“Whom do you wish to aid you?” inquired Mr. Chadwick.
“Silas and Jupe,” was the reply; “Silas knows the gun almost as well as I do. Jupe can carry ammunition.”
“Silas! Jupe!”
The two summoned by Mr. Dancer appeared. Silas’s weatherbeaten countenance betrayed no signs of emotion. Jupe, on the other hand, evidenced every variety of fear.
“Fo’ de lub ob de Holy Poker, Marse Jack!” he cried, “what kin’ ob new trubbel am dis?”
“Why, you are not scared, Jupe?”
“Not scared? Gorryme! Fust mah soup am spilled, ah’m scal-dead, an’ ebberyting knocked galley west, den ah heahs dat we am stuck at de bottom ob de sea!”
Jupe threw his hands above his head.
“Lan’s sakes and Moses pipes!” he cried, “what you tink ah am? Annuder Jonah at de bottom ob de ullibguitous ocean, swallowed up in de tummy ob a ombliferous whale?”
Even in their predicament they could not help laughing at the old negro’s perturbation.