“I was full corporal in the 93rd Southern Highlanders, and I can get
the best of characters from my commanding officers. If I couldn’t get
a good character I wouldn’t be orderly to the colonel; and wherever he
and the lady went, I was sure to be with them. Although I used to wear
the colonel’s livery, yet I had the full corporal’s stripes on my coat.
I was first orderly to Colonel Sparkes of the 93rd. He belonged to
Dublin, and he was the best colonel that ever belonged to a regiment.
After he died I was orderly to Colonel Aynsley. This shows I must
have been a good man, and have a good character. Colonel Aynsley was
a good friend to me, and he always gave me my clothes, like his other
private servants. The orderly’s post is a good one, and much sought
after, for it exempts you from regimental duty. Colonel Aynsley was a
severe man on duty, but he was a good colonel after all. If he wasn’t
to be a severe man he wouldn’t be able to discharge the post he had
to discharge. Off duty he was as kind as anybody could be. There was
no man he hated more than a dirty soldier. He wouldn’t muddle a man
for being drunk, not a quarter so much as for dirty clothing. I was
reckoned the cleanest soldier in the regiment; for if I was out in a
shower of rain, I’d polish up my brass and pipeclay my belt, to make it
look clean again. Besides, I was very supple and active, and many’s the
time Colonel Aynsley has sent me on a message, and I have been there
and back, and when I’ve met him he’s scolded me for not having gone,
for I was back so quick he thought I hadn’t started.
“Whilst I was in the regiment I was attacked with blindness; brought
on, I think, by cold. There was a deserter, that the policemen took up
and brought to our barracks at Weedon, where the 93rd was stationed in
1852. It was very wet weather, and he was brought in without a stitch
on him, in a pair of breeches and a miserable shirt--that’s all. He was
away two years, but he was always much liked. No deserters ever escape.
We made a kit up for this man in less than twenty minutes. One gave him
a kilt, another a coat, and I gave him the shoes off my feet, and then
went to the regiment stores and got me another pair. Soldiers always
help one another; it’s their duty to such a poor, miserable wretch as
he was.
“This deserter was tried by court-martial, and he got thirty-one days
in prison, and hard labour. He’d have had three months, only he gave
himself up. He was so weak with lying out, that the doctor wouldn’t
let him be flogged. He’d have had sixty lashes if he’d been strong.
Ah! sixty is nothing. I’ve seen one hundred and fifty given. When this
man was marched off to Warwick gaol I commanded the escort, and it
was a very severe day’s rain that day, for it kept on from six in the
morning till twelve at night. It was a twenty-one miles’ march; and
we started at six in the morning, and arrived at Warwick by four in
the afternoon. The prisoner was made to march the distance in the same
clothes as when he gave himself up. He had only a shirt and waistcoat
on his back, and that got so wet, I took off my greatcoat and gave
it to him to wear to warm him. They wouldn’t let him have the kit of
clothes made up for him by the regiment till he came out of prison.
From giving him my greatcoat I caught a severe cold. I stood up by a
public-house fire and dried my coat and kilt, and the cold flew to the
small of my back. After we had delivered our prisoner at Warwick we
walked on to Coventry--that’s ten miles more. We did thirty-one miles
that day in the rain. After we got back to barracks I was clapped in
hospital. I was there twenty-one days. The doctor told me I shouldn’t
leave it for twenty-eight days, but I left it in twenty-one, for I
didn’t like to be in that same place. My eyes got very blood-shot, and
I lost the sight of them. I was very much afraid that I’d never see a
sight with my eyes, and I was most miserable. I used to be, too, all
of a tremble with a shiver of cold. I only stopped in the regiment
for thirty-one days after I came out of hospital, and then I had my
discharge. I could just see a little. It was my own fault that I had
my discharge, for I thought I could do better to cure myself by going
to the country doctors. The men subscribed for me all the extra money
of their pay,--that’s about 4_d._ each man,--and it made me up 10_l._
When I told Colonel Aynsley of this, says he, ‘Upon my word, M‘Gregor,
I’m as proud of it as if I had 20,000_l._’ He gave me a sovereign out
of his own pocket. Besides that, I had as many kilts given me as have
lasted me up to this time. My boy is wearing the last of ’em now.
“At Oxford I went to a doctor, and he did me a deal of good; for now I
can read a book, if the thread of it isn’t too small. I can read the
Prayer-book, or Bible, or newspaper, just for four hours, and then I go
dim.
“I’ve served in India, and I was at the battles of Punjaub, 1848, and
Moultan, 1849. Sir Colin Campbell commanded us at both, and says he,
‘Now, my brave 93rd, none of your nonsense here, for it must be death
and glory here to-day;’ and then Serjeant Cameron says, ‘The men are
all right, Sir Colin, but they’re afraid you won’t be in the midst of
them;’ and says he, ‘Not in the midst of them! I’ll be here in ten
minutes.’ Sir Colin will go in anywhere; he’s as brave an officer as
any in the service. He’s the first into the fight and the last out of
it.
