"One evening as I was lying flat on the deck of my steamboat, I heard voices approaching-and there were the nephew and the uncle strolling along the
bank. I laid my head on my arm again, and had nearly
lost myself in a
doze, when somebody said in my ear, as it were: 'I am as harmless as a little child, but I don't like to be dictated to. Am I the
manager-or am I not? I was ordered to send him there. It's
incredible.' ... I became
aware that the two were standing on the
shore alongside the forepart of the steamboat, just below my head. I did not move; it did not
occur to me to move: I was sleepy. 'It is unpleasant,' grunted the uncle. 'He has asked the Administration to be sent there,' said the other, 'with the idea of showing what he could do; and I was instructed
accordingly. Look at the
influence that man must have. Is it not
frightful?' They both agreed it was
frightful, then made
several bizarre remarks: 'Make rain and fine weather-one man-the Council-by the nose'-bits of
absurd sentences that got the better of my drowsiness, so that I had pretty near the whole of my wits about me when the uncle said, 'The
climate may do away with this
difficulty for you. Is he alone there?' 'Yes,' answered the
manager; 'he sent his
assistant down the river with a note to me in these terms: "Clear this poor devil out of the country, and don't
bother sending more of that sort. I had rather be alone than have the kind of men you can
dispose of with me." It was more than a year ago. Can you
imagine such
impudence!' 'Anything since then?' asked the other hoarsely. 'Ivory,' jerked the nephew; 'lots of it-prime sort-lots-most
annoying, from him.' 'And with that?' questioned the heavy
rumble. 'Invoice,' was the reply fired out, so to speak. Then
silence. They had been talking about Kurtz.
"I was
broad awake by this time, but, lying perfectly at
ease, remained still, having no
inducement to change my position. 'How did that
ivory come all this way?' growled the
elder man, who seemed very
vexed. The other explained that it had come with a
fleet of canoes in charge of an English half-caste
clerk Kurtz had with him; that Kurtz had
apparently intended to return himself, the
station being by that time bare of goods and stores, but after coming three hundred miles, had
suddenly decided to go back, which he started to do alone in a small
dugout with four paddlers, leaving the half-caste to
continue down the river with the
ivory. The two fellows there seemed astounded at anybody attempting such a thing. They were at a loss for an
adequate motive. As to me, I seemed to see Kurtz for the first time. It was a
distinct glimpse: the
dugout, four paddling savages, and the lone white man turning his back
suddenly on the
headquarters, on
relief, on thoughts of home-perhaps;
setting his face towards the depths of the
wilderness, towards his
empty and
desolate station. I did not know the
motive. Perhaps he was just simply a fine fellow who stuck to his work for its own sake. His name, you
understand, had not been pronounced once. He was 'that man.' The half-caste, who, as far as I could see, had conducted a
difficult trip with great
prudence and
pluck, was
invariably alluded to as 'that
scoundrel.' The '
scoundrel' had reported that the 'man' had been very ill-had recovered imperfectly.... The two below me moved away then a few paces, and strolled back and forth at some little
distance. I heard: 'Military post-doctor-two hundred miles-quite alone now-unavoidable delays-nine months-no news-
strange rumours.' They approached again, just as the
manager was saying, 'No one, as far as I know, unless a
species of wandering trader-a
pestilential fellow, snapping
ivory from the natives.' Who was it they were talking about now? I gathered in snatches that this was some man
supposed to be in Kurtz's
district, and of whom the
manager did not
approve. 'We will not be free from unfair
competition till one of these fellows is hanged for an
example,' he said. 'Certainly,' grunted the other; 'get him hanged! Why not? Anything-anything can be done in this country. That's what I say; nobody here, you
understand, here, can
endanger your position. And why? You stand the
climate-you outlast them all. The danger is in Europe; but there before I left I took care to-' They moved off and whispered, then their voices rose again. 'The
series of delays is not my
fault. I did my best.' The fat man sighed. 'Very sad.' 'And the pestiferous
absurdity of his talk,' continued the other; 'he bothered me enough when he was here. "Each
station should be like a
beacon on the road towards better things, a centre for
trade of course, but also for humanizing, improving, instructing." Conceive you-that ass! And he wants to be
manager! No, it's-' Here he got choked by
excessive indignation, and I lifted my head the least bit. I was surprised to see how near they were-
right under me. I could have
spat upon their hats. They were looking on the ground, absorbed in
thought. The
manager was switching his leg with a
slender twig: his
sagacious relative lifted his head. 'You have been well since you came out this time?' he asked. The other gave a start. 'Who? I? Oh! Like a
charm-like a
charm. But the rest-oh, my goodness! All sick. They die so quick, too, that I haven't the time to send them out of the country-it's
incredible!' 'Hm'm. Just so,' grunted the uncle. 'Ah! my boy,
trust to this-I say,
trust to this.' I saw him
extend his short flipper of an arm for a
gesture that took in the
forest, the
creek, the mud, the river-seemed to
beckon with a dishonouring
flourish before the sunlit face of the land a
treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden
evil, to the
profound darkness of its
heart. It was so startling that I leaped to my feet and looked back at the
edge of the
forest, as though I had
expected an answer of some sort to that black
display of
confidence. You know the
foolish notions that come to one sometimes. The high stillness confronted these two figures with its
ominous patience, waiting for the passing away of a
fantastic invasion.
