THE SIGNAL-MAN by Charles Dickens

"Halloa! Below there!"

When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his
hand, furled round its short pole. One would have thought, considering the nature of the ground,
that he could not have doubted from what quarter the voice came but instead of loo!ing up to
where " stood on the top of the steep cutting nearl# over his head, he turned himself about, and
loo!ed down the $ine. %here was something remar!able in his manner of doing so, though " could
not have said for m# life what. But " !now it was remar!able enough to attract m# notice, even
though his figure was foreshortened and shadowed, down in the deep trench, and mine was high
above him, so steeped in the glow of an angr# sunset, that " had shaded m# e#es with m# hand
before " saw him at all.
"Halloa! Below!"
&rom loo!ing down the $ine, he turned himself about again, and, raising his e#es, saw m# figure
high above him.
""s there an# path b# which " can come down and spea! to #ou'"
He loo!ed up at me without repl#ing, and " loo!ed down at him without pressing him too soon with
a repetition of m# idle question. (ust then there came a vague vibration in the earth and air, quic!l#
changing into a violent pulsation, and an oncoming rush that caused me to start bac!, as though it
had force to draw me down. When such vapour as rose to m# height from this rapid train had
passed me, and was s!imming awa# over the landscape, " loo!ed down again, and saw him
refurling the flag he had shown while the train went b#.
" repeated m# inquir#. )fter a pause, during which he seemed to regard me with fixed attention, he
motioned with his rolled*up flag towards a point on m# level, some two or three hundred #ards
distant. " called down to him, ")ll right!" and made for that point. %here, b# dint of loo!ing
closel# about me, " found a rough +ig+ag descending path notched out, which " followed.
%he cutting was extremel# deep, and unusuall# precipitate. "t was made through a clamm# stone,
that became oo+ier and wetter as " went down. &or these reasons, " found the wa# long enough to
give me time to recall a singular air of reluctance or compulsion with which he had pointed out the
path.
When " came down low enough upon the +ig+ag descent to see him again, " saw that he was
standing between the rails on the wa# b# which the train had latel# passed, in an attitude as if he
were waiting for me to appear. He had his left hand at his chin, and that left elbow rested on his
right hand, crossed over his breast. His attitude was one of such expectation and watchfulness that "
stopped a moment, wondering at it.
" resumed m# downward wa#, and stepping out upon the level of the railroad, and drawing nearer to
him, saw that he was a dar! sallow man, with a dar! beard and rather heav# e#ebrows. His post
was in as solitar# and dismal a place as ever " saw. On either side, a dripping*wet wall of ,agged
- %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
stone, excluding all view but a strip of s!# the perspective one wa# onl# a croo!ed prolongation of
this great dungeon the shorter perspective in the other direction terminating in a gloom# red light,
and the gloomier entrance to a blac! tunnel, in whose massive architecture there was a barbarous,
depressing, and forbidding air. .o little sunlight ever found its wa# to this spot, that it had an
earth#, deadl# smell and so much cold wind rushed through it, that it struc! chill to me, as if " had
left the natural world.
Before he stirred, " was near enough to him to have touched him. 2ot even then removing his e#es
from mine, he stepped bac! one step, and lifted his hand.
%his was a lonesome post to occup# 3" said4, and it had riveted m# attention when " loo!ed down
from up #onder. ) visitor was a rarit#, " should suppose not an unwelcome rarit#, " hoped' "n me,
he merel# saw a man who had been shut up within narrow limits all his life, and who, being at last
set free, had a newl#*awa!ened interest in these great wor!s. %o such purpose " spo!e to him but
" am far from sure of the terms " used for, besides that " am not happ# in opening an# conversation,
there was something in the man that daunted me.
He directed a most curious loo! towards the red light near the tunnel5s mouth, and loo!ed all about
it, as if something were missing from it, and then loo!ed it me.
%hat light was part of his charge' Was it not'
He answered in a low voice, "1on5t #ou !now it is'"
%he monstrous thought came into m# mind, as " perused the fixed e#es and the saturnine face, that
this was a spirit, not a man. " have speculated since, whether there ma# have been infection in his
mind.
