Lathers avoided her; so did McGaw. Everybody else watched her in
admiration. Even the commandant, a bluff, gray-bearded naval
officer,--a hero of Hampton Roads and Memphis,--passed her on his
morning inspection with a kindly look in his face and an aside to
Babcock: "Hire some more like her. She is worth a dozen men."

Not until the final cargo required for the completion of the wall
had been dumped on the platforms did she relax her vigilance.
Then she shook the water from her oilskins and started for home.
During all these hours of constant strain there was no outbreak of
bravado, no spell of ill humor. She made no boasts or promises.
With a certain buoyant pluck she stood by the derricks day after
day, firing volleys of criticism or encouragement, as best suited
the exigencies of the moment, now she sprang forward to catch a
sagging bucket, now tended a guy to relieve a man, or handled the
teams herself when the line of carts was blocked or stalled.

Every hour she worked increased Babcock's confidence and
admiration. He began to feel a certain pride in her, and to a
certain extent to rely upon her. Such capacity, endurance, and
loyalty were new in his experience. If she owed him anything for
her delay on that first cargo, the debt had been amply paid. Yet
he saw that no such sense of obligation had influenced her. To
her this extra work had been a duty: he was behind-hand with the
wall, and anxious; she would help him out. As to the weather, she
reveled in it. The dash of the spray and the driving rain only
added to her enjoyment. The clatter of rattling buckets and the
rhythmic movement of the shovelers keeping time to her orders made
a music as dear to her as that of the steady tramp of men and the
sound of arms to a division commander.