"They swore
aloud together-out of
sheer fright, I believe-then pretending not to know anything of my
existence, turned back to the
station. The sun was low; and leaning
forward side by side, they seemed to be tugging painfully uphill their two
ridiculous shadows of unequal
length, that trailed behind them slowly over the tall grass without bending a single blade.
"In a few days the Eldorado Expedition went into the
patient wilderness, that closed upon it as the sea closes over a diver. Long afterwards the news came that all the donkeys were dead. I know nothing as to the
fate of the less
valuable animals. They, no
doubt, like the rest of us, found what they deserved. I did not
inquire. I was then rather excited at the
prospect of meeting Kurtz very soon. When I say very soon I
mean it comparatively. It was just two months from the day we left the
creek when we came to the
bank below Kurtz's
station.
"Going up that river was like traveling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when
vegetation rioted on the
earth and the big trees were kings. An
empty stream, a great
silence, an
impenetrable forest. The air was warm, thick, heavy,
sluggish. There was no joy in the brilliance of sunshine. The long stretches of the waterway ran on,
deserted, into the
gloom of overshadowed distances. On silvery sand-banks hippos and alligators sunned themselves side by side. The broadening waters flowed
through a
mob of wooded islands; you
lost your way on that river as you would in a
desert, and butted all day long against shoals, trying to find the
channel,
till you
thought yourself bewitched and cut off for ever from everything you had known once-somewhere-far away-in another
existence perhaps. There were moments when one's past came back to one, as it will sometimes when you have not a
moment to
spare for yourself; but it came in the
shape of an unrestful and noisy
dream, remembered with
wonder amongst the
overwhelming realities of this
strange world of plants, and water, and
silence. And this stillness of life did not in the least
resemble a peace. It was the stillness of an
implacable force brooding over an
inscrutable intention. It looked at you with a
vengeful aspect. I got used to it afterwards; I did not see it any more; I had no time. I had to keep guessing at the
channel; I had to
discern, mostly by
inspiration, the signs of hidden banks; I watched for sunken stones; I was learning to
clap my teeth smartly before my
heart flew out, when I shaved by a
fluke some
infernal sly old snag that would have ripped the life out of the tin-pot steamboat and drowned all the pilgrims; I had to keep a
lookout for the signs of dead wood we could cut up in the night for next day's steaming. When you have to
attend to things of that sort, to the
mere incidents of the
surface, the
reality-the
reality, I tell you-fades. The inner truth is hidden-luckily, luckily. But I felt it all the same; I felt often its
mysterious stillness watching me at my monkey tricks, just as it watches you fellows performing on your
respective tight-ropes for-what is it? half-a-crown a
tumble-"
"Try to be
civil, Marlow," growled a voice, and I knew there was at least one listener awake besides myself.
"I beg your
pardon. I forgot the
heartache which makes up the rest of the price. And indeed what does the price
matter, if the trick be well done? You do your tricks very well. And I didn't do badly either, since I managed not to
sink that steamboat on my first trip. It's a
wonder to me yet. Imagine a blindfolded man set to
drive a van over a bad road. I sweated and shivered over that business considerably, I can tell you. After all, for a seaman, to
scrape the bottom of the thing that's
supposed to
float all the time under his care is the unpardonable sin. No one may know of it, but you never
forget the
thump-eh? A blow on the very
heart. You
remember it, you
dream of it, you
wake up at night and think of it-years after-and go hot and cold all over. I don't
pretend to say that steamboat floated all the time. More than once she had to
wade for a bit, with twenty cannibals splashing around and pushing. We had enlisted some of these chaps on the way for a
crew. Fine fellows-cannibals-in their place. They were men one could work with, and I am
grateful to them. And, after all, they did not eat each other before my face: they had brought along a
provision of hippo-meat which went
rotten, and made the
mystery of the
wilderness stink in my nostrils. Phoo! I can
sniff it now. I had the
manager on
board and three or four pilgrims with their staves-all
complete. Sometimes we came upon a
station close by the
bank, clinging to the skirts of the unknown, and the white men rushing out of a
tumble-down
hovel, with great gestures of joy and
surprise and welcome, seemed very
strange-had the
appearance of being held there
captive by a spell. The word
ivory would ring in the air for a while-and on we went again into the
silence, along
empty reaches, round the still bends, between the high walls of our winding way, reverberating in
hollow claps the
ponderous beat of the stern-wheel. Trees, trees, millions of trees,
massive,
immense, running up high; and at their foot, hugging the
bank against the
stream, crept the little begrimed steamboat, like a
sluggish beetle crawling on the floor of a
lofty portico. It made you feel very small, very
lost, and yet it was not altogether
depressing, that feeling. After all, if you were small, the
grimy beetle crawled on-which was just what you wanted it to do. Where the pilgrims imagined it crawled to I don't know. To some place where they
