Shadowing Practice: The Poor Traveller by Charles Dickens - Full Audiobook | Christmas Stories - Learn English Speaking with Video
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The Poor Traveller by Charles Dickens In the year 1799,
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a relative of mine came limping down on foot to the town of Chatham.
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He was a poor traveller, with not a farthing in his pocket.
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My relative came down to Chatham to enlist in a cavalry regiment, if a cavalry regiment would have him.
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If not, to take King George's shilling from any corporal or sergeant who would put a bunch of ribbons in his hat.
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His object was to get shot, but he thought he might as well ride to death as be at the trouble of walking.
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My relative's Christian name was Richard, but he was better known as Dick.
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He dropped his own surname on the road down and took up that of Double Dick.
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He was passed as Richard Double Dick, age twenty-two, height five foot ten,
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native place, Exmouth, which he had never been near in his life.
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There was no cavalry in Chatham when he limped over the bridge with half a shoe to his dusty feet,
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so he enlisted into a regiment of the line and was glad to get drunk and forget all about it.
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You are to know that this relative of mine had gone wrong and run wild.
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His heart was in the right place, but it was sealed up.
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He had been betrothed to a good and beautiful girl whom he had loved better than she, or perhaps even he, believed.
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But in an evil hour he had given her cause to say to him solemnly, Richard, I will never marry any other man.
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I will live single for your sake.
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But Mary Marshall's lips Her name was Mary Marshall.
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Never address another word to you on earth.
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Go, Richard.
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Heaven forgive you.
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This finished him.
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This brought him down to Chatham.
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This made him Private Richard Double Dick, with a determination to be shot.
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There was not a more dissipated and reckless soldier in Chatham Barracks in the year 1799 than Private Richard Doubledick.
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He associated with the dregs of every regiment, he was as seldom sober as he could be, and was constantly under punishment.
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It became clear to the whole barracks that Private Richard Doubledick would very soon be flogged.
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Now, the captain of Richard Doubledick's company was a young gentleman, not above five years his senior,
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whose eyes had an expression in them which affected Private Richard Doubledick in a very remarkable way.
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They were bright, handsome, dark eyes, what are called laughing eyes,
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generally, and when serious, rather steady than severe.
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But they were the only eyes now left in his narrowed world that Private Richard Doubledick could not stand.
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Unabashed by evil report and punishment, defiant of everything else and everybody else,
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he had but to know that those eyes looked at him for a moment, and he felt ashamed.
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He could not so much as salute Captain Taunton in the street like any other officer.
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He was reproached and confused, troubled by the mere possibility of the captain's looking at him.
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In his worst moments, he would rather turn back and go any distance out of his way than encounter those two handsome, dark, bright eyes.
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One day, when Private Richard Doubledick came out of the black hole where he had been passing the last eight and forty hours,
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and in which retreat he spent a good deal of his time, he was ordered to betake himself to Captain Taunton's quarters.
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In the stale and squalid state of a man just out of the black hole, he had less fancy than ever for being seen by the captain.
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But he was not so mad yet as to disobey orders, and consequently went up to the terrace overlooking the parade ground, where the officer's quarters were,
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twisting and breaking in his hands as he went along a bit of the straw
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that had formed the decorative furniture of the black hole.
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Come in, cried the captain, when he knocked with his knuckles at the door.
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Private Richard Doubledick pulled off his cap, took a stride forward, and felt very conscious that he stood in the light of the dark, bright eyes.
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There was a slight pause.
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Private Richard Double Dick could put the straw in his mouth
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and was gradually doubling it up into his windpipe and choking himself.
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Double Dick, said the captain.
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Do you know where you are going to?
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To the devil, sir, faltered Double Dick.
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Yes, returned the captain, and very fast.
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Private Richard Double Dick turned the straw of the black hole in his mouth and made a miserable salute of acquiescence.
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Double Dick, said the captain, since I entered His Majesty's service,
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a boy of seventeen, I have been pained to see many men of promise going that road.
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But I have never been so pained to see a man determined to make the shameful journey as I have been,
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ever since you joined the regiment to see you.
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Private Richard Doubledick began to find a film stealing over the floor at which he looked,
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also to find the legs of the captain's breakfast table turning crooked as if he saw them through water.
