by Mike Ashley
Mutely he grasped Snell’s arm and pointed.
“I see,” said the other, laconically; and with a skillfully executed upward swoop he guided the machine to within a dozen yards of the apparently uncontrollable fugitive car, in which a tall, slight man with a dark, saturnine countenance was uttering vicious oaths, and spitefully hammering at some part of the machinery. Arbuthnot jumped recklessly on to the high platform of their car, and with a gasp of mingled fear and relief beheld the beloved object of his search lying on the bottom of the other machine — to all appearance lifeless.
Malvowley was so engrossed in his task that he had not noticed the approach of his pursuers, but a fierce hail from Arbuthnot caused him to leap up.
With an execration he picked up some ball-shaped object and hurled it at his interrupters, but in his sudden surprise he missed his aim.
Bowden Snell hastily seized a lever and drew it back with a jerk. The car rose vertically some fifty feet above Malvowley’s.
“Rippite bomb,” said Snell, with a white face, as the missile struck the water below and burst with the soft seductive whir of that deadly explosive.
“You are helpless, Malvowley.” Cried Arbuthnot. “Hand over Miss Seine at once.”
“Come and take her,” yelled Malvowley, defiantly; “I won’t miss you a second time,” and he seemed to apply himself again to the task of repairing his gear.
“We must board him,” said Snell; “it is our only chance. If he once gets his machine in hand again he will be the other side of Europe in five minutes. She’s a racer, built for the America Cup Race of last year. I will swoop close to him, and you must leap for it.”
“I’ll try it,” said Arbuthnot, desperately. “If I miss, you must descend on the chance of picking me up.”
“Now, then!” Cried Snell, as they swept down.
With a fast-beating heart Arbuthnot hurled himself into the car, knocking the surprised Malvowley into a corner, where he lay momentarily stunned.
With lightning movements the young man seized the unconscious girl in his arms and passed her over to Bowden Snell, who, pale as death, stood ready to receive her. Arbuthnot had scarcely time to leap back after when Malvowley recovered himself, and, with horrible oaths, rushed to the side of his car.
“Curse you!” He shrieked, “I’ll wreck you; I’ll send you all to eternity!”
“Up-up-quick!” Shouted Arbuthnot. “Another bomb!”
They rose with sickening speed, and Malvowley, foaming with demoniacal rage, hurled another deadly missile up after them, putting all his strength into the attempt.
They were too quick, however, and the bomb fell back again on Malvowley’s own car, exploding on the contact, and scattering the machine and its unhappy occupant into a million fragments.
Some of the wreckage struck the victors as they still soared upwards, but they were rising too rapidly to suffer any injury. When at last, pale and trembling, they found courage to look down, only a few pieces of floating wood and aluminum far below remained as witnesses of Eagle Malvowley’s fearful end. To their great joy, Snell and Arbuthnot discovered that the rescued girl had merely fainted, and in a short time the keen upper air revived her.
It appeared that Malvowley had swooped unexpectedly down upon her as she was walking on a lonely road near Reading, and despite her cries had carried her off. She had retained presence of mind enough to note the sun’s position and rapidly make the mental calculation necessary in order to obtain her lover’s exact direction; she then telepathed, but ere many thoughts had left her brain, her captor had suspected something, and brutally flung her into the bottom of the car.
Having telepathed to allay the natural anxiety of her guardian at Reading, they sped back to Snell’s private house at Bexley. The happy girl smilingly caressed her lover’s hand, and leaning her head against her newly-found father’s shoulder, said brightly —
“Rescued maiden; long-lost daughter. It seems like one of the old-fashioned novels, doesn’t it?”
“Romance is never old-fashioned, my dear; it is for all time.” Said Bowden Snell.
THE GIBRALTAR TUNNEL
Jean Jaubert
The Victorians were great at enormous construction and civil engineering projects. The first underground railway in the world, the Metropolitan Railway in London, was opened in 1863. It ran from Paddington to Farringdon and was the start of the London underground system. These original tunnels were built by the cut-and-cover method. The first deep tunnelling with tunnel shields, which became known as the “Tube”, happened on what is now the Northern Line and was opened in 1890 and it was throughout this decade and the early 1900s that most of the London Underground, as we know it, was completed.
