“Hold fast, all!”
It was well that he gave the cry. That is, it was well for Silas and Jupe. As for the rest, they knew what to expect and had gripped fast to some handhold.
Jack glanced at the engine room indicator.
The White Shark was being driven toward the bottom of the sea at an angle of thirty-five degrees. When it is considered that a grade of twenty-five degrees is called steep, one can form some appreciation of the position of things on board.
From the galley came suddenly a yell of anguish and a sound as of smashing crockery. In the cabins, loose articles could be heard tumbling about, while a deep voice boomed out:
“Shiver my timbers, but this beats heavy weather on the old Ohio!”
Jupe’s voice rang out in anguish:
“Gollyumption, dere goes dat buf’ly soup I had fo’ suppah! Good land alive, de butter’s done got mixed up wid de onions! Dar goes anudder plate! Say, lemme off’n dis cantamperous contraption ob a floating oil-stove!”
“Jupe’s in trouble,” grinned Jack, “how do you like it, Tom?”
“Um—um, well, I suppose it’s all right, Jack.”