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I'm only a common soldier, sir, said he.
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It signifies very little what such a poor brute comes to.
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"'You are a man,' returned the captain, with grave indignation, "'of education and superior advantages.
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And if you say that, meaning what you say, you have sunk lower than I had believed.
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How low that must be, I leave you to consider,
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knowing what I know of your disgrace and seeing what I see.' "'I hope to get shot soon, sir,' said Private Richard Doubledick.
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and then the regiment and the world together will be rid of me.
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The legs of the table were becoming very crooked.
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Doubledick, looking up to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so strong an influence over him.
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He put his hand before his own eyes and the breast of his disgraced jacket swelled as if it would fly asunder.
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I would rather, said the young captain, see this in you, Double Dick,
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then I would see five thousand guineas counted out upon this table for a gift to my good mother.
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Have you a mother?
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I am thankful to say she is dead, sir.
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If your praises, returned the captain, were sounded from mouth to mouth through the whole regiment, through the whole army, through the whole country,
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you would wish she had lived to say with pride and joy.
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He is my son.
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Spare me, sir, said Doubledick.
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She would never have heard any good of me.
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She would never have had any pride and joy in owning herself my mother.
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Love and compassion she might have had, and would have always had, I know, but not.
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Spare me, sir.
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I am a broken wretch, quite at your mercy.
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And he turned his face to the wall and stretched out his imploring hand.
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My friend, began the captain.
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God bless you, sir, sobbed Private Richard Double Dick.
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You are at the crisis of your fate.
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Hold your course unchanged a little longer, and you know what must happen.
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I know even better than you can imagine that after that has happened, you are lost.
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No man who could shed those tears could bear those marks.
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"'I fully believe it, sir,' in a low, shivering voice said Private Richard Doubledick.
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"'But a man in any station can do his duty,' said the young captain, "'and in doing it can earn his own respect,
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even if his case should be so very unfortunate and so very rare that he can earn no other man's.
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A common soldier, poor brute though you called him just now has this advantage in the stormy times we live in,
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that he always does his duty before a host of sympathising witnesses.
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Do you doubt that he may so do it as to be extolled through a whole regiment, through a whole army, through a whole country?
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Turn while you may yet retrieve the past, and try.
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"'I will.
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I ask for only one witness, sir,' cried Richard, with a bursting heart.
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"'I understand you.
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I will be a watchful and a faithful one.'
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I have heard from Private Richard Doubledick's own lips that he dropped down upon his knee, kissed that officer's hand, arose,
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and went out of the light of the dark, bright eyes, an altered man.
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In that year, 1799, the French were in Egypt, in Italy, in Germany, were not.
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Napoleon Bonaparte had likewise begun to stir against England in India
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and most men could read the signs of the great troubles that were coming on.
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In the very next year, when we formed an alliance with Austria against him, Captain Taunton's regiment was on service in India,
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and there was not a finer non-commissioned officer in it, no, nor in the whole line, than Corporal Richard Doubledick.
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In 1801, the Indian Army were on the coast of Egypt.
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Next year was the year of the proclamation of the short piece, and they were recalled.
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It had then become well known to thousands of men that wherever Captain Taunton, with the dark, bright eyes, led, there, close to him,
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ever at his side, firm as a rock, true as the sun, and brave as Mars, would be certain to be found, while life beat in their hearts,
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that famous soldier, Sergeant Richard Doubledick.
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1805, besides being the great year of Trafalgar, was a year of hard fighting in India.
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That year saw such wonders done by a sergeant major who cut his way single-handed through a solid mass of men, recovered the colours of his regiment,
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which had been seized from the hand of a poor boy shot through the heart, and rescued his wounded captain,
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who was down and in a very jungle of horses' hooves and sabres, saw such wonders done, I say, by this brave sergeant major,
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that he was specially made the bearer of the colours he had won, and Ensign Richard Doubledick had risen from the ranks.
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Sorely cut up in every battle, but always reinforced by the bravest of men,
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for the fame of following the old colours shot through and through, which Ensign Richard Doubledick had saved inspired all breasts.
