Orde heard the first premonitions of reaction in
the mild grumblings that arose. He knew these men well from his
long experience with them. Although the need for struggle against
the tireless dynamics of the river was as insistent as ever;
although it seemed certain that a moment's cessation of effort would
permit the enemy an irretrievable gain, he called a halt on the
whole work.
"Boys," said he, irrelevantly, "let's have a smoke?"
He set the example by throwing himself full length against a
slanting pile and most leisurely filling his pipe. The men stared a
moment; then followed his example. A great peace of evening filled
the sky. The horizon lay low and black against the afterglow.
Beneath it the river shone like silver. Only the groaning, the
heave and shrugging of the jam, and the low threatening gurgle of
hurrying waters reminded the toil-weary men of the enemy's continued
activity. Over beyond the rise of land that lay between the river
and Stearn's Bayou could be seen the cloud of mingled smoke and
steam that marked the activities of the dredge. For ten minutes
they rested in the solace of tobacco. Orde was apparently more at
ease than any of the rest, but each instant he expected to hear the
premonitory CRACK that would sound the end of everything.
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