"Wonder what next?" speculated Orde. "How are they going to get the
other end of the booms out from the other bank?"
Captain Marsh had reversed the SPRITE. The tug lay nearly
motionless amidstream, her propeller slowly revolving.
Up river all the small boats gathered in a line, connected one to
the other by a rope. The tug passed over to them the cable attached
to the boom. Evidently the combined efforts of the rowboats were
counted on to hold the half-boom across the current while the tug
brought out the other half. When the tug dropped the cable, Orde
laughed.
"Nobody but a Dutchman would have thought of that!" he cried. "Now
for the fun!"
Immediately the weight fell on the small boats, they were dragged
irresistibly backward. Even from a distance the three men on the
SPRITE could make out the white-water as the oars splashed and
churned and frantically caught crabs in a vain effort to hold their
own. Marsh lowered his telescope, the tears streaming down his
face.
"It's better than a goat fight," said he.
Futilely protesting, the rowboats were dragged backward, turned as a
whip is snapped, and strung out along the bank below.
"They'll have to have two tugs before they can close the break that
way," commented Orde.
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