“Well, since you are bent on trying a short campaign with us,” he said, “I shall make no objection. Only, if you are killed, what am I to say to your mistress?”
Old Jacob looked aghast at the bare supposition, but he quickly rallied.
“Nebber fear dat,” he replied grinning.
“No, indeed,” replied Macdonald, “it would take a saw-mill to cut through your skull.”
“My skull is not so tick as you tink, Massa Macdonald,” replied old Jacob, tartly, turning on the serjeant, “I hab you know dat, sar.”
“Well,” said Preston, laughing, “no time is to be lost. Get ready at once to start.”
The serjeant accordingly dragged off the volunteer, saying, good humoredly,
“Keep close to me when we charge, and put all your muscle into every blow you make. You’ve one excellent quality, let me tell you, without flattery—you hate those English damnably.”
“Sartain, sar,” said old Jacob, making a full stop until he delivered himself of his speech. “Dey are good looking offisur enough; but, sar, dey tink Jacob Bakely no more dan a hoss. It’s Jacob here, and Jacob dare—and de best of missus wine at dat. Dey tink nobody gemman but darselves. I’se show ’em dare mistake. Lor’ A’mighty, sar, I extinguish dem.”
——