She came into the Cove (as that part of the harbour is called), of course
very slowly, and at some hundred feet or so short of the quay she lost
her way. That quay was then a wooden one, a fine structure of mighty
piles and stringers bearing a roadway--a thing of great strength. The
ship, as I have said before, stopped moving when some hundred feet from
it. Then her engines were rung on slow ahead, and immediately rung off
again. The propeller made just about five turns, I should say. She
began to move, stealing on, so to speak, without a ripple; coming
alongside with the utmost gentleness. I went on looking her over, very
much interested, but the man with me, the pilot, muttered under his
breath: "Too much, too much." His exercised judgment had warned him of
what I did not even suspect. But I believe that neither of us was
exactly prepared for what happened. There was a faint concussion of the
ground under our feet, a groaning of piles, a snapping of great iron
bolts, and with a sound of ripping and splintering, as when a tree is
blown down by the wind, a great strong piece of wood, a baulk of squared
timber, was displaced several feet as if by enchantment.
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