"She's a weatherly craft,
Werry wet, fore-and-aft,
And she rolls like a liquorish jade, oh!
But she steers werry kind,
On a course to her mind,
When she's bound for the isle Trinidado.
"Soon a sail we espies,
Says the skipper—'My eyes!
That's the stuff for us lads of the trade, oh!
Bales of silk in his hold,
Casks of rum—maybe gold—
Not forgetting the real Trinidado!'
"Then it's 'Stand by! My sons!
Steady! Run out your guns—
We've the Don's weather-gage. Who's afraid, oh!'
So we takes him aback,
He is ours in a crack,
And we scuttles him off Trinidado!
"Now, here's to the crew!
And the skipper! and Sue!
And here's 'Luck to the boys of the blade, oh!
May they ne'er want a glass,
A fair wind, a fair lass!
Nor a pipe of the real Trinidado!'"
The applause elicited by this effort was loud and long. Ere it subsided, George looked more than once anxiously to windward. Then he went to his cabin and consulted the barometer, after which he reappeared on deck and whispered in Eugène's ear—
"I am going to caulk it for an hour or two. Hold on, unless there's any change in the weather, and be sure you come below and rouse me out at eight bells."
