A good deal of misunderstanding sometimes crops up through the use of the word “retreat” in relation to the pipes. A story is told of the great Napoleon which illustrates this very forcibly. Having heard from afar the skirl of the pipes, the Emperor wished to know more of the music, and so when a Highland piper was captured, he sent for him that he might hear him play. “Play a Pibroch,” said Napoleon, and the piper played a pibroch. “Play a March,” next asked the Emperor, and a march was played. Then “Play a Retreat”; but at this the Highlander looked up in surprise. “Play a Retreat! I have not learned to play a Retreat,” was the reply, and the pipes remained silent. The story is improbable on the face of it. First, because it is the buglers and not the pipers who sound the retreat; second, because there is no historical record of Napoleon having ever captured a piper; third, because the same story has been told of a drummer boy of the Guards who fell into the hands of the French; and fourth, because, in any case, the word “retreat” used in this sense does not mean that the men are running away from the enemy. It only means “retire,” or if in barracks it means that the time when the gates are shut for the night has come. There is no doubt, however, that the word is not very well chosen, and that on account of its significance in other connections, it might with advantage be dispensed with in favour of a better. Many stories are told, showing that the regimental pipers not only keep up the spirits of the men, but are themselves worthy of their position as a social force. At the Cape of Good Hope in 1805 the Seaforths suffered excessively from the heat. On one of their marches, although the fatigue was extreme, during a momentary halt the grenadier company requested the pipers to play for them, and they danced a Highland reel, to the astonishment of the 59th Regiment, which was close in the rear. In the Indian Mutiny, again, in a time of imminent peril, “as we,” writes the author of _The Highland Brigade_, “approached a big bungalow our hearts were cheered by the sound of the bagpipes playing a foursome reel. When we were halted and dismissed I went into the building, and there were four or five sets dancing with all their might.” The terrors of the Mutiny did not quench their musical ardour—more likely they intensified it.