Shovels clanged and the thud of a hammer jarred upon the throb of machinery.

Men moved about like ghosts.
Their feet made no noise; for a moment one saw their sweat-streaked faces and then they vanished.

Lister sat on a tool-box, an old pipe in his mouth, and was happier than he had been for long.

For one thing, his men were getting sober and he saw they knew their job; then he was satisfied with his engines and relished the sense of control.

He was _chief_, and until the tug came back from Africa the engines were his.
In the meantime he need not move about.