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This regiment fought its way through the Peninsular War, up to the investment of Badajoz in 1812.
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Again and again it had been cheered through the British ranks,
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until the tears had sprung into men's eyes at the mere hearing of the mighty British voice, so exultant in their valour.
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And there was not a drummer boy but knew the legend, that wherever the two friends, Major Taunton with the dark bright eyes,
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and Ensign Richard Doubledick, who was devoted to him, were seen to go, there the boldest spirits in the English army became wild to follow.
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One day at Badawhoth, not in the great storming,
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but in repelling a hot sally of the besieged upon our men at work in the trenches who had given way,
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The two officers found themselves hurrying forward, face to face, against a party of French infantry, who made a stand.
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There was an officer at their head, encouraging his men, a courageous, handsome, gallant officer of five and thirty,
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whom Doubledick saw hurriedly, almost momentarily, but saw well.
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He particularly noticed this officer waving his sword
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and rallying his men with an eager and excited cry when they fired in obedience to his gesture, and Major Taunton dropped.
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It was over in ten minutes more, and Double Dick returned to the spot where he had laid
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the best friend man ever had on a coat spread upon the wet clay.
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Major Taunton's uniform was opened at the breast, and on his shirt were three little spots of blood.
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Dear Double Dick, said he, I am dying.
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For the love of heaven,
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no, exclaimed the other, kneeling down beside him and passing his arm round his neck to raise his head.
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Taunton, my preserver, my guardian angel,
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my witness, dearest, truest, kindest of human beings, Taunton, for God's sake.
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The bright, dark eyes, so very, very dark now in the pale face,
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smiled upon him, and the hand he had kissed thirteen years ago laid itself fondly on his breast.
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Write to my mother.
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You will see home again.
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Tell her how we became friends.
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It will comfort her as it comforts me.
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He spoke no more, but faintly signed for a moment toward his hair as it fluttered in the wind.
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The ensign understood him.
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He smiled again when he saw that, and, gently turning his face over on the supporting arm as if for rest,
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died with his hand upon the breast in which he had revived a soul.
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No dry eye looked on Ensign Richard Doubledick that melancholy day.
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He buried his friend on the field and became a lone, bereaved man.
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Beyond his duty, he appeared to have but two remaining cares in life.
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One, to preserve the little packet of hair he was to give to Taunton's mother.
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The other, to encounter that French officer who had rallied the men under whose fire Taunton fell.
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A new legend now began to circulate among our troops, and it was that when he and the French officer came face to face once more,
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there would be weeping in France.
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The war went on, and through it went the exact picture of the French officer on the one side, and the bodily reality upon the other,
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until the Battle of Toulouse was fought.
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In the return sent home appeared these words.
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Severely wounded, but not dangerously, Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.
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At midsummer time in the year 1814, Lieutenant Richard Doubledick, now a browned soldier, seven and thirty years of age,
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came home to England, invalided.
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He brought the hair with him near his heart.
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Many a French officer had he seen since that day.
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Many a dreadful night, in searching with men and lanterns for his wounded had he relieved French officers lying disabled.
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But the mental picture and the reality had never come together.
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Though he was weak and suffered pain, he lost not an hour in getting down to Froome in Somersetshire, where Taunton's mother lived.
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In the sweet, compassionate words that naturally present themselves to the mind tonight.
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He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.
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It was a Sunday evening, and the lady sat at her quiet garden window reading the Bible,
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reading to herself in a trembling voice that very passage in it, as I have heard him tell.
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He heard the words, Young man, I say unto thee, arise.
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He had to pass the window, and the bright, dark eyes of his debased time seemed to look at him.
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Her heart told her who he was.
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She came to the door quickly and fell upon his neck.
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He saved me from ruin, made me a human creature, won me from infamy and shame.
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Oh God, forever bless him.
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As he will, he will.
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He will, the lady answered.
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I know he is in heaven.
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Then she piteously cried.
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But oh, my darling boy, my darling boy.
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Never from the hour when Private Richard Doubledick enlisted at Chatham had the Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Sergeant Major, Ensign,
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or Lieutenant breathed his right name, or the name of Mary Marshall,
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or a word of the story of his life into any ear except his reclaimers.
