The Bridge-Builders
Again the big gong beat, and a second time there was the rushing of naked feet on earth and ringing iron; the clatter of tools ceased. In the silence, men heard the dry yawn of water crawling over thirsty sand.
Foreman after foreman shouted to Findlayson, who had posted himself by the guard-tower, that his section of the river-bed had been cleaned out, and when the last voice dropped Findlayson hurried over the bridge till the iron plating of the permanent way gave place to the temporary plank-walk over the three centre piers, and there he met Hitchcock.
"'All clear your side?" said Findlayson. The whisper rang in the box of latticework.
"Yes, and the east channel 's filling now. We 're utterly out of our reckoning. When is this thing down on us?"
"There 's no saying. She 's filling as fast as she can. Look!" Findlayson pointed to the planks below his feet, where the sand, burned and defiled by months of work, was beginning to whisper and fizz.
"What orders?" said Hitchcock.
"Call the roll—count stores—sit on your hunkers—and pray for the bridge. That 's all I can think of. Good night. Don't risk your life trying to fish out anything that may go down-stream."
"Oh, I 'll be as prudent as you are! 'Night. Heavens, how she 's filling! Here 's the rain in earnest!" Findlayson picked his way back to his bank, sweeping the last of McCartney's riveters before him. The gangs had spread themselves along the embankments, regardless of the cold rain of the dawn, and there they waited
[18]
