“Sure death!” Orde laughed bitterly. “All right; sure death, then. Isn't there a man in this crowd that will tackle this sort of sure death with me?”
“I'm with you.”
“And me,” said North and the Rough Red in a breath.
“Good!” cried Orde. “You, too, Johnny Sims? and Purdy? and Jimmy Powers? Bully boys!”
“I reckon you'll need the tug,” said Marsh.
A dozen more of Orde's personal following volunteered. At once his good humour returned; and his easy leisurely confidence in himself.
“We've got to close that opening, first thing,” said he. “Marsh, tow the pile-driver up there.”
He caused a heavy line to be run from a tree, situated around the bend down stream, to the stern of the driver.
“Now if you have to,” he told North, who had charge, “let go all holds, and the line will probably swing you around out of danger. We on the tug will get out as best we can.”
The opening was to be closed by piles driven in groups of sixteen bound together by chains. The clumps were connected one to the other by a system of boom logs and ropes to interpose a continuous barrier. The pile-driver placed the clumps; while the tug attended to the connecting defences.