“For, I’m a buccaneer, oh,
A rowdy-dowdy Buccaneer.
I cuts ’em down and I shoots ’em down
’Cause why?—I’m a buc—ca—nee-e-e-e-e-r!”
“Buccaneer, my hat!” said Tom, “Bill,” to their clean-living, high-principled friend as he sauntered to the doorway of the steering room, “Why don’t you throw Hen’s ‘Mexican Tonic’ overboard?”
“I can’t find it,” Bill said, “or I would, in a minute. We’re getting into Caribbean waters and it won’t be long before we are in among the tricky rocks. We have to steer down through the Gulf of Honduras and pick up the reefs outside the Rio Patuca, and that is no place to be ‘half-seas-over,’ let me tell you. Henry knows the course and he can navigate pretty well when he’s ‘straight’ but I don’t like him in his present condition——”
“——A rowdy-dowdy Buccane-e-e-e-er!” sang Henry.
“He’s a rowdy in his actions, and, goodness knows! he’s dowdy enough in his clothes and habits,” said Tom. “Nicky, why did you ever let him look at that book about pirates? He thinks he’s one.”
“I thought he would be interested, having a name the same as one of the most notorious pirates,” Nicky replied. “It isn’t the book that’s to blame, it’s the ‘Tonic.’”
“I’m going down in the cabin and have another good look,” Tom said, letting Bill take over the wheel, and indicating the course as Henry had last given it to him. “Cliff’s father is very nervous about Henry but he says not to argue with him, but to make the best of it.”