expected to get something. I
bet! For me it crawled towards Kurtz-exclusively; but when the steam-pipes started leaking we crawled very slow. The reaches opened before us and closed behind, as if the
forest had stepped
leisurely across the water to
bar the way for our return. We penetrated deeper and deeper into the
heart of darkness. It was very quiet there. At night sometimes the roll of drums behind the curtain of trees would run up the river and
remain sustained faintly, as if hovering in the air high over our heads,
till the first break of day. Whether it meant war, peace, or prayer we could not tell. The dawns were heralded by the
descent of a chill stillness; the wood-cutters slept, their fires burned low; the snapping of a twig would make you start. We were wanderers on a
prehistoric earth, on an
earth that wore the
aspect of an unknown
planet. We could have fancied ourselves the first of men taking
possession of an accursed
inheritance, to be
subdued at the cost of
profound anguish and of
excessive toil. But
suddenly, as we struggled round a bend, there would be a
glimpse of rush walls, of peaked grass-roofs, a
burst of yells, a
whirl of black limbs, a
mass of hands clapping of feet stamping, of bodies swaying, of eyes rolling, under the
droop of heavy and
motionless foliage. The steamer toiled along slowly on the
edge of a black and
incomprehensible frenzy. The
prehistoric man was cursing us, praying to us, welcoming us-who could tell? We were cut off from the
comprehension of our surroundings; we glided past like phantoms, wondering and secretly
appalled, as
sane men would be before an
enthusiastic outbreak in a madhouse. We could not
understand because we were too far and could not
remember because we were travelling in the night of first ages, of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign-and no memories.
"The
earth seemed
unearthly. We are
accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered
monster, but there-there you could look at a thing
monstrous and free. It was
unearthly, and the men were-No, they were not
inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it-this
suspicion of their not being
inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped, and spun, and made
horrid faces; but what thrilled you was just the
thought of their humanity-like yours-the
thought of your
remote kinship with this wild and
passionate uproar. Ugly. Yes, it was ugly enough; but if you were man enough you would
admit to yourself that there was in you just the faintest
trace of a
response to the terrible frankness of that noise, a
dim suspicion of there being a
meaning in it which you-you so
remote from the night of first ages-could
comprehend. And why not? The
mind of man is
capable of anything-because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the
future. What was there after all? Joy, fear,
sorrow,
devotion, valour, rage-who can tell?-but truth-truth stripped of its
cloak of time. Let the fool
gape and shudder-the man knows, and can look on without a wink. But he must at least be as much of a man as these on the
shore. He must meet that truth with his own true stuff-with his own inborn
strength. Principles won't do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty rags-rags that would fly off at the first good shake. No; you want a
deliberate belief. An
appeal to me in this
fiendish row-is there? Very well; I hear; I
admit, but I have a voice, too, and for good or
evil mine is the
speech that cannot be silenced. Of course, a fool, what with
sheer fright and fine sentiments, is always safe. Who's that grunting? You
wonder I didn't go
ashore for a
howl and a dance? Well, no-I didn't. Fine sentiments, you say? Fine sentiments, be hanged! I had no time. I had to mess about with white-lead and strips of woolen blanket helping to put bandages on those leaky steam-pipes-I tell you. I had to watch the steering, and
circumvent those snags, and get the tin-pot along by hook or by
crook. There was
surface-truth enough in these things to save a wiser man. And between whiles I had to look after the
savage who was fireman. He was an improved
specimen; he could fire up a
vertical boiler. He was there below me, and, upon my word, to look at him was as
edifying as seeing a dog in a
parody of breeches and a
feather hat, walking on his hind-legs. A few months of training had done for that really fine
chap. He squinted at the steam-gauge and at the water-gauge with an
evident effort of intrepidity-and he had filed teeth, too, the poor devil, and the wool of his pate shaved into queer patterns, and three ornamental scars on each of his cheeks. He ought to have been clapping his hands and stamping his feet on the
bank, instead of which he was hard at work, a
thrall to
strange witchcraft, full of improving
knowledge. He was useful because he had been instructed; and what he knew was this-that should the water in that
transparent thing
disappear, the
evil spirit inside the boiler would get
angry through the greatness of his thirst, and take a terrible
vengeance. So he sweated and fired up and watched the glass fearfully (with an
impromptu charm, made of rags, tied to his arm, and a piece of polished bone, as big as a watch, stuck flatways
through his lower lip), while the wooded banks slipped past us slowly, the short noise was left behind, the
interminable miles of
silence-and we crept on, towards Kurtz. But the snags were thick, the water was
treacherous and
shallow, the boiler seemed indeed to have a
sulky devil in it, and
thus neither that fireman nor I had any time to
peer into our creepy thoughts.
