From William Charles Scully, "Reminiscences of a South African Pioneer "(London: T. F. Unwin, 1913), p. 50:


“So one lovely day, in early November of 1867 [when I was 12] we embarked at Dublin on a small paddle-steamer called the Lady Eglinton [bound for Falmouth]. …The only memory that remains is connected with a ridiculous episode.
        
"There was a drunken Irish soldier on board. He was a good-natured creature who made himself most embarrassingly friendly towards all and sundry of the passengers. Eventually he tried to embrace one of the ladies. For this misdemeanor, which I am persuaded was based on no evil intention, he was trussed and tied down on the hatch, close to the wheel. But the man must have been a philosopher, for his bonds distressed him not at all. For several hours he lifted up his voice in continuous song. His repertoire was extensive and varied. To this day I can clearly recall the words as well as the tune of two of his ditties. One related to the history of a pair of corduroy breeches, year by year, since the close of the last decade, each year being treated of in a couplet. The first verse ran thus:

        “ ‘In eighteen hundred and sixty-one
        Those corduroy breeches were begun.’

        “Eventually, in the then current year 1867, ‘Those corduroy breeches went up to heaven.’

        “But they must have come down again, for it was prophetically related that in 1868, ‘Those corduroy breeches lost their sate.’

        “Following this came a lyric, having for its theme the pangs of despised love, and the faithlessness of the fair. Its refrain ran,

        “ ‘Oh, surely the wimmin is worse than the min,
        For they go to the Devil and come back agin.’”

        “Towards the afternoon the minstrel sank into slumber. To judge by the expression of his face his dreams must have been happy ones.”