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The
Signalman
'Hello! You down there!’
The
signalman was standing at the door
of his box, directly below me. I was
sure he could hear my voice but he
did not look up. Instead, he looked
in the opposite direction down the
railway line. There was something
strange about the way he did this,
something I could not explain. I
looked again, using my hands to
protect my eyes from the bright
sunset.
‘Hello! I am up here!’
This
time he turned around and looked up
to where I was standing, high above
him.
‘Is
there a path? I want to come down
and speak to you.’
He
did not answer. Just then, a train
came past, forcing me to move back.
When I looked again he was refolding
the flag he was carrying.
I
repeated my question. He looked at
me for some moments, without
speaking. Then he pointed with his
flag towards a point in the
distance. I walked over to that
point and looked closely around me.
There was a very rough path, and I
followed it.
The
cutting was deep and unusually
steep. It took me a few minutes to
climb down low enough to see the
signalman again. He was standing
between the rails, waiting for me to
appear. He had his left hand at his
chin, and his right elbow rested on
his right hand. I walked down on to
the level of the railway. As I came
nearer, I saw that he had a dark
beard, heavy eyebrows and bad skin.
His signal box was in the darkest
and loneliest place I ever saw.
On
either side, there were high wet
walls, shutting out almost all
natural light. In one direction the
line seemed to stretch without end.
In the other there was a gloomy red
light at the entry to a dark tunnel.
Very little sunlight ever reached
this place. It had a strange, dead
smell. I felt its cold wind in my
bones. I felt I had left the natural
world.
The
signalman watched me come towards
him. When I was near enough to touch
him, he took a step back and lifted
his hand.
‘This
is a very lonely place,’ I said. ‘I
don't expect you have many
visitors.’
He
did not answer. Instead, he looked
in a very strange way at the red
light at the tunnel’s mouth.
I
looked at his staring eyes and
gloomy face, and a terrible thought
came into my mind. Perhaps this was
a ghost, not a man! Then I noticed
that there was fear in his eyes.
‘Why
are you looking at me in that way?’
I asked, forcing a smile.
He
answered in a low voice: ‘I thought
I had seen you before.’
‘Where did you see me?’
The
signalman pointed to the red light.
‘There?’
Staring at me, he replied (but
without sound), ‘Yes.’
‘My
good fellow, I promise you I was
never there.’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I can see that
now.’
We
both relaxed a little. ‘Do you have
much work to do here?’ I asked.
‘Not
physical work,’ he said. ‘I only
have to change that signal, and look
after that light.’
‘But
you have to spend many hours
watching the line,’ I said. ‘It must
be very lonely.’
‘I am
used to it, sir,’ he said. ‘And I
try to spend my time well. I read
and study.’
‘Do
you always have to stay down here?
Don't you ever go up into the
sunshine?’
‘Not
very often, sir’ he said. ‘I must
always stay near the line.’
He
took me into his box where there was
a fire, and a desk for an official
book. There was also a machine with
a little electric bell for sending
telegraphs along the line. The bell
interrupted the signalman several
times. When it rang he had to read
off messages, and send replies. Once
he had to stand outside the door,
and show a flag as a train passed.
Though the signalman obviously knew
his work very well, his behaviour
was a little strange. Once he turned
his face towards the little bell
when it did NOT ring. Getting to his
feet, he opened the door of the hut
and looked out towards the red light
near the mouth of the tunnel. When
he returned to the fire he had that
strange look again.
‘Are
you content with your work?’ I
asked.
‘I
used to be content,’ he answered, in
that same low voice ‘But I am
troubled, sir. ’
‘With
what? What is your trouble?’
‘It
is very difficult to explain, sir.
And very, very difficult to talk
about. If you visit me again
tomorrow night, I will try to tell
you.’
‘When
shall I come?’
‘I go
off early in the morning. I shall be
here again at ten o'clock tomorrow
night, sir.’
We
went out through the door together.
‘I’ll show you my white light, sir,’
he said, in his strange low voice,
‘until you have found the way up.
Only don't call out when you reach
the top. Nor when you come down
tomorrow night. You must promise me
that!’
This
made me a little nervous, but I
said, ‘'Very well’.
‘Before you go, can I ask you a
question?’
