The hammer in the high derrick ran smoothly to the top, paused, and fell. A half dozen times more it ripped. Then without delay the heavy chains were thrown around the winch, and the steam power began to draw the clumps together.
“Done!” cried Tom North, straightening his back.
“And a job in time, too,” said Johnny Sims, indicating the creaking and tottering jam.
North unmoored, and the driver dropped back with the current and around the bend where she was snubbed by the safety line already mentioned.
Immediately the tug churned forward to accomplish the last duty, that of binding the defences together by means of chains and cables. Two men leaped to the floating booms and moved her fore and aft. Orde and the Rough Red set about the task. Methodically they worked from either end toward the middle. When they met finally, Orde directed his assistant to get aboard the tug.
“I'll tie this one, Jimmy,” said he.
Aboard the tug all was tense preparation. Marsh grasped alertly the spokes of the wheel. In the engine-room Harvey, his hand on the throttle, stood ready to throw her wide open at the signal. Armed with sharp axes two men prepared to cut the mooring lines on a sign from the Rough Red. They watched his upraised hand. When it should descend, their axes must fall.
“Look out,” the Rough Red warned Orde, who was methodically tying the last cumbersome knot, “she's getting ready!”
Orde folded the knot over without reply. Up stream the jam creaked, groaned, settled deliberately forward, cutting a clump of piles like straw.
“She's coming!” cried the Rough Red.