Part 4

Casualties in action and by disease took heavy toll of the pipers of all these battalions, and after a few months on the Peninsula the pipe bands temporarily ceased to exist.

Even before the withdrawal of the force from Gallipoli it was found that so many casualties had occurred among the pipers of the battalions engaged that the bands were well on the way to extinction. Consequently, under the able management of Colonel Maclean of Pennycross a divisional band numbering twelve pipers and six drummers--all that remained--was organised out of the wreck of the pipe bands of the 52nd Division. That band, though never sent into action, individually or collectively played frequently under shell fire; and "Hey Johnnie Cope" could be heard quite distinctly every morning in the firing line up to within a few days of the evacuation.

THE COMRADES WE LEFT IN GALLIPOLI.

Set by Mrs. A. C. MACDIARMID From the Pipe Tune Composed by Col. H. A. C. MACLEAN C.M.G. of Pennycoss.]

The divisional band served on the Desert front in Egypt, and then accompanied the Division right into Palestine, playing the leading battalion, the 4th K.O.S.B.'s, over the frontier to "Blue Bonnets over the Border."

Later on, more pipers and more Scottish units appeared; and so we find the 2nd London Scottish being played into Jerusalem, and "Dumbarton's Drums" sounding at the head of the Royal Scots as they took over the guard on the Holy Sepulchre--as is the right of "Pontius Pilate's Bodyguard."

SALONIKA

Opportunities for the employment of pipers as such were comparatively rare in the course of the Salonika operations, for obvious reasons. At Karadzakot Zir, however, the 1st Royal Scots pipers played their companies to the attack on the village, and the C.O. reported that, in his opinion,

"It was largely due to the presence of the pipers with the leading wave that the enemy evacuated their trenches and retired in disorder."

MESOPOTAMIA

Playing the pipes in the Golden East is a far greater effort than it is at home, and every piper who has soldiered there knows how the heat and the dryness of the atmosphere affect his bag and reeds. But the cult of _piob mhor_ thrives east of Suez, and at least as much enthusiasm is shown by regiments stationed in India as in a home station.

And when Scottish troops were called upon to take their part in the Mesopotamia operations, we find the pipes as prominent a feature in the fighting as they were on the Western front. At Sheikh Saad on 7th January, 1916, the 1st Seaforths--the "Reismeid Caber Feidh"--were played to the attack across absolutely open ground by their Pipe Major Neil M'Kechnie and other pipers. An officer who was present describes the incident as follows:

"As we advanced over the dead flat open desert the Turks suddenly opened a very heavy fire from well concealed trenches at a range of from 600 to 800 yards. The battalion immediately advanced by rushes towards the enemy's position in spite of very heavy initial losses. Foremost among the men was our acting Pipe Major, M'Kechnie, who immediately struck up the regimental charge or 'onset,' 'Cabar Feidh.'

"His fine example as well as his music had a remarkable effect on the men at such a critical moment. He was shortly afterwards wounded, and had to drop behind as the lines went on."

In the same action the 2nd Black Watch were played in by their pipers just as they had been on many previous occasions in France. In the act of playing Corpl. Piper MacNee was mortally wounded. This brave man had been wounded before at Mauquissart and awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal. The Pipe Major, John Keith, was awarded the D.C.M. for "gallant and distinguished service throughout the operations."

THE LAST STAGE

For four years and a half the pipes of war played their part in the greatest war in history; in the front, under conditions in which they could never have been expected to exist at all, they have led men to victory, have rallied them when victory eluded their grasp, and have marched them back undismayed by the tortures of battle; behind the lines they have headed the long columns of Scottish troops on their way up to the furnace in which the fate of nations was cast.

But, everywhere, they expressed the ideal of the race and led men to follow causes, even causes which appeared lost ones, through to the end.

