Once more he dived.
This was the fourth time he had ventured beneath the sea in his search for the coveted weapon, which was to free the ship from the cumbersome masts and top-hamper that kept her down on her beam-ends.
Unless we got the axe we would never be able to right her again; and we all regarded this dive of Jake’s as the last chance, although we did not exchange a syllable—our looks expressed our thoughts.
Jake now remained longer below than he had yet done, so we feared some mishap had befallen him; but, just as Jackson was preparing to dive down into the water that covered the forecastle, to see what had become of him, the plucky darkey popped up above the surface, holding something in one hand as he swam with the other towards the main rigging.
Our hearts beat high with expectation.
In another minute, Jake had mounted into the shrouds, when our suspense was quickly relieved; for, no sooner had he clambered near enough to the ship’s side to get a support for his feet, than he raised himself erect.
“Golly, Mass’ Cap’en,” he sang out in feeble accents, being now pretty well exhausted with his repeated efforts, “I’se got him at last! I’se got him at last!”
At the same time, he lifted up whatever it was he held in his hand, and tried to wave it round his head in token of his victory.
It was Adze’s axe.
“Hooray!” shouted Captain Miles at the extreme pitch of his voice, and the responsive cheer we raised in chorus might have been heard more than a mile away.