“We’ll try to watch you from shore,” said the Chief, “and descend on that pier at the same moment that you reach the slip. Remember, they’re a desperate bunch. If there’s to be any shooting, you shoot first.” Along the sea wall, and past the barge office and the ferry buildings, the land force ran at speed, glad of an opportunity to warm their chilled bodies. Then they began to pick their way along South Street. Wherever it was possible, they slipped out on a pier to keep in touch with the little fleet. The boats were shooting up the East River at top speed, close to the ends of the piers. Carefully they kept in touch with the boats until all were near the barge pier. Then the Special Agent gathered his little force for the charge. “Get your guns ready,” he said, “though you needn’t draw them until we are out on the pier. There may be nothing there at all. We don’t want to attract attention and we don’t want to look foolish.” Rapidly the little group strode up the street. At the barge pier they paused a second to look and listen. The pier was dark and apparently unoccupied. Yet from the river end came muffled noises and subdued voices. “Come on,” whispered the Chief. “Something’s doing there. Get your guns ready.” They stepped lightly out on the pier. At first they could see nothing. Then they made out great piles of freight heaped across the pier. Something was afoot behind these freight piles, but what it was they could not tell. The attackers crept nearer. They came close to the piles of freight and peered past them. Motor trucks were standing on the end of the pier. The freight had been piled so as to conceal the end of the pier; but room had been left for the trucks to slip through. Already one truck was piled high with cases of smuggled whiskey. Men were passing other cases up to the pier from motor-boats, and still others were loading the cases on the trucks. A coarse laugh broke the stillness. With an oath a rough voice said, “You sure fixed that light, Red. Them shrimps thought they was goin’ to ketch us.” And the speaker gave a loud guffaw. At that very instant the lights of the little fleet appeared off the pier. “Now,” said the Chief, leaping forward. “Come on.” The customs guards leaped from concealment and swept round the freight piles. “Hands up!” cried the Chief, “and no monkey business. We’ll drill the first man that tries to draw a gun.” A cry went up. Savage oaths burst forth. The smugglers in the dock were trying to start their motors. “None of that!” ordered the Chief. “Stop it or I’ll fire!” The patrol fleet from the river turned and drove into the slip. The Chief hailed them. “Arrest every man in those boats,” he ordered. “Handcuff them at once. Shoot at the first attempt to resist.” Taken thoroughly by surprise, the smugglers could offer no real resistance. “Come on,” said the Chief. “We’re going to the Old Slip station. March.”