"Some fifty miles below the Inner Station we came upon a
hut of reeds, an
inclined and
melancholy pole, with the unrecognizable tatters of what had been a
flag of some sort flying from it, and a neatly stacked wood-pile. This was unexpected. We came to the
bank, and on the stack of firewood found a flat piece of
board with some faded pencil-writing on it. When deciphered it said: 'Wood for you. Hurry up. Approach cautiously.' There was a
signature, but it was illegible-not Kurtz-a much longer word. 'Hurry up.' Where? Up the river? 'Approach cautiously.' We had not done so. But the
warning could not have been meant for the place where it could be only found after
approach. Something was wrong above. But what-and how much? That was the question. We commented
adversely upon the
imbecility of that telegraphic
style. The bush around said nothing, and would not let us look very far, either. A torn curtain of red twill hung in the doorway of the
hut, and flapped sadly in our faces. The
dwelling was dismantled; but we could see a white man had lived there not very long ago. There remained a
rude table-a
plank on two posts; a heap of
rubbish reposed in a dark
corner, and by the door I picked up a book. It had
lost its covers, and the pages had been thumbed into a
state of
extremely dirty softness; but the back had been lovingly stitched afresh with white cotton
thread, which looked clean yet. It was an find. Its
title was, An Inquiry into some Points of Seamanship, by a man Towser, Towson-some such name-Master in his Majesty's Navy. The
matter looked
dreary reading enough, with
illustrative diagrams and
repulsive tables of figures, and the copy was sixty years old. I handled this
amazing antiquity with the greatest
possible tenderness, lest it should
dissolve in my hands. Within, Towson or Towser was inquiring
earnestly into the breaking
strain of ships' chains and
tackle, and other such matters. Not a very
enthralling book; but at the first
glance you could see there a singleness of
intention, an
honest concern for the
right way of going to work, which made these
humble pages,
thought out so many years ago,
luminous with another than a
professional light. The
simple old sailor, with his talk of chains and purchases, made me
forget the
jungle and the pilgrims in a
delicious sensation of having come upon something unmistakably real. Such a book being there was
wonderful enough; but still more
astounding were the notes pencilled in the
margin, and
plainly referring to the
text. I couldn't believe my eyes! They were in
cipher! Yes, it looked like
cipher. Fancy a man lugging with him a book of that
description into this nowhere and studying it-and making notes-in
cipher at that! It was an
mystery.
"I had been
dimly aware for some time of a worrying noise, and when I lifted my eyes I saw the wood-pile was gone, and the
manager, aided by all the pilgrims, was shouting at me from the riverside. I slipped the book into my pocket. I
assure you to leave off reading was like tearing myself away from the
shelter of an old and
solid friendship.
"I started the
lame engine ahead. 'It must be this
miserable trader-this
intruder,' exclaimed the
manager, looking back malevolently at the place we had left. 'He must be English,' I said. 'It will not save him from getting into trouble if he is not
careful,' muttered the
manager darkly. I observed with assumed
innocence that no man was safe from trouble in this world.
"The
current was more
rapid now, the steamer seemed at her last
gasp, the stern-wheel flopped
languidly, and I caught myself listening on tiptoe for the next beat of the boat, for in
sober truth I
expected the
wretched thing to give up every
moment. It was like watching the last flickers of a life. But still we crawled. Sometimes I would pick out a tree a little way ahead to
measure our
progress towards Kurtz by, but I
lost it
invariably before we got
abreast. To keep the eyes so long on one thing was too much for
human patience. The
manager displayed a beautiful
resignation. I fretted and fumed and took to arguing with myself whether or no I would talk openly with Kurtz; but before I could come to any
conclusion it occurred to me that my
speech or my
silence, indeed any action of
mine, would be a
mere futility. What did it
matter what any one knew or ignored? What did it
matter who was
manager? One gets sometimes such a
flash of
insight. The essentials of this
affair lay deep under the
surface, beyond my reach, and beyond my
power of meddling.
