DANCING IN THE GREEN.
I slept well that night, better than I had slept since I left New York,
for there was nothing to disturb me. A good rub down and a good night's
rest had done me a world of good. Those who have traveled know what my
feelings were. After a cheap breakfast in a Municipal Restaurant, where
I had two big, thick slices of bread with excellent butter and a cup of
good coffee for two cents, I bummed around the Clyde again, taking in
the sights. I liked Glasgow first rate. The people were as friendly and
sociable as they were out West, and their accent and ways were a
never-ending source of interest to me. Everything that I saw interested
me, for it was all so new and strange. No one can have the faintest idea
what there is to be seen abroad unless he or she goes there and hears
and sees for himself. Word-pictures are inadequate to give one a proper
idea, for there is something even in a foreign _atmosphere_ that must
be felt before it can be appreciated.
I bought a morning paper and sat down on a bench along the embankment to
read it. It was interesting from start to finish with nothing "yellow"
about it. The articles were written in an able, scholarly way, and
besides giving the news there were columns devoted to giving useful
hints, such as "Master and Man," "Husbands and Wives," and such like
things, that were well to know. They were in the shape of "Answers and
Queries," somewhat. Even the advertisements were interesting to me but
"The Want" ads were mostly incomprehensible, for there were too many
Scotch colloquialisms in them. I saw an announcement in the paper
stating that there would be dancing in the Green that afternoon, and I
concluded instantly that I would take it in. It was to be a free show
and when there is anything of that sort going on you may count me in,
every time.
In the meanwhile I just loafed around the banks of the Clyde, watching
them load and unload vessels, taking in the foreigners' ways of doing
things, peering into the shop-windows along the water-front, etc. The
time passed quickly enough. I wasn't homesick a bit but felt right at
home. There was something about the people and the place that made me
feel quite at home.
After dinner, at about two o'clock, I strolled into the Green. People
were slowly sauntering into it in groups, and walking up toward the
music stand where the dancing was to be done. The music stand was about
half a mile from the park entrance. It was early, so I sat down on a
bench and made myself comfortable. Little boys came along handing out
programs and I secured one of them. Here is what it said:
_Glasgow Green._
No. 1--March; Glendaurel Highlanders.
No. 2--Strathspey; Marquis of Huntley.
No. 3--Reel; The Auld Wife Ayont the Fire.
No. 4--March; Brian Boru.
No. 5--Strathspey; Sandy King.
No. 6--Reel; Abercairney Highlanders.
No. 7--Dance; Reel o' Tullock.
No. 8--Waltz; The Pride of Scotland.
No. 9--Highland Fling.
No. 10--March; Loch Katrine Highlanders.
No. 11--Strathspey; When You Go to the Hill.
No. 12--Reel; Over the Isles to America.
No. 13--Dance; Sword Dance.
No. 14--March; 93d's Farewell to Edinburgh.
No. 15--Strathspey; Kessock Ferry.
No. 16--Reel; Mrs. McLeod's.
No. 17--Slow March; Lord Leven.
_Choir._
No. 1--Glee; Hail, Smiling Morn.
No. 2--Part Song; Rhine Raft Song.
No. 3--Part Song; Maggie Lauder.
No. 4--Part Song; Let the Hills Resound.
No. 5--Scottish Medley, introducing favorite airs.
No. 6--We'll Hae Nane But Hielan Bonnets Here.
No. 7--Part Song; Hail to the Chief.
No. 8--Part Song; The Auld Man.
No. 9--Part Song; Awake Aeolian Lyre.
No. 10--Part Song; Night, Lovely Night.
No. 11--God Save the King.
The program was a good long one and sure looked good to me. I imagined
there would be something doing.
At about half past two there was a big crowd congregated about the music
stand but as there were few seats near it most of the people had to
stand.
As I wanted to see all I could I mingled with the throng and patiently
waited for the performance to begin. The band hadn't made its appearance
yet and there was no one on the band stand. To relieve the tedium some
of the young fellows who were in the crowd began to chaff some of the
lassies in a flirty way. Three pretty girls in a group were the especial
target of the laddies. If I could only get off the Scotch right I would
jot down some of their badinage for it was very amusing, to me, at
least, but I couldn't do the theme justice.
After what to me seemed an interminable long wait we heard some yelling
and snarling away down toward the entrance of the park I took to be
dog-fighting. Too bad it was so far away, for anything would have been
agreeable just then to relieve the monotony, even a dog-fight. I noticed
the people near the entrance scattering to either side of the walk and
forming a lane through which to give the dogs a show. The yelping and
snarling came nearer and finally I perceived that it was a band of men
approaching dressed in Highland costume and playing the bagpipes. I had
heard the bagpipes played many a time and knew what they were but I had
never heard a whole lot of them played at once. I now knew that it
wasn't a dog-fight that had caused the noise. The bag-pipers came along
quickly with long strides, their heads erect, stern of visage with
petticoats flying from side to side like those of a canteen-girl when
she marches with her regiment. The men were husky fellows,
broad-shouldered, lithe and active, but they wore no pants. The whole
lot of them were bare-legged and upon their heads was perched a little
plaid cap with a feather in it, and over their shoulders was thrown a
plaid shawl. Stockings came up to their knees, but their legs a little
way further up beyond the stockings were entirely bare. Although there
were lots of the girls present I didn't notice any of them blush at this
exposure of the person. Maybe they were used to such spectacles. What
tune do you think these Highlanders were playing as they marched along?
