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HEART OF DARKNESS


by Joseph Conrad


The Nelliea cruising yawlswung to her anchor without
a flutter of the sailsand was at rest. The flood had made
the wind was nearly calmand being bound down the river
the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn
of the tide.


The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an
interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded
together without a jointand in the luminous space the tanned sails
of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red
clusters of canvas sharply peakedwith gleams of varnished sprits.
A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness.
The air was dark above Gravesendand farther back still seemed
condensed into a mournful gloombrooding motionless over the biggest
and the greatesttown on earth.


The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four
affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to seaward.
On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so nautical.
He resembled a pilotwhich to a seaman is trustworthiness personified.
It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in the luminous
estuarybut behind himwithin the brooding gloom.


Between us there wasas I have already said somewhere
the bond of the sea. Besides holding our hearts together
through long periods of separationit had the effect of making
us tolerant of each other's yarns--and even convictions.
The Lawyer--the best of old fellows--hadbecause of his many
years and many virtuesthe only cushion on deckand was lying
on the only rug. The Accountant had brought out already a box
of dominoesand was toying architecturally with the bones.
Marlow sat cross-legged right aftleaning against
the mizzen-mast. He had sunken cheeksa yellow complexion
a straight backan ascetic aspectandwith his arms dropped
the palms of hands outwardsresembled an idol.
The directorsatisfied the anchor had good holdmade his way
aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily.
Afterwards there was silence on board the yacht.
For some reason or other we did not begin that game of dominoes.
We felt meditativeand fit for nothing but placid staring.
The day was ending in a serenity of still and exquisite brilliance.
The water shone pacifically; the skywithout a speckwas a
benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the Essex
marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabrichung from the wooded
rises inlandand draping the low shores in diaphanous folds.
Only the gloom to the westbrooding over the upper reaches
became more sombre every minuteas if angered by the approach
of the sun.



And at lastin its curved and imperceptible fallthe sun sank low
and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat
as if about to go out suddenlystricken to death by the touch of that gloom
brooding over a crowd of men.


Forthwith a change came over the watersand the serenity
became less brilliant but more profound. The old river
in its broad reach rested unruffled at the decline of day
after ages of good service done to the race that peopled its banks
spread out in the tranquil dignity of a waterway leading
to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the venerable
stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and
departs for everbut in the august light of abiding memories.
And indeed nothing is easier for a man who hasas the phrase goes
followed the seawith reverence and affectionthat to evoke
the great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames.
The tidal current runs to and fro in its unceasing service
crowded with memories of men and ships it had borne
to the rest of home or to the battles of the sea.
It had known and served all the men of whom the nation is proud
from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklinknights all
titled and untitled--the great knights-errant of the sea.
It had borne all the ships whose names are like jewels
flashing in the night of timefrom the GOLDEN HIND returning
with her rotund flanks full of treasureto be visited by
the Queen's Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale
to the EREBUS and TERRORbound on other conquests--
and that never returned. It had known the ships and the men.
They had sailed from Deptfordfrom Greenwichfrom Erith--
the adventurers and the settlers; kings' ships and the ships
of men on 'Change; captainsadmiralsthe dark "interlopers"
of the Eastern tradeand the commissioned "generals"
of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame
they all had gone out on that streambearing the sword
and often the torchmessengers of the might within the land
bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not
floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown
earth! . . . The dreams of menthe seed of commonwealths
the germs of empires.


The sun set; the dusk fell on the streamand lights began to
appear along the shore. The Chapman light-housea three-legged
thing erect on a mud-flatshone strongly. Lights of ships moved
in the fairway--a great stir of lights going up and going down.
And farther west on the upper reaches the place of the monstrous town
was still marked ominously on the skya brooding gloom in sunshine
a lurid glare under the stars.


And this also,said Marlow suddenlyhas been one of the dark
places of the earth.


He was the only man of us who still "followed the sea."
The worst that could be said of him was that he did not represent
his class. He was a seamanbut he was a wanderertoowhile most
seamen leadif one may so express ita sedentary life.
Their minds are of the stay-at-home orderand their home is
always with them--the ship; and so is their country--the sea.
One ship is very much like anotherand the sea is always the same.
In the immutability of their surroundings the foreign shores
the foreign facesthe changing immensity of lifeglide past
veiled not by a sense of mystery but by a slightly disdainful ignorance;
for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself
which is the mistress of his existence and as inscrutable as Destiny.



For the restafter his hours of worka casual stroll or a casual
spree on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole
continentand generally he finds the secret not worth knowing.
The yarns of seamen have a direct simplicitythe whole meaning
of which lies within the shell of a cracked nut. But Marlow was
not typical (if his propensity to spin yarns be excepted)and to him
the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside
enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out
a hazein the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes
are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine.


His remark did not seem at all surprising. It was just like Marlow.
It was accepted in silence. No one took the trouble to grunt even;
and presently he saidvery slow--"I was thinking of very old times
when the Romans first came herenineteen hundred years ago--the other day.
. . . Light came out of this river since--you say Knights? Yes; but it is
like a running blaze on a plainlike a flash of lightning in the clouds.
We live in the flicker--may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling!
But darkness was here yesterday. Imagine the feelings of a commander
of a fine--what d'ye call 'em?--trireme in the Mediterranean
ordered suddenly to the north; run overland across the Gauls in a hurry;
put in charge of one of these craft the legionaries--a wonderful lot
of handy men they must have beentoo--used to buildapparently by
the hundredin a month or twoif we may believe what we read.
Imagine him here--the very end of the worlda sea the colour of lead
a sky the colour of smokea kind of ship about as rigid as a concertina--
and going up this river with storesor ordersor what you like.
Sand-banksmarshesforestssavages--precious little to eat fit for a
civilized mannothing but Thames water to drink. No Falernian wine here
no going ashore. Here and there a military camp lost in a wilderness
like a needle in a bundle of hay--coldfogtempestsdiseaseexile
and death--death skulking in the airin the waterin the bush.
They must have been dying like flies here. Ohyes--he did it.
Did it very welltoono doubtand without thinking much about it either
except afterwards to brag of what he had gone through in his timeperhaps.
They were men enough to face the darkness. And perhaps he was cheered
by keeping his eye on a chance of promotion to the fleet at Ravenna
by and byif he had good friends in Rome and survived the awful climate.
Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga--perhaps too much dice
you know--coming out here in the train of some prefector tax-gatherer
or trader evento mend his fortunes. Land in a swampmarch through
the woodsand in some inland post feel the savagerythe utter savagery
had closed round him--all that mysterious life of the wilderness
that stirs in the forestin the junglesin the hearts of wild men.
There's no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live
in the midst of the incomprehensiblewhich is also detestable.
And it has a fascinationtoothat goes to work upon him.
The fascination of the abomination--you knowimagine the growing regrets
the longing to escapethe powerless disgustthe surrenderthe hate."


He paused.


Mind,he began againlifting one arm from the elbowthe palm
of the hand outwardsso thatwith his legs folded before him
he had the pose of a Buddha preaching in European clothes and without
a lotus-flower--"Mindnone of us would feel exactly like this.
What saves us is efficiency--the devotion to efficiency.
But these chaps were not much accountreally. They were no colonists;
their administration was merely a squeezeand nothing moreI suspect.
They were conquerorsand for that you want only brute force--
nothing to boast ofwhen you have itsince your strength
is just an accident arising from the weakness of others.
They grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to be got.
It was just robbery with violenceaggravated murder on a great scale



and men going at it blind--as is very proper for those who tackle
a darkness. The conquest of the earthwhich mostly means
the taking it away from those who have a different complexion
or slightly flatter noses than ourselvesis not a pretty thing
when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea only.
An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretence but an idea;
and an unselfish belief in the idea--something you can set up
and bow down beforeand offer a sacrifice to. . . ."


He broke off. Flames glided in the riversmall green flamesred flames
white flamespursuingovertakingjoiningcrossing each other--
then separating slowly or hastily. The traffic of the great city went
on in the deepening night upon the sleepless river. We looked on
waiting patiently--there was nothing else to do till the end of the flood;
but it was only after a long silencewhen he saidin a hesitating voice
I suppose you fellows remember I did once turn fresh-water sailor
for a bit,that we knew we were fatedbefore the ebb began to run
to hear about one of Marlow's inconclusive experiences.


I don't want to bother you much with what happened to me personally,
he beganshowing in this remark the weakness of many tellers
of tales who seem so often unaware of what their audience would
like best to hear; "yet to understand the effect of it on me you ought
to know how I got out therewhat I sawhow I went up that river
to the place where I first met the poor chap. It was the farthest
point of navigation and the culminating point of my experience.
It seemed somehow to throw a kind of light on everything about me--
and into my thoughts. It was sombre enoughtoo--and pitiful--
not extraordinary in any way--not very clear either. Nonot very clear.
And yet it seemed to throw a kind of light.


I had then, as you remember, just returned to London after a lot of Indian
Ocean, Pacific, China Seas--a regular dose of the East--six years or so,
and I was loafing about, hindering you fellows in your work and invading
your homes, just as though I had got a heavenly mission to civilize you.
It was very fine for a time, but after a bit I did get tired of resting.
Then I began to look for a ship--I should think the hardest work on earth.
But the ships wouldn't even look at me. And I got tired of that game, too.


Now when I was a little chap I had a passion for maps.
I would look for hours at South Americaor Africaor Australia
and lose myself in all the glories of exploration.
At that time there were many blank spaces on the earth
and when I saw one that looked particularly inviting on a map
(but they all look that) I would put my finger on it
and say`When I grow up I will go there.' The North Pole
was one of these placesI remember. WellI haven't been
there yetand shall not try now. The glamour's off.
Other places were scattered about the hemispheres. I have been
in some of themand . . . wellwe won't talk about that.
But there was one yet--the biggestthe most blankso to speak--
that I had a hankering after.


True, by this time it was not a blank space any more.
It had got filled since my boyhood with rivers and lakes and names.
It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mystery--
a white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over.
It had become a place of darkness. But there was in it
one river especially, a mighty big river, that you could
see on the map, resembling an immense snake uncoiled,
with its head in the sea, its body at rest curving afar over
a vast country, and its tail lost in the depths of the land.
And as I looked at the map of it in a shop-window, it
fascinated me as a snake would a bird--a silly little bird.



Then I remembered there was a big concern, a Company for
trade on that river. Dash it all! I thought to myself,
they can't trade without using some kind of craft on that lot of
fresh water--steamboats! Why shouldn't I try to get charge of one?
I went on along Fleet Street, but could not shake off the idea.
The snake had charmed me.


You understand it was a Continental concernthat Trading society;
but I have a lot of relations living on the Continentbecause it's
cheap and not so nasty as it looksthey say.


I am sorry to own I began to worry them. This was already a fresh
departure for me. I was not used to get things that way, you know.
I always went my own road and on my own legs where I had a mind to go.
I wouldn't have believed it of myself; but, then--you see--I felt
somehow I must get there by hook or by crook. So I worried them.
The men said `My dear fellow,' and did nothing. Then--would you
believe it?--I tried the women. I, Charlie Marlow, set the women to work--
to get a job. Heavens! Well, you see, the notion drove me.
I had an aunt, a dear enthusiastic soul. She wrote: `It will be delightful.
I am ready to do anything, anything for you. It is a glorious idea.
I know the wife of a very high personage in the Administration,
and also a man who has lots of influence with,' etc. She was determined
to make no end of fuss to get me appointed skipper of a river steamboat,
if such was my fancy.


I got my appointment--of course; and I got it very quick.
It appears the Company had received news that one of their
captains had been killed in a scuffle with the natives.
This was my chanceand it made me the more anxious to go.
It was only months and months afterwardswhen I made the attempt
to recover what was left of the bodythat I heard the original
quarrel arose from a misunderstanding about some hens.
Yestwo black hens. Fresleven--that was the fellow's name
a Dane--thought himself wronged somehow in the bargain
so he went ashore and started to hammer the chief of the village
with a stick. Ohit didn't surprise me in the least to
hear thisand at the same time to be told that Fresleven was
the gentlestquietest creature that ever walked on two legs.
No doubt he was; but he had been a couple of years already out
there engaged in the noble causeyou knowand he probably felt
the need at last of asserting his self-respect in some way.
Therefore he whacked the old nigger mercilesslywhile a big
crowd of his people watched himthunderstrucktill some man--
I was told the chief's son--in desperation at hearing the old
chap yellmade a tentative jab with a spear at the white man--
and of course it went quite easy between the shoulder-blades.
Then the whole population cleared into the forestexpecting all
kinds of calamities to happenwhileon the other hand
the steamer Fresleven commanded left also in a bad panic
in charge of the engineerI believe. Afterwards nobody seemed
to trouble much about Fresleven's remainstill I got out and
stepped into his shoes. I couldn't let it restthough; but when
an opportunity offered at last to meet my predecessorthe grass
growing through his ribs was tall enough to hide his bones.
They were all there. The supernatural being had not been
touched after he fell. And the village was desertedthe huts
gaped blackrottingall askew within the fallen enclosures.
A calamity had come to itsure enough. The people had vanished.
Mad terror had scattered themmenwomenand children
through the bushand they had never returned.
What became of the hens I don't know either. I should think
the cause of progress got themanyhow. Howeverthrough this
glorious affair I got my appointmentbefore I had fairly



begun to hope for it.


I flew around like mad to get ready, and before forty-eight
hours I was crossing the Channel to show myself to my employers,
and sign the contract. In a very few hours I arrived in a city that
always makes me think of a whited sepulchre. Prejudice no doubt.
I had no difficulty in finding the Company's offices. It was
the biggest thing in the town, and everybody I met was full of it.
They were going to run an over-sea empire, and make no end of
coin by trade.


A narrow and deserted street in deep shadowhigh houses
innumerable windows with venetian blindsa dead silencegrass sprouting
right and leftimmense double doors standing ponderously ajar.
I slipped through one of these crackswent up a swept and ungarnished
staircaseas arid as a desertand opened the first door I came to.
Two womenone fat and the other slimsat on straw-bottomed chairs
knitting black wool. The slim one got up and walked straight at me--
still knitting with downcast eyes--and only just as I began to
think of getting out of her wayas you would for a somnambulist
stood stilland looked up. Her dress was as plain as an
umbrella-coverand she turned round without a word and preceded
me into a waiting-room. I gave my nameand looked about.
Deal table in the middleplain chairs all round the wallson one
end a large shining mapmarked with all the colours of a rainbow.
There was a vast amount of red--good to see at any timebecause one
knows that some real work is done in therea deuce of a lot
of bluea little greensmears of orangeandon the East Coast
a purple patchto show where the jolly pioneers of progress drink
the jolly lager-beer. HoweverI wasn't going into any of these.
I was going into the yellow. Dead in the centre. And the river
was there--fascinating--deadly--like a snake. Ough! A door opened
ya white-haired secretarial headbut wearing a compassionate expression
appearedand a skinny forefinger beckoned me into the sanctuary.
Its light was dimand a heavy writing-desk squatted in the middle.
From behind that structure came out an impression of pale plumpness
in a frock-coat. The great man himself. He was five feet six
I should judgeand had his grip on the handle-end of ever
so many millions. He shook handsI fancymurmured vaguely
was satisfied with my French. BON VOYAGE.


In about forty-five seconds I found myself again in the waiting-room
with the compassionate secretary, who, full of desolation and sympathy,
made me sign some document. I believe I undertook amongst other things
not to disclose any trade secrets. Well, I am not going to.


I began to feel slightly uneasy. You know I am not used to
such ceremoniesand there was something ominous in the atmosphere.
It was just as though I had been let into some conspiracy--
I don't know--something not quite right; and I was glad to get out.
In the outer room the two women knitted black wool feverishly.
People were arrivingand the younger one was walking back
and forth introducing them. The old one sat on her chair.
Her flat cloth slippers were propped up on a foot-warmerand a cat
reposed on her lap. She wore a starched white affair on her head
had a wart on one cheekand silver-rimmed spectacles hung
on the tip of her nose. She glanced at me above the glasses.
The swift and indifferent placidity of that look troubled me.
Two youths with foolish and cheery countenances were being piloted over
and she threw at them the same quick glance of unconcerned wisdom.
She seemed to know all about them and about metoo.
An eerie feeling came over me. She seemed uncanny and fateful.
Often far away there I thought of these twoguarding the door
of Darknessknitting black wool as for a warm pall



one introducingintroducing continuously to the unknown
the other scrutinizing the cheery and foolish faces with unconcerned
old eyes. AVE! Old knitter of black wool. MORITURI TE SALUTANT.
Not many of those she looked at ever saw her again--not half
by a long way.


There was yet a visit to the doctor. `A simple formality,' assured me
the secretary, with an air of taking an immense part in all my sorrows.
Accordingly a young chap wearing his hat over the left eyebrow,
some clerk I suppose--there must have been clerks in the business,
though the house was as still as a house in a city of the dead--
came from somewhere up-stairs, and led me forth. He was shabby
and careless, with inkstains on the sleeves of his jacket, and his
cravat was large and billowy, under a chin shaped like the toe
of an old boot. It was a little too early for the doctor, so I
proposed a drink, and thereupon he developed a vein of joviality.
As we sat over our vermouths he glorified the Company's business,
and by and by I expressed casually my surprise at him not going
out there. He became very cool and collected all at once.
`I am not such a fool as I look, quoth Plato to his disciples,'
he said sententiously, emptied his glass with great resolution,
and we rose.