“Although I had served ten years, and been in two battles, yet I was
not entitled to a pension. You must serve twenty-one years to be
entitled to 1_s._ 0-1/2_d._ I left the 93rd in 1852, and since that
time I’ve been wandering about the different parts of England and
Scotland, playing on the bagpipes. I take my daughter Maria about with
me, and she dances whilst I play to her. I leave my wife and family in
town. I’ve been in London three weeks this last time I visited it. I’ve
been here plenty of times before. I’ve done duty in Hyde-Park before
the 46th came here.
“I left the army just two years before the war broke out, and I’d
rather than twenty thousand pounds I’d been in my health to have gone
to the Crimea, for I’d have had more glory after that war than ever
any England was in. Directly I found the 93rd was going out, I went
twice to try and get back to my old regiment; but the doctor inspected
me, and said I wouldn’t be fit for service again. I was too old at the
time, and my health wasn’t good, although I could stand the cold far
better than many hundreds of them that were out there, for I never
wear no drawers, only my kilt, and that very thin, for it’s near worn.
Nothing at all gives me cold but the rain.
“The last time I was in London was in May. My daughter dances the
Highland fling and the sword-dance called ‘Killim Callam.’ That’s the
right Highland air to the dance--with two swords laid across each
other. I was a good hand at it before I got stiff. I’ve done it before
all the regiment. We’d take two swords from the officers and lay them
down when they’ve been newly ground. I’ve gone within the eighth of an
inch of them, and never cut my shoe. Can you cut your shoes? aye, and
your toes, too, if you’re not lithe. My brother was the best dancer in
the army: so the Duke of Argyle and his lady said. At one of the prize
meetings at Blair Athol, one Tom Duff, who is as good a dancer as from
this to where he is, says he, ‘There’s ne’er a man of the Macgregor
clan can dance against me to-day!’ and I, knowing my brother Tom--he
was killed at Inkermann in the 93rd--was coming, says I, ‘Don’t be
sure of that, Tom Duff, for there’s one come every inch of the road
here to-day to try it with you.’ He began, and he took an inch off his
shoes, and my brother never cut himself at all; and he won the prize.
“My little girl dances that dance. She does it pretty, but I’d be
rather doubtful about letting her come near the swords, for fear she’d
be cutting herself, though I know she could do it at a pinch, for she
can be dancing across two baccy-pipes without breaking them. When I’m
in the streets, she always does it with two baccy-pipes. She can dance
reels, too, such as the Highland fling and the reel Hoolow. They’re the
most celebrated.
“Whenever I go about the country I leave my wife and family in London,
and go off with my girl. I send them up money every week, according
to what I earn. Every farthing that I can spare I always send up. I
always, when I’m travelling, make the first part of my journey down
to Hull in Yorkshire. On my road I always stop at garrison towns, and
they always behave very well to me. If they’ve a penny they’ll give
it to me, either English, Scotch, or Irish regiments; or I’d as soon
meet the 23d Welsh Fusiliers as any, for they’ve all been out with me
on service. At Hull there is a large garrison, and I always reckon
on getting 3_s._ or 4_s._ from the barracks. When I’m travelling, it
generally comes to 15_s._ a-week, and out of that I manage to send the
wife 10_s._ and live on 5_s._ myself. I have to walk all the way, for
I wouldn’t sit on a rail or a cart for fear I should lose the little
villages off the road. I can do better in many of them than I can in
many of the large towns. I tell them I am an old soldier. I don’t go
to the cottages, but to the gentlemen’s houses. Many of the gentlemen
have been in the army, and then they soon tell whether I have been
in service. Some have asked me the stations I have been at, and who
commanded us; and then they’ll say, ‘This man is true enough, and every
word of it is truth.’
“I’ve been in Balmoral many a dozen of times. Many a time I’ve passed
by it when it was an old ruin, and fit for nothing but the ravens and
the owls. Balmoral is the fourth oldest place in Scotland. It was built
before any parts of Christianity came into the country at all. I’ve
an old book that gives an account of all the old buildings entirely,
and a very old book it is. Edinbro’ Castle is the oldest building, and
then Stirling Castle, and then Perth Castle, and then Balmoral. I’ve
been there twice since the Queen was there. If I’d see any of the old
officers that I knew at Balmoral, I’d play then, and they might give me
something. I went there more for curiosity, and I went to see the Queen
come out. She was always very fond of the 93rd. They’d fight for her in
any place, for there isn’t a man discharged after this war but they’re
provided for.
