarion and rang in the ears of all who heard them. In his despatch, General Sir W. Lockhart wrote: “The dash of the Gordons — headed by their pipers, and led by Lieut.-Col. Matthias, C.B., with Major Macbean on his right and Lieut. A. F. Gordon on his left—through a murderous fire, had, in forty minutes, won the heights” (quoted by Gardyne, vol. ii., p. 350). Up the precipitous path leading to the crest they went, “the men cheering like mad”; it was then, during this dash, that Piper Findlater won his world-wide fame. Wounded and unable to move, he continued, amidst all the heavy firing, to play the regimental march. So, too, did Piper Milne, in spite of a bullet wound in the chest. The hill was won; the enemy did not wait for the last of our reinforcements, but fled.

It was rightly deemed a brilliant affair in which several officers and men had been preeminent in valour. Pipers Findlater and Milne were singled out for particular praise, but a discrimination was exercised between the respective claims of each for a suitable decoration, Findlater being awarded the V.C., while Milne got the D.C.M. Never before had there been so much enthusiasm expressed upon a feat for which the bronze cross “For Valour” had been given. In the words of Colonel Gardyne, “The incident of the wounded piper continuing to play, being telegraphed home, took the British public by storm, and when Findlater arrived in England he found himself famous. Reporters rushed to interview him; managers offered him fabulous sums to play at their theatres; the streets of London and all the country towns were placarded with his portrait; when, after his discharge, he was brought to play at the military tournament, royal personages and distinguished generals shook him by the hand; his photograph was sold by thousands; the Scotsmen in London would have let him swim in champagne, and the daily cheers of the multitude were enough to turn an older head than that of this young soldier.”

Piper Milne, too, had a most enthusiastic reception on rejoining his battalion, and the honour of a telegram addressed to the O.C. from Her Majesty Queen Victoria in which she inquired for the health of Milne.

Findlater had to “weather” many trying storms of adverse criticism. To play his pipes on the stage was deemed derogatory to the distinction of a V.C. holder, but, then, man cannot live on a mere bronze cross and a title alone. And so it arose out of all the discussions in the newspaper Press and in Parliament, that the authorities decided to grant, along with the Cross, an annual payment of a sum that might range, according to the needs of the recipient, from £10 to £50. The piper’s V.C. was thus a landmark in the history of the most coveted distinction in the British army.

The South African War of 1899-1902 saw the 2nd Battalion with its pipers actively engaged. Honours there were few and hard to gain, yet two pipers of the battalion succeeded in having their gallantry fittingly rewarded. At Elandslaagte Pipe-Major Charles Dunbar and Piper Kenneth M'Leod, a burly man from Stornoway, emulated the pipers of Dargai by playing during the advance and the fighting after being wounded. Both were awarded the D.C.M. M'Leod had, while serving in India, come under the notice of the Crown Prince of Germany, and that future enemy of our country had, rightly regarding the doughty piper in the handsome dress of his rank as a most important personage in the regiment, conferred on him the Order of the Red Eagle. That distinction, unique among pipers, M'Leod proudly wore, in the form of the Cross of the Order, until the outbreak of the Great War, when he grew much ashamed of it, vowing, on his way to rejoin his old regiment, that he would throw it away.

All the old pipers of the Gordons were also on their way to renew their acquaintance with the rigours of war. Many were absorbed by the new army battalions and not a few who had gone abroad were found later in one or other of the pipe bands of a Canadian or an Australian unit.

Their successors in the two regular battalions and the pipers of the territorial battalions were no whit behind the old school of pipers in all the actions of the Great War. Those of the 1st Battalion who had escaped the fate of their comrades who had been trapped in the thick mist of early morn while holding the left flank of the troops at the Condd Mons Canal on 23rd August 1914, suffered four days later in the action at Bertry, where two pipers were killed and five were captured. In the first battle of Ypres the 2nd Battalion pipers were with their companies during the three weeks that they held the line against a force six times their numbers. It was not, however, until the engagement of Neuve Chapelle in March 1915 that the pipers were particularly mentioned for conspicuous bravery. There Pipe-Sergeant Robert Stewart proved the hero in the eyes of his battalion, playing all the favourite battle tunes of the Gordons, utterly regardless of the hail of musketry fire and artillery. At Loos he was equally daring in playing before his company in the advance. It was madness, the men told him and his brother pipers, but in vain. The pipers strode on with “The Haughs of Cromdale” announcing that the Gordons were astir. One piper after another fell in that advance and Stewart was one of these; he had been, it is said, marked out for a D.C.M. but that distinction did not materialise; posthumous distinctions were not then given.

“Wee Stumpy,” as his friends in the battalion called him, was another piper who marched with his company, playing as though the issue of the battle depended on him. The men with the rifle and bayonet however had other views. "Come oot frae there, Stumpy, till we get at thae d-----ruddy Jerries. . . . Come oot, ye’ll be killed, I tell ye. . . .” Stumpy heeded them not, playing valiantly until he was hit and went down. When the battle was over and the survivors, gathered in groups, made lamentation over friends who had fallen, they deplored the passing of the pipers, Stewart and “Stumpy,” whose music they “would hear no more.” Then they learned that the little piper was not killed, but wounded, and that not severely, whereupon the Gordons rejoiced.

Not only at Loos, but at Festubert and Neuve Chapelle, the pipers of the l/6th Territorial Battalion were conspicuous as pipers, and like the pipers in other battalions they sustained many casualties. The pipe-major, Isaac Howarth, did not use his pipes in any of these actions, but instead applied all his energies to succouring his comrades who lay wounded on the battlefield. Right fearlessly and tirelessly did he perform these duties, binding wounds, then bearing the stretcher from field to base and back for more. More than once his exceptional gallantry was remarked upon by officers and men alike, and in recognition of his outstanding bravery and devotion, Howarth, a veteran with a piper son in the battalion, was awarded first the D.C.M. and later had a bar added to that medal.
Medals did not often come the way of the pipers, who risked their lives many times each day in their duties as ammunition carriers and as runners, but they (the pipers) were much appreciated by all those whom they served. Sometimes a piper found himself relegated to some minor work behind the lines, as was the case in one battalion, whose entire band was so placed — a slight that was resented by the pipers who promptly applied for transfer to other units where they were allowed to share in the dangers and glories of the combatants.

The pipers of the 1st Battalion had entered the War with pipes playing amidst the heavy fire of battle, and they ended their term of campaigning in like manner. In the very last action in 1918, they went over the top alongside their respective companies to the tune of “The Haughs of Cromdale.” At that time the 2nd Battalion were on the Italian front, whither they had been sent in 1917. Their pipers and drummers had there rendered many important services, one of the most curious being given while they stood waist deep in a swift-flowing channel. There they stood for hours on end waiting for the wounded whom they had to bear across, each stretcher having four pipers or drummers, with other four to steady them. “Yet they never hesitated,” wrote the colonel; “they formed a living line to help those who were slightly wounded. . . . But for the work of the pipers and drummers it would have been impossible to evacuate the wounded that night.”

Much pleasanter was their duty some months later when pipers and drummers were ordered to proceed to the quarters of the King of Italy, who had asked as a special favour for a concert of pipe music. His Majesty had then the delight of listening to the marches, strathspeys, and reels of the Highlands of Scotland and the regiment’s own marching tune, “Hielan’ Laddie.” Probably both King and pipers were quite unaware that about 2000 years earlier the pipers of the army of Imperial Rome were engaged somewhere in England or Scotland in playing to their respective Legions the classic marches of ancient Italy.