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That previous scene in his existence was closed.
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He had firmly resolved that his expiation should be to live unknown,
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to disturb no more the peace that had long grown over his old offences,
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to let it be revealed when he was dead that he had striven and suffered and had never forgotten.
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And then, if they could forgive him and believe him, well, it would be time enough.
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Time enough.
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But that night, remembering the words he had cherished for two years, tell her how we became friends,
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it will comfort her as it comforts me.
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He related everything.
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It gradually seemed to him as if in his maturity he had recovered a mother.
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It gradually seemed to her as if in her bereavement she had found a son.
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During his stay in England, the quiet garden into which he had slowly and painfully crept, a stranger, became the boundary of his home.
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When he was able to rejoin his regiment in the spring, he left the garden, thinking,
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was this indeed the first time he had ever turned his face toward the old colours, with a woman's blessing?
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He followed them, so ragged, so scarred and pierced now that they would scarcely hold together, to Catebras and Ligny.
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He stood beside them in an awful stillness of many men, shadowy through the mist and drizzle of a wet June forenoon,
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on the field of Waterloo.
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And down to that hour, the picture in his mind of the French officer had never been compared with the reality.
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The famous regiment was in action early in the battle, and received its first check in many an eventful year, when he was seen to fall.
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But it swept on to avenge him, and left behind it no such creature in the world of consciousness as Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.
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Through pits of mire and pools of rain, along deep ditches, once roads, that were pounded and ploughed to pieces by artillery,
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heavy wagons, tramp of men and horses, and the struggle of every wheeled thing that could carry wounded soldiers,
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jolted among the dying and the dead, so disfigured by blood and mud as to be hardly recognisable for humanity,
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dead, as to any sentient life that was in it, and yet alive, the form that had been Lieutenant Richard Doubledick,
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with whose praises England rang, was conveyed to Brussels.
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There it was tenderly laid down in hospital, and there it lay, week after week, through the long, bright summer days,
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until the harvest, spared by war, had ripened and was gathered in.
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Slowly labouring at last through a long, heavy dream of confused time and place,
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presenting faint glimpses of army surgeons whom he knew, and of faces that had been familiar to his youth, dearest and kindest among them,
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Mary Marshall's, with a solicitude upon it more like reality than anything he could discern.
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Lieutenant Richard Doubledick came back to life, to the beautiful life of a calm autumn evening sunset,
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to the peaceful life of a fresh, quiet room with a large window standing open,
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a balcony beyond, in which were moving leaves and sweet-smelling flowers.
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Beyond again, the clear sky, with the sun full in his sight, pouring its golden radiance on his bed.
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It was so tranquil and so lovely that he thought he had passed into another world, and he said in a faint voice,
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Taunton, are you near me?
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A face bent over him.
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Not his.
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His mother's.
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I came to nurse you.
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We have nursed you many weeks.
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You were moved here long ago.
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Do you remember nothing?
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Nothing.
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The lady kissed his cheek and held his hand, soothing him.
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Where is the regiment?
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What has happened?
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Let me call you mother.
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What has happened, mother?
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A great victory, dear.
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The war is over, and the regiment was the bravest in the field.
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His eyes kindled, his lips trembled, he sobbed, and the tears ran down his face.
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He was very weak, too weak to move his hand.
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From that time he recovered, slowly, for he had been desperately wounded in the head and had been shot in the body,
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but making some little advance every day.
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When he had gained sufficient strength to converse as he lay in bed, he soon began to remark that Mrs. Taunton always brought him back to his own history.
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Then he recalled his preserver's dying words and thought, it comforts her.
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One day he awoke out of a sleep, refreshed, and asked her to read to him.
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But the curtain of the bed, softening the light which she always drew back when he awoke
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that she might see him from her table at the bedside where she sat at work, was held undrawn, and a woman's voice spoke which was not hers.
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Can you bear to see a stranger?
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It said softly.
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Will you like to see a stranger?
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Stranger, he repeated.
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The voice awoke old memories before the days of Private Richard Doubledick.
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A stranger now, but not a stranger once, it said in tones that thrilled him.
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Richard, dear Richard, lost through so many years.
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My name.
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He cried out her name.