"n m# turn, " stepped bac!. But in ma!ing the action, " detected in his e#es some latent fear of me.
%his put the monstrous thought to flight.
"6ou loo! at me," " said, forcing a smile, "as if #ou had a dread of me."
"" was doubtful," he returned, "whether " had seen #ou before."
"Where'"
He pointed to the red light he had loo!ed at.
"%here'" " said.
"ntentl# watchful of me, he replied 3but without sound4, "6es."
"/# good fellow, what should " do there' However, be that as it ma#, " never was there, #ou ma#
swear."
"" thin! " ma#," he re,oined. "6es " am sure " ma#."
His manner cleared, li!e m# own. He replied to m# remar!s with readiness, and in well*chosen
words. Had he much to do there' 6es that was to sa#, he had enough responsibilit# to bear but
7 %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
exactness and watchfulness were what was required of him, and of actual wor! * manual labour * he
had next to none. %o change that signal, to trim those lights, and to turn this iron handle now and
then, was all he had to do under that head. 8egarding those man# long and lonel# hours of which "
seemed to ma!e so much, he could onl# sa# that the routine of his life had shaped itself into that
form, and he had grown used to it. He had taught himself a language down here, if onl# to !now it
b# sight, and to have formed his own crude ideas of its pronunciation, could be called learning it.
He had also wor!ed at fractions and decimals, and tried a little algebra but he was, and had been as
a bo#, a poor hand at figures. Was it necessar# for him when on dut# alwa#s to remain in that
channel of damp air, and could he never rise into the sunshine from between those high stone
walls' Wh#, that depended upon times and circumstances. 9nder some conditions there would be
less upon the $ine than under others, and the same held good as to certain hours of the da# and
night. "n bright weather, he did choose occasions for getting a little above these lower shadows
but, being at all times liable to be called b# his electric bell, and at such times listening for it with
redoubled anxiet#, the relief was less than " would suppose.
He too! me into his box, where there was a fire, a des! for an official boo! in which he had to ma!e
certain entries, a telegraphic instrument with its dial, face, and needles, and the little bell of which
he had spo!en. On m# trusting that he would excuse the remar! that he had been well educated,
and 3" hoped " might sa# without offence4 perhaps educated above that station, he observed that
instances of slight incongruit# in such wise would rarel# be found wanting among large bodies of
men that he had heard it was so in wor!houses, in the police force, even in that last desperate
resource, the arm# and that he !new it was so, more or less, in an# great railwa# staff. He had
been, when #oung 3if " could believe it, sitting in that hut, he scarcel# could4, a student of natural
philosoph#, and had attended lectures but he had run wild, misused his opportunities, gone down,
and never risen again. He had no complaint to offer about that. He had made his bed, and he la#
upon it. "t was far too late to ma!e another.
)ll that " have here condensed he said in a quiet manner, with his grave dar! regards divided
between me and the fire. He threw in the word, ".ir," from time to time, and especiall# when he
referred to his #outh, as though to request me to understand that he claimed to be nothing but what "
found him. He was several times interrupted b# the little bell, and had to read off messages, and
send replies. Once he had to stand without the door, and displa# a flag as a train passed, and ma!e
some verbal communication to the driver. "n the discharge of his duties, " observed him to be
remar!abl# exact and vigilant, brea!ing off his discourse at a s#llable, and remaining silent until
what he had to do was done.
"n a word, " should have set this man down as one of the safest of men to be emplo#ed in that
capacit#, but for the circumstance that while he was spea!ing to me he twice bro!e off with a fallen
colour, turned his face towards the little bell when it did 2O% ring, opened the door of the hut
3which was !ept shut to exclude the unhealth# damp4, and loo!ed out towards the red light near the
mouth of the tunnel. On both of those occasions, he came bac! to the fire with the inexplicable air
upon him which " had remar!ed, without being able to define, when we were so far asunder.
.aid ", when " rose to leave him, "6ou almost ma!e me thin! that " have met with a contented man."
3" am afraid " must ac!nowledge that " said it to lead him on.4
"" believe " used to be so," he re,oined, in the low voice in which he had first spo!en "but " am
troubled, sir, " am troubled."