“I do pretty well in London, taking my 4_s._ a-day, but out of that
I must pay 1_s._ 9_d._ a-week lodging-money, for I can’t go into
apartments, for if I did it would be but poorly furnished, for I’ve no
beds, or furniture, or linen.
“I can live in Scotland much cheaper than here. I can give the children
a good breakfast of oatmeal-porridge every morning, and that will in
seven weeks make them as fat as seven years of tea and coffee will do
here. Besides, in Scotland, I can buy a very pretty little stand-up
bedstead for 2_s._, which here would come to 4_s._ I’m thinking of
sending my family down to Scotland, and sending them the money I earn
in London. They’ll have to walk to Hull and then take the boat. They
can get to Aberdeen from there. We shall have to work the money on the
road.
“When I go out working with the little girl, I get out about nine in
the summer and ten in the winter. I can’t work much more than four
hours a-day on the pipes, for the blowing knocks me up and leaves me
very weak. No, it don’t hurt my chest, but I’ll be just quite weak.
That’s from my bad health. I’ve never had a day’s health ever since I
left the regiment. I have pains in my back and stitches in the side. My
girl can’t dance without my playing, so that when I give over she must
give over too. I sometimes go out with two of my daughters. Lizzy don’t
dance, only Maria. I never ax anybody for money. Anybody that don’t
like to give we never ax them.
“I can’t eat meat, for it won’t rest on my stomach, and there’s nothing
I take that goes so well with me as soup. I live principally on bread,
for coffee or tea won’t do for me at all. If I could get a bit of meat
that I like, such as a small fowl, or the like of that, it would do
with me very well; but either bacon or beef, or the like of that, is
too strong for me. I’m obliged to be very careful entirely with what
I eat, for I’m sick. A lady gave me a bottle of good old foreign port
about three months ago, and I thought it did me more good than all the
meat in the world.
“When I’m in London I make about 4_s._ a-day, and when I’m in the
country about 15_s._ a-week. My old lady couldn’t live when I travel
if it wasn’t for my boy, who goes out and gets about 1_s._ a-day.
Lord Panmure is very good to him, and gives him something whenever he
meets him. I wouldn’t get such good health if I stopped in London. Now
there’s Barnet, only eleven miles from St. Giles’s, and yet I can get
better health in London than I can there, on account of it’s being on
rising ground and fresh air coming into it every minute.
“I never be a bit bad with the cold. It never makes me bad. I’ve been
in Canada with the 93d in the winter. In the year ’43 was a very
fearful winter indeed, and we were there, and the men didn’t seem to
suffer anything from the cold, but were just as well as in any other
climate or in England. They wore the kilt and the same dress as in
summer. Some of them wore the tartan trowsers when they were not on
duty or parade, but the most of them didn’t--not one in a dozen, for
they looked upon it as like a woman. There’s nothing so good for the
cold as cold water. The men used to bathe their knees and legs in the
cold water, and it would make them ache for the time, but a minute
or two afterwards they were all right and sweating. I’ve many a time
gone into the water up to my neck in the coldest days of the year, and
then when I came out and dried myself, and put on my clothes, I’d be
sweating afterwards. There can’t be a better thing for keeping away
the rheumatism. It’s a fine thing for rheumatism and aches to rub the
part with cold frosty water or snow. It makes it leave him and knocks
the pains out of his limbs. Now, in London, when my hands are so cold
I can’t play on my pipes, I go to a pump and wash them in the frosty
water, and then dry them and rub them together, and then they’re as
warm as ever. The more a man leans to the fire the worse he is after.
It was leaning to a fire that gave me my illness.
“The chanter of the pipes I play on has been in my family very near 450
years. It’s the oldest in Scotland, and is a heir-loom in our family,
and they wouldn’t part with it for any money. Many’s a time the Museum
in Edinburgh has wanted me to give it to them, but I won’t give it to
any one till I find myself near death, and then I’ll obligate them to
keep it. Most likely my youngest son will have it, for he’s as steady
as a man. You see, the holes for the fingers is worn as big round as
sixpences, and they’re quite sharp at the edges. The ivory at the end
is the same original piece as when the pipe was made. It’s breaking
and splitting with age, and so is the stick. I’ll have my name and
the age of the stick engraved on the sole of the ivory, and then, if
my boy seems neglectful of the chanter, I’ll give it to the Museum at
Edinburgh. I’ll have German silver rings put round the stick, to keep
it together, and then, with nice waxed thread bound round it, it will
last for centuries yet.
“This chanter was made by old William McDonnall, who’s been dead these
many hundred years. He was one of the best pipe-makers that’s in all
Scotland. There’s a brother of mine has a set of drones made by him,
and he wouldn’t give them for any sit of money. Everybody in Scotland
knows William McDonnall. Ask any lad, and he’ll tell you who was the
best pipe-maker that ever lived in Scotland--aye, and ever will live.