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Mary.
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And she held him in her arms, and his head lay on her bosom.
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I am not breaking a rash vow, Richard.
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These are not Mary Marshall's lips that speak.
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I have another name.
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She was married.
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I have another name, Richard.
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Did you ever hear it?
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Never.
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He looked into her face, so pensively beautiful, and wondered at the smile upon it through her tears.
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Think again, Richard.
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Are you sure you never heard my altered name?
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Never.
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Don't move your head to look at me, dear Richard.
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Let it lie here while I tell my story.
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I loved a generous, noble man.
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Loved him with my whole heart.
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Loved him for years and years.
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Loved him faithfully, devotedly.
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Loved him without hope of return.
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Loved him, knowing nothing of his highest qualities, not even knowing that he was alive.
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He was a brave soldier.
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He was honoured and beloved by thousands of thousands, when the mother of his dear friend found me and showed me that in all his triumphs,
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he had never forgotten me.
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He was wounded in a great battle.
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He was brought dying here, into Brussels.
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I came to watch and tend him, as I would have joyfully gone with such a purpose to the dreariest ends of the earth.
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When he knew no one else, he knew me.
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When he suffered most, he bore his sufferings, barely murmuring, content to rest his head where yours rests now.
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When he lay at the point of death, he married me, that he might call me wife before he died, and the name, my dear love,
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that I took on that forgotten night.
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I know it now, he sobbed.
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The shadowy remembrance strengthens.
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It has come back.
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I thank heaven that my mind is quite restored.
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My Mary, kiss me.
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Lull this weary head to rest, or I shall die of gratitude.
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His parting words were fulfilled.
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I see home again.
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Well, they were happy.
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It was a long recovery, but they were happy through it all.
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The snow had melted on the ground, and the birds were singing in the leafless thickets of the early spring, when those three were first able to ride out together,
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and when people flocked about the open carriage to cheer and congratulate Captain Richard Doubledick.
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But even then it became necessary for the captain, instead of returning to England, to complete his recovery in the climate of southern France.
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They found a spot upon the Rhône, within a ride of the old town of Avignon, and within view of its broken bridge,
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which was all they could desire.
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They lived there, together six months, then returned to England.
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Mrs. Taunton, growing old after three years, though not so old as that her bright,
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dark eyes were dimmed, and remembering that her strength had been benefited by the change, resolved to go back for a year to those parts.
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So she went with a faithful servant who had often carried her son in his arms,
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and she was to be rejoined and escorted home at the year's end by Captain Richard Doubledick.
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She wrote regularly to her children, as she called them now, and they to her.
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She went to the neighbourhood of Aix, and there, in their own chateau near the farmer's house she rented,
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she grew into intimacy with a family belonging to that part of France.
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The intimacy began in her often meeting among the vineyards a pretty child, a child with a most compassionate heart,
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who was never tired of listening to the solitary English lady stories of her poor son and the cruel wars.
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The family were as gentle as the child, and at length she came to know them so well
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that she accepted their invitation to pass the last month of her residence abroad under their roof.
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All this intelligence she wrote home, piecemeal as it came about from time to time,
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and at last enclosed a polite note from the head of the chateau, soliciting, on the occasion of his approaching mission to that neighbourhood,
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the honour of the company of that man so justly celebrated, Captain Richard Double Dick.
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Captain Double Dick, now a hardy, handsome man in the full vigour of life,
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broader across the chest and shoulders than he had ever been before, dispatched a courteous reply, and followed it in person.
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Travelling through all that extent of country after three years of peace, he blessed the better days on which the world had fallen.
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The corn was golden, not drenched in unnatural red, was bound in sheaves for food, not trodden underfoot by men in mortal fight.
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The smoke rose up from peaceful hearths, not blazing ruins.
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The carts were laden with the fair fruits of the earth, not with wounds and death.
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To him who had so often seen the terrible reverse, these things were beautiful indeed,
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and they brought him in a softened spirit to the old chateau near Aix upon a deep blue evening.
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It was a large chateau of the genuine old ghostly kind, with round towers and extinguishers, and a high leaden roof,
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and more windows than Aladdin's palace.
