It seemed in fact as if the success of the work of salvation depended upon the presence of this man. The most dangerous of the torrents which rushed wildly against the railway-dike had been successfully turned aside, Elmhorst having diverted its course to a deep cut in the rocks, whence it fell harmlessly into the Wolkenstein abyss, carrying with it the masses of earth and stones which had been so destructive. The most imminent danger was averted, and for the moment the tempest seemed to subside. The rain ceased, the wind became less violent, and it began to look brighter about the Wolkenstein.
There was a few minutes' pause in the work. The president and Waltenberg, who also had alighted, walked along the bridge, where some of the workmen were gathered, to observe the diverted torrent foaming in the abyss. Everything looked more hopeful.
The engineer-in-chief, however, stood on one side apart from the rest. He did not hear the cheerful exclamations of the men, but, leaning forward, seemed to listen intently to a sound muttering on high through the air, like the distant roll of thunder; his eyes were fixed upon the crest of the Wolkenstein, and suddenly his face took on a death-like pallor.
"Away from the bridge!" he shouted to the rest. "Save yourselves! Run for your lives!"
His last words were drowned in a dull rumble that grew to a crash as of thunder, but his cry of warning had been heard. The people scattered hastily; they felt the approach of something terrible,--there was no time to understand what it was; they deserted the bridge as quickly as possible.
Nordheim and Waltenberg were carried away by the rush, and the former reached firm land, but Ernst stumbled and fell while yet on the bridge. Past him and over him the others ran wildly; in the selfishness of mortal terror every one thought only of his own safety, while Waltenberg, stunned by his fall, lay on the ground quite unable to rise for the space of a minute, when seconds were precious.
Suddenly he felt a strong arm grasp him and lift him from the ground, then bear him onward, to release him only when the stout trunk of a tree was reached, around which he could clasp his own arms to hold himself upright.
Then came the wind, howling and roaring like a hurricane,--a blast to which all that had gone before during the last three days had been but as the sighing of a breeze,--and everything in its path was prostrated or carried away. This was the herald of the Alpine Sprite, preparing a way for her; and now she herself descended from her cloud-veiled throne. A roar as of a thousand peals of thunder filled the air, echoing from every height, from every abyss, as if the entire mountain-realm were crashing to fragments; the rocks seemed to tremble, the earth to rock, as this terrible something, white and phantom-like, thundered past. It lasted for a minute, and then there was silence,--a silence as of death.
The avalanche had torn its way from the peak of the mountain directly into the abyss, and destruction marked its course. The extensive, protecting, enclosed forest at the foot of the cliffs had vanished, and where it had stood there was a desolate, dreary waste. The course of the stream was blockaded; the chasm was half filled with jagged masses of ice, from among which projected trunks of trees and huge fragments of stone, and where the bridge had thrown its bold arch from rock to rock now yawned sheer emptiness. Two of the huge shafts were still standing, the rest were partly or entirely torn down, and about them hung some of the iron ribs, bent and snapped like reeds; all the rest lay below in the abyss. She had avenged herself, the savage Alpine Fay. Crushed and splintered at her feet lay the proud creation of man.