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Show A dangerous doze. Result of a nap taken by a telegraph operator. In the fall of 1880 I was employed as a telegraph operator on a leading Western road, and located in thriving town of Z. I was young at the business then and did not possess the judgment or presence of mind that nine years of railroad experience has since given me. But to the story. It was a cold, stormy night in the latter part of December. The snow, which had been falling incessantly since mroning, still continued when, lunch-basket in hand, I made my way down the quiet village street toward the depot. Upon my arrival the day man explained to me all the unfinished business, chatted pleasantly on various town topics for a little time, then donned his overcoat, and on bidding me good night said: "Charlie, old by, this storm is raising odl Ned with railroading, the trains are all late, and unless it stops soon you will have a busy night of it. Keep your wits about you." The night express No. 24, which was due at X at 2:20 a.m. was reported on hour and thirty minutes late, and the east-bound passenger No. 19, the flyer, as it was called among the railroad boys, was due at two a.m., and was reported one hour and ten minutes late. This being a singel-track road, these two trains usually met and passed at Coal Switch, a small station ten miles east. As the clock struck the hour of midnight, and my sleepiness increased, I foolishly resolved to take a short nap before train time, thinking I could easily rouse myself when occasion called, for many had been the night that I had stretched myself, full length on the office desk with my coat for a pillow, and dozed the long hours away, naver failing to respond when my sounder called me. But I was uncommonly tired that night, and I slept on much longer than I intended. Wh I work "N Y" (that stood for the dispatcher's office) was calling me. I rubbed my eyes and, still answered him with "I J. X." He then asked me for No. 19. I thought one brief second, reasoned that if it had passed my station the noise would surely have waked me, then answered "N. Y." which to him meant, not yet. He then called Brockton, the second station east, and upon his prompt reply " I I," "B" sent the following order addressed to the operato at X and to No. 27 at Brockton. It read: "No. 27 will run to X regardless of No. 19. Operator at X will hold NO 19 untilNo. 27 arrives." My readers will readily understand that the order was given to help 27 along, and upon the strength of my reporting No. 19 as not having passed my station. Not more than ten minutes after the order was given I heard Brockton send in the signatures of the conductor and engineer on No. 27, heard the order, corrected and knew that they had left Brockton and no night office between us. Then for the first time I commenced seriously to consider the matter, and one after another in quick succession these questions arose: Why don't 19 come? Had No. 19 passed, and if so, what would be the result? My head was spinning like a top. To ease my mind, and, perhaps because I did not know what else to do, I went out and examined the rails. The storm had ceased and here and there a twinkling star could be seen. The moon was trying to shine from beneath a great bank of wavy clouds, and by its dim light I could see them and they told the story but too well. The rails were clean from snow, and as it had been snowing when I lay down to rest I new that No. 19 had passed while I carelessly slept. My brain seemed on fire. I staggered back into the office. The dispatcher was calling me. With trembling hand I grasped the key and answered him. Again his former question was asked: "Has No. 19 arrived?" What should I say? Fear advised my to again reply "N Y" and in the time that would elapse before they could arrest me make good my escape. Duty whispered: "Be a man." I heeded it all, told him all. He had not itme to chide me even had he desired. It was a time for action then. I heard him send this message to the superintenent's office: "No. 19 and No. 27 will meet in a collision near Coal Switch. Send wrecking crew and physicians at once." I paced the office like a madman, and prayed that God would in his mercy spare those poor helpless passengers, that He would not stain my hands with their blood, yet all the time knowing how impossible such a thing woudl be. The minutes seemed hours. Twenty of them passed, then thirty, forty, and still now news form the trains. I could stand the suspense not longer. I seized my hat and started for the door, there I stood undecided when my practised ear heard Brockton calling the dispatcher's office. He answere and again, half dazed, I listened. The old souder ticked on without realizing that it was speaking ot me words of life and hope. It said: "No. 27 is here --" I heard no more, but fell swooing to the floor. The terrible stain had been too much for me. I don't know how ling I lay thus, when I came to, If ound strange faces about me, heard the sould of excaping stam and there before the station stood No. 19. How did it happen you ask? Well, I will tell you No. 19 had passed X while I slept. No. 27 had signed its orders at Brockton and proceeded on its way. Now comes the strange part of this strange tale, showing how God in His infinite goodness can and does step in when man is powerless and in despair. Near Coal Switch is a deep cut, where the road runs through a small spurr of Bearpaw mountain. Inot this cut, it seems, the snow had blown all that night from the bank above until the track was one huge drift. On rushed No. 27. On, on rushed No. 19 until -- weill -- until this blessed snowbank was reached. Then they halted scarcely four hundred feet apart. No. 27 returned to B for help, and No. 19, bieng short of water, backed to X., where they found me lying wher I fell. In some respects I never recovered form that night's experience. Of course I was called up to interview the superintendents. It told him all like a man, then bade him good-day, and went out into the world to commence all over again. Throught the official's kindness the newspapers never learned of my criminal carelessness or the averted catastrophy, for all of which I was very thankful. I soon secured a new position in the East, whire I have remained ever since. that night's work however carried with it a lesson to which I, perhaps, owe my present success. C. Dennison, in Yankee Blade. |