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Updated: June 28, 2025
"'Gone home to Heaven together, said I, 'one day and one hour, and a prayer on their lips for the lad; and I closin' their eyes at the last. And before they went they made me sit by them and sing a song that's common here with us; for manny and manny of the strength and pride of Farcalladen Rise have sailed the wide seas north and south, and otherwhere, and comin' back maybe and maybe not.
Jo had, however, come to the end of his weird tale for weird it certainly was, told at the foot of Guidon Mountain itself, and in a region of vast solitudes the pair of chemists were approaching "the supreme union of unctuous elements," as The Honourable put it, and in the silence that fell for a moment there crept the words of the singer: "And it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, And it's swift as an arrow and straight as a spear "
But I'll never go back to Farcalladen more." Shon McGann was lying on a pile of buffalo robes in a mountain hut, an Australian would call it a humpey, singing thus to himself with his pipe between his teeth. In the room, besides Shon, were Pretty Pierre, Jo Gordineer, the Hon. Just Trafford, called by his companions simply "The Honourable," and Prince Levis, the owner of the establishment.
"Sing us 'Avec les Braves Sauvages, Pierre," said Jo Gordineer. But Pierre waved his fingers towards Shon: "Shon, his song he did not finish on the glacier. It is good we hear all. 'Hein?" And so Shon sang: "Oh it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise." The sleeper on the pine branches stirred nervously, as if the song were coming through a dream to him.
In his delirium he seemed to be always with Lawless: "'For it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise' It's share and share even, Lawless, and ye'll ate the rest of it, or I'll lave ye Did ye say ye'd found water Lawless water!
Jo had, however, come to the end of his weird tale for weird it certainly was, told at the foot of Guidon Mountain itself, and in a region of vast solitudes the pair of chemists were approaching "the supreme union of unctuous elements," as The Honourable put it, and in the silence that fell for a moment there crept the words of the singer: "And it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, And it's swift as an arrow and straight as a spear "
And we parted one day, I carryin' the song that he wrote for me of Farcalladen Rise, and the memory of him; and him givin' me the word,'I'll not forget you, Shon, me boy, whatever comes; remember that. And a short pull of the Three-Star together for the partin' salute, says he.
Sure you're drinkin' none yourself I'll sing it again for you then 'And it's back with the ring of the chain and the spur' 'But burn all your ships behind you' 'I'll never go back to Farcalladen more!" Sir Duke's fingers had a trick of kindness, a suggestion of comfort, a sense of healing, that made his simple remedies do more than natural duty.
"Did you ever live in a castle?" she asked eagerly. "Yes," he said, with a dry little laugh. Then, after a moment, with the half-abstracted manner of a man who is recalling a long-forgotten scene, he added: "I lived in the North Tower, looking out on Farcalladen Moor. When I wasn't riding to the hounds myself I could see them crossing to or from the meet.
I never heard the song before." "No more you did. And I wish I could see the lad that wrote that song, livin' or dead. If one of ye's will tell me about your tobogan rides, I'll unfold about Farcalladen Rise." Prince Levis passed the liquor. Pretty Pierre, seated on a candle-box, with a glass in his delicate fingers, said: "Eh, well, the Honourable has much language.
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