From the vessel Dick watched the launch as the afterglow of sunset died in the west, and night spread its sable wings above the world. He saw other boats join in the search, but still he declined to make known the fact that he had escaped.
A huge colored man, stretching his arms, and yawning, appeared on deck from below.
“Mah golly!” he muttered. “Ah must hab slept like a log. Why, it’s gone got dark areddy, and Ah ain’t lit dem lights. If de cap’n evah foun’ dat out, Ah’d ketch it. Ah guess Ah’ll hurry up about gittin’ dem lights lit. Yes, sah!”
“That’s right, Sambo,” said Dick, in a low tone, as he stepped out and confronted the negro. “You better get onto your job.”
“Fo’ laws sake!” gasped the colored man, starting back. “Where yo’ come from, maan? How’d yo’ git on dis yere vessel? What yo’ doin’ on dis yere vessel? By golly! Ah guess yo’ one ob dem pirate thieves dat goes round stealin’ from vessels, ain’t yer? Now, yo’ keep yo’ distance. Don’ come near dis nigger, fo’ Ah’ll crack your skull jes’ as sure’s yo’ do. Ah’s a baad maan, Ah is. Mah name is Thomas Jefferson Jackson Jones, and Ah’s dangerous when Ah gits mah mad up. If Ah eber hits yo’ wif one of dese mauls ob mine, dat will be yo’ funeral, maan. Yo’ll ride along wif de flowers in de front carriage, and yo’ won’t hear none of de music. Yes, sir; yes, sir! Ah’s dangerous!”
“You look it,” laughed Dick, for through the darkness he could see the darky’s eyes rolling with terror, and it seemed that the fellow’s shaking knees would melt beneath him. “Don’t let my accidental presence on board the vessel disturb you.”
“Oh, Ah’s not disturbed in the slightes’ declivity,” hastily retorted Thomas Jefferson Jackson Jones. “Ah’s puffeckly caam and placated, Ah is. Ah’s a maan dat nebber takes no chances. Always carries a razzor in mah pocket for ’mergencies. Yes, sah!”
“Well, let your razor stay in your pocket,” said Dick. “You won’t have to use it. Be kind enough to do me a favor—don’t speak quite so loud. I’ll explain how you came to find me here.”
The darky listened with an air of doubt to Dick’s words, but the boy called his attention to the fact that the launch and a number of small boats were moving about near the spot where the collision had occurred.
“They’re still searching for me,” said Merriwell. “For certain reasons I don’t want them to know I escaped. I want them to think I was drowned. Now, Sambo, I’m going to make you a proposition.”