The old doctor felt my pulseevidently thinking of something
else the while. `Goodgood for there' he mumbled
and then with a certain eagerness asked me whether I would
let him measure my head. Rather surprisedI said Yes
when he produced a thing like calipers and got the dimensions
back and front and every waytaking notes carefully.
He was an unshaven little man in a threadbare coat like a gaberdine
with his feet in slippersand I thought him a harmless fool.
`I always ask leavein the interests of scienceto measure
the crania of those going out there' he said. `And when they
come backtoo?' I asked. `OhI never see them' he remarked;
`andmoreoverthe changes take place insideyou know.'
He smiledas if at some quiet joke. `So you are going
out there. Famous. Interestingtoo.' He gave me a searching
glanceand made another note. `Ever any madness in your family?'
he askedin a matter-of-fact tone. I felt very annoyed.
`Is that question in the interests of sciencetoo?'
`It would be' he saidwithout taking notice of my irritation
`interesting for science to watch the mental changes
of individualson the spotbut . . .' `Are you an alienist?'
I interrupted. `Every doctor should be--a little'
answered that originalimperturbably. `I have a little theory
which you messieurs who go out there must help me to prove.
This is my share in the advantages my country shall reap
from the possession of such a magnificent dependency.
The mere wealth I leave to others. Pardon my questions
but you are the first Englishman coming under my observation .
. .' I hastened to assure him I was not in the least typical.
`If I were' said I`I wouldn't be talking like this with you.'
`What you say is rather profoundand probably erroneous'
he saidwith a laugh. `Avoid irritation more than exposure
to the sun. Adieu. How do you English sayeh? Good-bye. Ah!
Good-bye. Adieu. In the tropics one must before everything
keep calm.' . . . He lifted a warning forefinger.
. . . `DU CALMEDU CALME. ADIEU.'


One thing more remained to do--say good-bye to my excellent aunt.
I found her triumphant. I had a cup of tea--the last decent
cup of tea for many days--and in a room that most soothingly
looked just as you would expect a lady's drawing-room to look,
we had a long quiet chat by the fireside. In the course of these



confidences it became quite plain to me I had been represented
to the wife of the high dignitary, and goodness knows to how many
more people besides, as an exceptional and gifted creature--
a piece of good fortune for the Company--a man you don't get hold
of every day. Good heavens! and I was going to take charge of a
two-penny-half-penny river-steamboat with a penny whistle attached!
It appeared, however, I was also one of the Workers, with a capital--
you know. Something like an emissary of light, something like a
lower sort of apostle. There had been a lot of such rot let loose
in print and talk just about that time, and the excellent woman,
living right in the rush of all that humbug, got carried off her feet.
She talked about 'weaning those ignorant millions from their
horrid ways,' till, upon my word, she made me quite uncomfortable.
I ventured to hint that the Company was run for profit.


`You forgetdear Charliethat the labourer is worthy of his hire'
she saidbrightly. It's queer how out of touch with truth women are.
They live in a world of their ownand there has never been anything
like itand never can be. It is too beautiful altogetherand if they
were to set it up it would go to pieces before the first sunset.
Some confounded fact we men have been living contentedly with ever
since the day of creation would start up and knock the whole thing over.


After this I got embraced, told to wear flannel, be sure
to write often, and so on--and I left. In the street--I don't
know why--a queer feeling came to me that I was an imposter.
Odd thing that I, who used to clear out for any part of the world
at twenty-four hours' notice, with less thought than most men give
to the crossing of a street, had a moment--I won't say of hesitation,
but of startled pause, before this commonplace affair. The best
way I can explain it to you is by saying that, for a second or two,
I felt as though, instead of going to the centre of a continent,
I were about to set off for the centre of the earth.


I left in a French steamerand she called in every blamed
port they have out thereforas far as I could see
the sole purpose of landing soldiers and custom-house officers.
I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship
is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you--
smilingfrowninginvitinggrandmeaninsipidor savage
and always mute with an air of whispering`Come and find out.'
This one was almost featurelessas if still in the making
with an aspect of monotonous grimness. The edge of a colossal jungle
so dark-green as to be almost blackfringed with white surf
ran straightlike a ruled linefarfar away along
a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping mist.
The sun was fiercethe land seemed to glisten and drip with steam.
Here and there greyish-whitish specks showed up clustered
inside the white surfwith a flag flying above them perhaps.
Settlements some centuries oldand still no bigger than
pinheads on the untouched expanse of their background.
We pounded alongstoppedlanded soldiers; went on
landed custom-house clerks to levy toll in what looked like a
God-forsaken wildernesswith a tin shed and a flag-pole lost
in it; landed more soldiers--to take care of the custom-house
clerkspresumably. SomeI heardgot drowned in the surf;
but whether they did or notnobody seemed particularly to care.
They were just flung out thereand on we went.
Every day the coast looked the sameas though we had not moved;
but we passed various places--trading places--with names
like Gran' BassamLittle Popo; names that seemed to belong
to some sordid farce acted in front of a sinister back-cloth.
The idleness of a passengermy isolation amongst all these men
with whom I had no point of contactthe oily and languid sea



the uniform sombreness of the coastseemed to keep me away
from the truth of thingswithin the toil of a mournful
and senseless delusion. The voice of the surf heard now and
then was a positive pleasurelike the speech of a brother.
It was something naturalthat had its reasonthat had a meaning.
Now and then a boat from the shore gave one a momentary
contact with reality. It was paddled by black fellows.
You could see from afar the white of their eyeballs glistening.
They shoutedsang; their bodies streamed with perspiration;
they had faces like grotesque masks--these chaps; but they
had bonemusclea wild vitalityan intense energy of movement
that was as natural and true as the surf along their coast.
They wanted no excuse for being there. They were a great comfort
to look at. For a time I would feel I belonged still to a world
of straightforward facts; but the feeling would not last long.
Something would turn up to scare it away. OnceI remember
we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast.
There wasn't even a shed thereand she was shelling the bush.
It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts.
Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long
six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy
slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her downswaying her
thin masts. In the empty immensity of earthskyand water
there she wasincomprehensiblefiring into a continent.
Popwould go one of the six-inch guns; a small flame would
dart and vanisha little white smoke would disappeara tiny
projectile would give a feeble screech--and nothing happened.
Nothing could happen. There was a touch of insanity in
the proceedinga sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight;
and it was not dissipated by somebody on board assuring me
earnestly there was a camp of natives--he called them enemies!--
hidden out of sight somewhere.


We gave her her letters (I heard the men in that lonely ship
were dying of fever at the rate of three a day) and went on.
We called at some more places with farcical names,
where the merry dance of death and trade goes on in a still
and earthy atmosphere as of an overheated catacomb; all along
the formless coast bordered by dangerous surf, as if Nature
herself had tried to ward off intruders; in and out of rivers,
streams of death in life, whose banks were rotting into mud,
whose waters, thickened into slime, invaded the contorted mangroves,
that seemed to writhe at us in the extremity of an impotent despair.
Nowhere did we stop long enough to get a particularized impression,
but the general sense of vague and oppressive wonder grew upon me.
It was like a weary pilgrimage amongst hints for nightmares.


It was upward of thirty days before I saw the mouth of
the big river. We anchored off the seat of the government.
But my work would not begin till some two hundred miles farther on.
So as soon as I could I made a start for a place thirty
miles higher up.


I had my passage on a little sea-going steamer.
Her captain was a Swede, and knowing me for a seaman, invited me
on the bridge. He was a young man, lean, fair, and morose,
with lanky hair and a shuffling gait. As we left the miserable
little wharf, he tossed his head contemptuously at the shore.
`Been living there?' he asked. I said, `Yes.' `Fine
lot these government chaps--are they not?' he went on,
speaking English with great precision and considerable bitterness.
`It is funny what some people will do for a few francs a month.
I wonder what becomes of that kind when it goes upcountry?'
I said to him I expected to see that soon.



`So-o-o!' he exclaimed. He shuffled athwart, keeping one
eye ahead vigilantly. `Don't be too sure,' he continued.
`The other day I took up a man who hanged himself on the road.
He was a Swede, too.' `Hanged himself! Why, in God's name?'
I cried. He kept on looking out watchfully. `Who knows?
The sun too much for him, or the country perhaps.'


At last we opened a reach. A rocky cliff appeared
mounds of turned-up earth by the shorehouses on a hill
others with iron roofsamongst a waste of excavations
or hanging to the declivity. A continuous noise of the rapids
above hovered over this scene of inhabited devastation.
A lot of peoplemostly black and nakedmoved about like ants.
A jetty projected into the river. A blinding sunlight
drowned all this at times in a sudden recrudescence of glare.
`There's your Company's station' said the Swedepointing to
three wooden barrack-like structures on the rocky slope. `I will
send your things up. Four boxes did you say? So. Farewell.'


I came upon a boiler wallowing in the grass, then found a path leading up
the hill. It turned aside for the boulders, and also for an undersized
railway-truck lying there on its back with its wheels in the air.
One was off. The thing looked as dead as the carcass of some animal.
I came upon more pieces of decaying machinery, a stack of rusty rails.
To the left a clump of trees made a shady spot, where dark things seemed
to stir feebly. I blinked, the path was steep. A horn tooted to the right,
and I saw the black people run. A heavy and dull detonation shook
the ground, a puff of smoke came out of the cliff, and that was all.
No change appeared on the face of the rock. They were building a railway.
The cliff was not in the way or anything; but this objectless blasting
was all the work going on.


A slight clinking behind me made me turn my head.
Six black men advanced in a filetoiling up the path.
They walked erect and slowbalancing small baskets full of earth
on their headsand the clink kept time with their footsteps.
Black rags were wound round their loinsand the short ends
behind waggled to and fro like tails. I could see every rib
the joints of their limbs were like knots in a rope; each had
an iron collar on his neckand all were connected together with
a chain whose bights swung between themrhythmically clinking.
Another report from the cliff made me think suddenly
of that ship of war I had seen firing into a continent.
It was the same kind of ominous voice; but these men could
by no stretch of imagination be called enemies. They were
called criminalsand the outraged lawlike the bursting shells
had come to theman insoluble mystery from the sea.
All their meagre breasts panted togetherthe violently
dilated nostrils quiveredthe eyes stared stonily uphill.
They passed me within six incheswithout a glance
with that completedeathlike indifference of unhappy savages.
Behind this raw matter one of the reclaimedthe product of
the new forces at workstrolled despondentlycarrying a rifle
by its middle. He had a uniform jacket with one button off
and seeing a white man on the pathhoisted his weapon
to his shoulder with alacrity. This was simple prudence
white men being so much alike at a distance that he could
not tell who I might be. He was speedily reassuredand with
a largewhiterascally grinand a glance at his charge
seemed to take me into partnership in his exalted trust.
After allI also was a part of the great cause of these high
and just proceedings.


Instead of going up, I turned and descended to the left.



My idea was to let that chain-gang get out of sight before I
climbed the hill. You know I am not particularly tender;
I've had to strike and to fend off. I've had to resist
and to attack sometimes--that's only one way of resisting--
without counting the exact cost, according to the demands
of such sort of life as I had blundered into. I've seen
the devil of violence, and the devil of greed, and the devil
of hot desire; but, by all the stars! these were strong, lusty,
red-eyed devils, that swayed and drove men--men, I tell you.
But as I stood on this hillside, I foresaw that in the blinding
sunshine of that land I would become acquainted with a flabby,
pretending, weak-eyed devil of a rapacious and pitiless folly.
How insidious he could be, too, I was only to find
out several months later and a thousand miles farther.
For a moment I stood appalled, as though by a warning.
Finally I descended the hill, obliquely, towards the trees
I had seen.


I avoided a vast artificial hole somebody had been digging on
the slopethe purpose of which I found it impossible to divine.
It wasn't a quarry or a sandpitanyhow. It was just a hole.
It might have been connected with the philanthropic desire
of giving the criminals something to do. I don't know.
Then I nearly fell into a very narrow ravinealmost no
more than a scar in the hillside. I discovered that a lot
of imported drainage-pipes for the settlement had been
tumbled in there. There wasn't one that was not broken.
It was a wanton smash-up. At last I got under the trees.
My purpose was to stroll into the shade for a moment;
but no sooner within than it seemed to me I had stepped into
the gloomy circle of some Inferno. The rapids were near
and an uninterrupteduniformheadlongrushing noise filled
the mournful stillness of the grovewhere not a breath stirred
not a leaf movedwith a mysterious sound--as though the tearing
pace of the launched earth had suddenly become audible.


Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees leaning against
the trunks, clinging to the earth, half coming out, half effaced within
the dim light, in all the attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair.
Another mine on the cliff went off, followed by a slight shudder
of the soil under my feet. The work was going on. The work!
And this was the place where some of the helpers had withdrawn to die.


They were dying slowly--it was very clear. They were not enemies
they were not criminalsthey were nothing earthly now--
nothing but black shadows of disease and starvationlying
confusedly in the greenish gloom. Brought from all the recesses
of the coast in all the legality of time contractslost in
uncongenial surroundingsfed on unfamiliar foodthey sickened
became inefficientand were then allowed to crawl away and rest.
These moribund shapes were free as air--and nearly as thin.
I began to distinguish the gleam of the eyes under the trees.
Thenglancing downI saw a face near my hand. The black bones
reclined at full length with one shoulder against the tree
and slowly the eyelids rose and the sunken eyes looked up at me
enormous and vacanta kind of blindwhite flicker in the depths
of the orbswhich died out slowly. The man seemed young--
almost a boy--but you know with them it's hard to tell.
I found nothing else to do but to offer him one of my good Swede's
ship's biscuits I had in my pocket. The fingers closed slowly
on it and held--there was no other movement and no other glance.
He had tied a bit of white worsted round his neck--Why?
Where did he get it? Was it a badge--an ornament--a charm--
a propitiatory act? Was there any idea at all connected with it?



It looked startling round his black neckthis bit of white
thread from beyond the seas.


Near the same tree two more bundles of acute angles sat with
their legs drawn up. One, with his chin propped on his knees,
stared at nothing, in an intolerable and appalling manner:
his brother phantom rested its forehead, as if overcome with a
great weariness; and all about others were scattered in every pose
of contorted collapse, as in some picture of a massacre or a pestilence.
While I stood horror-struck, one of these creatures rose to his hands
and knees, and went off on all-fours towards the river to drink.
He lapped out of his hand, then sat up in the sunlight, crossing his
shins in front of him, and after a time let his woolly head fall
on his breastbone.


I didn't want any more loitering in the shadeand I made
haste towards the station. When near the buildings I met
a white manin such an unexpected elegance of get-up
that in the first moment I took him for a sort of vision.
I saw a high starched collarwhite cuffsa light alpaca jacket
snowy trousersa clean necktieand varnished boots. No hat.
Hair partedbrushedoiledunder a green-lined parasol held
in a big white hand. He was amazingand had a penholder
behind his ear.


I shook hands with this miracle, and I learned he was the Company's
chief accountant, and that all the book-keeping was done at this station.
He had come out for a moment, he said, `to get a breath of fresh air.
The expression sounded wonderfully odd, with its suggestion of sedentary
desk-life. I wouldn't have mentioned the fellow to you at all, only it was
from his lips that I first heard the name of the man who is so indissolubly
connected with the memories of that time. Moreover, I respected the fellow.
Yes; I respected his collars, his vast cuffs, his brushed hair.
His appearance was certainly that of a hairdresser's dummy; but in the great
demoralization of the land he kept up his appearance. That's backbone.
His starched collars and got-up shirt-fronts were achievements of character.
He had been out nearly three years; and, later, I could not help asking
him how he managed to sport such linen. He had just the faintest blush,
and said modestly, `I've been teaching one of the native women about
the station. It was difficult. She had a distaste for the work.'
Thus this man had verily accomplished something. And he was devoted
to his books, which were in apple-pie order.


Everything else in the station was in a muddle--headsthingsbuildings.
Strings of dusty niggers with splay feet arrived and departed; a stream
of manufactured goodsrubbishy cottonsbeadsand brass-wire set into
the depths of darknessand in return came a precious trickle of ivory.


I had to wait in the station for ten days--an eternity.
I lived in a hut in the yard, but to be out of the chaos
I would sometimes get into the accountant's office.
It was built of horizontal planks, and so badly put together that,
as he bent over his high desk, he was barred from neck
to heels with narrow strips of sunlight. There was no need
to open the big shutter to see. It was hot there, too;
big flies buzzed fiendishly, and did not sting, but stabbed.
I sat generally on the floor, while, of faultless appearance
(and even slightly scented), perching on a high stool,
he wrote, he wrote. Sometimes he stood up for exercise.
When a truckle-bed with a sick man (some invalid agent
from upcountry) was put in there, he exhibited a gentle annoyance.
`The groans of this sick person,' he said, `distract my attention.
And without that it is extremely difficult to guard against
clerical errors in this climate.'



One day he remarkedwithout lifting his head
`In the interior you will no doubt meet Mr. Kurtz.'
On my asking who Mr. Kurtz washe said he was a first-class agent;
and seeing my disappointment at this informationhe added slowly
laying down his pen`He is a very remarkable person.'
Further questions elicited from him that Mr. Kurtz was at
present in charge of a trading-posta very important one
in the true ivory-countryat `the very bottom of there.
Sends in as much ivory as all the others put together . . .'
He began to write again. The sick man was too ill to groan.
The flies buzzed in a great peace.