When silence fell on the 11th November, 1918, along the blasted line where rival civilisations had so long struggled for mastery, the _rôle_ of the pipes changed, and it was no longer the "onset" that the piper was impelled to play. The consummation of long effort had been attained--and what instrument more entitled to bear witness to the fact than the one which had sounded over the blood-stained slag-heaps of Loos, the shell-swept heights of Vimy?

As the British First Army entered Valenciennes, the pipers of a historic Scottish division played through the "place" opposite the Hotel de Ville, and must have awakened in the old gabled houses memories of the centuries old alliance between the Lilies of France and the Thistle.

Further east, along the roads that led to Cologne, the pipes played unceasingly, as befitted the occasion, impressing on the population that this was indeed the coming of "Scotland the Brave."

And so, over the great Rhine bridge, the pipes of the 9th and Canadian Divisions led the way, and Germany learnt at last that when _piob mhor_ sounds "Gabhaidh sin an rathad mor"[5] it generally attains its objective.

PIPERS IN THE RANKS

The piper is, first and last, a fighting man; and when a regiment is mobilised it at once loses most of its pipers. Whatever the strength of the band may have been in peace time, only the "sergeant piper"--a hideous official term for the pipe major--and five "full" pipers are normally retained as such. The remainder, while acting as pipers when opportunity offers--and designated accordingly--serve in the ranks.

During this war, and notably during the early years of it, it was often found necessary to make use of full and acting pipers in some purely military capacity, _i.e._ either in the ranks, or as Lewis gunners, bombers, orderlies, runners or stretcher bearers. This fact accounts for many of the honours awarded to pipers, and, at the same time, for the heavy casualties among them.

It is quite impossible to do justice to individuals or units in regard to the part they played in performing such duties; for those who obtained official recognition, in some form or other, hundreds have merely had the satisfaction of playing the game, in accordance with the rules laid down by all ranks of the British army. The few examples given in this place are typical of the whole.

At Festubert in June, 1915, the pipers of the 6th Seaforths worked continuously day and night, and brought 170 casualties from the front line to the dressing station; at Loos the 9th Black Watch lost nearly all their pipers when similarly engaged, and at the two actions of Loos and Neuve Chapelle the 6th Gordons had two killed and ten wounded.

Again, the 2nd Royal Scots pipers lost heavily on the Somme, and were on one occasion highly commended for bringing water up to some newly captured trenches under heavy fire.

The comments of General Sir William Birdwood in a despatch to the Australian Government, though intended to apply to Australian stretcher bearers, are very applicable to pipers acting in this capacity, whether individually or collectively:

"Where all have done so well it is very hard to differentiate, but as a class the stretcher bearers have been beyond praise. Never for a second have they flinched from going forward time after time, absolutely regardless of the fire brought against them; and I so deeply regret that they should have suffered in consequence."

Another and most hazardous class of duty, which was largely performed by pipers in some battalions, was that of "runners" or despatch carriers; this often involved crossing heavily shelled country, and has resulted in many casualties. Notable cases have occurred of men carrying despatches through intense barrages, and some have received rewards; the majority of such cases, however, have necessarily been unnoticed.

Some men appear to have specialised in this duty, _e.g._ Pipe Major Matheson, 1st Seaforths, who got the D.C.M. "for gallant conduct on many occasions in conveying messages under heavy fire," and Lance-Corpl. Piper Dyce, 13th Royal Highlanders of Canada, who on one occasion carried a most urgent despatch through artillery barrage when badly wounded.

In other cases pipers, individually and collectively, have done admirable service in bringing up ammunition.

Many instances of acts of heroism by individual men are detailed below.

PIPERS ON THE MARCH

Playing the pipes in action, though essentially the most important, is, for obvious reasons, only one of the duties of the soldier piper. Every unit of an army is not always in close touch with the enemy, and every battalion puts in a good many miles of marching in a year in conditions which are rarely ideal and very often acutely miserable. It is here that the pipes have rendered such conspicuous service as the marching instrument _par excellence_; and the cult of the bagpipe has spread to units and nationalities which, before the war, would never have thought it possible that the company piper would become one of their most cherished institutions.