: %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
He would have recalled the words if he could. He had said them, however, and " too! them up
quic!l#.
"With what' What is #our trouble'"
""t is ver# difficult to impart, sir. "t is ver#, ver# difficult to spea! of. "f ever #ou ma!e me another
visit, " will tr# to tell #ou."
"But " expressl# intend to ma!e #ou another visit. .a#, when shall it be'"
"" go off earl# in the morning, and " shall be on again at ten tomorrow night, sir."
"" will come at eleven."
He than!ed me, and went out at the door with me. ""5ll show m# white light, sir," he said, in his
peculiar low voice, "till #ou have found the wa# up. When #ou have found it, don5t call out! )nd
when #ou are at the top, don5t call out!"
His manner seemed to ma!e the place stri!e colder to me, but " said no more than, ";er# well."
")nd when #ou come down to*morrow night, don5t call out! $et me as! #ou a parting question.
What made #ou cr#, 5Halloa! Below there!5 to*night'"
"Heaven !nows," said ". "" cried something to that effect *"
"2ot to that effect, sir. %hose were the ver# words. " !now them well."
")dmit those were the ver# words. " said them, no doubt, because " saw #ou below."
"&or no other reason'"
"What other reason could " possibl# have'"
"6ou had no feeling that the# were conve#ed to #ou in an# supernatural wa#'"
"2o."
He wished me good*night, and held up his light. " wal!ed b# the side of the down $ine of rails
3with a ver# disagreeable sensation of a train coming behind me4 until " found the path. "t was
easier to mount than to descend, and " got bac! to m# inn without an# adventure.
<unctual to m# appointment, " placed m# foot on the first notch of the +ig+ag next night, as the
distant cloc!s were stri!ing eleven. He was waiting for me at the bottom, with his white light on. ""
have not called out," " said, when we came close together "ma# " spea! now'" "B# all means, sir."
"=ood*night, then, and here5s m# hand." "=ood*night, sir, and here5s mine." With that we wal!ed
side b# side to his box, entered it, closed the door, and sat down b# the fire.
"" have made up m# mind, sir," he began, bending forward as soon as we were seated, and spea!ing
in a tone but a little above a whisper, "that #ou shall not have to as! me twice what troubles me. "
too! #ou for some one else #esterda# evening. %hat troubles me."
> %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
"%hat mista!e'"
"2o. %hat some one else."
"Who is it'"
"" don5t !now."
"$i!e me'"
"" don5t !now. " never saw the face. %he left arm is across the face, and the right arm is waved,**
violentl# waved. %his wa#."
" followed his action with m# e#es, and it was the action of an arm gesticulating, with the utmost
passion and vehemence, "&or =od5s sa!e, clear the wa#!"
"One moonlight night," said the man, "" was sitting here, when " heard a voice cr#, 5Halloa! Below
there!5 " started up, loo!ed from that door, and saw this .ome one else standing b# the red light
near the tunnel, waving as " ,ust now showed #ou. %he voice seemed hoarse with shouting, and it
cried, 5$oo! out! $oo! out!5 )nd then attain, 5Halloa! Below there! $oo! out!5 " caught up m#
lamp, turned it on red, and ran towards the figure, calling, 5What5s wrong' What has happened'
Where'5 "t stood ,ust outside the blac!ness of the tunnel. " advanced so close upon it that "
wondered at its !eeping the sleeve across its e#es. " ran right up at it, and had m# hand stretched
out to pull the sleeve awa#, when it was gone."
""nto the tunnel'" said ".
"2o. " ran on into the tunnel, five hundred #ards. " stopped, and held m# lamp above m# head, and
saw the figures of the measured distance, and saw the wet stains stealing down the walls and
tric!ling through the arch. " ran out again faster than " had run in 3for " had a mortal abhorrence of
the place upon me4, and " loo!ed all round the red light with m# own red light, and " went up
the iron ladder to the galler# atop of it, and " came down again, and ran bac! here. " telegraphed
both wa#s, 5)n alarm has been given. "s an#thing wrong'5 %he answer came bac!, both wa#s, 5)ll
well.5"
8esisting the slow touch of a fro+en finger tracing out m# spine, " showed him how that this figure
must be a deception of his sense of sight and how that figures, originating in disease of the delicate
nerves that minister to the functions of the e#e, were !nown to have often troubled patients, some of
whom had become conscious of the nature of their affliction, and had even proved it b# experiments
upon themselves. ")s to an imaginar# cr#," said ", "do but listen for a moment to the wind in this
unnatural valle# while we spea! so low, and to the wild harp it ma!es of the telegraph wires."