Suddenly there was a growing murmur of voices and a great
tramping of feet. A caravan had come in. A violent babble
of uncouth sounds burst out on the other side of the planks.
All the carriers were speaking together, and in the midst
of the uproar the lamentable voice of the chief agent was heard
`giving it up' tearfully for the twentieth time that day.
. . . He rose slowly. `What a frightful row,' he said.
He crossed the room gently to look at the sick man,
and returning, said to me, `He does not hear.' `What! Dead?'
I asked, startled. `No, not yet,' he answered, with great composure.
Then, alluding with a toss of the head to the tumult in
the station-yard, `When one has got to make correct entries,
one comes to hate those savages--hate them to the death.'
He remained thoughtful for a moment. `When you see Mr. Kurtz'
he went on, `tell him from me that everything here'--
he glanced at the deck--' is very satisfactory. I don't like
to write to him--with those messengers of ours you never know
who may get hold of your letter--at that Central Station.'
He stared at me for a moment with his mild, bulging eyes.
`Oh, he will go far, very far,' he began again.
`He will be a somebody in the Administration before long.
They, above--the Council in Europe, you know--mean him to be.'


He turned to his work. The noise outside had ceased
and presently in going out I stopped at the door.
In the steady buzz of flies the homeward-bound agent was lying
finished and insensible; the otherbent over his books
was making correct entries of perfectly correct transactions;
and fifty feet below the doorstep I could see the still
tree-tops of the grove of death.


Next day I left that station at last, with a caravan of sixty men,
for a two-hundred-mile tramp.


No use telling you much about that. Pathspathseverywhere;
a stamped-in network of paths spreading over the empty land
through the long grassthrough burnt grassthrough thickets
down and up chilly ravinesup and down stony hills ablaze
with heat; and a solitudea solitudenobodynot a hut.
The population had cleared out a long time ago. Wellif a lot
of mysterious niggers armed with all kinds of fearful weapons
suddenly took to travelling on the road between Deal and Gravesend
catching the yokels right and left to carry heavy loads
for themI fancy every farm and cottage thereabouts would get
empty very soon. Only here the dwellings were gonetoo.
Still I passed through several abandoned villages.
There's something pathetically childish in the ruins of grass walls.
Day after daywith the stamp and shuffle of sixty pair
of bare feet behind meeach pair under a 60-lb. load.
Campcooksleepstrike campmarch. Now and then a carrier
dead in harnessat rest in the long grass near the path



with an empty water-gourd and his long staff lying by his side.
A great silence around and above. Perhaps on some quiet night
the tremor of far-off drumssinkingswellinga tremor vastfaint;
a sound weirdappealingsuggestiveand wild--and perhaps with as
profound a meaning as the sound of bells in a Christian country.
Once a white man in an unbuttoned uniformcamping on the path
with an armed escort of lank Zanzibarisvery hospitable and festive--
not to say drunk. Was looking after the upkeep of the road
he declared. Can't say I saw any road or any upkeep
unless the body of a middle-aged negrowith a bullet-hole
in the foreheadupon which I absolutely stumbled three miles
farther onmay be considered as a permanent improvement.
I had a white companiontoonot a bad chapbut rather
too fleshy and with the exasperating habit of fainting on
the hot hillsidesmiles away from the least bit of shade
and water. Annoyingyou knowto hold your own coat
like a parasol over a man's head while he is coming to.
I couldn't help asking him once what he meant by coming there
at all. `To make moneyof course. What do you think?'
he saidscornfully. Then he got feverand had to be carried
in a hammock slung under a pole. As he weighed sixteen stone I
had no end of rows with the carriers. They jibbedran away
sneaked off with their loads in the night--quite a mutiny.
Soone eveningI made a speech in English with gestures
not one of which was lost to the sixty pairs of eyes before me
and the next morning I started the hammock off in front all right.
An hour afterwards I came upon the whole concern wrecked
in a bush--manhammockgroansblanketshorrors. The heavy
pole had skinned his poor nose. He was very anxious for me
to kill somebodybut there wasn't the shadow of a carrier near.
I remembered the old doctor--'It would be interesting for science
to watch the mental changes of individualson the spot.'
I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting. Howeverall
that is to no purpose. On the fifteenth day I came in sight
of the big river againand hobbled into the Central Station.
It was on a back water surrounded by scrub and forest
with a pretty border of smelly mud on one sideand on the three
others enclosed by a crazy fence of rushes. A neglected gap
was all the gate it hadand the first glance at the place was
enough to let you see the flabby devil was running that show.
White men with long staves in their hands appeared languidly
from amongst the buildingsstrolling up to take a look at me
and then retired out of sight somewhere. One of them
a stoutexcitable chap with black moustachesinformed me
with great volubility and many digressionsas soon as I told
him who I wasthat my steamer was at the bottom of the river.
I was thunderstruck. Whathowwhy? Ohit was `all right.'
The `manager himself' was there. All quite correct.
`Everybody had behaved splendidly! splendidly!'--'you must'
he said in agitation`go and see the general manager at once.
He is waiting!'


I did not see the real significance of that wreck at once.
I fancy I see it now, but I am not sure--not at all.
Certainly the affair was too stupid--when I think of it--
to be altogether natural. Still . . . But at the moment it presented
itself simply as a confounded nuisance. The steamer was sunk.
They had started two days before in a sudden hurry up the river
with the manager on board, in charge of some volunteer skipper,
and before they had been out three hours they tore the bottom
out of her on stones, and she sank near the south bank.
I asked myself what I was to do there, now my boat was lost.
As a matter of fact, I had plenty to do in fishing my command
out of the river. I had to set about it the very next day.



That, and the repairs when I brought the pieces to the station,
took some months.

My first interview with the manager was curious. He did not
ask me to sit down after my twenty-mile walk that morning.
He was commonplace in complexionin featuresin manners
and in voice. He was of middle size and of ordinary build.
His eyesof the usual bluewere perhaps remarkably cold
and he certainly could make his glance fall on one as trenchant
and heavy as an axe. But even at these times the rest of his
person seemed to disclaim the intention. Otherwise there was only
an indefinablefaint expression of his lipssomething stealthy-a
smile--not a smile--I remember itbut I can't explain.
It was unconsciousthis smile wasthough just after
he had said something it got intensified for an instant.
It came at the end of his speeches like a seal applied on
the words to make the meaning of the commonest phrase appear
absolutely inscrutable. He was a common traderfrom his youth
up employed in these parts--nothing more. He was obeyed
yet he inspired neither love nor fearnor even respect.
He inspired uneasiness. That was it! Uneasiness. Not a
definite mistrust--just uneasiness--nothing more. You have
no idea how effective such a . . . a. . . . faculty can be.
He had no genius for organizingfor initiativeor for order even.
That was evident in such things as the deplorable state
of the station. He had no learningand no intelligence.
His position had come to him--why? Perhaps because he was never
ill . . . He had served three terms of three years out there . .
. Because triumphant health in the general rout of constitutions
is a kind of power in itself. When he went home on leave he rioted
on a large scale--pompously. Jack ashore--with a difference-in
externals only. This one could gather from his casual talk.
He originated nothinghe could keep the routine going--that's all.
But he was great. He was great by this little thing that it
was impossible to tell what could control such a man.
He never gave that secret away. Perhaps there was nothing
within him. Such a suspicion made one pause--for out there there
were no external checks. Once when various tropical diseases
had laid low almost every `agent' in the stationhe was heard
to say`Men who come out here should have no entrails.'
He sealed the utterance with that smile of hisas though it
had been a door opening into a darkness he had in his keeping.
You fancied you had seen things--but the seal was on.
When annoyed at meal-times by the constant quarrels of the white
men about precedencehe ordered an immense round table
to be madefor which a special house had to be built.
This was the station's mess-room. Where he sat was the
first place--the rest were nowhere. One felt this to be his
unalterable conviction. He was neither civil nor uncivil.
He was quiet. He allowed his `boy'--an overfed young negro
from the coast--to treat the white menunder his very eyes
with provoking insolence.

He began to speak as soon as he saw me. I had been very long
on the road. He could not wait. Had to start without me.
The up-river stations had to be relieved. There had been so many
delays already that he did not know who was dead and who was alive,
and how they got on--and so on, and so on. He paid no attention
to my explanations, and, playing with a stick of sealing-wax, repeated
several times that the situation was `very grave, very grave.'
There were rumours that a very important station was in jeopardy,
and its chief, Mr. Kurtz, was ill. Hoped it was not true.
Mr. Kurtz was . . . I felt weary and irritable. Hang Kurtz, I thought.
I interrupted him by saying I had heard of Mr. Kurtz on the coast.


`Ah! So they talk of him down there,' he murmured to himself.
Then he began again, assuring me Mr. Kurtz was the best agent he had,
an exceptional man, of the greatest importance to the Company;
therefore I could understand his anxiety. He was, he said,
`very, very uneasy.' Certainly he fidgeted on his chair a
good deal, exclaimed, `Ah, Mr. Kurtz!' broke the stick of sealing-wax
and seemed dumfounded by the accident. Next thing he wanted
to know `how long it would take to' . . . I interrupted him again.
Being hungry, you know, and kept on my feet too. I was getting savage.
`How can I tell?' I said. `I haven't even seen the wreck yet--
some months, no doubt.' All this talk seemed to me so futile.
`Some months,' he said. `Well, let us say three months before we
can make a start. Yes. That ought to do the affair.' I flung out
of his hut (he lived all alone in a clay hut with a sort of verandah)
muttering to myself my opinion of him. He was a chattering idiot.
Afterwards I took it back when it was borne in upon me startlingly
with what extreme nicety he had estimated the time requisite
for the `affair.'


I went to work the next dayturningso to speakmy back
on that station. In that way only it seemed to me I could
keep my hold on the redeeming facts of life. Stillone must
look about sometimes; and then I saw this stationthese men
strolling aimlessly about in the sunshine of the yard.
I asked myself sometimes what it all meant. They wandered
here and there with their absurd long staves in their hands
like a lot of faithless pilgrims bewitched inside a rotten fence.
The word `ivory' rang in the airwas whisperedwas sighed.
You would think they were praying to it. A taint of imbecile
rapacity blew through it alllike a whiff from some corpse.
By Jove! I've never seen anything so unreal in my life.
And outsidethe silent wilderness surrounding this cleared
speck on the earth struck me as something great and invincible
like evil or truthwaiting patiently for the passing away
of this fantastic invasion.


Oh, these months! Well, never mind. Various things yhappened.
One evening a grass shed full of calico, cotton prints, beads, and I don't
know what else, burst into a blaze so suddenly that you would have thought
the earth had opened to let an avenging fire consume all that trash.
I was smoking my pipe quietly by my dismantled steamer, and saw
them all cutting capers in the light, with their arms lifted high,
when the stout man with moustaches came tearing down to the river,
a tin pail in his hand, assured me that everybody was `behaving splendidly,
splendidly,' dipped about a quart of water and tore back again.
I noticed there was a hole in the bottom of his pail.


I strolled up. There was no hurry. You see the thing had gone off
like a box of matches. It had been hopeless from the very first.
The flame had leaped highdriven everybody backlighted up everything--
and collapsed. The shed was already a heap of embers glowing fiercely.
A nigger was being beaten near by. They said he had caused the fire
in some way; be that as it mayhe was screeching most horribly.
I saw himlaterfor several dayssitting in a bit of shade looking
very sick and trying to recover himself; afterwards he arose and went out--
and the wilderness without a sound took him into its bosom again.
As I approached the glow from the dark I found myself at the back of
two mentalking. I heard the name of Kurtz pronouncedthen the words`take
advantage of this unfortunate accident.' One of the men was the manager.
I wished him a good evening. `Did you ever see anything like it--
eh? it is incredible' he saidand walked off. The other man remained.
He was a first-class agentyounggentlemanlya bit reserved
with a forked little beard and a hooked nose. He was stand-offish
with the other agentsand they on their side said he was the manager's



spy upon them. As to meI had hardly ever spoken to him before.
We got into talkand by and by we strolled away from the hissing ruins.
Then he asked me to his roomwhich was in the main building of the station.
He struck a matchand I perceived that this young aristocrat had not only
a silver-mounted dressing-case but also a whole candle all to himself.
Just at that time the manager was the only man supposed to have any
right to candles. Native mats covered the clay walls; a collection
of spearsassegaisshieldsknives was hung up in trophies.
The business intrusted to this fellow was the making of bricks--
so I had been informed; but there wasn't a fragment of a brick anywhere
in the stationand he had been there more than a year--waiting. It seems
he could not make bricks without somethingI don't know what--straw maybe.
Anywayit could not be found there and as it was not likely to be sent
from Europeit did not appear clear to me what he was waiting for.
An act of special creation perhaps. Howeverthey were all waiting--
all the sixteen or twenty pilgrims of them--for something; and upon
my word it did not seem an uncongenial occupationfrom the way they
took itthough the only thing that ever came to them was disease--
as far as I could see. They beguiled the time by back-biting and
intriguing against each other in a foolish kind of way. There was an air
of plotting about that stationbut nothing came of itof course.
It was as unreal as everything else--as the philanthropic pretence of the
whole concernas their talkas their governmentas their show of work.
The only real feeling was a desire to get appointed to a trading-post
where ivory was to be hadso that they could earn percentages.
They intrigued and slandered and hated each other only on that account--
but as to effectually lifting a little finger--ohno. By heavens! there
is something after all in the world allowing one man to steal a horse
while another must not look at a halter. Steal a horse straight out.
Very well. He has done it. Perhaps he can ride. But there is a way
of looking at a halter that would provoke the most charitable of saints
into a kick.


I had no idea why he wanted to be sociable, but as we chatted in there
it suddenly occurred to me the fellow was trying to get at something--
in fact, pumping me. He alluded constantly to Europe, to the people I was
supposed to know there--putting leading questions as to my acquaintances
in the sepulchral city, and so on. His little eyes glittered like mica discs--
with curiosity--though he tried to keep up a bit of superciliousness.
At first I was astonished, but very soon I became awfully curious
to see what he would find out from me. I couldn't possibly imagine
what I had in me to make it worth his while. It was very pretty to see
how he baffled himself, for in truth my body was full only of chills,
and my head had nothing in it but that wretched steamboat business.
It was evident he took me for a perfectly shameless prevaricator.
At last he got angry, and, to conceal a movement of furious annoyance,
he yawned. I rose. Then I noticed a small sketch in oils, on a panel,
representing a woman, draped and blindfolded, carrying a lighted torch.
The background was sombre--almost black. The movement of the woman
was stately, and the effect of the torchlight on the face was sinister.


It arrested meand he stood by civillyholding an empty half-pint
champagne bottle (medical comforts) with the candle stuck in it.
To my question he said Mr. Kurtz had painted this--in this very station
more than a year ago--while waiting for means to go to his trading post.
`Tell mepray' said I`who is this Mr. Kurtz?'


`The chief of the Inner Station,' he answered in a short tone,
looking away. `Much obliged,' I said, laughing.
`And you are the brickmaker of the Central Station.
Every one knows that.' He was silent for a while.
`He is a prodigy,' he said at last. `He is an emissary of pity
and science and progress, and devil knows what else. We want,'
he began to declaim suddenly, `for the guidance of the cause



intrusted to us by Europe, so to speak, higher intelligence,
wide sympathies, a singleness of purpose.' `Who says that?'
I asked. `Lots of them,' he replied. `Some even write that;
and so HE comes here, a special being, as you ought to know.'
`Why ought I to know?' I interrupted, really surprised.
He paid no attention. `Yes. Today he is chief of the best station,
next year he will be assistant-manager, two years more and . .
. but I dare-say you know what he will be in two years' time.
You are of the new gang--the gang of virtue. The same people
who sent him specially also recommended you. Oh, don't say no.
I've my own eyes to trust.' Light dawned upon me. My dear
aunt's influential acquaintances were producing an unexpected
effect upon that young man. I nearly burst into a laugh.
`Do you read the Company's confidential correspondence?'
I asked. He hadn't a word to say. It was great fun.
`When Mr. Kurtz,' I continued, severely, `is General Manager,
you won't have the opportunity.'


He blew the candle out suddenlyand we went outside.
The moon had risen. Black figures strolled about listlessly
pouring water on the glowwhence proceeded a sound of hissing;
steam ascended in the moonlightthe beaten nigger groaned somewhere.
`What a row the brute makes!' said the indefatigable man
with the moustachesappearing near us. `Serve him right.
Transgression--punishment--bang! Pitilesspitiless.
That's the only way. This will prevent all conflagrations
for the future. I was just telling the manager . . .' He
noticed my companionand became crestfallen all at once.
`Not in bed yet' he saidwith a kind of servile heartiness;
`it's so natural. Ha! Danger--agitation.' He vanished.
I went on to the riversideand the other followed me.
I heard a scathing murmur at my ear`Heap of muffs--go to.'
The pilgrims could be seen in knots gesticulatingdiscussing.
Several had still their staves in their hands. I verily believe
they took these sticks to bed with them. Beyond the fence
the forest stood up spectrally in the moonlightand through that
dim stirthrough the faint sounds of that lamentable courtyard
the silence of the land went home to one's very heart--its mystery
its greatnessthe amazing reality of its concealed life.
The hurt nigger moaned feebly somewhere near byand then
fetched a deep sigh that made me mend my pace away from there.
I felt a hand introducing itself under my arm. `My dear sir'
said the fellow`I don't want to be misunderstoodand especially
by youwho will see Mr. Kurtz long before I can have that pleasure.
I wouldn't like him to get a false idea of my disposition.
. . .'


