The Hero of Panama: A Tale of the Great CanalBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
General
The Hero of Panama: A Tale of the Great Canal
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
Panama Canal (Panama) -- Juvenile fiction
Bang! The cars struck him again, causing the one on which he rode to
wobble and swerve horribly; the wheels roared and flashed sparks as the
flanges bit at the rails. The bonnet that covered the engine, crinkled
up like a concertina; but the car held the track. Jim was still secure,
while the second buffet had sent him well ahead. Better than all, he
realized that he was now beyond the steeper part of the incline, while
his engine was still pulling, urging the car backward. If only he could
increase the pace, if only he could add to the distance which separated
him from that long line of trucks bounding after him so ruthlessly. Then
a groan escaped him; for along the Chagres valley, where, perhaps, in
the year 1915 a huge lake will have blotted out the site of the railway
along which he flew, and where fleets of huge ships may well be lying,
there came the distinct, shrill screech of a whistle. Jim swung round in
an agony of terror. He looked along the winding track and his eyes lit
upon an object. It was the passenger train, loaded with human freight,
standing in the way of destruction.
CHAPTER XIV
The Runaway Spoil Train
Barely a mile of the double track of the Panama railway stretched
between the inspection car, on which Jim was racing for his life, and
the oncoming passenger train. Glancing over his shoulder he could see
the smoke billowing from the locomotive and the escape steam blowing out
between her leading wheels. Behind him there was the scrunch, the
grinding roar, of the long line of steel wheels carrying the runaway
spoil train. He kneeled on his driving seat and looked first one way and
then the other, hesitating what to do. The rush of air, as he tore
along, sent his broad-brimmed hat flying, and set his hair streaking out
behind him. His eyes were prominent, there was desperation written on
his face; but never once did he think of taking the advice which the
megaphone man flung at him.
"Jump for it! No! I won't!" he declared stubbornly to himself. "I'll
stick here till there's no chance left; then I'll bring this machine up
sharp, and leave her as a buffer between the spoil train and the one
bearing passengers. Not that she'll be of much use. That heavy line of
cars will punch her out of the way as if she were as light as a bag; but
something might happen. The frame of this car might lift the leading
wheels of the spoil train from the tracks and wreck her."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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