With the breaking of the next roller the captain uttered no sound. The situation was too grave for explosives. Whenever his profanity stopped short the men grew nervous: they knew then that a crisis had arrived, one that even Captain Joe feared.
The captain bent over the chain, one arm clinging to the anchorage, his feet braced against a rock, the hook in his hand within an inch of the ring.
“Hold hard!” he shouted.
Caleb raised his hand in warning, and the rhythmic movement ceased. The men stood still. Every eye was fixed on the captain.
“LET GO!”
The big derrick quivered for an instant as the line slackened, stood still, and a slight shiver ran through the guys. The hook had slipped into the ring!
The system of four derricks, with all their guys and chains, stood as taut and firm as a suspension bridge!
Captain Joe turned his head calmly towards the platform, and said quietly, “There, Mr. Carleton, they’ll stand now till hell freezes over.”
As the cheering of the men subsided, the captain, squeezing the water from his hair and beard with a quick rasp of his fingers, sprang to Sanford’s rock, grasped his outstretched hand, shook it heartily, and called to Caleb, in a firm, cheery voice that had not a trace of fatigue in it after twelve hours of battling with sea and derricks, “All o’ you men what’s goin’ in the Screamer with Mr. Carleton to Keyport for Sunday ’d better look out for that life-boat. Come, Lonny Bowles, pick up them tackles an’ git to the shanty. It’ll be awful soapy round here ’fore mornin’.”