That Irish regiments should again adopt the national instrument that had played their ancestors on to the battlefields of France in 1286 is so natural as to need no comment; but when we find English and Australian units, battalions of the United States army, and ships of His Majesty's Navy, to say nothing of field ambulances and transport units, adopting the bagpipe, no further evidence is required to substantiate its claim to be a highly important feature of modern military organisation.

It is indeed to a recognition, in the very early days of the war, of the great value of the pipes in "exciting alacrity and cheerfulness in the soldier" that is due the fact that so many units have deliberately tried to keep their pipers out of harm's way, and have only allowed them, under protest, to accompany their companies into action, and then only in limited numbers. Commanding officers have appreciated that, as a stimulus to tired men, to men marching weary miles to take up a position, to men returning worn out from a spell of duty, the music of the pipes has proved invaluable.

Instances of this stimulating effect are too numerous to mention, but a few, taken from contemporary accounts of the war, may be regarded as typical.

The following incident in the retirement from Mons has frequently occurred elsewhere. "I shall never forget how one General saw a batch of Gordons and K.O.S.B. stragglers trudging listlessly along the road. He halted them. Some more came up, until there was about a company in all, with one piper. He made them form fours, put the piper at the head of them, 'Now lads, follow the piper and remember Scotland,' and they all started off as pleased as Punch, with the tired piper playing like a hero."[6]

The Rev. Dr. Maclean, C.M.G., describes a case of the effect of the pipes on tired men:

"It was a sweltering hot day, and the road was deep with dust. The long snaky khaki column came marching steadily down the hill, silent under the weight of their accoutrements with the grinding heat of an April sun.... As the Scots came by he gave the sign to the piper. He stepped forward and struck up one of the great battle marches of our race. The scene that followed baffled description. A roar of cheering burst from the ranks."

Another instance,[7] by one who was himself in the ranks, may be regarded as typical. The regiment concerned was the Glasgow Highlanders, but the description is applicable to every Scottish regiment in the Army List:

"Kilometre after kilometre we marched, through the hottest hours of the middle day, and our feet and backs ached under the weight of all we carried, our faces were dabbled and streaked with dust and perspiration, and in our mouths was only dust to chew....

"Walking had become a purely mechanical exercise, our limbs controlled, as it seemed, by some power outwith us; our brains were numb and dazed with fatigue and the maddening persisting pain that was our every step. Blindly, dumbly, helplessly we staggered on ... in infinite weariness we dragged ourselves to the beginning of the street, and then--

"Then the pipes suddenly set the heavens and the earth dancing to the strains of 'Highland Laddie,' the regimental march of the Glasgows. And at the skirl of the pipes, and before the eyes of those critical spectators, every man braced himself, his step assumed as much of jauntiness as he could put into it, and he had a laugh and a jesting answer ready on his lips for every outsider who spoke to him.... It was something more potent than wine that put the boldness into their step, it was the sense of the tradition and honour of their regiment: the feeling that on no account must they present other than a brave front to the world, that the one unpardonable offence would be to let the battalion down."

Examples could be multiplied indefinitely, but the best tribute to the value of the pipes as a marching instrument and in keeping the men cheery is, after all, the fact that regiment after regiment felt constrained to keep them out of action entirely--whether as pipers pure and simple or in other military capacities.

Statements to this effect have been received from nearly all the regiments whose views have been asked, commanding officers being almost unanimous in their opinion that, only where it is imperatively necessary, should a pipe band be exposed to the chances of annihilation inseparable from modern shell fire.

