1. The Signalman – a ghost story by Charles Dickens, adapted into modern English, with full notes on vocabulary and style.
Written in modern style by Brendan O’Connell.
Read by Ross Armstrong for DailyStep English
Click here to view notes in a new window
When he heard me shouting down to him, he was standing at the door of his signal box[1], with a flag wrapped around a short pole in his hand. You would have thought that, given the nature of the landscape[2], he would have had no problem identifying the direction my voice came from[3]; but instead of looking up to where I was standing on top of the steep cutting[4] almost directly above his head, he turned around and looked down the line[5]. The way he did this struck me as a bit odd[6] although at the time I couldn’t put my finger on[7] exactly why it seemed strange. But I do know that it was odd enough to attract my attention[8], even though at the time I could barely see him[9] down there in the shadow of the deep trench[10]. I was standing high above him looking down into the cutting and I had to shield my eyes from the glare of the sunset[11] to able to see him at all.
“Hello down there!” I shouted again.
He stopped looking down the railway track then turned round and raised his eyes to see me standing on top of the cutting high above him.
“How can I get down there? Is there a path or some steps that lead down there? I need to speak to you.”
He looked up at me but said nothing, and I was just waiting a short while so as not to repeat my question too soon when a slight vibration of the ground and the air quickly changed into a violent rumbling[12] as something approached at speed[13], which made me step away from the edge as if I was scared of being pulled into its path. When the steam and smoke that had come up from this express train to where I was standing had dispersed[14], and was floating away over the landscape, I looked down again and saw him wrapping up the flag that he had waved as the train sped by[15].
I repeated my question “Is there any way I can get down there?”
After a pause, during which he just stared at me, he pointed with his flag to a point on my level about two or three hundred metres away. I shouted down to him. “OK!” and headed over to that spot[16]. When I got there, after looking for a while, I found a rough zigzagging path that was cut into the embankment, which then I followed.
The cutting was extremely deep and very steep. It was cut into the damp stone and as I got closer to the bottom it became more and more slippery underfoot[17] as it was covered by a thick layer of moss. I had to descend slowly and carefully and for this reason I had enough time to wonder why he had seemed so reluctant when I asked him to point out the path to me[18]. When I got down low enough on the zigzagging path to able to see him again I saw that he was standing in between the rails over which the train had just passed as if he were waiting for me to appear at that spot. His left hand supported his chin, his left elbow was supported by his right hand which was crossed over his chest. He was so focused and expectant that I stopped for a moment [19]and wondered what he was doing.
I carried on down the path then as I finally reached the bottom and approached him, I saw that he was a dark, sallow man[20] with a dark beard and very thick eyebrows. His signal box certainly was located in a very lonely and dismal place[21]. On either side was a dripping wet wall of jagged stone[22] which obscured all but a small strip of the sky[23]. The view one way just looked like a long, crooked dungeon[24] and looking the other way all that you could see was the dim red light and the gloomy entrance to a black tunnel. The massive stone cutting and the architecture of the tunnel mouth gave the place a dark, depressing and forbidding atmosphere[25]. The sunlight hardly ever found its way down to this spot so as a result it smelt earthy and deathly damp[26], and the cold wind chilled my bones, making me feel as if I had left the natural world[27].
As I was approaching him, he never stopped staring intently into my eyes[28] and just when I got close enough to touch him he took a step back and raised his hand.
“God! What a lonely place to have to work! I thought that when I first looked down from up there.” I said. “I don’t imagine that you get many visitors down here[29], so I hope they are welcome when they do come!” But I got the impression that he just saw me as some pen pusher[30] who was used to spending most of his time in the office and who, having been let out of the office for the day, was overly keen to get involved with the workings of this great railway[31]. Anyway, I started speaking to him; I’m not sure what my exact words were. Besides, I never really like initiating conversation[32] and also there was something about this man that made me feel wary and uneasy.
He stared at the red light near the entrance to the tunnel and the area around in a puzzled, curious way as if there was something that should be there but that was missing[33]. Then he looked over to me.
“It’s part of your job to look after the light, isn’t it?” I asked.
“You know very well that it is, don’t you?” He replied in a low voice.
Suddenly the terrible thought crossed my mind, as I looked at his staring eyes and extremely serious, gloomy face, that this was some kind of ghost rather than a man[34]. I have often thought since that day that maybe he was suffering from some kind of mental breakdown.
At that moment I took a step back. But as I made that movement I thought I detected a hint of fear in his eyes as though he were frightened of me[35] and this in turn made me feel a little less uneasy.
“You’re looking at me as if you are terrified of me.” I said, while trying to put on a pleasant smile.