I let him run on, this papier-mache Mephistopheles, and it seemed
to me that if I tried I could poke my forefinger through him,
and would find nothing inside but a little loose dirt, maybe.
He, don't you see, had been planning to be assistant-manager
by and by under the present man, and I could see that
the coming of that Kurtz had upset them both not a little.
He talked precipitately, and I did not try to stop him.
I had my shoulders against the wreck of my steamer, hauled up
on the slope like a carcass of some big river animal.
The smell of mud, of primeval mud, by Jove! was in my nostrils,
the high stillness of primeval forest was before my eyes;
there were shiny patches on the black creek.
The moon had spread over everything a thin layer of silver--
over the rank grass, over the mud, upon the wall of matted
vegetation standing higher than the wall of a temple,
over the great river I could see through a sombre gap glittering,
glittering, as it flowed broadly by without a murmur.



All this was great, expectant, mute, while the man jabbered
about himself. I wondered whether the stillness on the face
of the immensity looking at us two were meant as an appeal
or as a menace. What were we who had strayed in here?
Could we handle that dumb thing, or would it handle us?
I felt how big, how confoundedly big, was that thing that
couldn't talk, and perhaps was deaf as well. What was in there?
I could see a little ivory coming out from there, and I had heard
Mr. Kurtz was in there. I had heard enough about it, too--
God knows! Yet somehow it didn't bring any image with it--
no more than if I had been told an angel or a fiend was in there.
I believed it in the same way one of you might believe there
are inhabitants in the planet Mars. I knew once a Scotch
sailmaker who was certain, dead sure, there were people in Mars.
If you asked him for some idea how they looked and behaved,
he would get shy and mutter something about `walking on all-fours.'
If you as much as smiled, he would--though a man of sixty--
offer to fight you. I would not have gone so far as to
fight for Kurtz, but I went for him near enough to a lie.
You know I hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not because I am
straighter than the rest of us, but simply because it appalls me.
There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies--
which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world--
what I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick,
like biting something rotten would do. Temperament, I suppose.
Well, I went near enough to it by letting the young fool there
believe anything he liked to imagine as to my influence in Europe.
I became in an instant as much of a pretence as the rest
of the bewitched pilgrims. This simply because I had a notion
it somehow would be of help to that Kurtz whom at the time
I did not see--you understand. He was just a word for me.
I did not see the man in the name any more than you do.
Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems
to me I am trying to tell you ya dream--making a vain attempt,
because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation,
that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment
in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured
by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams.
. . .


He was silent for a while.


. . . No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation
of any given epoch of one's existence--that which makes its truth,
its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible.
We live, as we dream--alone. . . .


He paused again as if reflectingthen added:


Of course in this you fellows see more than I could then.
You see me, whom you know. . . .


It had become so pitch dark that we listeners could hardly see
one another. For a long time already hesitting aparthad been
no more to us than a voice. There was not a word from anybody.
The others might have been asleepbut I was awake.
I listenedI listened on the watch for the sentencefor the word
that would give me the clue to the faint uneasiness inspired
by this narrative that seemed to shape itself without human
lips in the heavy night-air of the river.


. . . Yes--I let him run on,Marlow began again
and think what he pleased about the powers that were
behind me. I did! And there was nothing behind me!



There was nothing but that wretched, old, mangled steamboat
I was leaning against, while he talked fluently about `the
necessity for every man to get on.' `And when one comes
out here, you conceive, it is not to gaze at the moon.'
Mr. Kurtz was a `universal genius,' but even a genius would
find it easier to work with `adequate tools--intelligent men.'
He did not make bricks--why, there was a physical impossibility
in the way--as I was well aware; and if he did secretarial
work for the manager, it was because `no sensible man rejects
wantonly the confidence of his superiors.' Did I see it?
I saw it. What more did I want? What I really wanted was rivets,
by heaven! Rivets. To get on with the work--to stop the hole.
Rivets I wanted. There were cases of them down at the coast--
cases--piled up--burst--split! You kicked a loose rivet
at every second step in that station-yard on the hillside.
Rivets had rolled into the grove of death. You could fill
your pockets with rivets for the trouble of stooping down--
and there wasn't one rivet to be found where it was wanted.
We had plates that would do, but nothing to fasten them with.
And every week the messenger, a long negro, letter-bag on
shoulder and staff in hand, left our station for the coast.
And several times a week a coast caravan came in with
trade goods--ghastly glazed calico that made you shudder
only to look at it, glass beads value about a penny a quart,
confounded spotted cotton handkerchiefs. And no rivets.
Three carriers could have brought all that was wanted to set
that steamboat afloat.


He was becoming confidential nowbut I fancy my unresponsive
attitude must have exasperated him at lastfor he judged
it necessary to inform me he feared neither God nor devil
let alone any mere man. I said I could see that very well
but what I wanted was a certain quantity of rivets--and rivets
were what really Mr. Kurtz wantedif he had only known it.
Now letters went to the coast every week. . . . `My dear sir'
he cried`I write from dictation.' I demanded rivets.
There was a way--for an intelligent man. He changed his manner;
became very coldand suddenly began to talk about
a hippopotamus; wondered whether sleeping on board the steamer
(I stuck to my salvage night and day) I wasn't disturbed.
There was an old hippo that had the bad habit of getting out
on the bank and roaming at night over the station grounds.
The pilgrims used to turn out in a body and empty every rifle they
could lay hands on at him. Some even had sat up o' nights for him.
All this energy was wastedthough. `That animal has a charmed life'
he said; `but you can say this only of brutes in this country.
No man--you apprehend me?--no man here bears a charmed life.'
He stood there for a moment in the moonlight with his delicate
hooked nose set a little askewand his mica eyes glittering
without a winkthenwith a curt Good-nighthe strode off.
I could see he was disturbed and considerably puzzled
which made me feel more hopeful than I had been for days.
It was a great comfort to turn from that chap to my influential
friendthe batteredtwistedruinedtin-pot steamboat.
I clambered on board. She rang under my feet like an empty
Huntley & Palmer biscuit-tin kicked along a gutter; she was
nothing so solid in makeand rather less pretty in shape
but I had expended enough hard work on her to make me love her.
No influential friend would have served me better.
She had given me a chance to come out a bit--to find out
what I could do. NoI don't like work. I had rather laze
about and think of all the fine things that can be done.
I don't like work--no man does--but I like what is in the work--
the chance to find yourself. Your own reality--for yourself



not for others--what no other man can ever know.
They can only see the mere showand never can tell what
it really means.


I was not surprised to see somebody sitting aft, on the deck,
with his legs dangling over the mud. You see I rather chummed with
the few mechanics there were in that station, whom the other pilgrims
naturally despised--on account of their imperfect manners, I suppose.
This was the foreman--a boiler-maker by trade--a good worker.
He was a lank, bony, yellow-faced man, with big intense eyes.
His aspect was worried, and his head was as bald as the palm of my hand;
but his hair in falling seemed to have stuck to his chin, and had
prospered in the new locality, for his beard hung down to his waist.
He was a widower with six young children (he had left them in charge
of a sister of his to come out there), and the passion of his
life was pigeon-flying. He was an enthusiast and a connoisseur.
He would rave about pigeons. After work hours he used sometimes to come
over from his hut for a talk about his children and his pigeons; at work,
when he had to crawl in the mud under the bottom of the steamboat,
he would tie up that beard of his in a kind of white serviette
he brought for the purpose. It had loops to go over his ears.
In the evening he could be seen squatted on the bank rinsing that
wrapper in the creek with great care, then spreading it solemnly
on a bush to dry.


I slapped him on the back and shouted`We shall have rivets!'
He scrambled to his feet exclaiming`No! Rivets!' as though
he couldn't believe his ears. Then in a low voice`You . . . eh?'
I don't know why we behaved like lunatics. I put my finger
to the side of my nose and nodded mysteriously. `Good for you!'
he criedsnapped his fingers above his headlifting one foot.
I tried a jig. We capered on the iron deck. A frightful clatter came
out of that hulkand the virgin forest on the other bank of the creek
sent it back in a thundering roll upon the sleeping station.
It must have made some of the pilgrims sit up in their hovels.
A dark figure obscured the lighted doorway of the manager's hut
vanishedthena second or so afterthe doorway itself vanishedtoo.
We stoppedand the silence driven away by the stamping
of our feet flowed back again from the recesses of the land.
The great wall of vegetationan exuberant and entangled mass of trunks
branchesleavesboughsfestoonsmotionless in the moonlight
was like a rioting invasion of soundless lifea rolling wave
of plantspiled upcrestedready to topple over the creek
to sweep every little man of us out of his little existence.
And it moved not. A deadened burst of mighty splashes and snorts
reached us from afaras though an icthyosaurus had been taking a bath
of glitter in the great river. `After all' said the boiler-maker
in a reasonable tone`why shouldn't we get the rivets?'
Why notindeed! I did not know of any reason why we shouldn't.
`They'll come in three weeks' I said confidently.


But they didn't. Instead of rivets there came an invasion,
an infliction, a visitation. It came in sections during
the next three weeks, each section headed by a donkey carrying
a white man in new clothes and tan shoes, bowing from
that elevation right and left to the impressed pilgrims.
A quarrelsome band of footsore sulky niggers trod on the heels
of the donkey; a lot of tents, camp-stools, tin boxes, white cases,
brown bales would be shot down in the courtyard, and the air
of mystery would deepen a little over the muddle of the station.
Five such instalments came, with their absurd air of disorderly
flight with the loot of innumerable outfit shops and
provision stores, that, one would think, they were lugging,
after a raid, into the wilderness for equitable division.



It was an inextricable mess of things decent in themselves
but that human folly made look like the spoils of thieving.


This devoted band called itself the Eldorado Exploring
Expeditionand I believe they were sworn to secrecy.
Their talkhoweverwas the talk of sordid buccaneers:
it ywas reckless without hardihoodgreedy without audacity
and cruel without courage; there was not an atom of foresight
or of serious intention in the whole batch of themand they
did not seem aware these things are wanted for the work
of the world. To tear treasure out of the bowels of the land
was their desirewith no more moral purpose at the back
of it than there is in burglars breaking into a safe.
Who paid the expenses of the noble enterprise I don't know;
but the uncle of our manager was leader of that lot.


In exterior he resembled a butcher in a poor neighbourhood,
and his eyes had a look of sleepy cunning. He carried his fat
paunch with ostentation on his short legs, and during the time
his gang infested the station spoke to no one but his nephew.
You could see these two roaming about all day long with their
heads close together in an everlasting confab.


I had given up worrying myself about the rivets.
One's capacity for that kind of folly is more limited than
you would suppose. I said Hang!--and let things slide.
I had plenty of time for meditationand now and then I would
give some thought to Kurtz. I wasn't very interested in him.
No. StillI was curious to see whether this manwho had come
out equipped with moral ideas of some sortwould climb to the top
after all and how he would set about his work when there."


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 countryand 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 outso 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, yon 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 extraordinary 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 coursebut also for humanizing
improvinginstructing." Conceive you--that ass!
And he wants to be manager! Noit's--' Here he got choked
by excessive indignationand 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--ohmy goodness! All sick. They die so quick
toothat I haven't the time to send them out of the country--
it's incredible!' `Hm'm. Just so' grunted the uncle.
`Ah! my boytrust to this--I saytrust to this.'
I saw him extend his short flipper of an arm for a gesture
that took in the forestthe creekthe mudthe 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 evilto the profound darkness of its heart.
It was so startling that I leaped to my feet and looked
back at the edge of the forestas 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
patiencewaiting 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
wildernessthat 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.
Theyno doubtlike the rest of usfound 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 voiceand 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. Were 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 monsterbut there--
there you could look at a thing monstrous and free.
It was unearthlyand the men were--Nothey were not inhuman.
Wellyou knowthat was the worst of it--this suspicion
of their not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one.
They howled and leapedand spunand 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. Yesit was ugly enough;
but if you were man enough you would admit to yourself
that there ywas in you just the faintest trace of a response
to the terrible frankness of that noisea 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?
Joyfearsorrowdevotionvalourrage--who can tell?--
but truth--truth stripped of its cloak of time. Let the fool
gape and shudder--the man knowsand 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.
Acquisitionsclothespretty 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 admitbut I have a voicetooand for good or evil
mine is the speech that cannot be silenced. Of coursea fool
what with sheer fright and fine sentimentsis always safe.
Who's that grunting? You wonder I didn't go ashore for a howl
and a dance? Wellno--I didn't. Fine sentimentsyou say?
Fine sentimentsbe 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 steeringand 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 meandupon my wordto look at him
was as edifying as seeing a dog in a parody of breeches
and a feather hatwalking 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 teethtoothe 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 bankinstead of which he was hard at work
a thrall to strange witchcraftfull 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 thirstand take a terrible vengeance.
So he sweated and fired up and watched the glass fearfully
(with an impromptu charmmade of ragstied to his arm
and a piece of polished boneas big as a watchstuck flatways
through his lower lip)while the wooded banks slipped past
us slowlythe short noise was left behindthe interminable
miles of silence--and we crept ontowards Kurtz.
But the snags were thickthe 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 extraordinary 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 extravagant 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 manageraided by all the pilgrimswas 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 nowthe steamer seemed at her
last gaspthe stern-wheel flopped languidlyand I caught myself
listening on tiptoe for the next beat of the boatfor 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 minewould 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 reachand 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 forwardand 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 strainthe 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 whitesof course greatly discomposedhad besides a curious
look of being painfully shocked by such an outrageous row.
The others had an alertnaturally interested expression;
but their faces were essentially quieteven those of
the one or two who grinned as they hauled at the chain.
Several exchanged shortgrunting phraseswhich seemed
to settle the matter to their satisfaction. Their headman
a youngbroad-chested blackseverely draped in dark-blue
fringed clothswith fierce nostrils and his hair
all done up artfully in oily ringletsstood near me.
`Aha!' I saidjust for good fellowship's sake.
`Catch 'im' he snappedwith a bloodshot widening of his eyes
and a flash of sharp teeth--'catch 'im. Give 'im to us.'
`To youeh?' I asked; `what would you do with them?' `Eat 'im!'
he said curtlyandleaning his elbow on the raillooked out
into the fog in a dignified and profoundly pensive attitude.
I would no doubt have been properly horrifiedhad 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 courseas long as there was a piece
of paper written over in accordance with some farcical law
or other made down the riverit didn't enter anybody's head
to trouble how they would live. Certainly they had brought
with them some rotten hippo-meatwhich couldn't have lasted
very longanywayeven if the pilgrims hadn'tin the midst
of a shocking hullabaloothrown 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 wakingsleepingand eating
and at the same time keep your precarious grip on existence.
Besides thatthey had given them every week three pieces
of brass wireeach 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 villagesor the people were hostile
or the directorwho like the rest of us fed out of tins
with an occasional old he-goat thrown indidn't want
to stop the steamer for some more or less recondite reason.
Sounless they swallowed the wire itselfor made loops of it
to snare the fishes withI don't see what good their extravagant
salary could be to them. I must say it was paid with a
regularity worthy of a large and honourable trading company.
For the restthe 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 doughof a dirty lavender colour
they kept wrapped in leavesand now and then swallowed
a piece ofbut 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 onceamazes me now when I think of it. They were big
powerful menwith not much capacity to weigh the consequences
with couragewith strengtheven yetthough their skins
were no longer glossy and their muscles no longer hard.
And I saw that something restrainingone of those human
secrets that baffle probabilityhad 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 longthough I own to you that just then I perceived-in
a new lightas it were--how unwholesome the pilgrims looked
and I hopedyesI positively hopedthat 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 fevertoo.
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 wildernessthe 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 impulsesmotivescapacities
weaknesseswhen brought to the test of an inexorable
physical necessity. Restraint! What possible restraint?
Was it superstitiondisgustpatiencefear--or some kind
of primitive honour? No fear can stand up to hungerno patience
can wear it outdisgust simply does not exist where hunger is;
and as to superstitionbeliefsand what you may call principles
they are less than chaff in a breeze. Don't you know
the devilry of lingering starvationits exasperating torment
its black thoughtsits sombre and brooding ferocity? WellI do.
It takes a man all his inborn strength to fight hunger properly.
It's really easier to face bereavementdishonourand the perdition


of one's soul--than this kind of prolonged hunger. Sadbut true.
And these chapstoohad 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 dazzlingto be seen
like the foam on the depths of the sealike a ripple on an
unfathomable enigmaa mystery greater--when I thought of it--
than the curiousinexplicable note of desperate grief in this
savage clamour that had swept by us on the river-bankbehind
the blind whiteness of the fog.


