THE BURGH PIPERS OF SCOTLAND.
“The piper cam to our toun,
To our toun, to our toun;
The piper cam to our toun,
And he play’d bonnilie;
He play’d a spring the laird to please,
A spring brent new frae yont the seas,
And then he ga’e his bags a squeeze,
And play’d anither key.
And wasna he a roguey, a roguey, a roguey;
And wasna he a roguey, the piper o’ Dundee.”
—_Old Scots Song._
Royal pipers—In France—At the English court—The Edinburgh Piper—
Dumbarton—Biggar—Wigtown—Glenluce—Dumfries—Linlithgow—Aberdeen—
Perth—Keith—Dalkeith—Dundee—Peebles—A weird story—Falkirk—
“Gallowshiels” pipers’ combat—The Hasties of Jedburgh—Habbie Simson
of Kilbarchan—Bridgeton—Neil Blane of Lanark—The Piper of
Northumberland.
Although as a clan musician the piper was to a large extent a public
character, he was quite as public in one or two other capacities. There
were semi-royal pipers, and there were burgh pipers. We have not much
record of the former, that is, until our own day, when the piper is one
of the principal personages in the Royal retinue—but we have plenty of
the latter. In 1505, we read, “pipers on drones” shared of the royal
bounty of James IV.; and we have various references to pipers in
connection with Court ceremonials. In France the piper was an appendage
of the royal household in the seventeenth century, and in Ben Jonson’s
_Irish Masque_, performed at the Court of England in 1613, six men and
six boys danced to the bagpipe. But there is nothing to show that the
piper in olden days formed part of the regular following of Scottish
sovereigns. Pipers were kept by English noblemen, but their instrument
was not the Highland. It was as burgh pipers that they were best known
in a public capacity, in the Lowlands of Scotland at any rate. Each
burgh had one or two, and the office, like that of clan piper, was in
many cases hereditary. The pipers were supported out of the public funds
along with other minstrels. Here is Rev. James Mac Kenzie’s description
of the relation of the piper to a burgh, given in his _History of
Scotland_:—
[Illustration:
(_From Drawings by J. Sands. By permission of Messrs. J. & R. Glen,
Edinburgh._)
]
“The folk of the old town are fond of music. We have minstrels who
hold a life appointment in the service of the burgh; their instruments
are bagpipes, to be sure. Evening and morning and at other times
needful the pipers march through the town to refresh the lieges with
‘Broken Bones at Luncarty,’ ‘Port Lennox,’ ‘Jockie and Sandy,’ ‘St.
Johnstone’s Hunt’s up,’ and the like inspiriting strains. The law of
the burgh requires that the pipers ‘sall have their daily wages and
meat of the neighbours of this guid toon circulary, conform to the
auld loveable use.’ Some of the burghers are so lamentably void of
taste that they count the music dear and grudge the piper his
‘reasonable diet circularly.’ Some even refuse to entertain the piper
when it comes to their turn, and get fined for their pains.”
In 1487 Edinburgh had three public pipers, and the Town Council then
ordained that they should get their food day about from persons of
substance, or that such persons should pay them money equivalent to
threepence per piper. In 1660, after the magistrates had permitted “John
Johnstone, piper, to accompany the town’s drummer throw the town morning
and evening,” they gave him a salary and perquisites, but next year,
rather capriciously, when he applied for a free house during his term of
office, they resolved that he was not required, and dispensed with his
services. About 1505 we have records of public pipers in Dumbarton,
Biggar, Wigton, Glenluce, Dumfries, and elsewhere, and in 1707 we read
the piper of Linlithgow was convicted of immorality and excommunicated.
Aberdeen had its piper, and in 1630 the magistrates prohibited him
playing in the streets. The language of their prohibition was anything
but complimentary. Thus:—“The Magistrates discharge the common piper of
all going through the toun at nycht, or in the morning, in tyme coming,
with his pype—it being an incivill forme to be usit within sic a famous
burghe, and being often found fault with, als weill be sundrie
nichtbouris of the toune as by strangeris.”
The Aberdonians were canny people then as now, but it is wonderful how
their spelling degenerated in the course of one sentence.