“I was wondering if I’d seen you somewhere before.”
“Where?”
He pointed at the red light he had been staring at earlier.
“There?” I said in surprise.
Looking at me intently, he nodded.
“What would I be doing there?[36] Well, for whatever reason you ask, I can promise you that I have never been to this spot before in my life. Honestly!”
“Yes, OK” he replied, “Yes, I believe you.”
From this moment he seemed to relax a little and so did I. He became more talkative[37] and replied to my questions thoughtfully.
“Does your job here involve a lot of work?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve got a very responsible job that requires a lot of concentration and care.” He had very little actual manual work to carry out. He had to change the signal, look after the lights and turn the iron handle from time to time[38] and that was the only physical work he had to do. As far as the long, solitary, anti-social hours that he had to work [39], which I had assumed would be very hard to put up with[40], he just said that he had gradually got used to that routine. He spent some of his spare time down there teaching himself a foreign language, even though he could only read the words and had no idea how they were pronounced. He also tried to improve his maths, although he had never been good at mathematics even when he was a boy.
“Do you have to spend all your time down here, where there’s always a cold, damp wind or do you ever get the chance to climb up the stone walls out of the cutting and take in the sunshine[41]?”
“It depends on the times and circumstances. Sometimes the line is less busy than at other times so occasionally I get the chance to get up above the shadows and spend a moment in the sunshine but I’ve always got to listen out for the sound of the electric bell[42] which can ring at any moment.” So, as a result he was always anxious about this and was unable to really relax.
He took me into his signal box, where there was a fire, a desk with his official book on it, a machine for sending telegraphic messages and the little electric bell that he had mentioned earlier. I dared to comment, hoping that I would not offend him[43], that he was a well-educated man and perhaps over-qualified for the job that he was doing. He agreed that was probably true but that any large company such as a railway company had employees who were over-qualified. He was aware that similarly over-qualified people sometimes ended up in the workhouses[44], the police force and the most unlucky ones even ended up joining the army. When said that he was young, (even though it may be difficult to believe as he sat here in this hut) he had been a physics and biology student studying at university but he had squandered his opportunities and run wild as young man[45]. He had gone down in the world[46] but felt that he could not complain as he only had himself to blame[47]. He had made his bed and now he had to lie in it[48]. He felt that it was far too late to change direction[49].
He explained all this in a low, almost whispered voice while continually turning his troubled face between me and the fire. Every now and again he referred to me as “Sir,” especially when talking about his youth – as if he wanted me to understand that he was resigned to the situation[50]. Several times he was interrupted by the little bell and had to read some messages and telegraph some replies. Once he had to go out of the door and signal with his flag for a train to stop so that he could speak to the driver. I noticed that he was very careful and vigilant in his work[51], stopping mid-conversation and remaining silent until he had done what he had to do.
I would have said that he was an extremely safe and conscientious employee[52] apart from the fact that twice during our conversation he turned his face, which had suddenly gone a deathly pale colour, towards the little bell when it wasn’t actually ringing. He then opened the door of the hut (which was kept shut to keep out the damp unhealthy air) and stared at the red light near the mouth of the tunnel. On both occasions he returned to the fire in the same very strange mood as when he had first seen me from a distance[53], and which I was unable to comprehend.
As I got up to go I said, “You seem to be quite contented in your work.”
(I only said this in order to encourage him speak openly)
“I used to be” he said in the low voice that he had used when we first spoke “but now I am a worried and deeply troubled man.[54]”
I think he immediately regretted letting those words slip out[55] but he had said them and so I replied quickly.
“What are you worried about? What’s bothering you?”
“It’s not easy to tell you, Sir, I don’t feel comfortable speaking about it. If you ever come again, I will try to explain to you.”
“I will definitely return. When would be a good time for you?”
“I finish my shift early in the morning but I will be back on again at 10 tomorrow night.”
“Ok, I’ll come about 11.”
He thanked me and followed me out of the door. “I’ll shine my torch, sir,” he said, “until you have found your way up but when you have found the path, don’t shout out and when you reach the top, do not call out!”
His attitude seemed to make the place feel colder but I just said, “OK.”
“Also when you come down tomorrow night, don’t shout out!” He paused for a second then spoke again. “Let me ask you something before you go. What made you shout out, ‘Hello, hello down there!’ tonight?”
“I’m not sure, I just shouted out something like that to attract your attention.[56]”
“No, those were your exact words. I know them well”
“Well, even if those were my exact words, as I said I was just trying to attract your attention.”
“And that was the only reason you used those words?”
“Yes, why else would I have used them?[57]”
“You didn’t feel that they’d been communicated to you in some kind of supernatural way?[58]”
“No, of course not[59].”