‘Certainly.’
‘What
made you cry, “Hello! You down
there!”? Why those exact words?’
‘I
don't know,’ I said. ‘I suppose I
said them because I saw you below.’
‘No
other reason?’
‘No.’
He
wished me good night and held up his
light. I walked by the side of the
railway line until I found the path.
It was easier to climb up than to
come down, and I got back to my
hotel without adventure.
The
next night I kept my appointment.
The clocks in the distance were
striking eleven when I began
climbing down the path. The
signalman was waiting for me at the
bottom.
‘I
have not called out,’ I said, when
we came close together. ‘May I speak
now?’
‘Of
course, sir.’
We
shook hands and walked together to
the box. Then we entered it, closed
the door, and sat down by the fire.
‘I
have decided, sir,’ he began, as we
sat down. ‘'That I will try to
explain to you what troubles me.’
He
spoke in little more than a whisper.
I had to lean forward to hear him.
‘I thought you were someone else
yesterday evening,’ he continued.
‘Who?’
‘I
don't know.’
‘Someone like me?’
‘I
don't know. I never saw the face.’
‘I'm
sorry I don't understand.’
‘One
moonlight night,’ said the
signalman, ‘I was sitting here.
Suddenly I heard a voice cry,
“Hello! You down there!” I jumped up
and looked out from that door.’
‘What
did you see?’
‘A
man standing by the red light near
the tunnel. His left arm was across
his face but he was waving his right
arm. This way.’ He made a gesture
with his own left arm to show me.'
'What
did he say?'
‘Exactly what you said. "Look out!”
the man was calling. “Hello! You
down there! Look out!'’
‘What
did you do?’
‘I
picked up my lamp, and ran towards
him. “What's wrong?’ I called. "What
has happened? Where?”
The
man stood just outside the tunnel. I
ran right up to him, but he still
kept his sleeve across his eyes. My
hand stretched out to pull the
sleeve away. But he had gone.’
‘Into
the tunnel?’ I said.
‘No.
I ran on into the tunnel. After
about five hundred yards I stopped
and held my lamp above my head. All
I saw was the dark, wet walls. I ran
out again, faster than I had come
in.
‘Outside the tunnel, I looked around
the red light with my own light.
Then I ran back to this box and
telegraphed both ways along the
line. “An alarm has been given. Is
anything wrong?” The answer came
back, both ways, “All well.”’
This
strange tale produced cold sweat on
my neck. But I tried to give comfort
to the signalman.
‘This
was not a man you saw,’ I said. ‘It
was your eyes playing tricks with
the light. And I can explain the cry
you heard. Listen to the strange
sound the wind makes with the
telegraph wires in this unnatural
place. Isn't a human cry?’
We
sat listening for a while.
The
signalman shook his head. ‘I know
the cry of the wind on wires very
well,’ he said. ‘I often spend
winter nights alone here. But I have
not finished my story.’
‘I am
sorry. Please continue.’
Touching my arm, he said slowly.
‘Six hours after I saw the figure,
there was a terrible accident on
this line. The dead and the wounded
were carried through the tunnel,
sir. They brought them to the very
spot where the man had stood.’
There
was a long pause. Outside the wind
made a crying sound in the wires.
‘That
is a remarkable coincidence,’ I
said. ‘But such coincidences happen
often in life.’
‘This
happened a year ago,’ he said, again
laying his hand upon my arm. ‘And a
week ago the spirit returned.’
‘Where? At the light?’
‘Yes.
At the Danger-light. It appears at
different times.’
‘What
does it do?’
He
repeated the action with his arm.
Again the message was clear to me.
It said, ‘Clear the way!’
Then
he went on. ‘I have no peace or rest
because of it. I hear it calling to
me, “You down there! Look out!” I
see it standing there waving to me.
It rings my little bell.’
‘Did
it ring your bell yesterday evening
when I was here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why,’ I said, ‘your imagination
misleads you. My eyes were on the
bell, and my ears were open to the
bell. I promise you it did NOT ring
at the time you went to the door.’
He
shook his head. ‘I have never made a
mistake about that yet, sir. I have
never confused the spirit's ring
with that from the station. The
spirit's ring is a strange vibration
in the bell. I am not surprised that
you did not hear it. But I heard
it.’
