Of the Roncevalles fight,”——
when he was unexpectedly anticipated by one of his companions in arms, another young officer whose thoughts had been running in the same channel, and who had stepped forward before him with the same request. The wild and melancholy notes of Lewis’s popular song now rose upon the still evening air, on the very same spot where ten centuries ago the battle that it lamented, had been fought.
On the West Point Band I have frequently heard music of a soft and touching character played with a taste and pathos that almost drew tears from the hearers—for instance, the sad but charming Scottish air,
“Oh! Mary when the wild wind blows.”
I have heard Willis say, that after the publication of the Irish melodies was planned, he was engaged by Moore and Sir John Stevenson, to travel in bye roads and remote places among the peasantry, for the purpose of collecting from them all the songs and tunes peculiar to their country. He frequently passed the night in their cabins, where he was always hospitably received, and where he was liked the better for making himself at home among the people; singing new songs for them, (he was a good singer) and inducing them to sing him old ones in return. So that in this way he caught a great number of national airs, which were then new to him, and which he afterwards put in score. It was for these melodies that the minstrel of Ireland wrote those exquisite songs, on which he may rest his fairest claim to immortality.
Willis was himself an excellent composer of military music. While at West Point he produced a number of very fine marches and quicksteps, usually calling them after the officers. Those denominated General Swift’s March, and Lieutenant Blaney’s Quickstep, were perhaps the best. To some he did not even take the trouble to affix a title, but distinguished them by numbers. Sometimes when we sent out to ask the name of “that fine new march or quickstep that the band had just played,” he would reply that it was No. 12 or No. 16. The officers often suggested to him the publication of these admirable pieces as a source of profit to himself, and of pleasure to the community; but with his habitual carelessness of his own interest, he always neglected taking any steps for the purpose. There is reason to fear that few or no copies of them are now in existence: and therefore they will be lost for ever to the admirers of martial music. Willis lived about twelve years at West Point, and died there of a lingering illness in 1830.
When the manager of the Park Theatre was getting up a new musical piece or reviving an old one, he generally borrowed Willis, for a few of the first evenings, to play in the orchestra. On one of these occasions he took down with him to New York his two little boys, neither of whom had ever been in a theatre. Mr. Simpson, the manager, allotted them seats in his private box over one of the stage doors. Both the children had been instructed by their father, and sung very well. The after piece was O’Keefe’s little opera of Sprigs of Laurel. In the duett between the two rival soldiers, in which each in his turn celebrates the charms of Mary, the major’s daughter, one of the boys on hearing the symphony, exclaimed to his brother—“Why Jem! that’s our duett—the very last we’ve been practising.” “So it is,” replied Jem, “let’s join in and sing it with them.” Unconscious of such a proceeding being the least out of rule, they united their voices to those of the two actors, and went through the song with them in perfect time and tune. The soldiers were amazed at this unexpected addition to their duett, but looking up, soon found from whence the sound proceeded. Willis (who was in the orchestra) became greatly disconcerted, and in vain made signs to his children to cease. Their attention was too much engaged to perceive his displeasure. The audience were not long in discovering the young singers, and loudly applauded them, equally pleased with the naïveté of the boys and their proficiency in vocalism.
It was formerly customary for the West Point band to play sacred music every Sunday morning, in the camp, after the guard was marched off.
“Sweet as the shepherd’s tuneful reed,”
was performed by them delightfully.