There is, in such men, an ideal of self-subordination as strong as the instinct of liberty itself. In the face of danger it held them together, under Keighley, like an oath. “Stick to it!” “Shine” gasped. “Stick to it an’ roast! Roast! He don’t care! The damn ol’ clinker!” Farley muttered, “Ol’ hunk o’ slag!” They were filled with a heroic contempt for him, for themselves, and for their work; and with an ironical and bitter loyalty they held to their posts. The lieutenant blinked the spray from his stinging eyes and turned for another look at the acting-chief beside the standpipe and Keighley commanding on the wheelhouse. Moran, at every crash of falling floors in the factory, expected to see the broken wall forced out, and was glad that, by virtue of Keighley’s foresight, the bricks that might have crushed the boat were already lying in a harmless pile at the water’s edge. It was the culmination of Keighley’s triumph--the triumph of the man who forgets himself in his work, who commands unquestioned because he orders what must be done of necessity in the situation, who humbles himself to his duty and is exalted by it. He had drowned out the flames in the coal wharf; he turned one of his nozzles on the factory, and poured his tons of water through the broken wall, and cut off the flames in the windows. The roof had long since fallen, and now the walls followed it; and the hot bricks, just missing the stern of the _Hudson_, hissed in the water like a blacksmith’s irons. For a moment it seemed that the opening of the building only gave the flames a fiercer draft. They rose sky-high with the roar of a volcano in eruption. But they fell as suddenly; and, instead of smoke, it was steam that rose in clouds, and, instead of the busy crackling of new fuel, the men heard the sizzle of hot coals drowning in the flood that was pouring in on them. The final relief came from the shore companies that closed in on the ruin, fighting their way through the smolder of the yard, and beating down the dying struggles of the flames with a score of pipes. To Keighley’s orders, the boat drew off and turned broadside to the burning lumber pier and fairly swept it from its piles. The acting-chief left his nozzle and went forward dazedly. “All right, chief!” Keighley called to him. “We got her beat.” Moran sat down weakly on the bulwarks and wiped his face. “Gee!” he said. “I’m done out. Phew!” He sat there, unnoticed, until the last flicker of the blaze had been stamped out; then, knowing that the shore companies would be waiting his orders to return to their houses, he went to Keighley. “All right, captain,” he said gruffly. “The men ashore can finish this. Let me off here, and go back to your quarters.” Keighley nodded. “All right, boys,” he cried. “We’re through. Pick up an’ get away out o’ here.”