Perth had a piper as late as 1831. The piper of the Fair City was in the
habit of playing through the streets at five o’clock in the morning and
at seven at night. The death of the then town piper about the beginning
of the century was much regretted, “the music having an effect in the
morning inexpressibly soothing and delightful.” The custom of early and
late piping was also retained for a long time in Keith.
Old Geordie Syme, the town piper of Dalkeith, was a famous piper in his
day. The exact period when he flourished cannot now be ascertained, and
little is known of him, even in tradition. The piper of Dalkeith was a
retainer of the house of Buccleuch, and there was a small salary
attached to the office, for which in Geordie’s time he had to attend the
family on all particular occasions and make the round of the town twice
daily—at five a.m. and eight p.m. Besides his salary, he had a suit of
clothes allowed him regularly. This consisted of a long yellow coat
lined with red, red plush breeches, white stockings, and buckles in his
shoes. Geordie was much taken notice of by the gentry of his time. It is
not known when he died. His successor in office was Jamie Reid, who
lived long to enjoy the emoluments of the position and about whom there
are some interesting local traditions. Jamie was succeeded by Robert
Lorimer, and at his death his son was installed in his office, which he
held as late as 1837, probably much later. The practice of playing
through the town was discontinued about 1821, the custom being
considered by the inhabitants a useless relic of bygone days. A long
sarcastic poem, printed and circulated about that time, is believed to
have helped greatly to finally abolish the practice.
Dundee got a burgh piper after the Reformation, and his mission was to
call the people to their work in the mornings. “Dressed in the town’s
livery and colours, he played through the burgh every day in the morning
at four hours and every nicht at aucht hours, a service for which every
householder was bound to pay him twelve pennies yearly.”
Pipers were, and perhaps are, a dignified race, but few of them were so
boastful as the piper of Peebles, who, tradition says, tried to blow his
pipes from Peebles to Lauder, a distance of eighteen miles, in a certain
number of blasts. He failed in the attempt, but succeeded in blowing
himself out of breath. The spot where he fell down dead is on the
boundary of the parish of Heriot, in Midlothian, and is still called
“The Piper’s Grave.” This cannot, however, have been the Peebles piper
who was written of in 1793 by William Anderson of Kirriemuir in a long
poem which appeared in _Provincial Poets_. After describing in the
quaint way of eighteenth century writers, the country life of these
days,
“Fan wives wi’ rocks an’ spindles span,
An’ brawest lasses us’d nae lawn—
Fan stiffen wasna sought, nor blue
To mutches—fan the sarks were few,
Some had but ane, some had twa,
An’ money mae had nane ava,
Fan lasses wi’ their rocks set out
To are anither night about,”
the author proceeds to tell how a laird near Kinghorn got over head and
ears in debt, and was at his wit’s end to find a way out of his
troubles. At last one evening, as he was wandering alone in the fields,
very much dejected, he was accosted by a fine-looking stranger on a
black horse, who sympathised with him in his difficulties, and, seeming
to know what they were without being told, offered him £10,000 on his
simple note of hand.
“Ye’s get it on your single bond,
As I frae Scotland maun abscond
To France, or in a woody swing
For lies a neighbour tald the King—
An’ said I meant to tak’ his life,
To let a gallant get his wife.”
The laird, with little hesitation, accepted the offer, and, according to
appointment, the stranger called with the money “on the chap o’ twal”
the following night—
“As muckle goud, and rather mair,
Than wad out-weigh twal pecks o’ bear.”
He had not time to wait till it was counted, but, assuring the laird
that it was all right, he presented the bond for signature. This,
however, read that after fifteen years the laird should be the
stranger’s servant. But the laird wouldn’t have this:—
“As upright folk abhor mischief—
As honest men despise a thief—
As dogs detest a grunting sow,
So laigh the laird disdained to bow!”
And, bursting out with:—
“Hence, Satan! to your black abode,
In name of my Almighty God!”
he sent the “stranger” right out somewhere through the roof, leaving the
money on the table. The supernatural powers of Scottish mythology never
could stand the name of the Deity.
But the laird had not heard the last of his great enemy. He prospered
and grew richer and richer until, sixteen years after, when, at a feast,
he was called out to speak with a visitor on horseback. A minute after
there was a loud report, the “stranger” lay dead on the ground, and at
the laird’s feet lay a pistol. The laird was lodged in Edinburgh prison
on a charge of murder, but on the doctors examining the body it was
found to have been dead ten days before “it” visited the laird, and that
there was no mark where a bullet could have entered. This created a
great uproar, and the mystery seemed incapable of explanation, until at
last some Peebles folk came to the capital, and swore that the body was
that of their piper:—
“I saw him yerdit, I can swear—
Frae his lang hame how came he there?”
