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For how would you know that Fhir a bhata, na horo eile is pronounced Feer a vahta na horo ailya?" "And perhaps, then," said she, with a charming smile, "writing it down would spoil it altogether? But you will ask them to sing it for me." He said a word or two in the Gaelic to Sandy, who was rowing stroke; and Sandy answered with a short, quick laugh of assent.
There was a sound far below them of the striking of oars in the water, and another sound of one or two men monotonously chanting a rude sort of chorus. "They are taking the gig on to the yacht," he said. "But what are they singing?" "Oh, that is Fhir a bhata" said he; "it is the common boat-song. It means, Good-by to you, boatman, a hundred times, wherever you may be going."
Well, on this occasion she did not make use of any dramatic gesture; but she turned out the lamp, and threw herself on the top of this narrow little bed; and was determined that, before they got her conveyed to their savage home in the North, she would make one more effort for her freedom. Then she heard the man at the helm begin to hum to himself "Fhir a bhata, na horo eile." The night darkened.
He lays his head down on the warm heather, on this beautiful summer day, and the seas are all blue around him; and the sun is shining on the white sands of Iona. Far below, the men are singing "Fhir a bhata," and the sea birds are softly calling. But suddenly there is a horror in his brain, and the day grows black, for an adder has stung him! it is Righinn the Princess the Queen of Snakes.
And then the great steamer came up and slowed; and the boat was hauled alongside and young Ogilvie sprang up the slippery steps. "Good-bye, Macleod!" "Good-bye, Ogilvie! Come up at Christmas." The great bulk of the steamer soon floated away, and the lugsail was run up again, and the boat made slowly back for Castle Dare. "Fhir a bhata!" the men sung; but Macleod scarcely heard them.
And then he sat silent and distraught, as the two women, muffled up in their cloaks, chatted cheerfully, and partook of the sandwiches and claret that Janet had got out of the basket. "Fhir a bhata," the men sang to themselves; and they passed under the great cliffs, all black and thunderous now; and the white surf was springing over the rocks.
Fhir a bhata, na horo eile, Fhir a bhata, na horo eile, Fhir a bhata, na horo eile, O fare ye well, love, where'er ye be." For some moments they sat quiet with the spell of the dreamy, sad music upon them. "One more, mother," entreated Dick. "No, laddie. The night is falling. There's work to-morrow for you. Aye, and for Margaret here." Iola rose and came timidly to Mrs. Boyle.
"Sing again," entreated Iola, all the lazy indifference gone from her voice. "Sing just one more." "This one, mother," said Barney, playing the tune, "your mother used to sing, you know, 'Fhir a Bhata'." "How often haunting the highest hilltop, I scan the ocean thy sail to see; Wilt come to-night, Love? wilt come to-morrow? Wilt ever come, love, to comfort me?
"Fhir a bhata," the men sung, until Donald struck in with his pipes, and the wild skirl of "The Barren Rocks of Aden" was a fitter sort of music to go with these sweeping winds and plunging seas. And now we will board the steamer, where Keith Macleod is up on the bridge, occasionally using a glass, and again talking to the captain, who is beside him.
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