THE RAID. 209 



Each man in turn then had his cast, 

 An' aye the ither troot got fast 

 Upon the line, and then were past 



Right in the creel ; 

 And there they kickt and leapt their last, 



For lang and vveel. 



The sun at length got roun' the hill, 



The air it changt, got rather chill, 



They stopped and counted up their kill — 



Just ninety-eight ; 

 Then oot the boat and ovvre the hill, 



For hame made straight. 



