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.