Nothing more nor less than--
"Where, oh where has my little dog gone,
Where, oh where can he be?
With his hair cut short and his tail cut long,
Where, oh where can he be?"
This was a mighty nice little tune and I had heard it before, but I had
never heard it played by such instruments. The people liked the tune and
seemed to like the Highlanders too, for when they went by, the people
closed in after them in a solid body, and marched behind them, a
pushing, elbowing, struggling mass.
When the music stand was reached the band did not go upon it but marched
around it playing that same little old tune. I wondered why they didn't
change it and play something else but as the crowd didn't kick there was
no use of me kicking. They kept a marching and a marching around the
stand for quite a little while but the tune never changed. The musicians
took a good fresh hold on the air every minute or two, some note rising
a little shriller than the others but that is all the variation there
was. Do you want to know the honest truth? Well I wasn't stuck on the
tune or the bagpipes either. The noise they made would have made a dog
howl. It was nothing but a shrieking, yelling, and squeaking. Call that
music? From the pleased faces of the people you would have judged it was
fine.
After what seemed a coon's age the band quit playing and marching, and
mounted the platform, upon which they had been preceded by a lot of
boys and girls who formed the choir.
Number one on the program was a march, the Glendaurel Highlanders. I
couldn't see anything in it except more marching to a different tune.
The crowd seemed to like it and applauded frantically. There was a whole
lot of pushing and shoving by the crowd in my neighborhood and I wasn't
comfortable at all. A sturdy dame behind me made herself especially
obnoxious by wanting to get right up front and she didn't seem to care
how she got there or who she shoved out of the way to accomplish her
purpose.
She dug her elbow into my side in no gentle fashion, and was bent on
getting in front of me, whether I was agreeable or not. Well, she didn't
make the riffle. I planted my elbow in her rib to see how she liked it.
She scuttled away from me then quickly enough.
Number two on the program was Marquis of Huntley. I didn't know who the
Marquis of Huntley was but evidently the crowd did for they went wild
over the tune and dancing. The dancing was fine, tip-top, but I can't
say as much for the tune. The way them Highlanders could dance was a
caution, for they were graceful and supple as eels. No flies on them.
Number three was a corker, a reel called "The Auld Wife Ayont the Fire."
There was something doing this time. The Highlanders turned themselves
loose and they hopped, skipped, jumped and yelled like a tribe of Sioux
Indians on the war path. How they did carry on and how the crowd whooped
it up in sympathy! The whole push was frantic, Highlanders and all. My
hair riz but I don't know why. If any one tells me that those
bare-legged Highlanders can't dance I will surely tell them they are
mistaken. They were artists and no mistake, every one of them.
Brian Boru was the next event on the program, a march. I was getting
tired of marches but the mob wasn't. They applauded the Brian Boru
wildly and saw a whole lot in it that I couldn't see.
Number five was another strathspey, Sandy King. I was wondering who
Sandy was and if he were a king, but I didn't like to ask questions. No
use letting the "hoi-polloi" get on to it that I was a greenhorn. There
might have been something doing had they known it, for it takes but a
little thing to set a mob a-going.
Next came a reel, Abercairney Highlanders. I wondered how many different
clans of Highlanders there were in Scotland. The woods seemed full of
them. This was another wild Indian affair, worse than the first reel.
Them chaps were good yellers and jumpers, and I think could hold their
own with any wild Indian, no matter what tribe he belonged to. Their
lungs were leathery, their limbs tireless, and their wind excellent.
The Reel of Tullock came next and then a waltz, "The Pride of Scotland."
Both were excellent.
Number nine was a Highland Fling. That was a great number. It aroused
everyone to enthusiasm. I could not help but admire the grace of the
dancers. So quick they were, so unerring. Their wind was so good that I
felt I would have hated to tackle any one of them in a scrap.
Number thirteen was a sword-dance, danced by one man only. Crossed
swords were laid on the platform and the highlander danced between them
slowly, rapidly, any old way, and never touched. He never looked down
while dancing, and how he managed to avoid these swords was a marvel to
me. The sword blades were placed close together and the dance was kept
up a long time. That chap was an artist of a high class, and could have
made a whole lot of money on the stage had he chosen to do so. Maybe he
was a celebrity in Glasgow and Scotland. He never touched a sword. His
dancing was marvelous. It was evident these Highlanders could do
something besides squeezing wind out of a bag and playing "where, oh
where." Yes, they were all right. Their performance was a good one and
worth anyone's while to see. When I returned to my lodgings that evening
I told my landlady that I had attended the dance in the Green and she
wanted to know how I liked it. I told her truly that it was the best I
had ever seen. And it was, by long odds.