%hat was all ver# well, he returned, after we had sat listening for a while, and he ought to !now
something of the wind and the wires,** he who so often passed long winter nights there, alone and
watching. But he would beg to remar! that he had not finished.
" as!ed his pardon, and he slowl# added these words, touching m# arm, *"Within six hours after the
)ppearance, the memorable accident on this $ine happened, and within ten hours the dead and
wounded were brought along through the tunnel over the spot where the figure had stood."
? %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
) disagreeable shudder crept over me, but " did m# best against it. "t was not to be denied, "
re,oined, that this was a remar!able coincidence, calculated deepl# to impress his mind. But it was
unquestionable that remar!able coincidences did continuall# occur, and the# must be ta!en into
account in dealing with such a sub,ect. %hough to be sure " must admit, " added 3for " thought " saw
that he was going to bring the ob,ection to bear upon me4, men of common sense did not allow
much for coincidences in ma!ing the ordinar# calculations of life.
He again begged to remar! that he had not finished.
" again begged his pardon for being betra#ed into interruptions.
"%his," he said, again la#ing his hand upon m# arm, and glancing over his shoulder with hollow
e#es, "was ,ust a #ear ago. .ix or seven months passed, and " had recovered from the surprise and
shoc!, when one morning, as the da# was brea!ing, ", standing at the door, loo!ed towards the red
light, and saw the spectre again." He stopped, with a fixed loo! at me.
"1id it cr# out'"
"2o. "t was silent."
"1id it wave its arm'"
"2o. "t leaned against the shaft of the light, with both hands before the face. $i!e this."
Once more " followed his action with m# e#es. "t was an action of mourning. " have seen such an
attitude in stone figures on tombs.
"1id #ou go up to it'"
"" came in and sat down, partl# to collect m# thoughts, partl# because it had turned me faint. When
" went to the door again, da#light was above me, and the ghost was gone."
"But nothing followed' 2othing came of this'"
He touched me on the arm with his forefinger twice or thrice giving a ghastl# nod each time@*
"%hat ver# da#, as a train came out of the tunnel, " noticed, at a carriage window on m# side, what
loo!ed li!e a confusion of hands and heads, and something waved. " saw it ,ust in time to signal the
driver, .top! He shut off, and put his bra!e on, but the train drifted past here a hundred and fift#
#ards or more. " ran after it, and, as " went along, heard terrible screams and cries. ) beautiful
#oung lad# had died instantaneousl# in one of the compartments, and was brought in here, and laid
down on this floor between us."
"nvoluntaril# " pushed m# chair bac!, as " loo!ed from the boards at which he pointed to himself.
"%rue, sir. %rue. <recisel# as it happened, so " tell it #ou."
" could thin! of nothing to sa#, to an# purpose, and m# mouth was ver# dr#. %he wind and the
wires too! up the stor# with a long lamenting wail.
A %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
He resumed. "2ow, sir, mar! this, and ,udge how m# mind is troubled. %he spectre came bac! a
wee! ago. Bver since, it has been there, now and again, b# fits and starts."
")t the light'"
")t the 1anger*light."
"What does it seem to do'"
He repeated, if possible with increased passion and vehemence, that former gesticulation of, "&or
=od5s sa!e, clear the wa#!"
%hen he went on. "" have no peace or rest for it. "t calls to me, for man# minutes together, in an
agonised manner, 5Below there! $oo! out! $oo! out!5 "t stands waving to me. "t rings m# little
bell*"
" caught at that. "1id it ring #our bell #esterda# evening when " was here, and #ou went to the
door'"
"%wice."