And in just the same manner as the pipes have helped battalions along the "via dolorosa" into action so they have, time and again, played them back to rest and comparative security. In some cases they had shared in the action itself, in others they waited until their services were required. Many commanding officers and observers have referred to this as one of the most important of their duties. In describing the return of a battalion, or what remained of it, from Longueval, Philip Gibbs writes:

"There was a thick summer haze about, and on the ridges the black vapours of shell bursts.... It was out of this that the Highlanders came marching. They brought the music with them and the pipes of war playing a Scottish love song, 'I lo'e na a laddie but ane.' Their kilts were caked with mud, they were very tired, but they held their heads up, and the pipers who had been with them played bravely ... and the Scottish love song rang out across the fields."

An officer of an Argyll battalion, writing of the days of trench fighting, says: "They have done much to hearten us on long marches. They came out of Bethune after Loos and played what was left of us back to billets." Another, in the Royal Scots, referring to the return of the battalion from Kemmel, says: "I shall never forget the effect on the men; as they struck up they fairly shouted themselves hoarse with delight."

"Wonderful pipes! The men get tired and would fall out, but the pipes make a unity of them. Invisible tendons and muscles seem to connect the legs of all files, and all move as one, mechanically, rhythmically, certainly. The strong are reduced to the step, the weak are braced up to it. All bear the strain and share the strain. So we go on, and the miracle is in the power of the music."[8]

A final quotation--one of a very great number received--reflects the opinion of all ranks:

"I have often seen a company just out of the trenches straggling along the road too weary to think of keeping in formation, let alone in step. On the first sound of the pipes these same men would double up to their place and march along with the best of them."

The ubiquity of the pipes on the Western front has been remarked by all observers. "The music of the pipes is now as much a part of the great orchestra of this war as the incessant rumbling of distant guns, as the swirl of traffic along the transport lines, as the singing of birds above No Man's Land.... And where there are pipes there are Scotsmen--Scots everywhere from the sea to St. Quentin, in old French market towns, and in Flemish villages ... and in camps behind the fighting line not beyond the reach of long range shells, and up in the trenches where death is very near to them.... As long as history lasts the spirit of France will salute the memory of these kilted boys and of all the Lowland Scots who have gone into the furnace fires of this war to the music of the pipes, and have fallen in heaps upon her fields. A thousand years hence, when the wind blows softly across the ground where they fought, old Scottish tunes will sound faintly in the ears of men who remember the past, and all this country will be haunted with the ghosts of Scotland's gallant sons."[9]

Nor has it been on the Western front alone that the value of the pipes has made itself appreciated. In every other theatre of war as well has "the tune with the tartan of the clan in it" been heard at the head of columns toiling through the dust and heat, or through pitiless rain. In Egypt and Gallipoli and the Holy Land, in Mesopotamia and the Balkans, the pipes have been the prelude to great happenings. "Bundle and Go" in the early dawn of an Eastern day, "Soldier lie down" at night--these have been the preliminaries which led up naturally to "Cabar Feidh" in a hail of machine gun fire, or "Horo mo nighean donn bhoidheach" in the streets of captured Bagdad.

"Many a soldier sadly misses his pipe, which of course may not be lit on a night march; but to me a greater loss is the silence of those other pipes, for the sound of the bagpipes will stir up a thousand memories in a Highland regiment, and nothing helps a column of weary foot soldiers so well as pipe music, backed by the beat of a drum."[10]

When the British army advanced into German territory the pipers had an opportunity to play with an abandon that had never been felt before.

"Next day, with the skies still streaming, we made the longest continuous march, some 36 kilometres, and by that effort got well into Germany. The roads improved as we got farther on, but the tramp through the forest of Zitter was long, marshy, and melancholy. Our company was first after the pipers, and had the full benefit of the music all the way. And we wandered inward; inward, with our seeking and haunting Gaelic melodies, into the depths of the hanging, silent wood. It was strange how aloof nature seemed to these melodies. In Scotland, or even in France, all the hills and the woods would have helped the music. But in this German land all were cold toward us, and those endless pine trees seemed to be holding hands with fingers spread before the eyes to show their shame and humiliation. There was a curious sense that the road on which we trod was not our road, and that earth and her fruits on either hand were hostile.