There’s many a farmer in Scotland would give 30_l._ for a set of pipes
by old William McDonnall, sooner than they’d give 30_s._ for a set
of pipes made now. This chanter has been in our family ever since
McDonnall made it. It’s been handed down from father to son from that
day to this. They always give it to the eldest. William McDonnall
lived to be 143 years old, and this is the last chanter he made. A
gentleman in London, who makes chanters, once gave me a new one, merely
for letting him take a model of my old one, with the size of the bore
and the place for the holes. You tell a good chanter by the tone, and
some is as sweet as a piano. My old chanter has got rather too sharp
by old age, and it’s lost its tone; for when a stick gets too sharp a
sound, it’s never no good. This chanter was played by my family in the
battles of Wallace and Bruce, and at the battle of Bannockburn, and
every place whenever any of the Macgregor clan fought. These are the
traditions given from family to family. I heard it from my father, and
now I tell my lads, and they know it as well as I do myself. My great
grandfather played on this stick when Charley Stuart, the Pretender,
came over to Scotland from France, and he played on it before the
Prince himself, at Stirling and the Island of Skye, and at Preston Pans
and Culloden. It was at Preston Pans that the clans were first formed,
and could be told by their tartans--the Macgregors, and the Stuart, and
the Macbeths, and the Camerons, and all of them. I had three brothers
older than me, but I’ve got this chanter, for I begged it of them. It’s
getting too old to play on, and I’ll have a copper box made for it, and
just carry it at my side, if God is good to me, and gives me health to
live three weeks.
“About my best friends in London are the French people,--they are
the best I can meet, they come next to the Highlanders. When I meet
a Highlander he will, if he’s only just a labouring man, give me a
few coppers. A Highlander will never close his eye upon me. It’s the
Lowlander that is the worst to me. They never takes no notice of me
when I’m passing: they’ll smile and cast an eye as I pass by. Many
a time I’ll say to them when they pass, ‘Well, old chap, you don’t
like the half-naked men, I know you don’t!’ and many will say, ‘No, I
don’t!’ I never play the pipes when I go through the Lowlands,--I’d as
soon play poison to them. They never give anything. It’s the Lowlanders
that get the Scotch a bad name for being miserable, and keeping their
money, and using small provision. They’re a disgrace to their country.
“The Highlander spends his money as free as a duke. If a man in the
93rd had a shilling in his pocket, it was gone before he could turn
it twice. All the Lowlanders would like to be Highlanders if they
could, and they learn Gaelic, and then marry Highland lassies, so as
to become Highlanders. They have some clever regiments composed out of
the Lowlanders, but they have only three regiments and the Highlanders
have seven; yet there’s nearly three to one more inhabitants in the
Lowlands. It’s a strange thing, they’d sooner take an Irishman into a
Highland regiment than a Lowlander. They owe them such a spleen, they
don’t like them. Bruce was a Lowlander, and he betrayed Wallace; and
the Duke of Buccleuch, who was a Lowlander, betrayed Stuart.
“I never go playing at public-houses, for I don’t like such places. I
am not a drinker, for as much whisky as will fill a teaspoon will lay
me up for a day. If I take anything, it’s a sup of porter. I went once
into a public-house, and there was a woman drinking in it, and she was
drunk. It was the landlord told me to come inside. She told me to leave
the house, and I said the master told me to come: then she took up one
of these pewter pots and hit me in the forehead. It was very sore for
three weeks afterwards, and made a hole. I wouldn’t prosecute her.
“My little boy that goes about is fourteen years old, and he’s as
straight and well-formed as if he was made of wax-work. He’s the one
that shall have the chanter, if anybody does; but I’m rather doubtful
about it, for he’s not steady enough, and I think I’ll leave it to a
museum.
“If I had a good set of pipes, there’s not many going about the streets
could play better; but my pipes are not in good order. I’ve got three
tunes for one that the Queen’s piper plays; and I can play in a far
superior style, for he plays in the military style. McKay, the former
piper to her majesty, he was reckoned as good a player as there is
in Scotland. I knew him very well, and many and many a time I’ve
played with him. He was took bad in the head and obliged to go back to
Scotland. He is in the Isle of Skye now. I belong to Peterhead. If I
had a good set of pipes I wouldn’t be much afraid of playing with any
of the pipers.
“In the country towns I would sometimes be called into Highland
gentlemen’s houses, to play to them, but never in London.
“I make all my reeds myself to put in the stick. I make them of Spanish
cane. It’s the outer glazed bark of it. The nearer you go to the shiny
part, the harder the reed is, and the longer it lasts. In Scotland they
use the Spanish cane. I have seen a man, at one time, who made a reed
out of a piece of white thorn, and it sounded as well as ever a reed I
saw sound; but I never see a man who could make them, only one.”