Two pilgrims were quarrelling in hurried whispers as to which bank.
`Left.' nono; how can you? Rightrightof 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 himand 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 onceI did not even take the trouble to answer him.
I knewand he knewthat it was impossible. Were we to let go our
hold of the bottomwe would be absolutely in the air--in space.
We wouldn't be able to tell where we were going to--whether up
or down streamor 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 notwe were sure to perish speedily
in one way or another. `I authorize you to take all the risks'
he saidafter a short silence. `I refuse to take any'
I said shortly; which was just the answer he expectedthough its tone
might have surprised him. `WellI must defer to your judgment.
You are captain' he said with marked civility. I turned my shoulder
to him in sign of my appreciationand 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 attackdo you think?'
asked the managerin 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 frightmaybe. I delivered a regular lecture. My dear boys
it was no good bothering. Keep a lookout? Wellyou 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 ittoo--chokingwarmstifling. Besidesall I said
though it sounded extravagantwas 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 ony 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 shoaland to the right a highsteep bank heavily
overgrown with bushes. Above the bush the trees stood in serried ranks.
The twigs overhung the current thicklyand from distance to distance
a large limb of some tree projected rigidly over the stream.
It was then well on in the afternoonthe 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 slowlyas 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.
yOver 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-poleand feeling
much annoyed to see at each try a little more of it stick
out of that riverwhen I saw my poleman give up on
the business suddenlyand stretch himself flat on the deck
without even taking the trouble to haul his pole in.



He kept hold on it thoughand it trailed in the water.
At the same time the firemanwhom 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. Stickslittle sticks
were flying about--thick: they were whizzing before my nose
dropping below mestriking behind me against my pilot-house.
All this time the riverthe shorethe woodswere 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. Arrowsby Jove!
We were being shot at! I stepped in quickly to close
the shutter on the landside. That fool-helmsmanhis hands
on the spokeswas lifting his knees highstamping his feet
champing his mouthlike 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 shutterand 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 eyesI made out
deep in the tangled gloomnaked breastsarmslegsglaring eyes--
the bush was swarming with human limbs in movementglistening.
of bronze colour. The twigs shookswayedand rustled
the arrows flew out of themand then the shutter came to.
`Steer her straight' I said to the helmsman. He held his
head rigidface forward; but his eyes rolledhe kept on lifting
and setting down his feet gentlyhis 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 Winchestersand 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 doorwaypeeringand the arrows came in swarms.
They might have been poisonedbut 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 openingglaringand 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 tothe snag
was somewhere very near ahead in that confounded smoke
there was no time to loseso I just crowded her into the bank--
right into the bankwhere 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 extraordinary, 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 himand 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 soundwithout moving a limb
without twitching a muscle. Only in the very last momentas though
in response to some sign we could not seeto some whisper we could
not hearhe frowned heavilyand that frown gave to his black
death-mask an inconeivably sombrebroodingand 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 armand 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 fellowimmensely impressed. `No doubt about it'
said Itugging like mad at the shoe-laces. `And by the way
I suppose Mr. Kurtz is dead as well by this time.'


For the moment that was the dominant thought. There was a sense
of extreme disappointment, as though I had found out I had been
striving after something altogether without a substance.
I couldn't have been more disgusted if I had travelled all
this way for the sole purpose of talking with Mr. Kurtz.
Talking with . . . I flung one shoe overboard, and became aware
that that was exactly what I had been looking forward to--
a talk with Kurtz. I made the strange discovery that I had
never imagined him as doing, you know, but as discoursing.
I didn't say to myself, `Now I will never see him,'
or `Now I will never shake him by the hand,' but, `Now I
will never hear him.' The man presented himself as a voice.
Not of course that I did not connect him with some sort of action.
Hadn't I been told in all the tones of jealousy and admiration
that he had collected, bartered, swindled, or stolen more ivory
than all the other agents together? That was not the point.



The point was in his being a gifted creature, and that of all his
gifts the one that stood out preeminently, that carried with it
a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his words--
the gift of expression, the bewildering, the illuminating,
the most exalted and the most contemptible, the pulsating
stream of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of
an impenetrable darkness.


The other shoe went flying unto the devil-god of that river.
I thought`By Jove! it's all over. We are too late; he has vanished--
the gift has vanishedby means of some speararrowor club.
I will never hear that chap speak after all'--and my sorrow
had a startling extravagance of emotioneven such as I had
noticed in the howling sorrow of these savages in the bush.
I couldn't have felt more of lonely desolation somehowhad I been
robbed of a belief or had missed my destiny in life. . . . Why
do you sigh in this beastly waysomebody? Absurd? Wellabsurd.
Good Lord! mustn't a man ever--Heregive me some tobacco."
. . .


There was a pause of profound stillnessthen a match flared
and Marlow's lean face appearedwornhollowwith downward folds
and dropped eyelidswith an aspect of concentrated attention;
and as he took vigorous draws at his pipeit seemed to retreat
and advance out of the night in the regular flicker of tiny flame.
The match went out.


Absurd!he cried. "This is the worst of trying to tell. . . . Here you
all areeach moored with two good addresseslike a hulk with two anchors
a butcher round one cornera policeman round anotherexcellent appetites
and temperature normal--you hear--normal from year's end to year's end.
And you sayAbsurd! Absurd be--exploded! Absurd! My dear boys
what can you expect from a man who out of sheer nervousness had just
flung overboard a pair of new shoes! Now I think of itit is amazing
I did not shed tears. I amupon the wholeproud of my fortitude.
I was cut to the quick at the idea of having lost the inestimable
privilege of listening to the gifted Kurtz. Of course I was wrong.
The privilege was waiting for me. OhyesI heard more than enough.
And I was righttoo. A voice. He was very little more than a voice.
And I heard--him--it--this voice--other voices--all of them were so
little more than voices--and the memory of that time itself lingers
around meimpalpablelike a dying vibration of one immense jabber
sillyatrocioussordidsavageor simply meanwithout any kind of sense.
Voicesvoices--even the girl herself--now--"


He was silent for a long time.


I laid the ghost of his gifts at last with a lie,
he begansuddenly. "Girl! What? Did I mention a girl?
Ohshe is out of it--completely. They--the womenI mean--
are out of it--should be out of it. We must help them to stay
in that beautiful world of their ownlest ours gets worse.
Ohshe had to be out of it. You should have heard
the disinterred body of Mr. Kurtz saying`My Intended.'
You would have perceived directly then how completely she
was out of it. And the lofty frontal bone of Mr. Kurtz!
They say the hair goes on growing sometimesbut this--
ah--specimenwas impressively bald. The wilderness had
patted him on the headandbeholdit was like a ball--
an ivory ball; it had caressed himand--lo!--he had withered;
it had taken himloved himembraced himgot into his veins
consumed his fleshand sealed his soul to its own by the
inconceivable ceremonies of some devilish initiation. He was
its spoiled and pampered favourite. Ivory? I should think so.



Heaps of itstacks of it. The old mud shanty was bursting with it.
You would think there was not a single tusk left either above
or below the ground in the whole country. `Mostly fossil'
the manager had remarkeddisparagingly. It was no more
fossil than I am; but they call it fossil when it is dug up.
It appears these niggers do bury the tusks sometimes-but
evidently they couldn't bury this parcel deep enough
to save the gifted Mr. Kurtz from his fate. We filled
the steamboat with itand had to pile a lot on the deck.
Thus he could see and enjoy as long as he could see
because the appreciation of this favour had remained
with him to the last. You should have heard him say
`My ivory.' OhyesI heard him. `My Intendedmy ivory
my stationmy rivermy--' everything belonged to him.
It made me hold my breath in expectation of hearing the wilderness
burst into a prodigious peal of laughter that would shake
the fixed stars in their places. Everything belonged to him-but
that was a trifle. The thing was to know what he belonged to
how many powers of darkness claimed him for their own.
That was the reflection that made you creepy all over.
It was impossible--it was not good for one either--trying to imagine.
He had taken a high seat amongst the devils of the land-I
mean literally. You can't understand. How could you?-with
solid pavement under your feetsurrounded by kind neighbours
ready to cheer you or to fall on youstepping delicately between
the butcher and the policemanin the holy terror of scandal and
gallows and lunatic asylums--how can you imagine what particular
region of the first ages a man's untrammelled feet may take him
into by the way of solitude--utter solitude without a policeman-by
the way of silence--utter silencewhere no warning voice
of a kind neighbour can be heard whispering of public opinion?
These little things make all the great difference.
When they are gone you must fall back upon your own
innate strengthupon your own capacity for faithfulness.
Of course you may be too much of a fool to go wrong-too
dull even to know you are being assaulted by the powers
of darkness. I take itno fool ever made a bargain for
his soul with the devil; the fool is too much of a fool
or the devil too much of a devil--I don't know which.
Or you may be such a thunderingly exalted creature as to be altogether
deaf and blind to anything but heavenly sights and sounds.
Then the earth for you is only a standing place--and whether
to be like this is your loss or your gain I won't pretend to say.
But most of us are neither one nor the other. The earth for us
is a place to live inwhere we must put up with sights
with soundswith smellstooby Jove!--breathe dead hippo
so to speakand not be contaminated. And theredon't you see?
Your strength comes inthe faith in your ability for
the digging of unostentatious holes to bury the stuff in-your
power of devotionnot to yourselfbut to an obscure
back-breaking business. And that's difficult enough. MindI am
not trying to excuse or even explain--I am trying to account
to myself for--for--Mr. Kurtz--for the shade of Mr. Kurtz.
This initiated wraith from the back of Nowhere honoured me
with its amazing confidence before it vanished altogether.
This was because it could speak English to me. The original
Kurtz had been educated partly in Englandand--as he was good
enough to say himself--his sympathies were in the right place.
His mother was half-Englishhis father was half-French. All
Europe contributed to the making of Kurtz; and by and by I
learned thatmost appropriatelythe International Society
for the Suppression of Savage Customs had intrusted him
with the making of a reportfor its future guidance.
And he had written ittoo. I've seen it. I've read it.


It was eloquentvibrating with eloquencebut too high-strung
I think. Seventeen pages of close writing he had found time for!
But this must have been before his--let us say--nerveswent wrong
and caused him to preside at certain midnight dances ending
with unspeakable riteswhich--as far as I reluctantly gathered
from what I heard at various times--were offered up to him--
do you understand?--to Mr. Kurtz himself. But it was a
beautiful piece of writing. The opening paragraphhowever
in the light of later informationstrikes me now as ominous.
He began with the argument that we whitesfrom the point
of development we had arrived at`must necessarily appear
to them [savages] in the nature of supernatural beings--
we approach them with the might of a deity' and so onand so on.
`By the simple exercise of our will we can exert a power
for good practically unbounded' etc.etc. From that point
he soared and took me with him. The peroration was magnificent
though difficult to rememberyou know. It gave me the notion
of an exotic Immensity ruled by an august Benevolence.
It made me tingle with enthusiasm. This was the unbounded
power of eloquence--of words--of burning noble words.
There were no practical hints to interrupt the magic current
of phrasesunless a kind of note at the foot of the last page
scrawled evidently much laterin an unsteady handmay be
regarded as the exposition of a method. It was very simple
and at the end of that moving appeal to every altruistic
sentiment it blazed at youluminous and terrifyinglike a flash
of lightning in a serene sky: `Exterminate all the brutes!'
The curious part was that he had apparently forgotten
all about that valuable postscriptumbecauselater on
when he in a sense came to himselfhe repeatedly entreated me
to take good care of `my pamphlet' (he called it)as it was
sure to have in the future a good influence upon his career.
I had full information about all these thingsandbesides
as it turned outI was to have the care of his memory.
I've done enough for it to give me the indisputable right to lay it
if I choosefor an everlasting rest in the dust-bin of progress
amongst all the sweepings andfiguratively speakingall the dead
cats of civilization. But thenyou seeI can't choose.
He won't be forgotten. Whatever he washe was not common.
He had the power to charm or frighten rudimentary souls into
an aggravated witch-dance in his honour; he could also fill
the small souls of the pilgrims with bitter misgivings:
he had one devoted friend at leastand he had conquered one
soul in the world that was neither rudimentary nor tainted
with self-seeking. No; I can't forget himthough I am not
prepared to affirm the fellow was exactly worth the life we
lost in getting to him. I missed my late helmsman awfully--
I missed him even while his body was still lying in the
pilot-house. Perhaps you will think it passing strange this
regret for a savage who was no more account than a grain
of sand in a black Sahara. Welldon't you seehe had
done somethinghe had steered; for months I had him at my back--
a help--an instrument. It was a kind of partnership.
He steered for me--I had to look after himI worried about
his deficienciesand thus a subtle bond had been created
of which I only became aware when it was suddenly broken.
And the intimate profundity of that look he gave me when
he received his hurt remains to this day in my memory--
like a claim of distant kinship affirmed in a supreme moment.


Poor fool! If he had only left that shutter alone.
He had no restraint, no restraint--just like Kurtz--a tree swayed
by the wind. As soon as I had put on a dry pair of slippers,
I dragged him out, after first jerking the spear out of his side,



which operation I confess I performed with my eyes shut tight.
His heels leaped together over the little doorstep; his shoulders
were pressed to my breast; I hugged him from behind desperately.
Oh! he was heavy, heavy; heavier than any man on earth,
I should imagine. Then without more ado I tipped him overboard.
The current snatched him as though he had been a wisp of grass,
and I saw the body roll over twice before I lost sight
of it for ever. All the pilgrims and the manager were then
congregated on the awning-deck about the pilot-house,
chattering at each other like a flock of excited magpies,
and there was a scandalized murmur at my heartless promptitude.
What they wanted to keep that body hanging about for I can't guess.
Embalm it, maybe. But I had also heard another, and a very ominous,
murmur on the deck below. My friends the wood-cutters
were likewise scandalized, and with a better show of reason--
though I admit that the reason itself was quite inadmissible.
Oh, quite! I had made up my mind that if my late helmsman
was to be eaten, the fishes alone should have him.
He had been a very second-rate helmsman while alive, but now
he was dead he might have become a first-class temptation,
and possibly cause some startling trouble. Besides, I was
anxious to take the wheel, the man in pink pyjamas showing
himself a hopeless duffer at the business.


This I did directly the simple funeral was over.
We were going half-speedkeeping right in the middle
of the streamand I listened to the talk about me.
They had given up Kurtzthey had given up the station;
Kurtz was deadand the station had been burnt--and so on--and so on.
The red-haired pilgrim was beside himself with the thought
that at least this poor Kurtz had been properly avenged.
`Say! We must have made a glorious slaughter of them in
the bush. Eh? What do you think? Say?' He positively danced
the bloodthirsty little gingery beggar. And he had nearly
fainted when he saw the wounded man! I could not help saying
`You made a glorious lot of smokeanyhow.' I had seen
from the way the tops of the bushes rustled and flew
that almost all the shots had gone too high. You can't hit
anything unless you take aim and fire from the shoulder;
but these chaps fired from the hip with their eyes shut.
The retreatI maintained--and I was right--was caused by the
screeching of the steam whistle. Upon this they forgot Kurtz
and began to howl at me with indignant protests.


The manager stood by the wheel murmuring confidentially about
the necessity of getting well away down the river before dark at
all events, when I saw in the distance a clearing on the riverside
and the outlines of some sort of building. `What's this?'
I asked. He clapped his hands in wonder. `The station!' he cried.
I edged in at once, still going half-speed.


Through my glasses I saw the slope of a hill interspersed
with rare trees and perfectly free from undergrowth. A long
decaying building on the summit was half buried in the high grass;
the large holes in the peaked roof gaped black from afar;
the jungle and the woods made a background. There was no enclosure
or fence of any kind; but there had been one apparentlyfor near
the house half-a-dozen slim posts remained in a rowroughly trimmed
and with their upper ends ornamented with round carved balls.
The railsor whatever there had been betweenhad disappeared.
Of course the forest surrounded all that. The river-bank
was clearand on the waterside I saw a white man under a hat
like a cart-wheel beckoning persistently with his whole arm.
Examining the edge of the forest above and belowI was almost



certain I could see movements--human forms gliding here and there.
I steamed past prudentlythen stopped the engines and let her drift down.
The man on the shore began to shouturging us to land.
`We have been attacked' screamed the manager. `I know--I know.
It's all right' yelled back the otheras cheerful as you please.
`Come along. It's all right. I am glad.'


His aspect reminded me of something I had seen--something funny
I had seen somewhere. As I manoeuvred to get alongside,
I was asking myself, `What does this fellow look like?'
Suddenly I got it. He looked like a harlequin.
His clothes had been made of some stuff that was brown
holland probably, but it was covered with patches all over,
with bright patches, blue, red, and yellow--patches on the back,
patches on the front, patches on elbows, on knees; coloured binding
around his jacket, scarlet edging at the bottom of his trousers;
and the sunshine made him look extremely gay and wonderfully
neat withal, because you could see how beautifully all this
patching had been done. A beardless, boyish face, very fair,
no features to speak of, nose peeling, little blue eyes,
smiles and frowns chasing each other over that open
countenance like sunshine and shadow on a wind-swept plain.
`Look out, captain!' he cried; `there's a snag lodged in here
last night.' What! Another snag? I confess I swore shamefully.
I had nearly holed my cripple, to finish off that charming trip.
The harlequin on the bank turned his little pug-nose up to me.
`You English?' he asked, all smiles. `Are you?' I shouted
from the wheel. The smiles vanished, and he shook his head
as if sorry for my disappointment. Then he brightened up.
`Never mind!' he cried encouragingly. `Are we in time?'
I asked. `He is up there,' he replied, with a toss of
the head up the hill, and becoming gloomy all of a sudden.
His face was like the autumn sky, overcast one moment and
bright the next.