Thoughts of a Channel Tunnel linking England and France had been around since the early 1800s though exploratory work was not started until 1881. Two man-size bores were dug for over a mile on both sides of the Channel before the idea was shelved. There was always a fear that the Tunnel would compromise Britain’s security and usually when the Tunnel was depicted in fiction it was under threat of invasion, such as in How John Bull Lost London (1882) by Edgar Welch or Pro Patria (1900) by Max Pemberton. The present rail tunnel, the second longest in the world, was started in 1988 and opened in 1994.
The idea of a tunnel across the Straits of Gibraltar, linking Europe with Africa, is far less common in fiction. In fact I’m not aware of one earlier than this story by the French engineer Jean Jaubert, published in 1914. In recent years Spain and Morocco have confirmed their plans to construct such a tunnel, and it remains to be seen how prophetic Jaubert was. — M.A.
HALLOA! Halloa! Are you there? Mr. Glencoe? Halloa! I am sorry to have to inform you sir, that it is absolutely impossible to run the train. Yes, I mean the train cannot start. Why? Well, sir, to put it frankly, the tunnel’s not safe. The roof seems to shake at the passing of even the light cars, and at about the tenth mile the roof is dripping water like a rain-storm. My confidential reports of yesterday and the day before warned you as to the state of the tunnel. But, indeed, it is not merely natural moisture. Down there, just now, it was like a thunderstorm. Indeed, sir, I realize perfectly that the opening of the tunnel has already been put off a week. Circumstances have been too strong for us. The reports that have got about are certainly regrettable. But surely we can’t risk a catastrophe to put a stop to them! Yes, yes, yes; I am absolutely convinced there is danger, sir, and very grave danger. What! Afraid? I? Of course, you’re joking. But remember I have warned you!”
Hanging up the receiver with a vicious snap, the engineer of the Gibraltar Tunnel Railway Company, Mr. James Harward, very young, very intelligent, with a great air of decision about him, left the telephone in disgust, “The shares are falling on Change,” he muttered, with a slight shrug, “and so at all costs the run must be made. Well, we shall see what we shall see!”
Banging the door after him, he left his office.
This was at Ceuta in the days when the great Gibraltar Tunnel was only just finished.
After the proved success of the tunnel under the English Channel, this new project of linking up Europe with Africa had been received with enthusiasm. With the trans-Saharan railways and the great English line from Cairo to the Cape already completed, this tunnel would supply the last link in the great chain of railways, and henceforth a journey could be made on dry land from the South of England to the Cape of Good Hope.
On every side the enterprise found supporters; the Gibraltar Tunnel Railway Company was formed, and the work of constructing the under-sea tunnel commenced. Unfortunately, the conditions here proved less favorable than in the Dover-Calais Tunnel; the ground — friable and unstable — lent itself but ill to the work of the excavators and masons. Innumerable and unforeseen difficulties had to be met and overcome, and the work was in consequence delayed, the opening of the tunnel put off, and by the time the day of its sensational inauguration dawned all sorts of sinister rumors were afloat as to the solidity of th
e foundations.
James Harward withdrew, his mind full of a lovely vision. With her slim figure, her exquisite, dark face, her merry smile and deep yet roguish eyes, Blanche Glencoe was not at all of the Anglo-Saxon type. Rather did she remind one of the lovely women of the South. Her mother, indeed, was Italian.
In this moment of enchantment all his anxieties, his doubts, his fears, returned to the young engineer with redoubled force. He took his seat beside the motor-man.
If only the journey were accomplished without mishap! A few hours earlier he had looked the risk in the face calmly, even with a certain professional indifference. Now that he knew Miss Glencoe to be on board his whole being revolted at the thought of a possible accident. His heart throbbed heavily; he loved this girl Blanche! He had never realized it fully till that moment when she flitted across the platform to enter the train; then his powerful emotion had flashed the searchlight of truth to the very depths of his soul.
At their first meeting Blanche Glencoe had made a deep impression on him, but he told himself it was only the artist in him which worshipped at the shrine of her tender beauty; this, he thought, was admiration — respectful admiration, not love. And so, little by little, all unconsciously, he had become love’s bondsman. Always her image had been before his eyes and in his heart. And Blanche? Was it folly, he asked himself, to imagine she might reciprocate his affection? He tried to call to mind every little detail of her demeanor towards him that was indicative that she was not indifferent to him. Would she —
A gesture from the mechanician woke the young man out of his love dream.
The incline was now almost imperceptible. The under-sea level had been reached; the motors were running again, and under their impulsion the train rushed on swiftly and smoothly. In the walls of the tunnel the engineer caught a passing glimpse of one of the isolating-switches which were installed at certain intervals along the line, and which enabled any section of the live rail to be isolated, thus cutting off the power from any faulty section, if necessity arose.