It was the Peebles piper, better dressed than ever he had been in life,
and he had died in his bed at home. They even identified his “sark” and
the pistol. The laird was liberated, but he in his heart knew quite well
the real explanation of the mystery:—
“The laird saw syne it had been Nick
Contriv’d an’ carried on the trick,
He pu’d the piper frae the moold
That was in Peebles on him shool’d;
An’ brought him to the braithel, where
He left him dead wi’ sic a rair,
That folk wad sworn they saw him shot
That very instant on the spot.
Auld Horny thought to gar him howd
Upo’ the gallows, for the gowd
He gat lang syne, an’ wadna set
His signature to show the debt.
But in his drift the Devil fail’d—
The second time the laird prevail’d—
Liv’d lang at hame, in wealth an’ ease,
An’ dy’d at last of nae disease,
But mere auld age—Renown’d his race
Unto this day possess his place.”
Why the poet should make the Evil One bring the body of a piper from
Peebles to Kinghorn to serve his evil ends is a bit strange; and also
how the Devil had but the two plans for encompassing the ruin of the
laird. However, the poet’s license, especially when coupled with the
supernatural, no doubt accounts for a great deal.
Peebles seems to have had more than its share of pipers. James Ritchie,
who flourished at the beginning of the eighteenth century, as piper to
the Corporation of the town, was told one day by his wife that the flood
in the Tweed had carried away their family cow, the fruit of years of
piping. “Weel, weel,” said the piper, with manly calm, “deil ma care
after a’. It cam’ wi’ the win’, let it gang wi’ the water.” Which is all
the record we have of James.
Pipers were, perhaps still are, a philosophic race, and their music was
always their first thought. The town piper of Falkirk was sentenced to
death for horse-stealing, and on the night before his execution he
obtained, as a special indulgence, the company of some of his brother
pipers. As the liquor was abundant and their instruments in tune, the
fun and music grew fast and furious. The execution was to be at eight
o’clock, and the poor piper was recalled to a sense of his situation by
the morning light dawning on his window. Suddenly silencing his pipes,
he exclaimed, “Oh, but this wearifu’ hanging rings in my lug like a new
tune,” and went out to his fate.
The piper of “Gallowshiels” is known to posterity principally by a poem
entitled _The Maid of Gallowshiels_, in which the piper of the town is
celebrated. The author was Hamilton of Bangour, and the poem tells of a
contest between the piper and the fiddler for the love of the Maid of
Gallowshiels. In the first book the fiddler challenges the piper to a
trial of musical skill, and proposes that the maid herself shall be the
umpire:—
“‘Sole in her breast the fav’rite youth shall reign
Whose hand shall wake the sweetest warbled strain,
And if to me the ill-fated piper yield,
As sure I trust this well-contested field,
High in the sacred dome his pipes I’ll raise,
The trophy of my fame in after days;
That all may know as they the pipes survey
The fiddler’s deed and this the signal day.
But if the Fates, his wishes to fulfil,
Shall give the triumph to his happier skill,
My fiddle his, to him be praises paid,
And join with those the long-contested maid.’
All Gallowshiels the daring challenge heard,
Full blank they stood, and for their piper fear’d;
Fearless alone, he rose in open view,
And in the midst his sounding bagpipe threw.”
Then the poem tells the history of the competitions, the piper deducing
his origin from Colin of Gallowshiels, who bore the identical bagpipe at
the battle of Harlaw with which he himself was resolved to maintain the
glory of the piper race. The second book commences with the following
exquisite description of the instrument:—
“Now in his artful hand the bagpipe held,
Elate the piper wide surveys the field;
O’er all he throws his quick, discerning eyes,
And views their hopes and fears alternate rise.
Old Glenderule, in Gallowshiels long fam’d
For works of skill, the perfect wonder fram’d;
His shining steel first lop’d with dex’trous toil,
From a tall spreading elm, the branchy spoil.
The clouded wood he next divides in twain,
And smooths them equal to an oval plane.