When the managerescorted by the pilgrimsall of them armed
to the teethhad gone to the house this chap came on board.
`I sayI don't like this. These natives are in the bush'
I said. He assured me earnestly it was all right.
`They are simple people' he added; `wellI am glad you came.
It took me all my time to keep them off.' `But you said it
was all right' I cried. `Ohthey meant no harm' he said;
and as I stared he corrected himself`Not exactly.'
Then vivaciously`My faithyour pilot-house wants a clean-up!'
In the next breath he advised me to keep enough steam
on the boiler to blow the whistle in case of any trouble.
`One good screech will do more for you than all your rifles.
They are simple people' he repeated. He rattled away at such
a rate he quite overwhelmed me. He seemed to be trying to make
up for lots of silenceand actually hintedlaughingthat such
was the case. `Don't you talk with Mr. Kurtz?' I said.
`You don't talk with that man--you listen to him' he exclaimed
with severe exaltation. `But now--' He waved his armand in
the twinkling of an eye was in the uttermost depths of despondency.
In a moment he came up again with a jumppossessed himself
of both my handsshook them continuouslywhile he gabbled:
`Brother sailor . . . honour . . . pleasure . . . delight . . .
introduce myself . . . Russian . . . son of an arch-priest . .
. Government of Tambov . . . What? Tobacco! English tobacco;
the excellent English tobacco! Nowthat's brotherly. Smoke?
Where's a sailor that does not smoke?"


The pipe soothed him, and gradually I made out he had
run away from school, had gone to sea in a Russian ship;



ran away again; served some time in English ships; was now
reconciled with the arch-priest. He made a point of that.
`But when one is young one must see things, gather experience, ideas;
enlarge the mind.' `Here!' I interrupted. `You can never tell!
Here I met Mr. Kurtz,' he said, youthfully solemn and reproachful.
I held my tongue after that. It appears he had persuaded
a Dutch trading-house on the coast to fit him out with stores
and goods, and had started for the interior with a light heart
and no more idea of what would happen to him than a baby.
He had been wandering about that river for nearly two
years alone, cut off from everybody and everything.
`I am not so young as I look. I am twenty-five,' he said.
`At first old Van Shuyten would tell me to go to the devil,'
he narrated with keen enjoyment; `but I stuck to him,
and talked and talked, till at last he got afraid I would
talk the hind-leg off his favourite dog, so he gave me some
cheap things and a few guns, and told me he hoped he would
never see my face again. Good old Dutchman, Van Shuyten.
I've sent him one small lot of ivory a year ago, so that he can't
call me a little thief when I get back. I hope he got it.
And for the rest I don't care. I had some wood stacked for you.
That was my old house. Did you see?'


I gave him Towson's book. He made as though he would kiss me
but restrained himself. `The only book I had leftand I
thought I had lost it' he saidlooking at it ecstatically.
`So many accidents happen to a man going about aloneyou know.
Canoes get upset sometimes--and sometimes you've got
to clear out so quick when the people get angry.'
He thumbed the pages. `You made notes in Russian?' I asked.
He nodded. `I thought they were written in cipher' I said.
He laughedthen became serious. `I had lots of trouble to keep
these people off' he said. `Did they want to kill you?'
I asked. `Ohno!' he criedand checked himself.
`Why did they attack us?' I pursued. He hesitated
then said shamefacedly`They don't want him to go.' `Don't they?'
I said curiously. He nodded a nod full of mystery and wisdom.
`I tell you' he cried`this man has enlarged my mind.'
He opened his arms widestaring at me with his little blue
eyes that were perfectly round."


I looked at him, lost in astonishment. There he was before me, in motley,
as though he had absconded from a troupe of mimes, enthusiastic, fabulous.
His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and altogether bewildering.
He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed,
how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain--
why he did not instantly disappear. `I went a little farther,'
he said, `then still a little farther--till I had gone so far that I
don't know how I'll ever get back. Never mind. Plenty time.
I can manage. You take Kurtz away quick--quick--I tell you.'
The glamour of youth enveloped his parti-coloured rags, his destitution,
his loneliness, the essential desolation of his futile wanderings.
For months--for years--his life hadn't been worth a day's purchase;
and there he was gallantly, thoughtlessly alive, to all appearances
indestructible solely by the virtue of his few years and of his
unreflecting audacity. I was seduced into something like admiration--
like envy. Glamour urged him on, glamour kept him unscathed.



He surely wanted nothing from the wilderness but space to breathe
in and to push on through. His need was to exist, and to move onwards
at the greatest possible risk, and with a maximum of privation.
If the absolutely pure, uncalculating, unpractical spirit of adventure
had ever ruled a human being, it ruled this bepatched youth.
I almost envied him the possession of this modest and clear flame.
It seemed to have consumed all thought of self so completely,
that even while he was talking to you, you forgot that it was he--
the man before your eyes--who had gone through these things. I did not
envy him his devotion to Kurtz, though. He had not meditated over it.
It came to him, and he accepted it with a sort of eager fatalism.
I must say that to me it appeared about the most dangerous thing in every
way he had come upon so far.


They had come together unavoidablylike two ships
becalmed near each otherand lay rubbing sides at last.
I suppose Kurtz wanted an audiencebecause on a certain occasion
when encamped in the forestthey had talked all night
or more probably Kurtz had talked. `We talked of everything'
he saidquite transported at the recollection. `I forgot
there was such a thing as sleep. The night did not seem to
last an hour. Everything! Everything! . . . Of lovetoo.'
`Ahhe talked to you of love!' I saidmuch amused.
`It isn't what you think' he criedalmost passionately.
`It was in general. He made me see things--things.'


He threw his arms up. We were on deck at the time, and the headman
of my wood-cutters, lounging near by, turned upon him his heavy and
glittering eyes. I looked around, and I don't know why, but I assure
you that never, never before, did this land, this river, this jungle,
the very arch of this blazing sky, appear to me so hopeless and so dark,
so impenetrable to human thought, so pitiless to human weakness.
`And, ever since, you have been with him, of course?' I said.


On the contrary. It appears their intercourse had been very much
broken by various causes. He hadas he informed me proudly
managed to nurse Kurtz through two illnesses (he alluded to it as you
would to some risky feat)but as a rule Kurtz wandered alone
far in the depths of the forest. `Very often coming to this station
I had to wait days and days before he would turn up' he said.
`Ahit was worth waiting for!--sometimes.' `What was
he doing? exploring or what?' I asked. `Ohyesof course';
he had discovered lots of villagesa laketoo--he did not
know exactly in what direction; it was dangerous to inquire
too much--but mostly his expeditions had been for ivory.
`But he had no goods to trade with by that time' I objected.
`There's a good lot of cartridges left even yet'
he answeredlooking away. `To speak plainlyhe raided
the country' I said. He nodded. `Not alonesurely!'
He muttered something about the villages round that lake.
`Kurtz got the tribe to follow himdid he?' I suggested.
He fidgeted a little. `They adored him' he said. The tone of
these words was so extraordinary that I looked at him searchingly.
It was curious to see his mingled eagerness and reluctance to
speak of Kurtz. The man filled his lifeoccupied his thoughts
swayed his emotions. `What can you expect?' he burst out;
`he came to them with thunder and lightningyou know--
and they had never seen anything like it--and very terrible.
He could be very terrible. You can't judge Mr. Kurtz as you would
an ordinary man. Nonono! Now--just to give you an idea--
I don't mind telling youhe wanted to shoot metooone day--
but I don't judge him.' `Shoot you!' I cried `What for?'
`WellI had a small lot of ivory the chief of that village
near my house gave me. You see I used to shoot game



for them. Wellhe wanted itand wouldn't hear reason.
He declared he would shoot me unless I gave him the ivory
and then cleared out of the countrybecause he could do so
and had a fancy for itand there was nothing on earth
to prevent him killing whom he jolly well pleased.
And it was truetoo. I gave him the ivory. What did I care!
But I didn't clear out. Nono. I couldn't leave him.
I had to be carefulof coursetill we got friendly
again for a time. He had his second illness then.
Afterwards I had to keep out of the way; but I didn't mind.
He was living for the most part in those villages on the lake.
When he came down to the riversometimes he would take to me
and sometimes it was better for me to be careful. This man suffered
too much. He hated all thisand somehow he couldn't get away.
When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while there
was time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes
and then he would remain; go off on another ivory hunt;
disappear for weeks; forget himself amongst these people--
forget himself--you know.' `Why! he's mad' I said.
He protested indignantly. Mr. Kurtz couldn't be mad.
If I had heard him talkonly two days agoI wouldn't dare
hint at such a thing. . . . I had taken up my binoculars
while we talkedand was looking at the shoresweeping the limit
of the forest at each side and at the back of the house.
The consciousness of there being people in that bushso silent
so quiet--as silent and quiet as the ruined house on the hill--
made me uneasy. There was no sign on the face of nature
of this amazing tale that was not so much told as suggested
to me in desolate exclamationscompleted by shrugs
in interrupted phrasesin hints ending in deep sighs.
The woods were unmovedlike a mask--heavylike the closed door
of a prison--they looked with their air of hidden knowledge
of patient expectationof unapproachable silence.
The Russian was explaining to me that it was only lately
that Mr. Kurtz had come down to the riverbringing along
with him all the fighting men of that lake tribe. He had been
absent for several months--getting himself adoredI suppose--
and had come down unexpectedlywith the intention to all appearance
of making a raid either across the river or down stream.
Evidently the appetite for more ivory had got the better of the--
what shall I say?--less material aspirations. However he had
got much worse suddenly. `I heard he was lying helpless
and so I came up--took my chance' said the Russian.
`Ohhe is badvery bad.' I directed my glass to the house.
There were no signs of lifebut there was the ruined roof
the long mud wall peeping above the grasswith three
little square window-holesno two of the same size;
all this brought within reach of my handas it were.
And then I made a brusque movementand one of the remaining
posts of that vanished fence leaped up in the field of my glass.
You remember I told you I had been struck at the distance by certain
attempts at ornamentationrather remarkable in the ruinous aspect
of the place. Now I had suddenly a nearer viewand its first
result was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow.
Then I went carefully from post to post with my glassand I saw
my mistake. These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic;
they were expressive and puzzlingstriking and disturbing--
food for thought and also for vultures if there had been
any looking down from the sky; but at all events for such
ants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole.
They would have been even more impressivethose heads on
the stakesif their faces had not been turned to the house.
Only onethe first I had made outwas facing my way.
I was not so shocked as you may think. The start back I



had given was really nothing but a movement of surprise.
I had expected to see a knob of wood thereyou know.
I returned deliberately to the first I had seen--and there
it wasblackdriedsunkenwith closed eyelids--a head
that seemed to sleep at the top of that poleandwith the
shrunken dry lips showing a narrow white line of the teeth
was smilingtoosmiling continuously at some endless and jocose
dream of that eternal slumber.


I am not disclosing any trade secrets. In fact, the manager said
afterwards that Mr. Kurtz's methods had ruined the district.
I have no opinion on that point, but I want you clearly to understand
that there was nothing exactly profitable in these heads being there.
They only showed that Mr. Kurtz lacked restraint in the gratification
of his various lusts, that there was something wanting in him--
some small matter which, when the pressing need arose,
could not be found under his magnificent eloquence.
Whether he knew of this deficiency himself I can't say.
I think the knowledge came to him at last--only at the very last.
But the wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on him
a terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion. I think it
had whispered to him things about himself which he did not know,
things of which he had no conception till he took counsel with this
great solitude--and the whisper had proved irresistibly fascinating.
It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core.
. . . I put down the glass, and the head that had appeared near
enough to be spoken to seemed at once to have leaped away from me
into inaccessible distance.


The admirer of Mr. Kurtz was a bit crestfallen. In a hurried
indistinct voice he began to assure me he had not dared to
take these--saysymbols--down. He was not afraid of the natives;
they would not stir till Mr. Kurtz gave the word. His ascendancy
was extraordinary. The camps of these people surrounded the place
and the chiefs came every day to see him. They would crawl.
. . . `I don't want to know anything of the ceremonies used
when approaching Mr. Kurtz' I shouted. Curiousthis feeling
that came over me that such details would be more intolerable
than those heads drying on the stakes under Mr. Kurtz's windows.
After allthat was only a savage sightwhile I seemed at one bound
to have been transported into some lightless region of subtle horrors
where pureuncomplicated savagery was a positive relief
being something that had a right to exist--obviously--in the sunshine.
The young man looked at me with surprise. I suppose it
did not occur to him that Mr. Kurtz was no idol of mine.
He forgot I hadn't heard any of these splendid monologues on
what was it? on lovejusticeconduct of life--or what not.
If it had come to crawling before Mr. Kurtzhe crawled as much as the
veriest savage of them all. I had no idea of the conditionshe said:
these heads were the heads of rebels. I shocked him excessively
by laughing. Rebels! What would be the next definition I was to hear?
There had been enemiescriminalsworkers--and these were rebels.
Those rebellious heads looked very subdued to me on their sticks.
`You don't know how such a life tries a man like Kurtz'
cried Kurtz's last disciple. `Welland you?' I said.
`I! I! I am a simple man. I have no great thoughts.
I want nothing from anybody. How can you compare me to . . . ?'
His feelings were too much for speechand suddenly he broke down.
`I don't understand' he groaned. `I've been doing my best
to keep him aliveand that's enough. I had no hand in all this.
I have no abilities. There hasn't been a drop of medicine or a mouthful
of invalid food for months here. He was shamefully abandoned.
A man like thiswith such ideas. Shamefully! Shamefully! I--I--
haven't slept for the last ten nights . . .'



His voice lost itself in the calm of the evening. The long shadows
of the forest had slipped downhill while we talked, had gone far
beyond the ruined hovel, beyond the symbolic row of stakes.
All this was in the gloom, while we down there were yet in the sunshine,
and the stretch of the river abreast of the clearing glittered
in a still and dazzling splendour, with a murky and overshadowed
bend above and below. Not a living soul was seen on the shore.
The bushes did not rustle.


Suddenly round the corner of the house a group of men appearedas though
they had come up from the ground. They waded waist-deep in the grass
in a compact bodybearing an improvised stretcher in their midst.
Instantlyin the emptiness of the landscapea cry arose whose
shrillness pierced the still air like a sharp arrow flying straight
to the very heart of the land; andas if by enchantmentstreams of
human beings--of naked human beings--with spears in their hands
with bowswith shieldswith wild glances and savage movements
were poured into the clearing by the dark-faced and pensive forest.
The bushes shookthe grass swayed for a timeand then everything
stood still in attentive immobility.


`Now, if he does not say the right thing to them we are all
done for,' said the Russian at my elbow. The knot of men
with the stretcher had stopped, too, halfway to the steamer,
as if petrified. I saw the man on the stretcher sit up,
lank and with an uplifted arm, above the shoulders of the bearers.
`Let us hope that the man who can talk so well of love in general
will find some particular reason to spare us this time,' I said.
I resented bitterly the absurd danger of our situation,
as if to be at the mercy of that atrocious phantom had
been a dishonouring necessity. I could not hear a sound,
but through my glasses I saw the thin arm extended commandingly,
the lower jaw moving, the eyes of that apparition shining
darkly far in its bony head that nodded with grotesque jerks.
Kurtz--Kurtz--that means short in German--don't it?
Well, the name was as true as everything else in his life--
and death. He looked at least seven feet long.
His covering had fallen off, and his body emerged from it
pitiful and appalling as from a winding-sheet. I could see
the cage of his ribs all astir, the bones of his arm waving.
It was as though an animated image of death carved out of old
ivory had been shaking its hand with menaces at a motionless
crowd of men made of dark and glittering bronze. I saw him
open his mouth wide--it gave him a weirdly voracious aspect,
as though he had wanted to swallow all the air, all the earth,
all the men before him. A deep voice reached me faintly.
He must have been shouting. He fell back suddenly.
The stretcher shook as the bearers staggered forward again,
and almost at the same time I noticed that the crowd of savages
was vanishing without any perceptible movement of retreat,
as if the forest that had ejected these beings so suddenly had
drawn them in again as the breath is drawn in a long aspiration.


Some of the pilgrims behind the stretcher carried his arms--
two shot-gunsa heavy rifleand a light revolver-carbine--
the thunderbolts of that pitiful Jupiter. The manager bent over him
murmuring as he walked beside his head. They laid him down in one
of the little cabins--just a room for a bed place and a camp-stool
or twoyou know. We had brought his belated correspondence
and a lot of torn envelopes and open letters littered his bed.
His hand roamed feebly amongst these papers. I was struck by
the fire of his eyes and the composed languor of his expression.
It was not so much the exhaustion of disease. He did not seem in pain.



This shadow looked satiated and calmas though for the moment it
had had its fill of all the emotions.


He rustled one of the letters, and looking straight in my face said,
`I am glad.' Somebody had been writing to him about me.
These special recommendations were turning up again.
The volume of tone he emitted without effort, almost without
the trouble of moving his lips, amazed me. A voice! a voice!
It was grave, profound, vibrating, while the man did not seem
capable of a whisper. However, he had enough strength in him--
factitious no doubt--to very nearly make an end of us,
as you shall hear directly.


The manager appeared silently in the doorway; I stepped
out at once and he drew the curtain after me. The Russian
eyed curiously by the pilgrimswas staring at the shore.
I followed the direction of his glance.


Dark human shapes could be made out in the distance,
flitting indistinctly against the gloomy border of the forest,
and near the river two bronze figures, leaning on tall spears,
stood in the sunlight under fantastic head-dresses of
spotted skins, warlike and still in statuesque repose.
And from right to left along the lighted shore moved a wild
and gorgeous apparition of a woman.


