Then Tom's head appeared; next his shoulders.
"Conlon!" "Here, sir." "Here is one of the bombs.

Handle it carefully." "Trust me, sir." Conlon drew the metal tube, with a piece of wire pendant from it, as carefully as though it had been a royal baby and heir to a throne.

Into the boat the engine tender lifted the thing, and laid it carefully in a locker.

By the time that Conlon was back at the rail Reade had gone below again.
"Down dere, aftah mo' death!" grinned the darkey.

A colored man can usually be brave when serving under a white leader in whom he has full confidence.
Presently Tom came up with another metal tube, like the first.
"I'll hang on and get my breath," Tom informed the men in the boat, as he rested one hand on the rail.