He then said goodnight and held up his lamp. I walked along beside the rails (with the horrible sensation that a train was coming up behind me) until I got to the path. It was easier going up than coming down[60] and I got back to my B&B without any problems.
Next day at exactly the pre-arranged time I placed my foot on the first notch of the zigzagging path just as the distant clocks were striking eleven. He was waiting for me at the bottom of the path with his lamp on.
“I haven’t shouted or called out,” I said, as I approached him, “but can I speak now?”
“Sure, go ahead.[61]”
We both said “Good evening,” and we shook hands. We then walked side by side to the signal box, went inside, closed the door and sat down by the fire.
“I have made up my mind[62], sir,” he began, bending forward as soon as we were seated, speaking in a whispering voice, “that I will tell you what is bothering me, so you won’t have to ask me again[63]. Yesterday I mistook you for someone else[64]. That what bothers me.”
“The fact that you made a mistake?”
“No, the person that I mistook you for – that’s what worries me.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Somebody who looked like me?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen the face, and the left arm is always waving violently, like this.”
I watched as this he acted out the scene, gesticulating passionately with his arm[65] in a way that said: “For God’s sake get out of the way!”
“One moonlit night[66],” he continued, “I was sitting here when I heard a voice shout: ‘Hello, hello down there!’ I looked out from the door and saw a figure standing by the red light near the tunnel[67], waving in the way that I have just shown you. The voice was hoarse from shouting[68], and it cried out again[69], ‘Look out! Look out!’ and then ‘Hello down there! Look out!’ I grabbed my lamp and turned it on red and ran towards the figure shouting, ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened? Where is the danger?’ The figure just stood there outside the blackness of the tunnel. As I got closer to it, I wondered why it shielded its eyes with its sleeve[70]. I ran right up to the figure with my hand stretched out[71] ready to uncover its face – but when I got there it was gone.
“Maybe it had gone further into the tunnel?” I said.
“No, I carried on into the tunnel[72] for about 500 metres. I held my lamp above my head but all I could see were the markings on the wall showing how far I had come into the tunnel, the wet stains running down the walls and the water trickling through the arch. I ran out of there even faster than I had run in, because I was suddenly terrified of that tunnel. Then I climbed the iron ladder up to the light at mouth of the tunnel but I couldn’t see anything so I ran back here. I then sent telegraphs in both directions along the line asking if there was anything wrong and got the answer that there were no problems in either direction.”
I suddenly felt a cold shiver run down my spine but I knew that there must be a rational explanation for what he had seen[73]. I tried to explain to him that the figure must have been the result of the light playing tricks on his eyes[74] making him think that he had seen something that in reality was not there, as if he had been hallucinating[75]. As for the voice that he thought he had heard, I told him to stop and listen for a second and we heard a lonely harp-like wail as the wind blew against the telegraph wires in that unnatural valley. “Yes, it’s true that the wind does make strange noises and I ought to know because I’ve spent many long winters nights sitting here alone. But there is more to my story.”
I apologised for interrupting him and he touched my arm then added these words.
“Only six hours after the appearance of that ghostly figure, the infamous and terrible accident on this railway line happened[76] and within ten hours the dead and wounded were brought through the tunnel[77] and passed the spot where the figure had stood.”
An unpleasant cold shiver ran through my body but I did my best to ignore it[78].
“I have to admit,” I said, “that this is an amazing coincidence but without doubt amazing coincidences do often occur and this must be taken into account even though sometimes sensible men do not allow for the fact that such incredible coincidences can happen.” I said this last part because I knew he was going disagree with me about it being a coincidence.
At that moment he said that there was still more to add to his story and I apologised again for interrupting.
“This,” he said as he put his hand on my arm again and glanced over his shoulder with a haunted look on his face “was just over a year ago. Six or seven months passed and I had more or less recovered from the shock of the accident[79], when one morning just as it was getting light, I was standing at the door looking at the red light when I saw the spectre again.” He then stopped and stared at me.
“And did it shout anything?” I asked.
“No. It didn’t make a sound.”
“Did it wave its arm?”
“No. It leaned against the gantry that supports the light[80], with both hands covering its face. Like this.”
Again I watched his actions. He stood with a position and attitude as if he were in mourning[81], like the stone figure on a tomb.
“Did you approach the figure?”
“No, I came in and sat down in order to calm myself and also because I was feeling faint. When I looked out of the door again the ghost was gone and it was daylight.”
“And did anything happen after this?”
He touched my arm with his forefinger two or three times, nodding his head grimly each time.
