“Try,” said Peterkin.
“So I will.—Mak, tell them now that I’m going to continue the speech which this little review interrupted.”
“They’s all ready for more, massa.”
This was patent to the meanest capacity; for the negroes stood gazing at their commander-in-chief with eyes and mouths and ears open, and nostrils expanded, as if anxious to gulp in and swallow down his words through every organ.
“There is a cry,” said Jack, “which the white man gives when he enters into battle—a terrible cry, which is quite different from that of the black man, and which is so awful that it strikes terror into the heart of the white man’s enemies, and has even been known to make a whole army fly almost without a shot being fired. We shall let you hear it.”
Thereupon Jack and I and Peterkin gave utterance to a cheer of the most vociferous description, which evidently filled the minds of the natives with admiration.
“Now,” resumed Jack, “I wish my black warriors to try that cheer—”
Some of the black warriors, supposing that the expression of this wish was a direct invitation to them to begin, gave utterance to a terrific howl.
“Stay! stop!” cried Jack, holding up his hand.
Every mouth was closed instantly.