The shrill ringing of a telephone-bell suddenly made itself heard above the thrumming of the wheels. A wire was installed above the train the whole length of the route, and a special transmitter with roller contact maintained uninterrupted communication with the telephone in the car.
“Halloa! Yes, everything’s all right so far, sir. I know; I only hope you may be right all through, sir. Oh, they are enjoying themselves — very gay indeed. Why, of course, sir, you can rely on my absolute discretion. Very good sir. Good-bye.”
Harward hung up the receiver and again set himself to scrutinizing the route ahead. Already the walls were no longer dry — a little water filtered through the surface. Several isolating-switches had already been passed and in a few minutes the lowest point in the under-sea tunnel would be reached. Here two tremendous culverts, carrying off the water that had percolated into the tunnel descended at a steady gradient to the solid bottom strata. At the works above-ground powerful pumps, erected at the mouth of the shafts that connected with these draining galleries, pumped the water up to the surface.
The nearer the train got to the middle of the tunnel the wetter the walls became; they streamed with water, and, as the engineer had said, a veritable rain fell from the roof and flooded the permanent-way. Under the passing of the heavy train the whole tunnel vibrated in an alarming way. The rumbling of the wheels became a hollow roar. One could well understand Harward’s apprehensions; this abnormal state of things was surely the precursor of some dreadful catastrophe?
James Harward put the question to himself as he anxiously followed the flight of the miles on the indicator. Then the gradient changed; the critical point was passed. Harward breathed more freely. Soon now the European shore would be reached and the danger passed. The rain from the roof ceased and at each revolution of the wheels the damp grew less and less. All peril seemed passed, and the engineer, overjoyed, began to reproach himself for his foolish fears and to feel rather sheepish at having voiced them to Mr. Glencoe. Oh well, everything was going all right, so what did it matter?
Then suddenly the electric lights flickered for a moment and went out. The humming of the motors ceased and the speed slackened. In a black obscurity, which was only emphasized by the feeble flicker of the hastily-lighted emergency lamps, two hundred yards below the level of the sea, and nearly eight miles from the tunnel’s mouth, the Gibraltar Tunnel Express came to a standstill.
In the power-house at Algeciras the chief electrical engineer, with a curious look on his face, stood at the ammeter and noted the registration of the current absorbed by the train. A foreman approached him.
“Well, what is it?” Asked the engineer.
“The delivery of water from the pumps has increased tremendously since this morning, sir. We must put on more pressure at once.”
“I’ll come and see.”
‘The two men went towards the shaft. A special gauge registered the level of the water at the bottom. At the moment it registered two hundred and fifteen yards below the level of the sea.
“Hardly fifteen yards below the floor of the tunnel,” said the engineer. “We must reduce that at once.”
The motor of the pump thrummed a little more, but still, slowly, the level rose instead of decreasing; the engineer knitted his brows.
“Get the emergency pump running,” he ordered, “and put her at full pressure.”
A second thrumming joined itself to the first, and the delivery of water was doubled; the level ebbed little by little, and the engineer went back to the power indicator.
What was this that met his gaze? It was impossible! The electric consumption had suddenly increased tenfold! No, he was making no mistake; overloaded, the machines behind him were slackening. The engineer flung himself towards the tunnel telephone. Mr. Glencoe already had the receiver in his hand.
“Halloa! Halloa! What’s wrong? How do you mean nothing? No damage? You are in darkness? But there is no interruption of the current here with us; the machines are delivering six thousand amperes. You have no current on the train? But how can that be when we’re sending you plenty?”
At this moment the foreman ran in, his face expressive of dismay.
“Sir! The level!”
“What now?”
“It is one hundred and ninety-eight yards.”
“What! It was at two hundred and fifteen a moment ago!”
“It has suddenly risen. In less than a quarter of an hour! The pumps are flooded.”
“But — then — the line is flooded, too!” Cried the director, overwhelmed.
“And the third rail is short-circuited by the sea-water,” added the engineer, curtly.
The silence of tragedy descended on the three men.
“At all costs we must send them some current,” said the managing director, after a moment. “Start the stand-by machines, and at full pressure.”
The engineer went off to carry out the order, the while Mr. Glencoe and the foreman hurried towards the pumps. Arrived there a cry of horror broke from their lips; the level was at one hundred and seventy-five yards; twenty-five yards higher than the floor of the tunnel at its lowest point.
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 l
ose 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.