"And how tired the men became, with half of them through the soles of their boots and with racking damp in their shoulders and backs from their rain-sodden packs. But we listened still whilst voluminous waves of melody wandered homeless over German wastes and returned to us,

I heard the pibroch sounding, sounding, O'er the wide meadows and lands from afar.

or to the stirring strains of the 'March of the Battle of Harlaw,' or to the crooning, hoping, sobbing of 'Lord Lovat's Lament,' and so went on from hour to hour through the emptiness of Southern Germany. When we thought we had just about reached our camping ground for the night, we came to a guide post which showed it still to be seven kilometres on. But that was at the top of a long hill, and the road ran gently down through woods the whole way. The colonel sent a message to play 'Men of Portree.' The rain had stopped, and an evening sky unveiled a more cheerful light. So, with an easy inconsequent air, we cast off care and tripped away down to the substantial and prosperous bit of Rhineland called Hellenthal, well on our way to Cologne."[11]

The interminable marches are over and their goal has been attained; and the instrument which has a tune for every human emotion can now play "The Desperate Battle" in German towns with a safety which has been long unknown. To many a man, however, as he fingers his chanter, the feeling will come, as he thinks of the good men and true who never reached the 11th November, 1918, that the tune that is most appropriate is "Lochaber no more."

PIPE TUNES

Pipe tunes--as every piper knows--have local associations, associations with particular incidents, particular emotions; and in military piping this is never overlooked. In war everything has changed--everything but the elemental courage and passions of the men who are engaged in it; and, as _piob mhor_ is essentially the instrument on which those elemental passions can be best expressed, it is not uninteresting to observe how individual pipers have resorted to particular tunes, to suit particular occasions. In many, perhaps in most, cases there were traditional or regimental reasons for playing one tune rather than another, and such tunes were often in the highest degree appropriate; but in other cases the individuality of the performer determined the choice.

Of a selection based on tradition the best authenticated instance is that of the Gordon piper who played Cogadh na Sith, "War or peace," during the Somme fighting. The tune itself, a piobaireachd composed by the great M'Crimmon some 400 years ago, was played by the Gordons at Waterloo and by a Cameron piper, Kenneth M'Kay, at Quatre Bras.

"[12]About the middle of June a draft of about a hundred and twenty men arrived in camp for the Gordons--the finest draft the commanding officer declared he had ever seen. On the 18th, they were ordered to the front. I found they had a piper with them, and immediately laid hold on him to play the men down to the station. I brought him up to my tent and provided him with a set of pipes which I had reserved for my own particular work.... I found something more interesting than that. His great-grandfather had been a piper in the regiment in the days of the Napoleonic war, and at the Battle of Waterloo he stood within the square and played the ancient Highland challenge-march 'Cogadh na Sith,' as the French cuirassiers hurled themselves upon the immovable ranks in vain.

"'John,' I said, 'this is the anniversary of Waterloo, and you will lead the men out to that very tune which your great-grandfather played on that great day.' I told the colonel, and his eyes gleamed as he said to me, 'Ah! padre, we'll do better than that. You will tell the men about it, and I will call them to attention, and your piper will play his tune in memory of the men of Waterloo.'

"And so it was done, and a thrilling incident it was as the men stood rigid and silent in full marching order, and the piper strode proudly along the ranks, sounding the wild, defiant challenge that stirred the regiment a hundred years before."

Regimental tunes appeal enormously to the men who hear and know them; it was probably as much the sound of "Blue Bonnets over the Border" as the sight of Piper Laidlaw piping along the parapet that made the men, shaken with shell fire and gas, go straight forward; and red hackles have followed "Highland Laddie" in circumstances when another tune might have failed to exert the same extraordinary influence. But, having played his regulation onset, the piper has an opportunity of suiting his own taste and selecting a tune appropriate musically and emotionally, as well as in name, to the occasion.