Drifting they watched the heather hue,
The waters and the cliffs that bound them;
The air was still, the sky was blue,
Deceitful peace lay all around them.
McFarlane pondered on the stocks,
John Waters on his own perfection,
Bob Ainslie's thoughts were on his socks,
And Mrs. Wild's on her complexion.
When sudden—oh, that dreadful scream!
That cry from panic fear begotten!