The Young Train Dispatcher

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

“Oh,” said Allan, understanding suddenly; “my pass. Yes; thank you,” and he swung aboard Number Sixteen just as it was pulling out.

When the conductor came through to collect the tickets, the boy proudly produced the card, which commanded all employees of the road to “pass the bearer, Allan West, on all trains, over main line and branches, Ohio Division, P— & O— Railway.” The conductor glanced at it and then at the boy, nodded, and passed on.

Half an hour later, with fast-beating heart, Allan dropped off the train at the little frame shanty which served as the operator’s office at Byers Junction. The day operator had been compelled to work thirty-five minutes overtime, and was in no very genial humour in consequence, for if there is one point of honour upon which all operators agree, it is that they shall relieve each other promptly. So the day operator, whose name was Nevins, and who knew that his supper would probably be cold when he got to it, merely nodded to the boy when he appeared in the doorway, put on his coat and hat, picked up his lunch-basket, and went out without saying a word.

Allan, his pulses racing, set his basket on the table, took off coat and hat, hung them on a nail near the window, and looked about the little room. The instrument was calling, but not for him, so he had leisure to examine the orders which fluttered from a hook on the wall near by. One was for a train which would be due in a few minutes, and Allan went to the door to see that the signals were properly set and burning.

White is no longer a safety signal on any of the larger railroads. The colours now in use are red for danger, and green for safety. Under the old system, the red lens of the lantern might drop out or a tramp might smash it, leaving the lantern showing a white light past which the engineer would run, thinking everything all right. So green was substituted for white, and now white means danger just as much as red does. The only light past which an engineer may run is a green one. In fact, the first rule under the “Use of Signals” is that a signal imperfectly displayed, or the absence of a signal from a place where one is usually shown, must be regarded as a stop signal.

The railroads are trying all the time to find some third colour which can be used satisfactorily in signalling. Red for danger and green for safety are very well, as far as they go; but a caution signal is badly needed—one which will not absolutely stop a train, but which will warn the engineer to get it under control and proceed carefully. No such signal which will do the work required of it under all conditions has as yet been devised, although yellow is now used on some roads for this purpose.

Of course there are one or two other colours used. A combined green and white signal, for instance, is used to stop a train at a flag station; and a blue flag by day, or a blue light by night, displayed at one or both ends of an engine, car, or train, indicates that workmen are under or about it. When thus protected, it must not be coupled to or moved, and no man may remove these signals but the one who placed them there. This rule is enforced absolutely to safeguard, as far as possible, the lives of the employees of the road.

The only fault in the system—as in all systems—is that human beings are not infallible, and mistakes are sometimes bound to happen. The signals may be wrongly set, or when rightly set, may not be seen. Fog or smoke may obscure them, and the engineer rushes by, trusting that all is well. If he obeyed the rules, he would stop and make sure; but that would delay the train, perhaps needlessly, and trains must be run on time. The engineer who fails to run on time, either through timidity or overcaution, is very soon relegated to the work-train or the yard-engine—a humiliating fall for the master of the queenly flyer.

As Byers was a junction, there were two signals there for the government of trains, one a train-signal on the front of the shanty, and the other a semaphore just outside the door. The train-signal was merely an arm or signal-blade, operated by a lever inside the shanty. Normally, this arm hung down in a perpendicular position and showed green, which meant proceed; but when the operator wanted an approaching train to stop, he pulled the lever, raising the arm to a horizontal position. At night, of course, it would not be possible for an engineer to see the position of this arm, so at the inner end of it was a large casting with two holes in it, one fitted with a green lens and the other with a red one. Behind this a lamp was placed, and when the arm hung down for safety, the light shone through the green lens. When it was raised, the red lens was thrown before the light and indicated danger.

The semaphore was a tall pole just outside the door. At its top was a cross-arm, bearing at either end red lanterns at night, to indicate its position, and operated by a lever at the foot of the pole. When the arm at the top stood in a perpendicular position, displaying the signals one above the other, it indicated that P. & O. trains could pass; when the arm was thrown to a horizontal position, displaying the signals one beside the other, it cleared the track for the connecting road. A ladder on the side of the pole enabled the person in charge of it to mount and attach the lanterns at nightfall. He was supposed to take them down and fill and clean them sometime during the day. There is, it may be added, a semaphore at every railroad-crossing which is worked on just this principle.