Steampunk Prime_ A Vintage Steampunk Reader - Mike Ashley [33]
“Will you say what the danger is?” Some one shouted.
“The sea,” Harward said, grimly, at last.
“The sea!”
For a moment silence fell on the crowd. Then the frightened questions recommenced, and the engineer explained the situation to them. The guests grew pale. Harward, himself pallid from the strain, clenched his fists in an agonized effort to think out a way of escape. There was none! None! There was absolutely nothing to be done. Must they die here like rats in a sewer? Alas! What miracle could give power to the motors lying there inert?
Then suddenly the too-well-known odor floated again to his nostrils. Denser, thicker than at the first stop, the fumes of chlorine swept up, poisoning the air, tickling the threats of the victims it would soon suffocate. The cup of horror was full and running over.
Instinctively obeying James Harward’s order, the terrified passengers returned to the carriages and the doors and windows were tightly shut. Alas! Was it not merely putting off the final catastrophe?
At this moment Blanche Glencoe touched Harward’s arm.
“Mr. Harward,” she murmured, in a low, firm voice, “is there no chance for us? Is there no hope?”
Harward gently shook his head. He could not speak just then. The girl understood the hopelessness of the gesture.
“It is the end, then?” Went on the girl, as she drew nearer to him. “We must wait here for death.” And, as the man still made no reply, Blanche tenderly took his hands in hers. “James,” she whispered, creeping still closer to him, “I can tell you, as we are going to die. James, I have always loved you.”
Harward bent his head. Blushingly the girl leant her forehead against his shoulder.
“I love you, James. It is a consolation that we can at least die together.”
The sense of inevitable doom had filled the engineer with rage and shame; rage with fate, shame at his own impotence. Now the girl’s words added revolt to his other feelings.
“No!” He cried, with kindling eyes. “No, you shall not die, my darling. I have an idea. We’ll get out of this yet.” And almost roughly he hurried the girl into the last car.
Springing into the observation-car, he bent over the tool-box and drew out a heavy hammer; then, running like one possessed, he disappeared down the line, and was swallowed up in the darkness of that suffocating atmosphere.
The third rail ran along the line at the side. By the light of a torch the engineer searched out a joint between two lengths of rail; having found one, he placed his torch on the ground. Then, though hardly able to breathe in the awful atmosphere, he raised the sledgehammer and dealt the joint a mighty blow. Panting for breath, again and again he swung the hammer in both hands, striking the rail with herculean strength; he was pitting himself against the elements for the girl he loved.
The joint resisted. Another mighty blow, and something gave way; a splinter flew; another — and the massive piece of steel was dislocated from its support. One more prodigious, superhuman effort, and a large rent appeared in the rail. But the electric current, thus rudely broken, flared into a roaring arc of flame whose crashing noise echoed terrifyingly down the gallery.
Confused and blinded, Harward fell back. Denser than ever the invading gas swept up, extinguishing the torch James Harward’s body disappeared in unfathomable darkness.
Algeciras awaited the coming of the train. This was a great day for the town. The front of every house was decorated; on stately public buildings and humble private houses flags flaw and rustled gaily in the wind. In the bay, gay awnings flaunted on slender yachts and spread themselves gaily over the decks of the more bulky steamers. A great crowd; all got up in their Sunday best, strolled leisurely about the streets. But the greatest interest centered round the magnificently-decorated Tunnel Station and the works and offices of the Gibraltar Tunnel