Alexander, still standing at the end of the
river span, saw the lower chord of the cantilever arm give a little,
like an elbow bending. He shouted and ran after the second gang, but by
this time every one knew that the big river span was slowly settling.
There was a burst of shouting that was immediately drowned by the scream
and cracking of tearing iron, as all the tension work began to pull
asunder. Once the chords began to buckle, there were thousands of tons
of ironwork, all riveted together and lying in midair without support.
It tore itself to pieces with roaring and grinding and noises that were
like the shrieks of a steam whistle. There was no shock of any kind; the
bridge had no impetus except from its own weight. It lurched neither
to right nor left, but sank almost in a vertical line, snapping and
breaking and tearing as it went, because no integral part could bear for
an instant the enormous strain loosed upon it. Some of the men jumped
and some ran, trying to make the shore.
At the first shriek of the tearing iron, Alexander jumped from the
downstream side of the bridge. He struck the water without injury and
disappeared. He was under the river a long time and had great difficulty
in holding his breath. When it seemed impossible, and his chest was
about to heave, he thought he heard his wife telling him that he could
hold out a little longer. An instant later his face cleared the water.
For a moment, in the depths of the river, he had realized what it would
mean to die a hypocrite, and to lie dead under the last abandonment of
her tenderness.
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