"Wh#, see," said ", "how #our imagination misleads #ou. /# e#es were on the bell, and m# ears
were open to the bell, and if " am a living man, it did 2O% ring at those times. 2o, nor at an# other
time, except when it was rung in the natural course of ph#sical things b# the station communicating
with #ou."
He shoo! his head. "" have never made a mista!e as to that #et, sir. " have never confused the
spectre5s ring with the man5s. %he ghost5s ring is a strange vibration in the bell that it derives from
nothing else, and " have not asserted that the bell stirs to the e#e. " don5t wonder that #ou failed to
hear it. But " heard it."
")nd did the spectre seem to be there, when #ou loo!ed out'"
""t W). there."5
"Both times'"
He repeated firml#@ "Both times."
"Will #ou come to the door with me, and loo! for it now'"
He bit his under lip as though he were somewhat unwilling, but arose. " opened the door, and stood
on the step, while he stood in the doorwa#. %here was the 1anger*light. %here was the dismal
mouth of the tunnel. %here were the high, wet stone walls of the cutting. %here were the stars
above them.
"1o #ou see it'" " as!ed him, ta!ing particular note of his face. His e#es were prominent and
strained, but not ver# much more so, perhaps, than m# own had been when " had directed them
earnestl# towards the same spot.
C %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
"2o," he answered. ""t is not there."
")greed," said ".
We went in again, shut the door, and resumed our seats. " was thin!ing how best to improve this
advantage, if it might be called one, when he too! up the conversation in such a matter*of*course
wa#, so assuming that there could be no serious question of fact between us, that " felt m#self
placed in the wea!est of positions.
"B# this time #ou will full# understand, sir," he said, "that what troubles me so dreadfull# is the
question, What does the spectre mean'"
" was not sure, " told him, that " did full# understand.
"What is its warning against'" he said, ruminating, with his e#es on the fire, and onl# b# times
turning them on me. "What is the danger' Where is the danger' %here is danger overhanging
somewhere on the $ine. .ome dreadful calamit# will happen. "t is not to be doubted this third
time, after what has gone before. But surel# this is a cruel haunting of me. What can " do'"
He pulled out his hand!erchief, and wiped the drops from his heated forehead.
""f " telegraph 1anger, on either side of me, or on both, " can give no reason for it," he went on,
wiping the palms of his hands. "" should get into trouble, and do no good. %he# would thin! " was
mad. %his is the wa# it would wor!,**/essage@ 51anger! %a!e care!5 )nswer@ 5What 1anger'
Where'5 /essage@ 51on5t !now. But, for =od5s sa!e, ta!e care!5 %he# would displace me. What
else could the# do'"
His pain of mind was most pitiable to see. "t was the mental torture of a conscientious man,
oppressed be#ond endurance b# an unintelligible responsibilit# involving life.
"When it first stood under the 1anger*light," he went on, putting his dar! hair bac! from his head,
and drawing his hands outward across and across his temples in an extremit# of feverish distress,
"wh# not tell me where that accident was to happen, if it must happen' Wh# not tell me how it
could be averted, if it could have been averted' When on its second coming it hid its face, wh# not
tell me, instead, 5.he is going to die. $et them !eep her at home5' "f it came, on those two
occasions, onl# to show me that its warnings were true, and so to prepare me for the third, wh# not
warn me plainl# now' )nd ", $ord help me! ) mere poor signal*man on this solitar# station! Wh#
not go to somebod# with credit to be believed, and power to act'"
When " saw him in this state, " saw that for the poor man5s sa!e, as well as for the public safet#,
what " had to do for the time was to compose his mind. %herefore, setting aside all question of
realit# or unrealit# between us, " represented to him that whoever thoroughl# discharged his dut#
must do well, and that at least it was his comfort that he understood his dut#, though he did not
understand these confounding )ppearances. "n this effort " succeeded far better than in the attempt
to reason him out of his conviction. He became calm the occupations incidental to his post as the
night advanced began to ma!e larger demands on his attention@ and " left him at two in the morning.
" had offered to sta# through the night, but he would not hear of it.
%hat " more than once loo!ed bac! at the red light as " ascended the pathwa#, that " did not li!e the
red light, and that " should have slept but poorl# if m# bed had been under it, " see no reason to
D %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
conceal. 2or did " li!e the two sequences of the accident and the dead girl. " see no reason to
conceal that either.