"Towards the evening of the second day we judged ourselves about eight miles from Kurtz's
station. I wanted to push on; but the
manager looked
grave, and told me the
navigation up there was so
dangerous that it would be
advisable, the sun being very low already, to wait where we were
till next morning. Moreover, he pointed out that if the
warning to
approach cautiously were to be followed, we must
approach in daylight-not at
dusk or in the dark. This was
sensible enough. Eight miles meant nearly three hours' steaming for us, and I could also see
suspicious ripples at the upper end of the reach. Nevertheless, I was
annoyed beyond
expression at the
delay, and most unreasonably, too, since one night more could not
matter much after so many months. As we had
plenty of wood, and
caution was the word, I brought up in the middle of the
stream. The reach was
narrow,
straight, with high sides like a railway cutting. The
dusk came gliding into it long before the sun had set. The
current ran
smooth and
swift, but a dumb
immobility sat on the banks. The living trees, lashed together by the creepers and every living bush of the
undergrowth,
might have been changed into stone, even to the slenderest twig, to the lightest
leaf. It was not sleep-it seemed unnatural, like a
state of
trance. Not the faintest
sound of any kind could be heard. You looked on
amazed, and began to
suspect yourself of being deaf-then the night came
suddenly, and struck you
blind as well. About three in the morning some large fish leaped, and the loud splash made me jump as though a gun had been fired. When the sun rose there was a white fog, very warm and
clammy, and more
blinding than the night. It did not
shift or
drive; it was just there, standing all round you like something
solid. At eight or nine, perhaps, it lifted as a shutter lifts. We had a
glimpse of the
towering multitude of trees, of the
immense matted jungle, with the blazing little
ball of the sun hanging over it-all perfectly still-and then the white shutter came down again, smoothly, as if sliding in greased grooves. I ordered the chain, which we had begun to
heave in, to be paid out again. Before it stopped running with a
muffled rattle, a cry, a very loud cry, as of
infinite desolation, soared slowly in the
opaque air. It ceased. A complaining clamour, modulated in
savage discords, filled our ears. The
sheer unexpectedness of it made my hair
stir under my cap. I don't know how it struck the others: to me it seemed as though the mist itself had screamed, so
suddenly, and
apparently from all sides at once, did this
tumultuous and
mournful uproar arise. It culminated in a hurried
outbreak of almost intolerably
excessive shrieking, which stopped short, leaving us stiffened in a
variety of silly attitudes, and obstinately listening to the nearly as
appalling and
excessive silence. 'Good God! What is the
meaning-' stammered at my elbow one of the pilgrims-a little fat man, with sandy hair and red whiskers, who wore sidespring boots, and pink pyjamas tucked into his socks. Two others remained open-mouthed a while
minute, then dashed into the little cabin, to rush out incontinently and stand darting
scared glances, with Winchesters at 'ready' in their hands. What we could see was just the steamer we were on, her outlines blurred as though she had been on the point of dissolving, and a
misty strip of water, perhaps two feet
broad, around her-and that was all. The rest of the world was nowhere, as far as our eyes and ears were concerned. Just nowhere. Gone, disappeared; swept off without leaving a
whisper or a
shadow behind.
"I went
forward, and ordered the chain to be hauled in short, so as to be ready to trip the
anchor and move the steamboat at once if
necessary. 'Will they
attack?' whispered an awed voice. 'We will be all butchered in this fog,' murmured another. The faces twitched with the
strain, the hands trembled slightly, the eyes forgot to wink. It was very
curious to see the
contrast of expressions of the white men and of the black fellows of our
crew, who were as much strangers to that part of the river as we, though their homes were only eight hundred miles away. The whites, of course greatly discomposed, had besides a
curious look of being painfully shocked by such an
outrageous row. The others had an
alert, naturally
interested expression; but their faces were
essentially quiet, even those of the one or two who grinned as they hauled at the chain. Several exchanged short, grunting phrases, which seemed to
settle the
matter to their
satisfaction. Their headman, a young,
broad-chested black, severely draped in dark-blue fringed cloths, with
fierce nostrils and his hair all done up artfully in oily ringlets, stood near me. 'Aha!' I said, just for good
fellowship's sake. 'Catch 'im,' he snapped, with a bloodshot widening of his eyes and a
flash of
sharp teeth-'catch 'im. Give 'im to us.' 'To you, eh?' I asked; 'what would you do with them?' 'Eat 'im!' he said curtly, and, leaning his elbow on the
rail, looked out into the fog in a
dignified and
profoundly pensive attitude. I would no
doubt have been properly horrified, had it not occurred to me that he and his chaps must be very hungry: that they must have been growing increasingly hungry for at least this month past. They had been
engaged for six months (I don't think a single one of them had any clear idea of time, as we at the end of
countless ages have. They still belonged to the beginnings of time-had no
inherited experience to teach them as it were), and of course, as long as there was a piece of paper written over in
accordance with some
farcical law or other made down the river, it didn't enter anybody's head to trouble how they would live. Certainly they had brought with them some
rotten hippo-meat, which couldn't have lasted very long, anyway, even if the pilgrims hadn't, in the midst of a shocking hullabaloo, thrown a
considerable quantity of it
overboard. It looked like a high-handed proceeding; but it was really a case of
legitimate self-defence. You can't breathe dead hippo waking, sleeping, and eating, and at the same time keep your
precarious grip on
existence. Besides that, they had given them every week three pieces of brass wire, each about nine inches long; and the
theory was they were to buy their provisions with that