Six leather folds in still connected rows,
To either plank conformed, the sides compose;
The wimble perforates the base with care,
A destined passage op’ning to the air;
But once inclos’d within the narrow space,
The opposing valve forbids the backward race.
Fast to the swelling bag, two reeds combin’d
Receive the blasts of the melodious wind.
Round from the turning loom, with skill divine,
Embossed, the joints in silver circles shine;
In secret prison pent, the accents lie
Until his arm the lab’ring artist ply;
Then, duteous, they forsake their dark abode,
Fellows no more, and wing a separate road.
These upwards thro’ the narrow channel glide,
In ways unseen, a solemn murmuring tide;
Those through the narrow path their journey bend
Of sweeter sort, and to the earth descend.
O’er the small pipe, at equal distance, lie
Eight shining holes, o’er which his fingers fly.
From side to side the aerial spirit bounds;
The flying fingers form the passing sounds,
That, issuing gently through the polished door,
Mix with the common air and charm no more.”
The piper confounded his opponent with the dexterity of his performance,
and the fiddler gave up the contest. The maid, however, with the
proverbial fickleness of womankind, gave the preference to the loser,
and went away with him, leaving the piper lamenting his misfortunes.
Sir Walter Scott took a considerable interest in the Border pipers, and
in his introduction to _Border Minstrelsy_ says:—
“It is certain that till a very late date, the pipers, of whom there
was one attached to each Border town of note, and whose office was
often hereditary, were the great depository of oral, and particularly
poetical tradition. About spring-time, and after harvest it was the
custom of these musicians to make a progress through a particular
district of the country. The music and tale repaid their lodging and
they were usually gratified with a donation of seed corn. This order
of minstrels is alluded to in the comic song of ‘Maggie Lauder,’ who
thus addresses a piper—
‘Live ye upo’ the Border?’
By means of these men, much traditional poetry was preserved which
must otherwise have perished.”
In another place he says:—
“These town pipers, an institution of great antiquity upon the
Borders, were certainly the last remains of the minstrel race. Robin
Hastie, town piper of Jedburgh, perhaps the last of the order, died
nine or ten years ago [this was written about 1802]; his family was
supposed to have held the office for about three centuries. Old age
had rendered Robin a wretched performer, but he knew several old songs
and tunes which have probably died with him. The town pipers received
a livery and salary from the community to which they belonged, and in
some burghs they had a small allotment of land called ‘the Piper’s
Croft.’”
One of the statutes passed by the Town Council of Jedburgh was to the
following effect:—
“The swasher (town drummer) and piper to go duly round at four in the
morning and eight at night under the penalty of forfeiting their
wages, and eight days’ imprisonment.”
That the drummer and piper attended to their duties is shown by an
extract from _The Autobiography of a Scottish Borderer_. The writer of
the extract was a Jedburgh lady, who died in 1846, and very probably
either saw or heard of a procession such as she describes:—
“The bells rung a merry peal and parties paraded the streets, preceded
by the town piper, with favours in their hats.”
And, continuing, in a bit of glowing dialogue:—
“‘Walk in, gentlemen, and partake of the cup of joy in my puir
dwalling,’ quoth Kitty Rutherford as they came down the Burn Wynd,
‘the bairns that are unborn will rise up and call ye blessed for this
day’s wark. Cum in, Watty Boyd, cum in, Rob Hastie, to the kitchen,’”
etc.
Watty Boyd and Rob Hastie were respectively town drummer and town piper
of Jedburgh.
The “Piper’s House” in Jedburgh was No. 1 Duck Row, at the foot of the
Canongate, and the fact that it was always known by this name goes to
show that it was the house in which the town pipers resided. The Robin
Hastie referred to by Sir Walter Scott is supposed to have occupied the
house, which was altered in 1896 in order to meet modern requirements.
The instrument with which, according to tradition, one of the Jedburgh
pipers, John Hastie by name, played at Flodden, existed till very
lately, perhaps still exists, in the keeping of some antiquarian. That
burgh pipers were, on the Borders, where they rivalled in fame those of
the Highlands, greatly respected, is shown by the _Elegy on John Hasty_,
an excellent dirge which elucidates much of the manners of the Border
pipers. The name of the author is unknown, but as the piece was out of
print before 1730, the piper must have been dead before that time:—
“O death! thou wreck of young and auld,
How slie, and O how dreadfu’ bald!