But what ran most in m# thoughts was the consideration how ought " to act, having become the
recipient of this disclosure' " had proved the man to be intelligent, vigilant, painsta!ing, and exact
but how long might he remain so, in his state of mind' %hough in a subordinate position, still he
held a most important trust, and would " 3for instance4 li!e to sta!e m# own life on the chances of
his continuing to execute it with precision'
9nable to overcome a feeling that there would be something treacherous in m# communicating
what he had told me to his superiors in the 0ompan#, without first being plain with himself and
proposing a middle course to him, " ultimatel# resolved to offer to accompan# him 3otherwise
!eeping his secret for the present4 to the wisest medical practitioner we could hear of in those parts,
and to ta!e his opinion. ) change in his time of dut# would come round next night, he had apprised
me, and he would be off an hour or two after sunrise, and on again soon after sunset. " had
appointed to return accordingl#.
2ext evening was a lovel# evening, and " wal!ed out earl# to en,o# it. %he sun was not #et quite
down when " traversed the field*path near the top of the deep cutting. " would extend m# wal! for
an hour, " said to m#self, half an hour on and half an hour bac!, and it would then be time to go to
m# signal*man5s box.
Before pursuing m# stroll, " stepped to the brin!, and mechanicall# loo!ed down, from the point
from which " had first seen him. " cannot describe the thrill that sei+ed upon me, when, close at the
mouth of the tunnel, " saw the appearance of a man, with his left sleeve across his e#es, passionatel#
waving his right arm.
%he nameless horror that oppressed me passed in a moment, for in a moment " saw that this
appearance of a man was a man indeed, and that there was a little group of other men, standing at a
short distance, to whom he seemed to be rehearsing the gesture he made. %he 1anger*light was not
#et lighted. )gainst its shaft, a little low hut, entirel# new to me, had been made of some wooden
supports and tarpaulin. "t loo!ed no bigger than a bed.
With an irresistible sense that something was wrong, with a flashing self*reproachful fear that fatal
mischief had come of m# leaving the man there, and causing no one to be sent to overloo! or
correct what he did, " descended the notched path with all the speed " could ma!e.
"What is the matter'" " as!ed the men.
".ignal*man !illed this morning, sir."
"2ot the man belonging to that box'"
"6es, sir."
"2ot the man " !now'"
"6ou will recognise him, sir, if #ou !new him," said the man who spo!e for the others, solemnl#
uncovering his own head, and raising an end of the tarpaulin, "for his face is quite composed."
E %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens
"O, how did this happen, how did this happen'" " as!ed, turning from one to another as the hut
closed in again.
"He was cut down b# an engine, sir. 2o man in Bngland !new his wor! better. But somehow he
was not clear of the outer rail. "t was ,ust at broad da#. He had struc! the light, and had the lamp in
his hand. )s the engine came out of the tunnel, his bac! was towards her, and she cut him down.
%hat man drove her, and was showing how it happened. .how the gentleman, %om."
%he man, who wore a rough dar! dress, stepped bac! to his former place at the mouth of the tunnel.
"0oming round the curve in the tunnel, sir," he said, "" saw him at the end, li!e as if " saw him
down a perspective*glass. %here was no time to chec! speed, and " !new him to be ver# careful.
)s he didn5t seem to ta!e heed of the whistle, " shut it off when we were running down upon him,
and called to him as loud as " could call."
"What did #ou sa#'"
"" said, 5Below there! $oo! out! $oo! out! &or =od5s sa!e, clear the wa#!5"
" started.
")h! it was a dreadful time, sir. " never left off calling to him. " put this arm before m# e#es not to
see, and " waved this arm to the last but it was no use."
Without prolonging the narrative to dwell on an# one of its curious circumstances more than on an#
other, " ma#, in closing it, point out the coincidence that the warning of the Bngine*1river included,
not onl# the words which the unfortunate .ignal*man had repeated to me as haunting him, but also
the words which " m#self * not he * had attached, and that onl# in m# own mind, to the gesticulation
he had imitated.
-F %he .ignal /an b# 0harles 1ic!ens