currency in riverside villages. You can see how that worked. There were either no villages, or the people were
hostile, or the director, who like the rest of us fed out of tins, with an
occasional old he-goat thrown in, didn't want to stop the steamer for some more or less
recondite reason. So, unless they swallowed the wire itself, or made loops of it to
snare the fishes with, I don't see what good their
salary could be to them. I must say it was paid with a
regularity worthy of a large and honourable trading company. For the rest, the only thing to eat-though it didn't look eatable in the least-I saw in their
possession was a few lumps of some stuff like half-cooked
dough, of a dirty
lavender colour, they kept wrapped in leaves, and now and then swallowed a piece of, but so small that it seemed done more for the looks of the thing than for any
serious purpose of
sustenance. Why in the name of all the gnawing devils of hunger they didn't go for us-they were thirty to five-and have a good tuck-in for once, amazes me now when I think of it. They were big
powerful men, with not much
capacity to
weigh the consequences, with
courage, with
strength, even yet, though their skins were no longer
glossy and their muscles no longer hard. And I saw that something restraining, one of those
human secrets that
baffle probability, had come into play there. I looked at them with a
swift quickening of interest-not because it occurred to me I
might be eaten by them before very long, though I own to you that just then I perceived-in a new light, as it were-how unwholesome the pilgrims looked, and I hoped, yes, I
positively hoped, that my
aspect was not so-what shall I say?-so-unappetizing: a touch of
fantastic vanity which fitted well with the
dream-
sensation that pervaded all my days at that time. Perhaps I had a little
fever, too. One can't live with one's finger everlastingly on one's
pulse. I had often 'a little
fever,' or a little touch of other things-the
playful paw-strokes of the
wilderness, the
preliminary trifling before the more
serious onslaught which came in due course. Yes; I looked at them as you would on any
human being, with a
curiosity of their impulses, motives, capacities, weaknesses, when brought to the
test of an
inexorable physical necessity. Restraint! What
possible restraint? Was it
superstition,
disgust,
patience, fear-or some kind of
primitive honour? No fear can stand up to hunger, no
patience can wear it out,
disgust simply does not
exist where hunger is; and as to
superstition, beliefs, and what you may call principles, they are less than
chaff in a
breeze. Don't you know the devilry of lingering
starvation, its
exasperating torment, its black thoughts, its sombre and
brooding ferocity? Well, I do. It takes a man all his inborn
strength to fight hunger properly. It's really easier to face
bereavement, dishonour, and the
perdition of one's soul-than this kind of
prolonged hunger. Sad, but true. And these chaps, too, had no
earthly reason for any kind of
scruple. Restraint! I would just as soon have
expected restraint from a hyena prowling amongst the corpses of a
battlefield. But there was the
fact facing me-the
fact dazzling, to be seen, like the foam on the depths of the sea, like a
ripple on an
unfathomable enigma, a
mystery greater-when I
thought of it-than the
curious,
inexplicable note of
desperate grief in this
savage clamour that had swept by us on the river-
bank, behind the
blind whiteness of the fog.
"Two pilgrims were quarrelling in hurried whispers as to which
bank. 'Left.' 'no, no; how can you? Right,
right, of course.' 'It is very
serious,' said the
manager's voice behind me; 'I would be desolated if anything should happen to Mr. Kurtz before we came up.' I looked at him, and had not the slightest
doubt he was
sincere. He was just the kind of man who would wish to
preserve appearances. That was his
restraint. But when he muttered something about going on at once, I did not even take the trouble to answer him. I knew, and he knew, that it was
impossible. Were we to let go our hold of the bottom, we would be
absolutely in the air-in space. We wouldn't be
able to tell where we were going to-whether up or down
stream, or across-
till we fetched against one
bank or the other-and then we wouldn't know at first which it was. Of course I made no move. I had no
mind for a smash-up. You couldn't
imagine a more deadly place for a shipwreck. Whether we drowned at once or not, we were sure to
perish speedily in one way or another. 'I
authorize you to take all the risks,' he said, after a short
silence. 'I
refuse to take any,' I said shortly; which was just the answer he
expected, though its
tone might have surprised him. 'Well, I must
defer to your
judgment. You are captain,' he said with
marked civility. I turned my shoulder to him in sign of my
appreciation, and looked into the fog. How long would it last? It was the most hopeless
lookout. The
approach to this Kurtz grubbing for
ivory in the
wretched bush was
beset by as many dangers as though he had been an
enchanted princess sleeping in a
fabulous castle. 'Will they
attack, do you think?' asked the
manager, in a
confidential tone.
"I did not think they would
attack, for
several obvious reasons. The thick fog was one. If they left the
bank in their canoes they would get
lost in it, as we would be if we attempted to move. Still, I had also judged the
jungle of both banks quite
impenetrable-and yet eyes were in it, eyes that had seen us. The riverside bushes were
certainly very thick; but the
undergrowth behind was evidently penetrable. However, during the short lift I had seen no canoes anywhere in the reach-
certainly not
abreast of the steamer. But what made the idea of
attack inconceivable to me was the
nature of the noise-of the cries we had heard. They had not the
fierce character boding
immediate hostile intention. Unexpected, wild, and
violent as they had been, they had given me an
irresistible impression of
sorrow. The
glimpse of the steamboat had for some
reason filled those savages with
unrestrained grief. The danger, if any, I expounded, was from our
proximity to a great
human passion let loose. Even
extreme grief may
ultimately vent itself in violence-but more generally takes the form of
apathy....