Thou came unlooked for, nor anes tald
What was the crime;
But Hastie at the mouth turned cald
Just at his prime.
“We mourn the loss o’ mensefu’ John,
Yet greet in vain since he is gone;
A blyther lad ne’er buir a drone,
Nor touched a lill;
Nor pipe inspir’d wi’ sweeter tone,
Or better skill.
“Not Orpheus auld, with lyric sound,
Wha in a ring gard stanes dance round,
Was ever half so much renown’d
For jig and solo—
Now he lies dum aneath the ground
An’ we maun follow.
“At brydels, whan his face we saw,
Lads, lasses, bridegroom, bride and a’
Smiling, cry’d, Johnie come awa’,
A welcome guest;
The enchanting chanter out he’d draw—
His pleas’d us best.
“The spring that ilk are lik’d he kend;
Auld wives at sixty years wad stend;
New pith his pipes their limbs did lend,
Bewitching reed!
‘Las that his winsome sell sou’d bend
Sae soon his head.
“When bagpipes newfangled lugs had tir’d,
They’d sneer; then he, like are inspir’d,
We’s fiddle their faggin’ spirits fir’d,
Or e’er they wist;
Gi’ every taste what they desir’d,
He never mist.
“Then with new keenness wad they caper,
He sliely smudg’d to see them vaper;
And, if some glakit girl shou’d snapper,
He’d gi’ a wink,
Fie lads, quoth he, had aff, ne’er stap her,
She wants a drink.
“If a young swankie, wi’ his joe,
In some dark nook play’d bogle-bo,
John shook his head, and said, why no;
Can flesh and blood
Stand pipe and dance and never show
Their metal good.
“Not country squire, nor lord, nor laird,
But for John Hasty had regard;
With minstrels mean he ne’er wad herd;
Nor fash his head;
Now he’s received his last reward—
Poor man he’s dead.
“He hated a’ your sneaking gates,
To play for bear, for pease, or ates;
His saul aspir’d to higher fates,
O mensefu’ John!
Our tears come rapping down in spates,
Since thou art gone.
“Whan other pipers steal’d away,
He gently down his join wad lay:
Nor hardly wad tak’ hire for play,
Sic was his mense!
We rair aloud the ruefu’ day
That took him hence.
“John, whan he play’d ne’er threw his face,
Like a’ the girning piper race;
But set it aff wi’ sic a grace,
That pleas’d us a’;
Now dull and drierie is our case
Since John’s awa’.
“Ilk tune, mair serious or mair gay,
To humour he had sic a way;
He’d look precise, and smile and play,
As suited best;
But Death has laid him in the clay—
Well may he rest.
“A fiddle spring he’d let us hear,
I think they ca’d it “Nidge-nod-near,”
He’d gi’ a punk, and look sae queer,
Without a joke,
You’d swore he spoke words plain and clear,
At ilka stroke.
“It did ane good to hear his tale,
O’er a punch bowl, or pint o’ ale;
Nae company e’er green’d to skaill,
If John was by;
Alas! that sic a man was frail,
And born to die.
“But we his mem’ry dear shall mind,
While billows rair, or blaws the wind;
To tak’ him hence Death was no kind—
O dismal feed!
We’ll never sic anither find,
Since Johnie’s dead.
“Minstrels of merit, ilk ane come,
Sough mournfu’ notes o’er Johnie’s tomb;
Through fields of air applaud him home—
I hope he’s weel;
His worth, nae doubt, has sav’d him from
The muckle de’il.
EPITAPH.
“Here lies dear John, whase pipe and drone,
And fiddle aft has made us glad;
Whase cheerfu’ face our feasts did grace—
A sweet and merry lad.”
The Border pipers were supposed by their countrymen to excel in musical
skill and graceful execution those of the Highlands, and they commanded
a higher degree of respect than wandering musicians. They traversed the
country at particular seasons, chiefly in spring, for the purpose of
collecting seed corn—John Hastie apparently was too dignified for this,
as witness the reference to playing “for bear, for pease, or ates”—and
they were the last remains of the minstrelsy of the Borders. “Like a’
the girning piper race” shows that the pipe then commonly used in
Jedburgh was the Lowland, as that inflated with the mouth prevented
“girning.” Either John played the latter, or he had such command of his
features that he did not allow his music to deprive him of his pleasant
looks.
