Steampunk Prime_ A Vintage Steampunk Reader - Mike Ashley [31]
James Harward had no need to telephone in order to follow the march of events; his fears had been realized. Under the weight of the train fissures had been produced in the tunnel, and through the unstable ground enclosing it the sea was now inexorably making its way — in little trickles at first — but every moment the volume increased and the danger grew. First the draining-gallery was swamped, then the water crept up to the rails; and now the sea-water connected the third rail with the other two and a short circuit was the result; the current supplied from the generating-station to the third rail came back to the works through the sea-water, without coming into contact with the now silent motors of the train.
The water was rising now at a terrifying rate. There was no time for the passengers to save themselves on foot.
Fortunately Harward did not lose his head. He had been nervous and fidgety under the apprehension of a possible accident, but now that a tangible catastrophe had to be faced he was calm, cool, and collected. To save the train and restore the current, the short circuit had to be rectified; the only way to obtain this result was by isolating the submerged portion of the rails from the rest of the line. Just before the train had come to a standstill they had passed one of the section isolating-switches; he must go back to it and by breaking the contact cut off the current’s escape to the water, and thus re-establish the normal circuit with the motors of the train.
The engineer jumped on to the line, and immediately the frightened passengers began to imitate him.
“Keep your seats! Keep your seats!” Harward cried.
But as the guests, huddled together in the uncertain light, seemed little inclined to listen to him he had to stop and parley with them, wasting precious moments — moments that seemed to him centuries, knowing as he did that down there in the dip of the line the sea continued its resistless invasion.
“There is not the slightest danger,” he told them in a firm, pleasant voice. “No danger at all. We shall be off again in a minute or two. Get back to the carriages, please.”
In the shadows a figure glided to his side. Harward quivered from head to foot as he felt rather than saw that it was Blanche Glencoe.
“Tell me the truth,” she whispered, in a gentle voice. “For my mother’s sake,” she added, lifting clasped hands imploringly to Harward.
“Tell Mrs. Glencoe there is no danger,” said the engineer, firmly. “And remember, stay in the saloon, whatever happens; your safety may depend on it,” he added, almost in a whisper.
The girl lifted her eyes to his, and for a long second they seemed to look deep into each other’s souls. Deeply moved, the man bent his head and with a gesture urged her to reenter the train; and Miss Glencoe, lightly resting her fingers on his arm, mounted the step. This slight contact with the woman he loved unmanned him more than the terrifying emergency he had to contend with.
The fears of the passengers had been calmed and they went quietly back into the saloons and shut the doors, all of them quite unaware of their terrible danger, and quite satisfied with the engineer’s assurances that all was well. Now they made jokes at the expense of the company. All fear of a panic was over, and Harward was at last free to race back into the blackness of the tunnel to the isolating-switch, which he knew was a hundred yards or so in the rear.
The farther he got from the train the more clearly came to his ears a humming sound, hollow and indistinct. By the time he reached the isolating-switch the humming had become a roar — deep, rumbling, menacing. The engineer understood; it was the roar of the sea, still a long way off, but advancing steadily, always advancing to claim its prey. And now an acrid smell, still almost imperceptible, tainted the heavy atmosphere of the tunnel; it made Harward cough. What