“Later on that same day, as a train came out of the tunnel, I noticed what looked like a confusion of hands and heads in one of the carriage windows[82] and something waved. I saw it just in time to signal to the driver to stop. He shut off the engine and slammed on the brakes[83] but the train carried on for about 150 metres before it finally came to a stop. I ran after it and as I ran towards the train, I heard terrible screams. A beautiful young girl had dropped dead in one of the compartments. She was then brought in here and laid on the floor here where we are sitting.”
I couldn’t help pushing my chair back as I looked first at the floor boards on which the body had rested, and then at his face.
“Every word is true Sir! I promise you.”
My mouth was dry as a bone[84] and I couldn’t think of anything to say.
As we sat for a moment in silence the only sound we could hear was the lonely lamenting wail of the wind whistling through the telegraph wires[85].
“Now, Sir,” he started again, “listen to this and you’ll realise why I am so troubled now. The spectre came back a week ago[86]. Ever since then it has appeared there intermittently.”
“By the light?”
“Yes, standing by the danger light.”
“And what does it seem to do?”
He repeated with even more passion and conviction, if that was possible, “Get out of the way, for God’s sake get out of the way!”
“It won’t leave me alone[87],” he complained bitterly, “it shouts to me with its agonised voice ‘Hello down there! Look out! Look out!’ It stands there waving to me and it makes the little electric bell ring.”
On hearing those words I suddenly had an idea and asked him, “did it ring your bell yesterday evening when I was here, just before you went to the door?”
“Yes, it did, twice.”
“Well, it must be all in your imagination because my eyes were fixed on the bell and I swear to you that it did not ring at all[88] apart from when the station was trying to get in touch with you[89].”
He shook his head. “No, I am not mistaken. I never confuse the way the ghost rings the bell with the ring of the railway’s communication staff. The ghost’s ring makes a strange vibration but the bell itself does not appear to move[90]. It doesn’t surprise me that you did not hear it but I definitely heard it.”
“And did the spectre appear to be there when you looked out of the door?”
“It WAS there.”
“Both times?”
He repeated emphatically, “Yes, both times.”
“Come and look out the door, and see if you can see it now.”
With a rather angry and unwilling expression on his face, he got up. I opened the door and stood on the step while he stood in the doorway. In front of us were the danger light and the dismal mouth of the tunnel in between the high, wet stone walls of the cutting. A few stars could be seen in the dark sky.
“Can you see it now?” I asked him as I studied his face. His eyes were prominent and strained but so were mine as we stared at the spot.
“No,” he answered “it’s not there.”
“Agreed,” I said.
We went back inside, shut the door and sat down again. I was wondering how to continue making my point[91] about it being all in his imagination when he went on with the conversation in a matter of fact way, as if there were no question between us about the truth of what he was saying[92], so I did not feel I could then continue to assert that he had imagined it all[93].
“Now, Sir, you must understand that what really bothers me is this question: What does this spectre mean?”
“I don’t know”, I told him.
“What is it warning me about?” he said whilst turning the facts over in his head[94] as he stared into the fire. He glanced at me from time to time. “What is the danger? Where is the danger? There is some threat on this railway line[95], something terrible is going to happen. I’ve no doubt about it this third time, especially considering what has happened before[96]. This is tormenting me. What can I do?”
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“If I were to send a telegraph message warning of the danger what could I say?” he went on as he wiped the palms of his hands[97]. “I would only get myself into trouble[98] and it wouldn’t do any good[99]. They’d think that I’d gone mad[100]. Imagine how the message would sound. ‘Danger! Take care! Something terrible is going to happen!’ And they would reply. ‘What is the danger?’ And I would have to reply ‘I’ve no idea but for God’s sake take care!’ They’d think that I’d gone round the bend[101]. They’d give me the sack and who could blame them[102].”
It was terrible to see how tormented he was[103]. I felt so sorry for him. It was mental torture for such a conscientious man to be burdened by such an incomprehensible responsibility[104], which he saw as a matter of life and death[105].
“When it first stood under the danger light,” he continued as he pushed his dark hair back across his forehead in an extremely anxious and distressed manner, “why didn’t it tell me where and when the accident was going to happen and how it could be averted? Maybe then I could have done something! When it appeared the second time, instead of just hiding its face, why not tell me, ‘She’s going to die,’ and maybe I could have told her family not to let her leave home that day. Why? It appeared on those two occasions just to show me its warnings were true. Why can’t it give me a more specific warning now?[106] Why bother me, for God’s sake, when I’m just a poor signalman stuck in this solitary signal box. Why not warn somebody who is in a better position to do something about it?[107]”
When I saw the state the poor man was in[108], I knew that for his sake and the sake of the railway’s passengers that I had to try and calm him. I decided to stop trying to persuade him that he was imagining it, and instead tried to reassure him that he was carrying out his duties to the best of his abilities[109], and should be proud of that and that he was just confused by these appearances. This was a much more successful tactic than trying to change his mind about what he had seen[110]. He seemed to calm down a bit[111] and as the night went on he became more and more occupied by the demands of his job[112]. I stayed until 2 a.m, and even suggested that I could stay for the whole night but he insisted that that would not be necessary[113].
