At 1:30 a.m., a dozen members of the New York City Emerald Society Pipes and Drums Corps, firefighters all, mustered at the northernmost tip of Manhattan for a 27-kilometre march toward ground zero. A few of the men passed around a can of beer and spoke quietly about a firefighter's funeral they performed at Tuesday afternoon.

Similar scenes played out across the city, as five pipe and drum processions threaded their way through the five boroughs in the predawn hours.

In Staten Island and Queens, marchers passed through the blue-collar districts that had offered up so many firefighting sons. In Brooklyn, they walked the chaotic, cosmopolitan length of Flatbush Avenue. And in the Bronx, they lit up the often ignored neighbourhoods that once were home to the workers who kept the World Trade Center complex running smoothly.

Through the darkness of the night, the five processions headed toward ground zero and each other, drawing together like the intertwined ribbons of a condolence gift.

At 2:08 a.m., at the top of Manhattan, city fire department chaplain Rev. Everett Wabst blessed the men with holy water, the same ritual that used to be performed by Rev. Mychal Judge, who was killed during last year's rescue operations. The water was mixed with ashes from his predecessor's vestments.

"We have all been touched in some way by Father Mike," Father Wabst said, "and my blessing today ends with a little humour, as he would have had it. We'll need some of that humour today."

A dozen firefighters came to march behind the procession, which began with a funereal rendition of America the Beautiful. Charles Fisher, a recently retired Queens firefighter, wore a medley of pins on his chest in honour of the victims of that day.

One was a Canadian flag pin, "to thank the Canadian brothers who came down here to help out last year," he said gently. With sweat already curling on his upper lip from the humidity, he said he was there to march because he "wasn't going to get any sleep, anyway."

The Scottish skirl of bagpipes is an unusual sound along the upper reaches of Broadway, which is home to a predominantly Hispanic and black community. Yet many residents popped up along the route to cheer the men.

Dosa Martinez, 26, who sported a silver earring and a gold necklace with a diamond-studded New York Yankees logo, saluted as he stood at the curb by 190th Street.

"This is my way of showing my support," he explained, saying he'd never saluted anyone before.

A frizzy-haired woman in her 50s named Sonia appeared on the street in a white terry-cloth bathrobe and slippers. "This is so beautiful," she cried.

A prostitute gave a toothy smile and flashed her midnight-blue silk bra and panties for a truckful of appreciative firemen.

Beams from the lead fire truck's searchlights illuminated the fire escapes and battered brick walls of apartment buildings along Broadway. The snap of the snare drums echoed through empty lots, while ghostly silhouettes of people roused from their beds by the music appeared at the windows of fourth- and fifth-floor walkups.

Just before 4:30 a.m., a dozen ragtag and faintly inebriated patrons stood outside the pub Tap a Keg at 104th Street, holding handmade signs that, put together, spelled "THANKS AGAIN." U.S. flags hung in the windows of shops all the way down Broadway.

Every few blocks, another local fire squadron appeared with its engine or truck, lights ablaze, to offer a salute.

Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, the musical troupe swept up crowds in its wake, changing its makeup every few kilometres. What began as a mournful and contemplative nighttime march turned upbeat and then festive as it moved southward and dawn approached.

In central Harlem, a dozen neighbourhood boys in gold jewellery and baseball caps joined, clapping their hands to the military crack of the drums. About 50 Columbia University students joined at 110th Street, whooping with the delighted yelps left over from an outdoor music festival.

Although many had attended a downtown pacifist rally a few hours earlier, they did not share their political views with those at the front of the procession, many of whom offered their steadfast support for U.S. military operations.

For most of the journey, the pipers marched in crews of 10 or 12, riding behind in buses to relieve each other every 1½ kilometres. But at 5:30 a.m., all 54 musicians joined together, blasting into Times Square with a thunderous rendition of Over There. The applause and camera flashes were becoming almost constant, as tourists in "I Love NY" T-shirts thrilled to the sight of their heroes.

At 6:30 a.m., after walking west, the pipers arrived at the edge of the Hudson River and turned south toward ground zero. More than 400 people now trailed behind, cheering them on. For the first time in their long morning, they could see the yawning absence where the twin towers once stood. Their pace slowed as they inched their way down West Street, following the same route many of their comrades took last year as they screamed toward the emergency.

About 7:30 a.m., playing Yankee Doodle Dandy, they pulled into a parking lot southwest of ground zero, where they awaited the arrival of the other pipe and drum corps. Joe Murphy, the band's chairman, said he hadn't felt much emotion as he walked the route.

"We haven't had much time to mourn or much time to cry over the last year," he said.

"I don't know," he suddenly choked, looking around at the thousands of mourners. "Maybe today I'll cry."