"You should have seen the pilgrims
stare! They had no
heart to grin, or even to
revile me: but I believe they
thought me gone
mad-with fright, maybe. I delivered a regular
lecture. My dear boys, it was no good bothering. Keep a
lookout? Well, you may guess I watched the fog for the signs of lifting as a cat watches a mouse; but for anything else our eyes were of no more use to us than if we had been buried miles deep in a heap of cotton-wool. It felt like it, too-choking, warm,
stifling. Besides, all I said, though it sounded , was
absolutely true to
fact. What we afterwards alluded to as an
attack was really an
attempt at
repulse. The action was very far from being aggressive-it was not even defensive, in the usual sense: it was undertaken under the
stress of
desperation, and in its
essence was purely
protective.
"It developed itself, I should say, two hours after the fog lifted, and its
commencement was at a spot, roughly speaking, about a mile and a half below Kurtz's
station. We had just floundered and flopped round a bend, when I saw an islet, a
mere grassy
hummock of bright green, in the middle of the
stream. It was the only thing of the kind; but as we opened the reach more, I perceived it was the head of a long sand-
bank, or rather of a chain of
shallow patches stretching down the middle of the river. They were discoloured, just
awash, and the whole lot was seen just under the water, exactly as a man's backbone is seen running down the middle of his back under the skin. Now, as far as I did see, I could go to the
right or to the left of this. I didn't know either
channel, of course. The banks looked pretty well alike, the
depth appeared the same; but as I had been informed the
station was on the west side, I naturally headed for the western
passage.
"No sooner had we fairly entered it than I became
aware it was much narrower than I had
supposed. To the left of us there was the long uninterrupted
shoal, and to the
right a high,
steep bank heavily overgrown with bushes. Above the bush the trees stood in serried ranks. The twigs overhung the
current thickly, and from
distance to
distance a large
limb of some tree projected rigidly over the
stream. It was then well on in the afternoon, the face of the
forest was
gloomy, and a
broad strip of
shadow had already
fallen on the water. In this
shadow we steamed up-very slowly, as you may
imagine. I sheered her well inshore-the water being deepest near the
bank, as the sounding-
pole informed me.
"One of my hungry and
forbearing friends was sounding in the bows just below me. This steamboat was exactly like a decked scow. On the deck, there were two little teakwood houses, with doors and windows. The boiler was in the fore-end, and the
machinery right astern. Over the whole there was a light roof, supported on stanchions. The
funnel projected
through that roof, and in front of the
funnel a small cabin built of light planks served for a pilot-house. It contained a couch, two camp-stools, a loaded Martini-Henry leaning in one
corner, a
tiny table, and the steering-wheel. It had a wide door in front and a
broad shutter at each side. All these were always thrown open, of course. I spent my days perched up there on the
extreme fore-end of that roof, before the door. At night I slept, or tried to, on the couch. An
athletic black belonging to some
coast tribe and educated by my poor
predecessor, was the helmsman. He sported a
pair of brass earrings, wore a blue cloth wrapper from the waist to the ankles, and
thought all the world of himself. He was the most
unstable kind of fool I had ever seen. He steered with no end of a
swagger while you were by; but if he
lost sight of you, he became instantly the
prey of an
abject funk, and would let that cripple of a steamboat get the upper hand of him in a
minute.
