I looked seaward, and my eyes rested on a
ragged line of silver edging the horizon toward
Montauk.

"Does look soapy, don't it?" answered the shoveller.
"Wonder if Cap'n Joe sees it."

Cap'n Joe had seen it--fifteen minutes ahead of
anybody else,--had been watching it to the exclusion
of any other object. He knew the sea,--knew every
move of the merciless, cunning beast; had watched
it many a time, lying in wait for its chance to tear
and strangle. More than once had he held on to the
rigging when, with a lash of its tail, it had swept
a deck clean, or had stuck to the pumps for days
while it sucked through opening seams the life-
blood of his helpless craft. The game here would be
to lift its victim on the back of a smooth under-
roller and with mighty effort hurl it like a battering
ram against the shore rocks, shattering its timbers
into drift wood.

"Billy," said Captain Joe to the shoveller, "go
down to the edge of the stone pile and holler to the
sloop to cast off and make for home. Hurry, now!
And, Jimmy,"--this to his pump tender,--"unhook
this breastplate,--there won't be no divin', today.
I've been mistrustin' the wind would haul ever since
I got up this mornin'."