She walked with measured stepsdraped in striped and
fringed clothstreading the earth proudlywith a slight jingle
and flash of barbarous ornaments. She carried her head high;
her hair was done in the shape of a helmet; she had brass
leggings to the kneebrass wire gauntlets to the elbow
a crimson spot on her tawny cheekinnumerable necklaces of glass
beads on her neck; bizarre thingscharmsgifts of witch-men
that hung about herglittered and trembled at every step.
She must have had the value of several elephant tusks upon her.
She was savage and superbwild-eyed and magnificent;
there was something ominous and stately in her deliberate progress.
And in the hush that had fallen suddenly upon the whole
sorrowful landthe immense wildernessthe colossal body
of the fecund and mysterious life seemed to look at her
pensiveas though it had been looking at the image of its own
tenebrous and passionate soul.


She came abreast of the steamer, stood still, and faced us.
Her long shadow fell to the water's edge. Her face had a tragic
and fierce aspect of wild sorrow and of dumb pain mingled
with the fear of some struggling, half-shaped resolve.
She stood looking at us without a stir, and like the wilderness
itself, with an air of brooding over an inscrutable purpose.
A whole minute passed, and then she made a step forward.
There was a low jingle, a glint of yellow metal, a sway of
fringed draperies, and she stopped as if her heart had failed her.
The young fellow by my side growled. The pilgrims murmured
at my back. She looked at us all as if her life had depended
upon the unswerving steadiness of her glance. Suddenly she
opened her bared arms and threw them up rigid above her head,
as though in an uncontrollable desire to touch the sky, and at
the same time the swift shadows darted out on the earth, swept around
on the river, gathering the steamer into a shadowy embrace.
A formidable silence hung over the scene.


She turned away slowlywalked onfollowing the bankand passed
into the bushes to the left. Once only her eyes gleamed back at us
in the dusk of the thickets before she disappeared.



`If she had offered to come aboard I really think I would have tried
to shoot her,' said the man of patches, nervously. `I have been risking
my life every day for the last fortnight to keep her out of the house.
She got in one day and kicked up a row about those miserable rags I
picked up in the storeroom to mend my clothes with. I wasn't decent.
At least it must have been that, for she talked like a fury to Kurtz
for an hour, pointing at me now and then. I don't understand the dialect
of this tribe. Luckily for me, I fancy Kurtz felt too ill that day
to care, or there would have been mischief. I don't understand.
. . . No--it's too much for me. Ah, well, it's all over now.'


At this moment I heard Kurtz's deep voice behind the curtain:
`Save me!--save the ivoryyou mean. Don't tell me.
Save ME! WhyI've had to save you. You are interrupting my
plans now. Sick! Sick! Not so sick as you would like to believe.
Never mind. I'll carry my ideas out yet--I will return.
I'll show you what can be done. You with your little
peddling notions--you are interfering with me. I will return.


I. . . .'
The manager came out. He did me the honour to take me
under the arm and lead me aside. `He is very low, very low,'
he said. He considered it necessary to sigh, but neglected
to be consistently sorrowful. `We have done all we could
for him--haven't we? But there is no disguising the fact,
Mr. Kurtz has done more harm than good to the Company.
He did not see the time was not ripe for vigorous action.
Cautiously, cautiously--that's my principle.
We must be cautious yet. The district is closed to us for
a time. Deplorable! Upon the whole, the trade will suffer.
I don't deny there is a remarkable quantity of ivory--mostly fossil.
We must save it, at all events--but look how precarious
the position is--and why? Because the method is unsound.'
`Do you,' said I, looking at the shore, `call it unsound method?"'
`Without doubt' he exclaimed hotly. `Don't you?' . . . `No
method at all' I murmured after a while. `Exactly' he exulted.
`I anticipated this. Shows a complete want of judgment.
It is my duty to point it out in the proper quarter.' `Oh' said I
`that fellow--what's his name?--the brickmakerwill make
a readable report for you.' He appeared confounded for a moment.
It seemed to me I had never breathed an atmosphere so vile
and I turned mentally to Kurtz for relief--positively for relief.
`Nevertheless I think Mr. Kurtz is a remarkable man'
I said with emphasis. He starteddropped on me a heavy glance
said very quietly`he WAS' and turned his back on me.
My hour of favour was over; I found myself lumped along with Kurtz
as a partisan of methods for which the time was not ripe:
I was unsound! Ah! but it was something to have at least
a choice of nightmares.


I had turned to the wilderness really, not to Mr. Kurtz, who,
I was ready to admit, was as good as buried. And for a moment
it seemed to me as if I also were buried in a vast grave full
of unspeakable secrets. I felt an intolerable weight oppressing
my breast, the smell of the damp earth, the unseen presence
of victorious corruption, the darkness of an impenetrable night.
. . . The Russian tapped me on the shoulder. I heard him mumbling
and stammering something about `brother seaman--couldn't conceal--
knowledge of matters that would affect Mr. Kurtz's reputation.'
I waited. For him evidently Mr. Kurtz was not in his grave;
I suspect that for him Mr. Kurtz was one of the immortals.
`Well!' said I at last, `speak out. As it happens, I am
Mr. Kurtz's friend--in a way.'



He stated with a good deal of formality that had we not been `of
the same profession' he would have kept the matter to himself
without regard to consequences. `He suspected there was an active
ill-will towards him on the part of these white men that--'
`You are right' I saidremembering a certain conversation I
had overheard. `The manager thinks you ought to be hanged.'
He showed a concern at this intelligence which amused me at first.
`I had better get out of the way quietly' he said earnestly.
`I can do no more for Kurtz nowand they would soon find some excuse.
What's to stop them? There's a military post three hundred miles
from here.' `Wellupon my word' said I`perhaps you had
better go if you have any friends amongst the savages near by.'
`Plenty' he said. `They are simple people--and I want nothing
you know.' He stood biting his lipthen: `I don't want any harm
to happen to these whites herebut of course I was thinking of
Mr. Kurtz's reputation--but you are a brother seaman and--' `All right'
said Iafter a time. `Mr. Kurtz's reputation is safe with me.'
I did not know how truly I spoke.


He informed me, lowering his voice, that it was Kurtz
who had ordered the attack to be made on the steamer.
`He hated sometimes the idea of being taken away--and then again.
. . . But I don't understand these matters. I am a simple man.
He thought it would scare you away--that you would
give it up, thinking him dead. I could not stop him.
Oh, I had an awful time of it this last month.' `Very well,'
I said. `He is all right now.' `Ye-e-es,' he muttered,
not very convinced apparently. `Thanks,' said I; `I shall
keep my eyes open.' `But quiet-eh?' he urged anxiously.
`It would be awful for his reputation if anybody here--'
I promised a complete discretion with great gravity.
`I have a canoe and three black fellows waiting not very far.
I am off. Could you give me a few Martini-Henry cartridges?'
I could, and did, with proper secrecy. He helped himself,
with a wink at me, to a handful of my tobacco.
`Between sailors--you know--good English tobacco.'
At the door of the pilot-house he turned round--`I say,
haven't you a pair of shoes you could spare?' He raised one leg.
`Look.' The soles were tied with knotted strings sandalwise
under his bare feet. I rooted out an old pair, at which he
looked with admiration before tucking it under his left arm.
One of his pockets (bright red) was bulging with cartridges,
from the other (dark blue) peeped `Towson's Inquiry,' etc., etc.
He seemed to think himself excellently well equipped for a renewed
encounter with the wilderness. `Ah! I'll never, never meet
such a man again. You ought to have heard him recite poetry--
his own, too, it was, he told me. Poetry!' He rolled his eyes
at the recollection of these delights. `Oh, he enlarged my mind!'
`Good-bye,' said I. He shook hands and vanished in the night.
Sometimes I ask myself whether I had ever really seen him--
whether it was possible to meet such a phenomenon! . . .


When I woke up shortly after midnight his warning came to my mind
with its hint of danger that seemedin the starred darkness
real enough to make me get up for the purpose of having a look round.
On the hill a big fire burnedilluminating fitfully a crooked corner
of the station-house. One of the agents with a picket of a few of
our blacksarmed for the purposewas keeping guard over the ivory;
but deep within the forestred gleams that waveredthat seemed
to sink and rise from the ground amongst confused columnar shapes
of intense blacknessshowed the exact position of the camp
where Mr. Kurtz's adorers were keeping their uneasy vigil.
The monotonous beating of a big drum filled the air with muffled shocks



and a lingering vibration. A steady droning sound of many men chanting
each to himself some weird incantation came out from the black
flat wall of the woods as the humming of bees comes out of a hive
and had a strange narcotic effect upon my half-awake senses.
I believe I dozed off leaning over the railtill an abrupt burst
of yellsan overwhelming outbreak of a pent-up and mysterious frenzy
woke me up in a bewildered wonder. It was cut short all at once
and the low droning went on with an effect of audible and
soothing silence. I glanced casually into the little cabin.
A light was burning withinbut Mr. Kurtz was not there.


I think I would have raised an outcry if I had believed my eyes.
But I didn't believe them at first--the thing seemed so impossible.
The fact is I was completely unnerved by a sheer blank fright,
pure abstract terror, unconnected with any distinct shape
of physical danger. What made this emotion so overpowering was--
how shall I define it?--the moral shock I received,
as if something altogether monstrous, intolerable to thought
and odious to the soul, had been thrust upon me unexpectedly.
This lasted of course the merest fraction of a second, and then
the usual sense of commonplace, deadly danger, the possibility
of a sudden onslaught and massacre, or something of the kind,
which I saw impending, was positively welcome and composing.
It pacified me, in fact, so much that I did not raise an alarm.


There was an agent buttoned up inside an ulster and sleeping on a chair
on deck within three feet of me. The yells had not awakened him;
he snored very slightly; I left him to his slumbers and leaped ashore.
I did not betray Mr. Kurtz--it was ordered I should never betray him--
it was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.
I was anxious to deal with this shadow by myself alone--and to this day
I don't know why I was so jealous of sharing with any one the peculiar
blackness of that experience.


As soon as I got on the bank I saw a trail--a broad trail through
the grass. I remember the exultation with which I said to myself,
`He can't walk--he is crawling on all-fours--I've got him.'
The grass was wet with dew. I strode rapidly with clenched fists.
I fancy I had some vague notion of falling upon him and giving
him a drubbing. I don't know. I had some imbecile thoughts.
The knitting old woman with the cat obtruded herself upon my memory
as a most improper person to be sitting at the other end of such
an affair. I saw a row of pilgrims squirting lead in the air
out of Winchesters held to the hip. I thought I would never get
back to the steamer, and imagined myself living alone and unarmed
in the woods to an advanced age. Such silly things--you know.
And I remember I confounded the beat of the drum with the beating
of my heart, and was pleased at its calm regularity.


I kept to the track though--then stopped to listen.
The night was very clear; a dark blue spacesparkling with
dew and starlightin which black things stood very still.
I thought I could see a kind of motion ahead of me.
I was strangely cocksure of everything that night.
I actually left the track and ran in a wide semicircle (I verily
believe chuckling to myself) so as to get in front of that stir
of that motion I had seen--if indeed I had seen anything.
I was circumventing Kurtz as though it had been a boyish game.


I came upon him, and, if he had not heard me coming,
I would have fallen over him, too, but he got up in time.
He rose, unsteady, long, pale, indistinct, like a vapour exhaled
by the earth, and swayed slightly, misty and silent before me;
while at my back the fires loomed between the trees,



and the murmur of many voices issued from the forest.
I had cut him off cleverly; but when actually confronting him I seemed
to come to my senses, I saw the danger in its right proportion.
It was by no means over yet. Suppose he began to shout?
Though he could hardly stand, there was still plenty
of vigour in his voice. `Go away--hide yourself,' he said,
in that profound tone. It was very awful. I glanced back.
We were within thirty yards from the nearest fire.
A black figure stood up, strode on long black legs, waving long
black arms, across the glow. It had horns--antelope horns,
I think--on its head. Some sorcerer, some witch-man, no doubt:
it looked fiendlike enough. `Do you know what you are doing?'
I whispered. `Perfectly,' he answered, raising his voice
for that single word: it sounded to me far off and yet loud,
like a hail through a speaking-trumpet. `If he makes a row we
are lost,' I thought to myself. This clearly was not a case
for fisticuffs, even apart from the very natural aversion I
had to beat that Shadow--this wandering and tormented thing.
`You will be lost,' I said--'utterly lost.'
One gets sometimes such a flash of inspiration, you know.
I did say the right thing, though indeed he could not have
been more irretrievably lost than he was at this very moment,
when the foundations of our intimacy were being laid--to endure--
to endure--even to the end--even beyond.


`I had immense plans' he muttered irresolutely.
`Yes' said I; `but if you try to shout I'll smash your
head with--' There was not a stick or a stone near.
`I will throttle you for good' I corrected myself.
`I was on the threshold of great things' he pleadedin a voice
of longingwith a wistfulness of tone that made my blood run cold.
`And now for this stupid scoundrel--' `Your success in Europe
is assured in any case' I affirmed steadily. I did not want
to have the throttling of himyou understand--and indeed it
would have been very little use for any practical purpose.
I tried to break the spell--the heavymute spell of the wilderness--
that seemed to draw him to its pitiless breast by the awakening
of forgotten and brutal instinctsby the memory of gratified
and monstrous passions. This aloneI was convinced
had driven him out to the edge of the forestto the bush
towards the gleam of firesthe throb of drumsthe drone
of weird incantations; this alone had beguiled his unlawful soul
beyond the bounds of permitted aspirations. Anddon't you see
the terror of the position was not in being knocked on the head--
though I had a very lively sense of that dangertoo--but in this
that I had to deal with a being to whom I could not appeal in
the name of anything high or low. I hadeven like the niggers
to invoke him--himself--his own exalted and incredible degradation.
There was nothing either above or below himand I knew it.
He had kicked himself loose of the earth. Confound the man!
he had kicked the very earth to pieces. He was alone
and I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground
or floated in the air. I've been telling you what we said--
repeating the phrases we pronounced--but what's the good?
They were common everyday words--the familiarvague sounds
exchanged on every waking day of life. But what of that?
They had behind themto my mindthe terrific suggestiveness
of words heard in dreamsof phrases spoken in nightmares.
Soul! If anybody ever struggled with a soulI am the man.
And I wasn't arguing with a lunatic either. Believe me or not
his intelligence was perfectly clear--concentratedit is true
upon himself with horrible intensityyet clear; and therein
was my only chance--barringof coursethe killing him there
and thenwhich wasn't so goodon account of unavoidable noise.



But his soul was mad. Being alone in the wildernessit had looked
within itselfandby heavens! I tell youit had gone mad.
I had--for my sinsI suppose--to go through the ordeal of looking
into it myself. No eloquence could have been so withering
to one's belief in mankind as his final burst of sincerity.
He struggled with himselftoo. I saw it--I heard it.
I saw the inconceivable mystery of a soul that knew no restraint
no faithand no fearyet struggling blindly with itself.
I kept my head pretty well; but when I had him at last stretched
on the couchI wiped my foreheadwhile my legs shook under me
as though I had carried half a ton on my back down that hill.
And yet I had only supported himhis bony arm clasped round
my neck--and he was not much heavier than a child.


When next day we left at noon, the crowd, of whose presence behind
the curtain of trees I had been acutely conscious all the time,
flowed out of the woods again, filled the clearing, covered the slope
with a mass of naked, breathing, quivering, bronze bodies.
I steamed up a bit, then swung down stream, and two thousand eyes followed
the evolutions of the splashing, thumping, fierce river-demon beating
the water with its terrible tail and breathing black smoke into the air.
In front of the first rank, along the river, three men, plastered with
bright red earth from head to foot, strutted to and fro restlessly.
When we came abreast again, they faced the river, stamped their feet,
nodded their horned heads, swayed their scarlet bodies; they shook
towards the fierce river-demon a bunch of black feathers, a mangy skin
with a pendent tail--something that looked a dried gourd; they shouted
periodically together strings of amazing words that resembled no sounds
of human language; and the deep murmurs of the crowd, interrupted suddenly,
were like the responses of some satanic litany.


We had carried Kurtz into the pilot-house: there was more air there.
Lying on the couchhe stared through the open shutter.
There was an eddy in the mass of human bodiesand the woman
with helmeted head and tawny cheeks rushed out to the very brink
of the stream. She put out her handsshouted something
and all that wild mob took up the shout in a roaring chorus
of articulatedrapidbreathless utterance.


`Do you understand this?' I asked.


He kept on looking out past me with fierylonging eyeswith a
mingled expression of wistfulness and hate. He made no answer
but I saw a smilea smile of indefinable meaningappear on
his colourless lips that a moment after twitched convulsively.
`Do I not?' he said slowlygaspingas if the words had been torn
out of him by a supernatural power.


I pulled the string of the whistle, and I did this because I
saw the pilgrims on deck getting out their rifles with an air
of anticipating a jolly lark. At the sudden screech there was
a movement of abject terror through that wedged mass of bodies.
`Don't! don't you frighten them away,' cried some one on
deck disconsolately. I pulled the string time after time.
They broke and ran, they leaped, they crouched, they swerved,
they dodged the flying terror of the sound. The three red
chaps had fallen flat, face down on the shore, as though they
had been shot dead. Only the barbarous and superb woman did
not so much as flinch, and stretched tragically her bare arms
after us over the sombre and glittering river.