"I was looking down at the sounding-
pole, and feeling much
annoyed to see at each try a little more of it stick out of that river, when I saw my poleman give up on the business
suddenly, and
stretch himself flat on the deck, without even taking the trouble to
haul his
pole in. He kept hold on it though, and it trailed in the water. At the same time the fireman, whom I could also see below me, sat down
abruptly before his
furnace and ducked his head. I was
amazed. Then I had to look at the river
mighty quick, because there was a snag in the
fairway. Sticks, little sticks, were flying about-thick: they were whizzing before my nose, dropping below me,
striking behind me against my pilot-house. All this time the river, the
shore, the woods, were very quiet-perfectly quiet. I could only hear the heavy splashing
thump of the stern-wheel and the
patter of these things. We cleared the snag clumsily. Arrows, by Jove! We were being shot at! I stepped in quickly to close the shutter on the landside. That fool-helmsman, his hands on the spokes, was lifting his knees high, stamping his feet, champing his mouth, like a reined-in horse. Confound him! And we were
staggering within ten feet of the
bank. I had to
lean right out to swing the heavy shutter, and I saw a face amongst the leaves on the
level with my own, looking at me very
fierce and
steady; and then
suddenly, as though a
veil had been removed from my eyes, I made out, deep in the
tangled gloom, naked breasts, arms, legs,
glaring eyes-the bush was swarming with
human limbs in
movement, glistening of bronze colour. The twigs shook, swayed, and rustled, the arrows flew out of them, and then the shutter came to. 'Steer her
straight,' I said to the helmsman. He held his head
rigid, face
forward; but his eyes rolled, he kept on lifting and
setting down his feet gently, his mouth foamed a little. 'Keep quiet!' I said in a
fury. I
might just as well have ordered a tree not to
sway in the wind. I darted out. Below me there was a great
scuffle of feet on the
iron deck;
confused exclamations; a voice screamed, 'Can you turn back?' I caught
sight of a V-shaped
ripple on the water ahead. What? Another snag! A
fusillade burst out under my feet. The pilgrims had opened with their Winchesters, and were simply squirting lead into that bush. A
deuce of a lot of smoke came up and drove slowly
forward. I swore at it. Now I couldn't see the
ripple or the snag either. I stood in the doorway, peering, and the arrows came in swarms. They
might have been poisoned, but they looked as though they wouldn't kill a cat. The bush began to
howl. Our wood-cutters raised a warlike whoop; the
report of a
rifle just at my back deafened me. I glanced over my shoulder, and the pilot-house was yet full of noise and smoke when I made a dash at the wheel. The fool-nigger had dropped everything, to
throw the shutter open and let off that Martini-Henry. He stood before the wide opening,
glaring, and I yelled at him to come back, while I straightened the sudden
twist out of that steamboat. There was no room to turn even if I had wanted to, the snag was somewhere very near ahead in that
confounded smoke, there was no time to lose, so I just crowded her into the
bank-
right into the
bank, where I knew the water was deep.
"We tore slowly along the overhanging bushes in a
whirl of broken twigs and flying leaves. The
fusillade below stopped short, as I had foreseen it would when the squirts got
empty. I threw my head back to a glinting whizz that traversed the pilot-house, in at one shutter-hole and out at the other. Looking past that
mad helmsman, who was shaking the
empty rifle and yelling at the
shore, I saw
vague forms of men running
bent double, leaping, gliding,
distinct,
incomplete,
evanescent. Something big appeared in the air before the shutter, the
rifle went
overboard, and the man stepped back swiftly, looked at me over his shoulder in an ,
profound,
familiar manner, and fell upon my feet. The side of his head hit the wheel twice, and the end of what appeared a long cane clattered round and knocked over a little camp-stool. It looked as though after wrenching that thing from somebody
ashore he had
lost his
balance in the
effort. The
thin smoke had blown away, we were clear of the snag, and looking ahead I could see that in another hundred yards or so I would be free to
sheer off, away from the
bank; but my feet felt so very warm and wet that I had to look down. The man had rolled on his back and stared
straight up at me; both his hands clutched that cane. It was the
shaft of a
spear that, either thrown or lunged
through the opening, had caught him in the side, just below the ribs; the blade had gone in out of
sight, after making a
frightful gash; my shoes were full; a pool of blood lay very still,
gleaming dark-red under the wheel; his eyes shone with an
amazing lustre. The
fusillade burst out again. He looked at me anxiously, gripping the
spear like something
precious, with an air of being afraid I would try to take it away from him. I had to make an
effort to free my eyes from his
gaze and
attend to the steering. With one hand I felt above my head for the line of the steam
whistle, and jerked out
screech after
screech hurriedly. The
tumult of
angry and warlike yells was checked instantly, and then from the depths of the woods went out such a
tremulous and
prolonged wail of
mournful fear and
utter despair as may be imagined to follow the flight of the last hope from the
earth. There was a great
commotion in the bush; the shower of arrows stopped, a few dropping shots rang out sharply-then
silence, in which the
languid beat of the stern-wheel came
plainly to my ears. I put the
helm hard a-starboard at the
moment when the
pilgrim in pink pyjamas, very hot and
agitated, appeared in the doorway. 'The
manager sends me-' he began in an
official tone, and stopped short. 'Good God!' he said,
glaring at the wounded man.
"We two whites stood over him, and his
lustrous and inquiring
glance enveloped us both. I
declare it looked as though he would
presently put to us some questions in an
understandable language; but he died without uttering a
sound, without moving a
limb, without twitching a
muscle. Only in the very last
moment, as though in
response to some sign we could not see, to some
whisper we could not hear, he frowned
heavily, and that
frown gave to his black death-mask an inconceivably sombre,
brooding, and
menacing expression. The lustre of inquiring
glance faded swiftly into
vacant glassiness. 'Can you
steer?' I asked the
agent eagerly. He looked very
dubious; but I made a
grab at his arm, and he understood at once I meant him to
steer whether or no. To tell you the truth, I was morbidly
anxious to change my shoes and socks. 'He is dead,' murmured the fellow,
immensely impressed. 'No
doubt about it,' said I, tugging like
mad at the shoe-laces. 'And by the way, I
suppose Mr. Kurtz is dead as well by this time.'