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The lattice blinds were all thrown open after the heat of the day, and there were glimpses of rambling walls and corridors within.
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Then there were immense outbuildings, fallen into partial decay.
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Masses of dark trees, terrace gardens, balustrades, tanks of water too weak to play and too dirty to work.
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Statues, weeds and thickets of iron railing that seemed to have overgrown themselves like the shrubberies,
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and to have branched out in all manner of wild shapes.
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The entrance doors stood open, as doors often do in that country when the heat of the day is past,
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and the captain saw no bell or knocker, and walked in.
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He walked into a lofty stone hall, refreshingly cool and gloomy after the glare of a southern day's travel.
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Extending along the four sides of this hall was a gallery, leading to suites of rooms, and it was lighted from the top.
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Still no bell was to be seen.
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Faith, said the captain, halting, ashamed of the clanking of his boots.
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This is a ghostly beginning.
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He started back and felt his face turn white.
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In the gallery, looking down at him, stood the French officer, the officer whose picture he had carried in his mind so long and so far.
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Compared with the original, at last, in every lineament, how like it was.
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He moved and disappeared, and Captain Richard Doubledick heard his steps coming quickly down into the hall.
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He entered through an archway.
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There was a bright, sudden look upon his face, much such a look as it had worn in that fatal moment.
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Monsieur le Capitain Richard Doubledick, enchanted to receive him.
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A thousand apologies.
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The servants were all out in the air.
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There was a little fate among them in the garden.
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In effect, it was the fate day of my daughter, the little cherished and protected of Madame Taunton.
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He was so gracious and so frank that Monsieur le Capitain Richard Doubledick could not withhold his hand.
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It is the hand of a brave Englishman, said the French officer, retaining it while he spoke.
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I could respect a brave Englishman even as my foe, how much more as my friend.
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I also am a soldier.
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He has not remembered me as I have remembered him.
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He did not take such a note of my face that day as I took of his, thought Captain Richard Doubledick.
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How shall I tell him?
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The French officer conducted his guest into a garden and presented him to his wife, an engaging and beautiful woman,
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sitting with Mrs. Taunton in a whimsical old-fashioned pavilion.
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His daughter, her fair young face beaming with joy, came running to embrace him, and there was a boy baby to tumble down among the
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orange trees on the broad steps in making for his father's legs.
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A multitude of children visitors were dancing to sprightly music, and all the servants and peasants about the chateau were dancing too.
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It was a scene of innocent happiness
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that might have been invented for the climax of the scenes of peace which had soothed the captain's journey.
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He looked on, greatly troubled in his mind, until a resounding bell rang, and the French officer begged to show him his rooms.
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They went upstairs into the gallery from which the officer had looked down,
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and Monsieur le Capitain Richard Doubledick was cordially welcomed to a grand outer chamber, and a smaller one within,
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all clocks and draperies and hearths and brazen dogs and tiles and cool devices and elegance and vastness.
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You were at Waterloo, said the French officer.
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I was, said Captain Richard Doubledick, and at Badajoth.
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Left alone with the sound of his own stern voice in his ears, he sat down to consider.
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What shall I do, and how shall I tell him?
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At that time, unhappily, many deplorable duels had been fought between English and French officers, arising out of the recent war,
372
and these duels and how to avoid this officer's hospitality were the uppermost thought in Captain Richard Doubledick's mind.
373
He was thinking, and letting the time run out in which he should have dressed for dinner, when Mrs. Taunton spoke to him outside the door,
374
asking if he could give her the letter he had brought from Mary.
375
His mother above all, the captain thought.
376
How shall I tell her?
377
You will form a friendship with your host, I hope, said Mrs. Taunton, whom he hurriedly admitted, that will last for life.
378
He is so true-hearted and so generous, Richard, that you can hardly fail to esteem one another.
379
If he had been spared.
380
She kissed, not without tears, the locket in which she wore his hair.
381
He would have appreciated him with his own magnanimity,
382
and would have been truly happy that the evil days were past which made such a man his enemy.
383
She left the room, and the captain walked, first to one window whence he could see the dancing in the garden,
384
then to another window whence he could see the smiling prospect and the peaceful vineyards.
