Since shortly following Jack Orr's appointment to Midway Junction Alex
had been "agitating," as he called it, for his friend's transfer to the
telegraph force at the division terminal. At length, early in the fall,
Alex's efforts bore fruit, and Jack was offered, and accepted, the "night
trick" at one of the big yard towers at Exeter.
Of course the two chums were now always together. And the day of the big
flood that October was no exception to the rule. All afternoon the two
boys had wandered up and down the swollen river, watching the brown
whirling waters, almost bank high, and the trees, fences, even occasional
farm buildings, which swept by from above. When six o'clock came they
reluctantly left it for supper, and the night's duties.
"Well, what do you think of the river, Ward?" inquired the chief night
despatcher as Alex entered the despatching-room.
"It looks rather bad, sir, doesn't it. Do you think the bridge is quite
safe?"
"Quite. It has been through several worse floods than this. It's as
strong as the hills," the despatcher affirmed.
Despite the chief's confidence, however, when about 5 o'clock in the
morning there came reports of a second cloud-burst up the river, he
requested Alex to call up Jack, at the yard tower which overlooked the
bridge, and ask him to keep them posted.
"Tell him the crest of this new flood will likely reach us in half an
hour," he added; "and that by that time, as it is turning colder,
there'll probably be a heavy fog on the river."
Twenty-five minutes later Jack suddenly called, and announced, "The new
flood's coming! There is a heavy mist, and I can't see, but I can hear
it. Can you see it from up there?"
Alex and the chief despatcher moved to one of the western windows, raised
it, and in the first gray light of dawn gazed out across the valley
below. Instead of the dark waters of the river, and the yellow embankment
of the railroad following it, winding away north was a broad blanket of
fog, stretching from shore to shore. But distinctly to their ears came a
rumble as of thunder.
"It must be a veritable Niagara," remarked the chief with some
uneasiness. "I never heard a bore come down like that before."
"Here she comes," clicked Jack from the tower. They stepped back to his
instruments.
"Say!--"
There was a pause, while the chief and Alex exchanged glances of
apprehension, then came quickly, "Something has struck one of the western
spans of the bridge and carried it clean away--
"No--No, it's there yet! But it's all smashed to pieces! Only the
upper-structure seems to be holding!"
Sharply the despatcher turned to an operator at one of the other wires.
"McLaren, Forty-six hasn't passed Norfolk?"
"Yes, sir. Five minutes ago."
A cry broke from the chief, and he ran back to the window. Alex followed,
and found him as pale as death.
"What's the matter, Mr. Allen?" he exclaimed.
"Matter! Why, Norfolk is the last stop between that train and the bridge!
She'll be down here in twenty minutes! And even if we can get someone
across the bridge immediately, how can they flag her in that wall of
mist?" Hopelessly he pointed where on the farther shore the tracks were
completely hidden in the blanket of white vapor. "And there's no time to
send down torpedoes."
At the thought of the train rushing upon the broken span, and plunging
from sight in the whirling flood below, Alex felt the blood draw back
from his own face.
"But we will try something! We must try something!" he cried.
At that moment the office door opened and Division Superintendent Cameron
appeared. "Good morning, boys," he said genially. "I'm quite an early
bird this morning, eh? Came down to meet the wife and children. They're
getting in from their vacation by Forty-six.
"Why, Allen, what is the matter?"
The chief swayed back against the window-ledge. "One of the bridge
spans--has just gone," he responded thickly, "and Forty-six--passed
Norfolk!"
The superintendent stared blankly a moment, started forward, then
staggered back into a chair. But in another instant he was on his feet,
pallid, but cool. "Well, what are you doing to stop her?" he demanded
sharply.
The chief pulled himself together. "It only happened this moment, sir.
The man at the yard tower just reported. One of the western spans was
struck by something. Only the upper-structure is hanging," he says.
"Can't you send someone over on foot, with a flag, or torpedoes?"
"There are no torpedoes at the bridge house, and there's not time to send
them down. As to flagging--look at the mist over the whole valley
bottom," said the despatcher pointing. "Except directly opposite, where
the wind between the hills breaks it up at times, the engineer couldn't
see three feet ahead of him."
The superintendent gripped his hands convulsively. Suddenly he turned to
Alex. "Ward, can't you suggest something?" he appealed. "You have always
shown resource in emergencies."
"I have been trying to think of something, sir. But, as the chief says,
even if we could get a man across the bridge, what could he do? I was
down by the river yesterday morning, and the haze was like a blind wall."
"Couldn't a fire be built on the tracks?"
"Not quickly enough, sir. Everything is soaking wet."
The superintendent strode up and down helplessly. "And of course it had
to happen after the Riverside Park station had closed for the season," he
said bitterly. "If we had had an operator there we--"