The village of Kilbarchan, too, had its piper. He was a notable person
in his day, and also proved himself worthy of the attention of the poet.
It was the habit in Kilbarchan for the piper to play a march called “The
Maiden Trace” before a bride as previous to her marriage she walked with
her maidens three times round the church. “Trixie,” in the following
epitaph, which was first printed in 1706, refers to a then popular
song:—
“The Epitaph of Habbie Simson
Who on his drone bore bony flags
He made his cheeks as red as Crimson
And babbed when, he blew the Bags.
“Kilbarchan now may say, alas!
For she hath lost her Game and Grace
Both Trixie and the Maiden Trace
But what remead?
For no man can supply his place
Hab Simson’s dead.
“Now who shall play, the day it daws?
Or hunt up, when the Cock he craws?
Or who can for the Kirk—town—cause,
Stand us in stead?
On Bagpipes (now) no Body blaws
Fen Habbie’s dead.
“Or wha will cause our Shearers shear?
Wha will bend up the Brags of Weir
Bring in the Bells or good play meir
In time of need?
Hab Simson could, what needs you speer?
But (now) he’s dead.
“So kindly to his Neighbours neast,
At Beltan and Saint Barchan’s feast
He blew and then held up his Breast
As he were weid
But now we need not him arrest
For Habbie’s dead.
“At Fairs he play’d before the Spear-men
All gaily graithed in their Gear Men,
Steell Bonnets, Jacks, and Swords so clear then
Like any Bead,
Now wha shall play before such Weir-men
Fen Habbie’s dead?
“At Clarkplays when he wont to come;
His Pipe played trimly to the Drum
Like Bikes of Bees he gart it Bum
And tun’d his Reed.
Now all our Pipers may sing dumb
Fen Habbie’s dead.
“And at Horse Races many a day,
Before the Black, the Brown, the Gray
He gart his Pipe when he did play,
Baith Skirl and Skreed,
Now all such Pastimes quite away,
Fen Habbie’s dead.
“He counted was a weil’d Wight-man
And fiercely at Foot-ball he ran;
At every Game the Gree he wan
For Pith and Speed
The like of Habbie was na than,
But now he’s dead.
“And than besides his valiant Acts
At Bridals he wan many Placks,
He bobbed ay behind Fo’ks backs,
And shook his Head;
Now we want many merry Cracks,
Fen Habbie’s dead.
“He was Convoyer of the Bride
With Kittock hinging at his side;
About the Kirk he thought a Pride
The Ring to lead.
But now we may gae but a Guide,
Fen Habbie’s dead.
“So well’s he keeped his decorum
And all the Stots of Whip-meg-morum,
He slew a Man, and wae’s me for him,
And bure the Fead!
But yet the Man wan hame before him,
And was not dead!
“Ay whan he play’d, the Lasses Leugh,
To see him Teethless Auld and teugh
He wan his Pipes beside Borcheugh
Withoutten dread;
Which after wan him Gear enough,
But now he’s dead.
“Ay whan he play’d the Gaitlings gedder’d,
And whan he spake the Carl bledder’d;
On Sabbath days his Cap was fedder’d,
A seemly Weid.
In the Kirk-yeard his Mare stood tedder’d
Where he lies dead.
“Alas! for him my Heart is sair,
For of his Springs I gat a skair,
At every Play, Race, Feast, and Fair
But Guile or Greed
We need not look for Pyping mair,
Fen Habbie’s dead.”
Besides those mentioned, there were other notable performers, who might,
by a slight stretch of language, be called burgh pipers. There was for
instance the Piper of Bridgeton, William Gunn, who published a book of
pipe music. He died in 1876 at the age of seventy-eight years. He was
well known in the east-end of Glasgow, and was engaged by the
inhabitants of Bridgeton to play through their streets in the early
morning, and thus usher in the new day. This was, of course, before
Bridgeton was absorbed by the big city, and when it had some social
existence of its own. Gunn was piper to the Glasgow Gaelic Club for a
time, and kept a school for pipers. The register of this school, which
was kept with great care, would be an interesting document if it could
be got, for among his pupils were many who became well-known pipers.
