The strain on the outboard shroud became intense. A dead silence prevailed, broken only by the clicking fall and the creak of the roller blocks. Twice the safety-valve blew a hoarse note of warning. Slowly, inch by inch, the sloop settled in the water, stopped suddenly, and quivered her entire length. Another turn of the drum on her deck and the huge stone canted a point, slid the width of a dock plank, and with a hoarse, scraping sound turned half round and swung clear of the wharf! A cheer went up from the motley crowd on the dock. Not a word escaped the men at work. The worst was yet to come. The swinging stone must yet be lowered on deck. “Tighten up that guy,” said Captain Joe quietly, between his teeth, never taking his eyes from the stone; his hand meanwhile on the fall, to test its strain. Bill Lacey and Caleb ran to the end of the dock, whipped one end of a line around a mooring-post, and with their knees bent to the ground held on with all their strength. The other end of the guy was fastened to the steel S-hook that held the Lewis now securely in the stone. “Easy—ea-s-y!” said Captain Joe, a momentary shadow of anxiety on his face. The guy held by Caleb and Lacey gradually slackened. The great stone, now free to swing clear, moved slowly in mid-air over the edge of the wharf, passed above the water, cleared the rail of the sloop, and settled on her deck as gently as a grounding balloon. The cheer that broke from all hands brought the fishwives to their porches. CHAPTER IV AMONG THE BLACKFISH AND TOMCODS Hardly had the men ceased cheering when the boom was swung back, another huge stone was lifted from the wharf, and loaded aboard the sloop. A third followed, was lowered upon rollers on the deck and warped amidships, to trim the boat. The mooring-lines were cast off, and the sloop’s sail partly hoisted for better steering, and a nervous, sputtering little tug tightened a tow-line over the Screamer’s bow. The flotilla now moved slowly out of the harbor toward the Ledge. Captain Brandt stood at the wheel. His face was radiant. His boat had met the test, just as he knew she would. She had stood by him too many times before for him to doubt her now. There had been one night at Rockport when she lay till morning, bow on to a gale, within a cable’s length of the breakwater. This saw-toothed ledge, with the new floating buoys of Captain Joe’s, could not frighten him after that. Yet not a word of boasting passed his lips. He spun his wheel and held his peace. When the open harbor was reached, the men overhauled the boom-tackle, getting ready for the real work of the day. Bill Lacey and Caleb West lifted the air-pump from its case, and oiled the plunger. Caleb was to dive that day himself,—work like this required an experienced hand,—and find a bed for these first three stones as they were lowered under water. Lacey was to tend the life-line.