SOME WATCHERS OF THE NIGHT

Otago Witness, Issue 2884, 30 June 1909, Page 88

SOME WATCHERS OF THE NIGHT

THE RAILWAY SIGNALMAN.

By ' Wiu. Lawsox.

The railway yards ai - e lighted by great arc lamps, the oeams of which have the red shades of the sun when" it shines through Kiioke -clouds. -In the strong light waggons and carnages are being rolled to and fro over the different sidings by diminutive but eturdy tank engines, o£which the mission in life appeal's to be to move ceaselessly thus : back and forward in the station yard, marshalling" and shunting, breaking up long trains into component " parts, fashioning tbe component parts into snake-like "trains. The men on the engines and the, shuntSrs work stead iiy and quickly. There is no confusion. They wish to send a waggon to a particular siding. A few short signals in the engine whistle, and the, points of the rails leading to the desired goal open for the passage of the wheels. When.Tb truck' lias passed they close again with never a man's hand on the switch lever.

The man whose mind and hand are holding the key to this amazing puzzle of men, engines, trucks, and switches is in the signal box, which stands over beyond the north main track. High above the scene, he watches and listens, ana* moves his levers accordingly. A long, shining row of levers lie has". On the wall of his cabin is a plan of the yard, with all its sidings - and switches, and ' for every siding there is a pre-arranged signal blown by the engineman who wants to go to it. The "plan is there; but the signalman never looks at it. In his mind's eye he eees before him the whole yard, every switch a vital impression, and when the smallest engine in the yard -blows a cheeky cock-crow, in a flash he eees the skiing she wants — no more need to look at the numbered plan , than the telegraph operator has to think what letter in the Morse alphabet his sounder is spelling out. It is an instance of the development of a hitherto unawakened sense.

The whole system ■ of signals and switches is interlocked, and it may , be that the cheeky •- engine will not get- at once the 'siding she demands. Another engine may have entered it from the other end, and the opening of the one switch immediately locks the second switch of any siding.

But the signalman lias more to attend to than the shunters and their "work. His box controls also the main lines, and the funning of the trains is more important than the shunting" work. At the south entrance to the yard a second box stands in which is another signalman. It is controlled by the north box, with which it is in telephonic communication. So the man in the north .box has need of all th© alertness he possesses. At half-past 10 tlie last suburban train thrashed out, her steamy 6moke curling and writhing in the red light. Passing the signal box,' the engine-driver was handed the tablet which gives him the right of way to the next tablet station. The tail lights faded away down the long, straight line, the red three stars shrinking and merging until they were but one smudge of colour on.- the night's blackness. Shunting is the principal work for upwards of an hour after the train's departure. But at half-past 11 the signalman hears the ,Bell on liis tablet instrument call stridently. There is a gcods train at the next "station, asking" to be given a clear line' to the-- town. yards. He presses a handle of the, machine giving .the neediul permission, ajid returns to his task. An engine, with -a -whistle that breaks like the voice of a growing youth, shrieks out two short and two lone notes (the last an ear-splitting sound). The, levers clash and rattle, "and' a signal light, set low on the ground at the points, bids her come on. So" she goes grunting away with her string of freezing cars. Now there is a rolling up from the goods shed — an enormous train of wool waggons. From behind them somewhere a big, hoarse whistle booms. Again the levers lean to the strain, and the wool goes rumbling past, a queer-looking double-ended Fairlie engine spitting her cinders high as she pushes at her load. Now the man in the box looks at his clock. The "goods" is about due. He looks out, and far to the north a new star has risen — or so it seems at first. The signalman, however, is no astronomer. He Jcnows it for a locomotive's headlight. Soon a shrill whistle blows where a level crossing spreads its white duet in the rays of her light. The levers tremble and clash, and when the approaching train blows her call to the signalman, he has prepared for her* ** Into. the....yar3 she rolls, takes a switch* with ' a' jerk . of her pilot, and sweeps away into the darkness beyond the sheds. The engine presently runs away to the engine-shed, to be seized upon by the cleaners. And the little 'puffers in the yard pounce on the long train and begin to pull it to pieces. Cattle, goods, and grain, wool, machinery, and hemp — they are trundled here and hauled there till no one could find that train if he tried. It is nearly midnight when the bells call again from the northward. The overland night express demands the right of way — and gets it. Her headlight, very largo and brilliant,

leaps at last round the curve that is mile* away. She is coming at a speed of 4i miles an hour, waking the countrysid< with a gleam of lights and a thunder o: sound. Yet those whose slumbers ar< disturbed turn over comfortably with th« reflection, "the night mail," and there h a feeling of pride in fhe thought. Slw is just a minute behind her time, and ix the stretch her big wheels arc picking that minute up. The 70-tor engine is doing her best, and steady as a rock ehe runs, with none of the swinging ,and rolling of. the high-pitched American racers. The signalman has given her the signaU to come on. Round the yard a thrill has passed. The overland! She is coming now, the finest train in New Zealand. The metals ar© already murmuring ir sympathy with the ci ashing chorus th* wheels are singing out on the open road. '■'Time! Tiaie! We're running ir time !" A whistle's shriek ' at the home signal, where a street crosses ; then a brass-bound hulk looms behind the vivid headlight. A roar, and she is under the signal box and shaking, it -to its foundations., .The carriages stream after then tired and trusty leader. The signalman glances at his clock. • She is here to the tick. That. lost minute "was found again. The tail lights, always angry-eyed at 'being left behind, glare in the- polished rails- as the train pull© up at the station, where porters and passengers, looking after luggage and seats, awaken the sleepers in the cars. And the hush that fell over the shunting yard lifts again. Fifteen minutes later the south box "reports, "Overland signalled out 12.15. " That is the last, train for some liouts now. The signalman turns mechanically and opens a switch for the two-headed Fairlie dragon, while to the smallest and cheekiest engine in the yard he says " No !" most emphatically.