Above the piles of fallen
masonry might be seen, here and there, the black mass of some
machine or lathe, and it was there the search parties were
laboring. Luckily the fuse department had not gone double turn,
and the night shift in the machine-shop was not a full one.
The fuse department was a roaring furnace, and repeated calls
had brought in most of the fire companies of the city. Running
back and forth in the light of the flames were the firemen and such
volunteer rescuers as had been allowed through the police cordon.
Outside that line of ropes and men were gathered a tragic crowd,
begging, imploring to be allowed through to search for some beloved
body. Now and then a fresh explosion made the mob recoil, only to
press close again, importuning, tragic, hopeless.
The casualty list ran high. All night long ambulances stood in a
row along the street, backed up to the curb and waiting, and ever
so often a silent group, in broken step, carried out some quiet
covered thing that would never move again.
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