“Ready!” came back from the steersman’s seat, booming through the mouth of the deck speaking-tube, which opened just below the panel.
Jupe, his ebony arms bared, stood above the retaining ropes, axe in hand. By his side stood Silas Hardtack.
Mr. Chadwick’s hand dropped—the preconcerted signal.
“Now, my hearty!” yelled Silas, slapping Jupe on the back. The darky’s axe fell and the ropes parted like pack thread.
For one molecule of time there ensued a breathless pause. Then came a start and a trembling throughout the structure of the wonderful diving craft.
But this was only for the space of a breath. The next instant the slide toward the water began. At the same time, Silas reverently broke out on a stern flagstaff the splendid emblem of Old Glory.
“Whee, Jack, we’re off!” exclaimed Tom below in the engine room, oil can in hand.
“Yes, off on an unknown voyage,” softly whispered Jack, his hand on the starting lever, awaiting with keen intensity the signal to start the engines on which so much depended.
Mr. Chadwick’s watch told off just ten seconds between the start of the White Shark and the instant she struck the water in a cloud of foam. Holding on to the rail with both hands, the party on deck barely escaped being hurled off at the violence of the impact.
“Whoopee! She’s afloat!” bellowed Silas Hardtack as soon as he caught his breath.