Then there was also Neil Blane, the worthy town piper of Lanark, so well
described by Scott in _Old Mortality_. Neil, when introduced to the
reader, is “mounted on his white Galloway, armed with his dirk and
broadsword, and bearing a chanter, streaming with as many ribbons as
would deck out six country belles for a fair or preaching.” He could not
very well have ribbons streaming from his “chanter,” but let that pass.
It is one of these liberties that Scott sometimes takes in matters of
detail. Neil was town-piper of——(why is the town not named directly?),
and had all the emoluments of his office—the Piper’s Croft, a field of
an acre in extent, five merks and a new livery coat of the town’s
colours yearly, some hopes of a dollar upon the day of the election of
magistrates, and the privilege of paying at all the respectable houses
in the neighbourhood a visit at spring-time to rejoice their hearts with
his music, and to beg from each a modicum of seed corn. Besides, he kept
the principal change-house in the burgh, was a good-humoured, shrewd,
selfish sort of fellow, indifferent alike to the disputes about Church
and State, and anxious only to secure the goodwill of customers. His
advice to “Jenny” as to how the change-house should be conducted makes
amusing reading, and illustrates the character very forcibly.
Neil, however, must have been a creature of the novelist’s imagination,
for there is no trace of him in the burgh records or in local
traditions.
“The Piper of Northumberland” was hardly a Scotsman, but he was so
closely associated with the Borderland that a reference to his exploits
may not be out of place. His name was James Allan, and there is an old
booklet which tells at considerable length of “his parentage, education,
extraordinary adventures, and exploits, his numerous enlistings, and
wonderful escapes: with a brief narrative of his last confinement and
death in Durham Jail, which happened in 1810.” Jemmy Allan, “the
celebrated Northumberland Piper,” was a true-born gipsy, born of gipsy
parents in the west of Northumberland in 1734. His father was a piper,
and he also developed an inclination for the pipes. Besides, he was a
first-class athlete, as hardy as the ordinary gipsy, handsome, daring,
cunning, resourceful, untruthful, dishonest, and everything that could
be called derogatory to the moral character of a man. He attained to
great fame as a piper, being installed among the privileged class of
minstrels, and allowed to join the “Faa” gang, over which “Will Faa”
held sovereignty for many years. At length his fame reached the Duchess
of Northumberland, into whose good graces, by a rather mean subterfuge,
Jemmy ingratiated himself, and afterwards ranked as one of her
musicians. But his habits of dissipation were too much for polite
society, and he was dismissed. During his after wanderings he married
several times, had “amours” many, enlisted and deserted immediately
afterwards times without number, always taking care to secure the bounty
money, swindled at cards and billiards wherever he went, charmed village
society with his music until the people were off their guard, and
finished up by cheating one and all, “borrowed” horses for getting
across the country conveniently, had as many marvellous escapes as could
be crammed into the lifetime of one man, tried most of the English
towns, and made them too hot to live in, took a turn of the Scottish
Border towns, with the same result, and finally got imprisoned for life
for horse-stealing. He died in the House of Correction in Durham in
1810, just before the arrival of a pardon, which had been obtained by
the exercise of some strong influence. The following verses, which,
somehow, have the ring of _Habbie Simson’s Epitaph_, conclude the book:—
“All ye whom Music’s charms inspire
Who skilful minstrels do admire,
All ye whom bagpipe lilts can fire
‘Tween Wear and Tweed,
Come, strike with me, the mournful lyre,
For ALLAN’S dead.
“No more where Coquet’s stream doth glide
Shall we view JEMMY in his pride,
With bagpipe buckled to his side,
And nymphs and swains
In groups collect, at even-tide,
To hear his strains.
“When elbow moved, and bellows blew,
On green or floor the dancers flew,
In many turns ran through and through
With cap’ring canter,
And aye their nimble feet beat true
To his sweet chanter.”
Among Border pipers, it may be added, the perfection of the art was
supposed to consist of being able to sing, dance, and play—the Lowland
pipe, of course—at the same time, and when the race became extinct there
was lost with them many ancient melodies.
Of the burgh pipers of Scotland there is not one left. The nearest
approach to a burgh piper is perhaps the town’s officer of Leith, who on
the occasion of the opening of a new bandstand in 1899 was presented
with a set of pipes.
[Illustration]