Captain Aspinwall picked himself up, his face red with anger.
“Get off my driver,” he snarled. “Put that man off.”
Orde seized a short heavy bar.
“This driver is requisitioned,” said he. “Get out! I haven't time to fool with you. I've got to save my logs.”
They hesitated; and while they did so Tom North and some others of the crew came running across the jam.
“Get a cable to the winch,” Orde shouted at these as soon as they were within hearing. “And get Marsh up here with the SPRITE. We've got to get afloat.”
He paid no more attention to the ejected crew. The latter, overawed by the rivermen, who now gathered in full force, took the part of spectators.
A few minutes' hard work put the driver afloat. Fortunately its raft of piles had not become detached in the upheaval.
“Tom,” said Orde briskly to North, “you know the pile-driver business. Pick out your crew, and take charge.”
In ten seconds of time the situation had changed from one of comparative safety to one of extreme gravity. The logs, broken loose from the upper temporary booms, now jammed against the swing and against the other logs already filling the main booms. Already the pressure was beginning to tell, as the water banked up behind the mass. The fifteen-inch cables tightened slowly but mightily; some of the piles began to groan and rub one against the other; here and there a log deliberately up-ended above the level.