Steampunk Prime_ A Vintage Steampunk Reader - Mike Ashley [34]
At first the official bulletins of the train’s progress created tremendous enthusiasm and kept the people amused. But now there had been no news for some time. The managing director had disappeared. The chief engineer of works, but lately so assiduous in his attentions to the ladies, was not to be found. Only the small fry of officialdom were left, and all they could say was that the train would arrive to time.
“No news is good news,” said a youthful electrician, swaggeringly conscious of his brand-new cap of office, addressing a journalist.
“But why have they stopped telephoning?”
“They have nothing to say: I suppose.”
“Lopez,” interrupted the chief electrician, “get to the power-house-quick!” The journalist’s ears were pricked and he addressed himself to the chief. “Any fresh news, sir?” He asked; with an amiable air of innocent interest. “No — oh no — none,” was the reply. “All the engines must be got to work, that’s all.”
He moved off.
“That’s all!” Murmured the reporter. “I think this is worth looking into.”
He went towards the power-house. No employees lounged about the door now. A glance inside discovered to the reporter an abnormal activity. Something was evidently wrong. In one corner the high officials of the company were discussing something excitedly. On tip-toe the reporter approached them.
“Train at a standstill — lost! — Level rising — unheard of! — Engines overloaded — delay — catastrophe!”
The journalist withdrew and made for the telegraph office. On reading his message the telegraphist looked scared. A few moments later all Algeciras knew that the Gibraltar Tunnel Express was for ever entombed at the bottom of the tunnel!
Then a clamor broke out — the ferocious and yet lugubrious howling of a Southern crowd in face of death. They charged the works; the barriers went down, the gates flew into a thousand pieces. The crowd hurled itself against the walls of the powerhouse, excited, despairing, mad, wildly demanding details.
‘’News! News! Give us news!”
Mr. Glencoe, pale and anxious, appeared at a window. Silence fell — a deathly silence.
“The train has started again,” he announced. “The delay was only momentary and of no grave importance. The train will be in the station in a quarter of an hour.”
And now mad joy took the place of rage and despair; joyful cries, hurrahs, replaced the cries of woe. The surging crowd gave themselves up to wild exultation, mad rejoicing; they surged backwards and forwards, yelling, laughing, shrieking, even sobbing out their relief.
But all too soon apprehension returned, bruising hope and darkening the world. Sinister rumors spread among the people. Again arose the cry for news, news!
The managing director did not appear again.
A wave of despair surged over the crowd. The train had again come to a standstill in the bowels of the earth. Why?
“New! News! Give us news!”
The cry became insistent, menacing.
A man appeared and tried to make himself heard.
“The telephone is no longer working!”
The last link connecting the doomed train with the world above-ground was broken!
Then madness seized the people. Some wave of impulse turned them away from the now useless works and flung them in a headlong stampede towards the mouth of the tunnel. Gathered there they regarded the yawning aperture with haggard, resentful eyes, as if waiting for it to reveal the drama that was being enacted below, as if the despair of the living might succor the unfortunate victims of disaster.
At this moment the air in front of the tunnel became a little foggy and a slight smoke issued from the mouth, rolling slowly out on a level with the ground. Then the volume increased and grew thicker, and it was seen to be of a greenish hue. The first ranks of the crowd fell