And I laughed, and flaunted my indifference in
his sober face, and went away with bitten lips to the hammock they
had swung for me among the palms--
The Honorable Cuthbert had a voice, a big, rich, ringing baritone
like floods of golden honey. He had also a ridiculous little
ukulele, on which he accompanied himself with a rhythmic strumming.
When, like the sudden falling of a curtain, dusky, velvet,
star-spangled, the wonderful tropic night came down, we used to
build a little fire upon the beach and sit around it. Then
Cuthbert Vane would sing. Of all his repertory, made up of
music-hall ditties, American ragtime, and sweet old half-forgotten
ballads, we liked best a certain wild rollicking song, picked up I
don't know where, but wonderfully effective on that island where
Davis, and Benito Bonito, and many another of the roving
gentry--not to mention that less picturesque villain, Captain
Sampson of the _Bonny Lass_--had resorted between their flings with
fortune.
Oh, who's, who's with me for the free life of a rover?
Oh, who's, who's with me for to sail the broad seas over?
In every port we have gold to fling,
And what care we though the end is to swing?
Sing ho, sing hey, this life's but a day,
So live it free as a rover may.
Oh, who's, who's with me at Fortune's call to wander?
Then, lads, to sea--and ashore with gold to squander!
We'll set our course for the Spanish Main
Where the great plate-galleons steer for Spain.
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