2018 Writing Scrapbook

Victory

Note: This was a Christmas present for my mother.

He knew that their first sound wasn't heard on the lush green soil of his people. It had been carried from the birthplace of the Messiah and through the deserts and mountains until it reached his island. The whistling sound of sheepskin and pipes poking out the end wasn't original theirs, but it was his now. Just as even Emperor Nero had played this mighty beast of an instrument, he played it now.

Since he was a small boy, his father had taught him to play the bagpipes. It was second nature to him, and he would stand out on the moor with his ginger hair whistling in the wind, blaring such a beast. The village heard his music and would watch him with cheers and whoops of approval. But it didn't prove to be such a great help until his face was clad with a beard running down his neck and a few wrinkles above his eyes.

He was appointed by his chief as the official piper in the land, meant to accompany them to every battle they fought. So not only was his instrument music, but it was a message: "We will win," it sang. "We will be free once again."

The music whistled through the land, over the hills, through the echoes of the moor. Every man, woman, and child heard this music, and it urged them towards victory. Their patriotic feelings urged them to win countless times, clad in kilts and fury. But then there came the day when they lost once more. In 1745, a decree was issued that any man who took up the playing of such an instrument was to be tried for treason.

He kept his instrument, but concealed it beneath the boughs of a tree. And in the dead of night, he would march around the castle that occupied the center of his village until a soldier barged out and chased him into the woods. Every night he marched, playing a melancholy tune. And every night he got away.

Until one. They seized him and smashed the grandiose creature he'd held in his arms. He was sent to the stockades, strung up, and with a bellowing voice they asked, "Do you swear loyalty to the King of England?"

"No," he gasped. "I swear loyalty to the King of Scotland."

"I will ask you one more time," they shouted. "Do you swear loyalty to the King of England?"

"No! I swear loyalty to my country of Scotland!"

"Then I hereby declare that you are guilty of treason! The penalty is death!"

And so he was sentenced and prosecuted for treason. But even in his dying days, he remembered his music. He remembered his victory. And he remembered that Scotland would win again someday.