‘And
did the spirit seem to be there,
when you looked out?’
‘It
WAS there.’
‘Will
you come to the door with me?’ I
asked. ‘We will look for it now.’
He
bit his lower lip but got up from
his chair. I opened the door, and
stood on the step. He stood in the
doorway. Along the line there was
the Danger-light. There was the
gloomy mouth of the tunnel. There
were the high, wet stone walls of
the cutting. There were the stars
above them.
‘Do
you see it?’ I asked him, watching
his face carefully.
‘No,’
he answered. ‘It is not there.’
We
went in again, shut the door, and
returned to our seats.
He
stared at the fire, only
occasionally turning his eyes to me.
‘What does the ghost mean?’ he said.
‘What is it warning against? There
is danger coming somewhere on the
line. But what is the danger? Where
is the danger? Something terrible
will happen. But what can I do?’
He
pulled out his handkerchief, and
wiped the sweat from his heated
forehead.
‘I
could telegraph ‘Danger’ along the
line,’ he went on, wiping the palms
of his hands. ‘But I can give no
reason for it. They would think I
was mad.’
He
put his hands across his forehead.
His distress was terrible to see.
‘When
the spirit first stood under the
Danger-light,’ he went on, putting
his dark hair back from his head,
‘why did it not tell me where the
accident was to happen? Does it now
want to prepare me for a second
disaster? But I am only poor
signalman on this lonely station!
Why not go to somebody with the
power to do something?’
I saw
that for the poor man's sake, as
well as for public safety, I had to
try and calm him. ‘You are a good
signalman,’ I told him ‘The most
important thing is for you to do
your job well.’
‘You
are right, sir,’ he answered, and as
the night advanced his attention
turned to his various duties. I
offered to stay until the morning,
but he assured me there was no need.
I was
worried about the signalman and
looked back more than once at the
red light as I climbed back up the
path. Was it safe to leave the lives
of passengers in his hands? I
decided to talk to him again the
following night. Perhaps I could
persuade him to see a doctor?
The
next evening was lovely and I set
out early. The sun was not quite
down when I crossed the field near
the top of the cutting. Reaching the
exact spot where I had first seen
the signalman I realised that it was
too early to go down to his box. I
was about to turn and walk some more
when, without thinking, I looked
down towards the line. What I saw
froze my blood.
Close
to the mouth of the tunnel, there
was a man. His left arm covered his
face and that he was waving his
right arm. Then I saw that it was a
real man. He was making his gesture
to a little group of other men
standing at a distance. The
Danger-light was not yet lit. I
immediately knew that something was
wrong and ran down the path as fast
as I could. Why had I left the man
there? Why had I not told anyone?
‘What
is the matter?’ I asked the men.
‘A
signalman was killed this morning,
sir.’
‘Not
the man belonging to that box?’
‘Yes,
sir.’
‘Oh
no! How did it happen?’ I asked,
turning from one to another.
‘He
was knocked down by a train, sir. No
man in England knew his work better
but for some reason he was still on
the line as the engine came out of
the tunnel. ‘
‘The
driver here was showing us how it
happened. Show the gentleman, Tom.’
A
man, dressed in rough dark clothes,
stepped back to the mouth of the
tunnel.
‘The
train was coming round the curve in
the tunnel, sir,’ he said. ‘I saw
him at the end with his light in his
hand but there was no time to slow
down. The strange thing is he seemed
not to hear the whistle.’
‘What
did you do?’
‘I
called out to him, “You down there!
Look out! Look out!" It was
terrible, sir. I never stopped
calling to him. I put my left arm
before my eyes not to see. But I
carried on waving my right arm until
the end.’ |
Admittedly,
some of what I am going to mention is a bit
artificial, but I am talking about the VR
world here, not the RW, so geography can be
"adjusted" to suit our needs. I must also
make it quite clear that I am not going to
establish a shortline VR, nor is the NERR
going down that track (sorry about the bad
pun!). I have just been thinking about it
for some time, and I thought that, since others
are making suggestions about the future,
I might as well take part. And I
know that the Ohio Valley System VR has a shortline
section using the routes developed by Rich
Garber; this is not meant to cut
across their way of operating in any way at
all.
