CHAPTER XV 



It was a'- for our richtfu' King 

 We left fair Scotland's strand, 



It was a' for our richtfu' King, 

 We first saw Irish land, my dear, 

 We first saw Irish land. 



Then right he turned and round about 



Upon the Irish shore 

 He gave his bridle rein a shake 



With ' Adieu for ever more, my dear,' 

 With ' Adieu for ever more. ' u 





& n u yz: ar _ I _zp:. 



NO one knows who wrote these words some mournful 

 Jacobite, perhaps, who felt as the author does ; 

 for though the night is perfect, with the golden 

 harvest moon reflected in a sea like glass, we cannot but feel 

 a little sentimental on turning our backs on relatives and 

 on our dear West Highland strand (especially during the 

 shooting season). 



The tune fits the words, does it not ? I think it is a 

 recollection of an old sea-chantey I once heard coming back 

 to mind to suit the words, and what might seem to be the 

 mournful cadence of our Diesel engine and the sighing of the 

 glassy water as we surge gently across the swell. I wrote 

 before of the musical notes of our engine. I do not think my 

 cousin Urmston or Henriksen notice it much to-night, for 

 "5 



