Of a different nature is a story told of the Seaforth Highlanders. On the 12th of August, 1793, as the grenadiers of Captain Gordon’s company at Pondicherry were on duty in the trenches, exposed to a burning sun and a severe cannonade from a fortress near by, Colonel Campbell, field officer of the trenches, ordered the piper to play some pibrochs. This was considered a strange order to be made at such a time, but it was immediately complied with, and, says the writer of the chronicles of the regiment, “we were a good deal surprised to perceive that the moment the piper began, the fire from the enemy slackened, and soon almost entirely ceased. The French all got upon the works, and seemed more astonished at hearing the bagpipes than we with Colonel Campbell’s request.” It was a new kind of warfare, and again justifies the use of the appellation “weapon” instead of “instrument” used by the court which tried the Jacobite piper in 1746. We all know the story of Lucknow, and though we know that, as a matter of history, it is entirely discredited, we cannot deny its extreme probability, and the intense effect the sound of the pipes in the distance would have had on the fainting men and women in the Residency. Something like the Lucknow story is that of Prince Charlie, who, when the clans were slow in gathering to his standard at Glenfinnan, retired to a hut and rested, disheartened and anxious. When at noon on the 19th of August no appearance was made he became hopeless, but in the afternoon the sound of the pipes made themselves heard, and shortly after the clans appeared. This is the moment which the authoress of the well-known song, “The March of the Cameron Men,” has described:— “Oh proudly they walk, but each Cameron knows He may tread on the heather no more, But boldly he follows his chief to the field, Where his laurels were gathered before. “I hear the pibroch, sounding, sounding, Deep o’er the mountain and glen, While light springing footsteps are trampling the heath, ’Tis the march of the Cameron men.” A good instance of the power of the pipes to rally men is told of the fateful battle of Magersfontein, during the present war in South Africa. When, at one stage, it seemed as if “retreat” had been sounded, a piper tried to tune his pipes, but his lips were too dry. A major handed him his own water bottle, and immediately afterwards, “Hey, Johnnie Cope” rang out. The men gathered round the piper as he stood there playing, marking time with his foot, and the tide was turned. The soldiers were sifted back into regiments and companies, and something like order was evolved out of chaos.