385
Spirit of my departed friend, said he, is it through thee these better thoughts arising in my mind?
386
Is it thou who hast shown me, all the way I have drawn to meet this man, the blessings of the altered time?
387
Is it thou who hast sent thy stricken mother to me to stay my angry hand?
388
Is it from thee the whisper comes, that this man did his duty as thou didst, and as I did through thy guidance,
389
which has wholly saved me here on earth, and that he did no more?
390
He sat down, with his head buried in his hands, and when he rose up,
391
made the second strong resolution in his life, that neither to the French officer, nor to the mother of his departed friend,
392
nor to any soul, while either of the two was living, would he breathe what only he knew.
393
And when he touched that French officer's glass with his own that day at dinner,
394
he secretly forgave him in the name of the divine forgiver of injuries.
395
Here I ended my story of the poor traveller.
396
But if I had told it now, I could have added that the time has since come
397
when the son of Major Richard Doubledick and the son of that French officer, friends as their fathers were before them,
398
fought side by side in one cause with their respective nations,
399
like long divided brothers whom the better times have brought together, fast united.
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Explore "The Poor Traveller" for English Speaking Practice
Charles Dickens' "The Poor Traveller" isn't just a captivating Christmas story—it's a goldmine for English speaking practice and IELTS speaking practice. The video's rich dialogue, vivid characters, and historical context offer a unique way to learn English with videos, blending storytelling with language skill development. Follow along to uncover key phrases and shadowing techniques that will boost your pronunciation and fluency.
Top 5 Phrases for Daily Communication
- "Betake himself to": Meaning to go or move toward a place. Use it like: "I need to betake myself to the library before it closes."
- "Unabashed by": Unashamed or unaffected by. Example: "She remained unabashed by the criticism."
- "In the light of": Considering or in view of. Try: "In the light of recent events, we must adjust our plan."
- "Put the straw in his mouth": A casual phrase for fidgeting. Adapt to: "He put his pen in his mouth when nervous."
- "Take a stride forward": To move confidently. Use: "She took a stride forward to address the crowd."
Step-by-Step Shadowing Guide for This Video
Shadowing (or shadowspeak) is a proven technique to improve English pronunciation and fluency. Here's how to tackle this video:
- Listen and Repeat in Chunks: The dialogue has long sentences—pause after 5-7 words, repeat, and focus on Dickens' rhythmic tone. This builds fluency for IELTS speaking practice.
- Mimic Emotion and Intonation: Notice how Captain Taunton's "Come in" is firm yet calm. Copying these nuances helps with natural speech in english speaking practice.
- Focus on Difficult Sounds: Words like "dissipated" (dih-suh-pey-tid) and "squalid" (skwol-id) have tricky syllables. Slow down, break them into parts, and repeat until smooth.
- Record and Compare: Record your shadowing, then play it alongside the video. Note differences in stress and pace—this sharpens your ear for accurate pronunciation.
- Practice Daily for 10 Minutes: Consistency is key. Even short sessions with this video will boost your ability to follow complex narratives, a must for learn english with videos success.
By combining these phrases and shadowing techniques, you'll transform passive listening into active learning—perfect for mastering real-world English and acing exams like IELTS.
Grammar in this video
The structures the speaker uses most, with the exact words from the video:
| Structure | In the video |
|---|---|
| Present perfect have/has + past participle — a past action that still matters now | have been pained · have never been · have sunk |
| Passive voice be + past participle — the focus is on what happens, not who does it | was passed · was sealed · had been betrothed |
| Relative clauses who / which + clause — extra information about a person or thing | man who could · spoke which was |
What is the Shadowing Technique?
Shadowing is a science-backed language learning technique originally developed for professional interpreter training and popularized by polyglot Dr. Alexander Arguelles. The method is simple but powerful: you listen to native English audio and immediately repeat it out loud — like a shadow following the speaker with just a 1–2 second delay. Unlike passive listening or grammar drills, shadowing forces your brain and mouth muscles to simultaneously process and reproduce real speech patterns. Research shows it significantly improves pronunciation accuracy, intonation, rhythm, connected speech, listening comprehension, and speaking fluency — making it one of the most effective methods for IELTS Speaking preparation and real-world English communication.