Word: fogged
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...Fog, great foe of fliers, is no fun for railroaders either. One night last week fog was thick on the Pennsylvania R.R.'s tracks near Bradford, Ohio. An eastbound freight stopped at Bradford for coal. Another train, following too closely behind, rammed into it, flinging wreckage onto the adjoining track. On that track a fast fruit train, hauled by two locomotives, was booming along with an all-clear signal. It butted into the debris; a half-mile of cars slithered off the rails like a wounded snake. Three crew men were killed, four more badly hurt...
Last week a spectacular and unprecedented accident happened to the University of California's famed Lick Observatory, first of the big mountain-top star-stations, perched on triple-peaked, 4,209-ft. Mt. Hamilton. An army attack plane, flying on instruments through fog, hit the main observatory building like a rifle bullet aimed at a bull...
...extra grog for all hands). Three hundred and fifty miles off Cape Race, 1,350 miles from Quebec, the Empress' experienced crew got a whiff of the dank, penetrating "smell of icebergs." Soon the bergs showed up, scant hundreds of yards off the Empress' bows. A cold fog settled down over the liner. The escort cruisers anxiously nosed ahead, and on the Empress the siren sounded mournful blasts at intervals as it slowed to a halt. Thenceforth Vice-Admiral Sir Dudley North allowed the Royal flotilla to proceed only with extreme caution. In four-and-a-half days...
...Sunday the Empress nudged warily through ice and fog. In Quebec, where no Sunday newspapers are published, wild rumors spread, the wildest being that the Royal flotilla was dodging not ice but German submarines. By Sunday night, however, the liner had found clear weather, and steamed full speed for port. Scheduled for Monday, the elaborate welcoming ceremonies at Quebec had to be set back two days. Unwilling to slight the French population in Quebec and Montreal, Dominion officials cut the two days off Ottawa's scheduled four-day celebration. If all then went well, this would bring Their Majesties...
Through a pea-soup fog the fishing schooner Isabelle Parker, out of Boston, footed it north one night last week toward Brown's Bank, off the Nova Scotia coast. To Seaman Fred Bourque, on the bow watch, the fog seemed to thicken as dawn came. Suddenly, 20 feet dead ahead, a great silhouette showed. Fred Bourque shouted a warning to Billy Oilman at the wheel, ran aft. In less time than it takes to gut a cod the Isabelle Parker had piled halfway through the Gloucesterman Edith C. Rose, southbound with her hold stuffed with catch from Brown...