start. They got on board the steamer; and at the very instant that
Macleod stepped from the gangway on to the deck, the military band on
board, by some strange coincidence, struck up "A Highland lad my love
was born." Mrs. Ross laughed, and wondered whether the band-master had
recognized her husband.

And now they turned to the river; and there were the narrow and shapely
cutters, with their tall spars, and their pennons fluttering in the
sunlight. They lay in two tiers across the river, four in each tier, the
first row consisting of small forty-tonners, the more stately craft
behind. A brisk northeasterly wind was blowing, causing the bosom of the
river to flash in ripples of light. Boats of every size and shape moved
up and down and across the stream. The sudden firing of a gun caused
some movement among the red-capped mariners of the four yachts in front.

"They are standing by the main halyards," said Colonel Ross to his
women-folk. "Now watch for the next signal."

Another gun was fired; and all of a sudden there was a rattling of
blocks and chains, and the four mainsails slowly rose, and the flapping
jibs were run out. The bows drifted round: which would get way on her
first? But now there was a wild uproar of voices. The boom end of one of
the yachts had caught one of the stays of her companion, and both were
brought up head to wind. Cutter No. 3 took advantage of the mishap to
sail through the lee of both her enemies, and got clear away, with the
sunlight shining full on her bellying canvas. But there was no time to
watch the further adventures of the forty-tonners. Here and closer at
hand were the larger craft, and high up in the rigging were the mites of
men, ready to drop into the air, clinging on to the halyards. The gun is
fired. Down they come, swinging in the air; and the moment they have