THE SIGNAL-MAN
"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 looking up to
where I stood on the top of the steep cutting nearly over his head, he
turned himself about, and looked down the Line. There was something
remarkable in his manner of doing so, though I could not have said for my
life what. But I know it was remarkable enough to attract my 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 angry
sunset, that I had shaded my eyes with my hand before I saw him at all.
"Halloa! Below!"
From looking down the Line, he turned himself about again, and,
raising his eyes, saw my figure high above him.
"Is there any path by which I can come down and speak to you?"
He looked up at me without replying, and I looked down at him
without pressing him too soon with a repetition of my idle question. Just
then there came a vague vibration in the earth and air, quickly changing
into a violent pulsation, and an oncoming rush that caused me to start back,
as though it had force to draw me down. When such vapour as rose to my
height from this rapid train had passed me, and was skimming away over
the landscape, I looked down again, and saw him refurling the flag he had
shown while the train went by.
I repeated my inquiry. After a pause, during which he seemed to regard
me with fixed attention, he motioned with his rolled-up flag towards a
point on my level, some two or three hundred yards distant. I called down
to him, "All right!" and made for that point. There, by dint of looking
closely about me, I found a rough zigzag descending path notched out,
which I followed.