I have to admit that as I climbed the pathway I couldn’t help but look back repeatedly at the red light[114] and it made me feel uneasy. I was glad I didn’t have to sleep under it – I see no reason to hide that though. Also, I couldn’t get the images of the accident and the dead girl out of my head[115] – I won’t hide that either. But what troubled me most was how to respond to what I had just been told[116]. It was obvious that the man was intelligent, vigilant, extremely careful and exact: but how long would he continue to be so when you considered the state of his mind?[117] Although he only had a relatively menial job he still had quite a lot of responsibility resting on his shoulders[118]. I had to ask myself if would it be fair to allow passengers to stake their lives on[119] his being able to continue doing his duties safely – and whether I’d trust my own safety to his care[120], if I were a passenger.
I felt that it would be unfair, even a betrayal, to go straight to his bosses in the company[121] and tell them what he had told me without first offering him another option[122] so I decided that at some time I would suggest going with him to one of the best doctors around and getting his opinion. For the moment I would not tell anybody what he had told me[123]. The time of his shift would be different the following night[124] and he would be off for a few hours after sunrise and back on in the evening. I told him that I would come and see him again the following night.
Next evening was a beautiful evening so I set off early to enjoy it. The sun had still not quite set when I took the path across the field near the deep cutting. I decided to take a longer route which would take an extra hour and then it would be time to meet him at the signal box. Before walking any further, I walked up to the edge of cutting and automatically looked down to the point where I had first seen the signalman before. I can hardly describe the terrible shock I got[125] when I saw a figure standing at the mouth of the tunnel holding its left arm in front of its face and waving passionately with its right arm.
As that heart-stopping moment passed[126], I realised that this figure really was a man and that there was another group of men standing nearby copying this wild, arm waving gesture. The danger light was not switched on, but against the pole that supported it was a low canvas hut or tent that I had not seen before. It was no bigger than a bed.
I knew immediately that something was wrong and I was suddenly struck by fear and guilt[127]. I shouldn’t have left the man alone down there! I should have sent somebody to check that he was doing his job properly![128] I ran down the path that was cut into the hillside as quickly as I could.
“What’s happened?” I shouted to the men.
“A signalman was killed this morning, Sir.”
“Not the man who operated the signal box?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“He’s not the man who I knew, is he?”
“If you knew him, you will recognise him,” said one of the men, respectfully taking off his hat[129] as he pulled back the sheet that covered the body, “because his face is quite intact.”
“Oh no, how did it happen, how did it happen?” I demanded to know, turning from one man to the other as they covered the body again.
“He was hit by a train, Sir. Nobody on the railway was better at the job than him. But for some reason or other he was too close to the outer rail. It happened just after dawn, in daylight. He had lit his lamp and was holding it in his hand. He had his back turned as the engine came out of the tunnel[130] and the train ran over him. That man over there was driving the engine, and he was just showing us how it happened. Show the man how it happened, Tom.”
The engine driver, who was wearing rough dark clothes, took a step back towards the mouth of the tunnel.
“As I came round the curve in the tunnel[131], I saw him standing at the end of the tunnel, as if I were looking at him through a telescope. There was no time to slow down but I knew he was a very careful man[132]. He didn’t seem to take any notice of the whistle[133] so I stopped sounding it as the train got closer to him and started shouting as loud as I could.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Hello down there! Look out! Look out! For God’s sake get out of the way!’ ”
I almost jumped with shock.
“It was horrible, Sir. I carried on shouting to him[134] and right at the end I had to cover my eyes with this arm[135] because I couldn’t bear to watch and I continued waving with the other arm; but it was no good[136].”
I don’t want to drag the story out any more[137] by focusing on any one of the strange circumstances more than another but I would like to point out[138] the coincidence that the warning the engine driver shouted not only included the words that the signalman had told me were haunting him but also the words that I had imagined in my head as he had imitated the way the ghostly figure had waved its arm[139].
The End
The Signalman
by Charles Dickens
Written in modern style by Brendan O’Connell
Original music and illustrations by Brendan O’Connell
Read by Ross Armstrong for DailyStep English
© DailyStep Ltd. www.dailystep.com