And then that imbecile crowd down on the deck started their little fun
and I could see nothing more for smoke.



The brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness,
bearing us down towards the sea with twice the speed of our
upward progress; and Kurtz's life was running swiftly, too, ebbing,
ebbing out of his heart into the sea of inexorable time.
The manager was very placid, he had no vital anxieties now,
he took us both in with a comprehensive and satisfied glance:
the `affair' had come off as well as could be wished.
I saw the time approaching when I would be left alone of
the party of `unsound method.' The pilgrims looked upon me
with disfavour. I was, so to speak, numbered with the dead.
It is strange how I accepted this unforeseen partnership,
this choice of nightmares forced upon me in the tenebrous land
invaded by these mean and greedy phantoms.


Kurtz discoursed. A voice! a voice! It rang deep to the very last.
It survived his strength to hide in the magnificent folds of eloquence
the barren darkness of his heart. Ohhe struggled! he struggled!
The wastes of his weary brain were haunted by shadowy images now--images of
wealth and fame revolving obsequiously round his unextinguishable gift
of noble and lofty expression. My Intendedmy stationmy careermy ideas--
these were the subjects for the occasional utterances of elevated sentiments.
The shade of the original Kurtz frequented the bedside of the hollow sham
whose fate it was to be buried presently in the mould of primeval earth.
But both the diabolic love and the unearthly hate of the mysteries
it had penetrated fought for the possession of that soul satiated
with primitive emotionsavid of lying fameof sham distinction
of all the appearances of success and power.


Sometimes he was contemptibly childish. He desired to have
kings meet him at railway-stations on his return from some
ghastly Nowhere, where he intended to accomplish great things.
`You show them you have in you something that is really profitable,
and then there will be no limits to the recognition of your ability,'
he would say. `Of course you must take care of the motives--
right motives--always.' The long reaches that were like one
and the same reach, monotonous bends that were exactly alike,
slipped past the steamer with their multitude of secular trees
looking patiently after this grimy fragment of another world,
the forerunner of change, of conquest, of trade, of massacres,
of blessings. I looked ahead--piloting. `Close the shutter,'
said Kurtz suddenly one day; `I can't bear to look at this.'
I did so. There was a silence. `Oh, but I will wring your
heart yet!' he cried at the invisible wilderness.


We broke down--as I had expected--and had to lie up for repairs at the head
of an island. This delay was the first thing that shook Kurtz's confidence.
One morning he gave me a packet of papers and a photograph--
the lot tied together with a shoe-string. `Keep this for me' he said.
`This noxious fool' (meaning the manager) `is capable of prying
into my boxes when I am not looking.' In the afternoon I saw him.
He was lying on his back with closed eyesand I withdrew quietly
but I heard him mutter`Live rightlydiedie . . .' I listened.
There was nothing more. Was he rehearsing some speech in his sleep
or was it a fragment of a phrase from some newspaper article?
He had been writing for the papers and meant to do so again
`for the furthering of my ideas. It's a duty.'


His was an impenetrable darkness. I looked at him as you peer
down at a man who is lying at the bottom of a precipice where the sun
never shines. But I had not much time to give him, because I was
helping the engine-driver to take to pieces the leaky cylinders,
to straighten a bent connecting-rod, and in other such matters.
I lived in an infernal mess of rust, filings, nuts, bolts, spanners,



hammers, ratchet-drills--things I abominate, because I don't get
on with them. I tended the little forge we fortunately had aboard;
I toiled wearily in a wretched scrap-heap--unless I had the shakes
too bad to stand.


One evening coming in with a candle I was startled to hear him say
a little tremulously`I am lying here in the dark waiting for death.'
The light was within a foot of his eyes. I forced myself to murmur
`Ohnonsense!' and stood over him as if transfixed.


Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have
never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn't touched.
I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent.
I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride,
of ruthless power, of craven terror--of an intense and hopeless despair.
Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation,
and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge?
He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision--he cried out twice,
a cry that was no more than a breath:


`The horror! The horror!'


I blew the candle out and left the cabin. The pilgrims were dining
in the mess-room, and I took my place opposite the manager, who lifted
his eyes to give me a questioning glance, which I successfully ignored.
He leaned back, serene, with that peculiar smile of his sealing
the unexpressed depths of his meanness. A continuous shower of small
flies streamed upon the lamp, upon the cloth, upon our hands and faces.
Suddenly the manager's boy put his insolent black head in the doorway,
and said in a tone of scathing contempt:


`Mistah Kurtz--he dead.'


All the pilgrims rushed out to see. I remained, and went on with my dinner.
I believe I was considered brutally callous. However, I did not eat much.
There was a lamp in there--light, don't you know--and outside it was
so beastly, beastly dark. I went no more near the remarkable man who had
pronounced a judgment upon the adventures of his soul on this earth.
The voice was gone. What else had been there? But I am of course aware
that next day the pilgrims buried something in a muddy hole.


And then they very nearly buried me.


However, as you see, I did not go to join Kurtz there and then.
I did not. I remained to dream the nightmare out to the end, and to show
my loyalty to Kurtz once more. Destiny. My destiny! Droll thing life is--
that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose.
The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself--that comes
too late--a crop of unextinguishable regrets. I have wrestled with death.
It is the most unexciting contest you can imagine. It takes place
in an impalpable greyness, with nothing underfoot, with nothing around,
without spectators, without clamour, without glory, without the great desire
of victory, without the great fear of defeat, in a sickly atmosphere
of tepid scepticism, without much belief in your own right, and still
less in that of your adversary. If such is the form of ultimate wisdom,
then life is a greater riddle than some of us think it to be.
I was within a hair's breadth of the last opportunity for pronouncement,
and I found with humiliation that probably I would have nothing to say.
This is the reason why I affirm that Kurtz was a remarkable man.
He had something to say. He said it. Since I had peeped over the edge
myself, I understand better the meaning of his stare, that could not see
the flame of the candle, but was wide enough to embrace the whole universe,
piercing enough to penetrate all the hearts that beat in the darkness.
He had summed up--he had judged. `The horror!' He was a remarkable man.



After all, this was the expression of some sort of belief; it had candour,
it had conviction, it had a vibrating note of revolt in its whisper,
it had the appalling face of a glimpsed truth--the strange commingling
of desire and hate. And it is not my own extremity I remember best-a
vision of greyness without form filled with physical pain,
and a careless contempt for the evanescence of all things--even of this
pain itself. No! It is his extremity that I seem to have lived through.
True, he had made that last stride, he had stepped over the edge,
while I had been permitted to draw back my hesitating foot.
And perhaps in this is the whole difference; perhaps all the wisdom,
and all truth, and all sincerity, are just compressed into that
inappreciable moment of time in which we step over the threshold
of the invisible. Perhaps! I like to think my summing-up would not
have been a word of careless contempt. Better his cry--much better.
It was an affirmation, a moral victory paid for by innumerable defeats,
by abominable terrors, by abominable satisfactions. But it was a victory!
That is why I have remained loyal to Kurtz to the last, and even beyond,
when a long time after I heard once more, not his own voice, but the echo
of his magnificent eloquence thrown to me from a soul as translucently
pure as a cliff of crystal.

Nothey did not bury methough there is a period of time which I
remember mistilywith a shuddering wonderlike a passage through
some inconceivable world that had no hope in it and no desire.
I found myself back in the sepulchral city resenting the sight
of people hurrying through the streets to filch a little money
from each otherto devour their infamous cookeryto gulp their
unwholesome beerto dream their insignificant and silly dreams.
They trespassed upon my thoughts. They were intruders whose
knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretencebecause I
felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew.
Their bearingwhich was simply the bearing of commonplace
individuals going about their business in the assurance of
perfect safetywas offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings
of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend.
I had no particular desire to enlighten thembut I had some
difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces
so full of stupid importance. I dareway I was not very well
at that time. I tottered about the streets--there were
various affairs to settle--grinning bitterly at perfectly
respectable persons. I admit my behaviour was inexcusable
but then my temperature was seldom normal in these days.
My dear aunt's endeavours to `nurse up my strength'
seemed altogether beside the mark. It was not my strength
that wanted nursingit was my imagination that wanted soothing.
I kept the bundle of papers given me by Kurtznot knowing
exactly what to do with it. His mother had died lately
watched overas I was toldby his Intended. A clean-shaved man
with an official manner and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles
called on me one day and made inquiriesat first circuitous
afterwards suavely pressingabout what he was pleased to
denominate certain `documents.' I was not surprisedbecause I
had had two rows with the manager on the subject out there.
I had refused to give up the smallest scrap out of that package
and I took the same attitude with the spectacled man.
He became darkly menacing at lastand with much heat argued that
the Company had the right to every bit of information about its
`territories.' And said he`Mr. Kurtz's knowledge of unexplored
regions must have been necessarily extensive and peculiar-owing
to his great abilities and to the deplorable circumstances
in which he had been placed: therefore--' I assured him
Mr. Kurtz's knowledgehowever extensivedid not bear upon
the problems of commerce or administration. He invoked then the name
of science. `It would be an incalculable loss if' etc.etc.


I offered him the report on the `Suppression of Savage Customs'
with the postscriptum torn off. He took it up eagerly
but ended by sniffing at it with an air of contempt.
`This is not what we had a right to expect' he remarked.
`Expect nothing else' I said. `There are only private letters.'
He withdrew upon some threat of legal proceedingsand I saw him
no more; but another fellowcalling himself Kurtz's cousin
appeared two days laterand was anxious to hear all the details
about his dear relative's last moments. Incidentally he gave me
to understand that Kurtz had been essentially a great musician.
`There was the making of an immense success' said the man
who was an organistI believewith lank grey hair flowing over
a greasy coat-collar. I had no reason to doubt his statement;
and to this day I am unable to say what was Kurtz's profession
whether he ever had any--which was the greatest of his talents.
I had taken him for a painter who wrote for the papers
or else for a journalist who could paint--but even the cousin
(who took snuff during the interview) could not tell me what
he had been--exactly. He was a universal genius--on that point
I agreed with the old chapwho thereupon blew his nose noisily
into a large cotton handkerchief and withdrew in senile agitation
bearing off some family letters and memoranda without importance.
Ultimately a journalist anxious to know something of the fate
of his `dear colleague' turned up. This visitor informed me Kurtz's
proper sphere ought to have been politics `on the popular side.'
He had furry straight eyebrowsbristly hair cropped short
an eyeglass on a broad ribbonandbecoming expansive
confessed his opinion that Kurtz really couldn't write
a bit--'but heavens! how that man could talk. He electrified
large meetings. He had faith--don't you see?--he had the faith.
He could get himself to believe anything--anything.
He would have been a splendid leader of an extreme party.'
`What party?' I asked. `Any party' answered the other.
`He was an--an--extremist.' Did I not think so? I assented.
Did I knowhe askedwith a sudden flash of curiosity
`what it was that had induced him to go out there?'
`Yes' said Iand forthwith handed him the famous Report
for publicationif he thought fit. He glanced through
it hurriedlymumbling all the timejudged `it would do'
and took himself off with this plunder.


Thus I was left at last with a slim packet of letters
and the girl's portrait. She struck me as beautiful--
I mean she had a beautiful expression. I know that the sunlight
ycan be made to lie, too, yet one felt that no manipulation
of light and pose could have conveyed the delicate shade
of truthfulness upon those features. She seemed ready
to listen without mental reservation, without suspicion,
without a thought for herself. I concluded I would go
and give her back her portrait and those letters myself.
Curiosity? Yes; and also some other feeling perhaps.
All that had been Kurtz's had passed out of my hands:
his soul, his body, his station, his plans, his ivory,
his career. There remained only his memory and his Intended--
and I wanted to give that up, too, to the past, in a way--
to surrender personally all that remained of him with me
to that oblivion which is the last word of our common fate.
I don't defend myself. I had no clear perception of what it was I
really wanted. Perhaps it was an impulse of unconscious loyalty,
or the fulfilment of one of those ironic necessities that lurk
in the facts of human existence. I don't know. I can't tell.
But I went.



I thought his memory was like the other memories of the dead
that accumulate in every man's life--a vague impress on the brain
of shadows that had fallen on it in their swift and final passage;
but before the high and ponderous doorbetween the tall
houses of a street as still and decorous as a well-kept
alley in a cemeteryI had a vision of him on the stretcher
opening his mouth voraciouslyas if to devour all the earth
with all its mankind. He lived then before me; he lived as much
as he had ever lived--a shadow insatiable of splendid appearances
of frightful realities; a shadow darker than the shadow of the night
and draped nobly in the folds of a gorgeous eloquence.
The vision seemed to enter the house with me--the stretcher
the phantom-bearersthe wild crowd of obedient worshippers
the gloom of the foreststhe glitter of the reach between
the murky bendsthe beat of the drumregular and muffled
like the beating of a heart--the heart of a conquering darkness.
It was a moment of triumph for the wildernessan invading
and vengeful rush whichit seemed to meI would have
to keep back alone for the salvation of another soul.
And the memory of what I had heard him say afar there
with the horned shapes stirring at my backin the glow of fires
within the patient woodsthose broken phrases came back to me
were heard again in their ominous and terrifying simplicity.
I remembered his abject pleadinghis abject threats
the colossal scale of his vile desiresthe meannessthe torment
the tempestuous anguish of his soul. And later on I seemed to see
his collected languid mannerwhen he said one day`This lot
of ivory now is really mine. The Company did not pay for it.
I collected it myself at a very great personal risk.
I am afraid they will try to claim it as theirs though.
H'm. It is a difficult case. What do you think I ought
to do--resist? Eh? I want no more than justice.'
. . . He wanted no more than justice--no more than justice.
I rang the bell before a mahogany door on the first floor
and while I waited he seemed to stare at me out of the glassy panel--
stare with that wide and immense stare embracingcondemning
loathing all the universe. I seemed to hear the whispered cry
The horror! The horror!


The dusk was falling. I had to wait in a lofty drawing-room
with three long windows from floor to ceiling that were
like three luminous and bedraped columns. The bent gilt
legs and backs of the furniture shone in indistinct curves.
The tall marble fireplace had a cold and monumental whiteness.
A grand piano stood massively in a corner; with dark gleams
on the flat surfaces like a sombre and polished sarcophagus.
A high door opened--closed. I rose.


She came forwardall in blackwith a pale headfloating towards
me in the dusk. She was in mourning. It was more than a year
since his deathmore than a year since the news came;
she seemed as though she would remember and mourn forever.
She took both my hands in hers and murmured`I had heard you
were coming.' I noticed she was not very young--I mean not girlish.
She had a mature capacity for fidelityfor belieffor suffering.
The room seemed to have grown darkeras if all the sad light
of the cloudy evening had taken refuge on her forehead.
This fair hairthis pale visagethis pure browseemed surrounded
by an ashy halo from which the dark eyes looked out at me.
Their glance was guilelessprofoundconfidentand trustful.
She carried her sorrowful head as though she were proud
of that sorrowas though she would say`I--I alone know
how to mourn for him as he deserves.' But while we were still
shaking handssuch a look of awful desolation came upon her face



that I perceived she was one of those creatures that are not
the playthings of Time. For her he had died only yesterday.
Andby Jove! the impression was so powerful that for metoo
he seemed to have died only yesterday--naythis very minute.
I saw her and him in the same instant of time--his death and
her sorrow--I saw her sorrow in the very moment of his death.
Do you understand? I saw them together--I heard them together.
She had saidwith a deep catch of the breath`I have survived'
while my strained ears seemed to hear distinctlymingled with
her tone of despairing regretthe summing up whisper of his
eternal condemnation. I asked myself what I was doing there
with a sensation of panic in my heart as though I had
blundered into a place of cruel and absurd mysteries not fit
for a human being to behold. She motioned me to a chair.
We sat down. I laid the packet gently on the little table
and she put her hand over it. . . . `You knew him well'
she murmuredafter a moment of mourning silence.


`Intimacy grows quickly out there,' I said. `I knew him as well as it
is possible for one man to know another.'


`And you admired him' she said. `It was impossible to know him
and not to admire him. Was it?'


`He was a remarkable man,' I said, unsteadily. Then before the appealing
fixity of her gaze, that seemed to watch for more words on my lips, I went on,
`It was impossible not to--'


`Love him' she finished eagerlysilencing me into an appalled dumbness.
`How true! how true! But when you think that no one knew him so well as I!
I had all his noble confidence. I knew him best.'


`You knew him best,' I repeated. And perhaps she did.
But with every word spoken the room was growing darker,
and only her forehead, smooth and white, remained illumined
by the inextinguishable light of belief and love.


`You were his friend' she went on. `His friend' she repeated
a little louder. `You must have beenif he had given you this
and sent you to me. I feel I can speak to you--and oh!
I must speak. I want you--you who have heard his last words--
to know I have been worthy of him. . . . It is not pride. . . . Yes!
I am proud to know I understood him better than any one on earth--
he told me so himself. And since his mother died I have had no one--
no one--to--to--'


I listened. The darkness deepened. I was not even sure
whether he had given me the right bundle. I rather suspect
he wanted me to take care of another batch of his papers which,
after his death, I saw the manager examining under the lamp.
And the girl talked, easing her pain in the certitude of my sympathy;
she talked as thirsty men drink. I had heard that her
engagement with Kurtz had been disapproved by her people.
He wasn't rich enough or something. And indeed I don't
know whether he had not been a pauper all his life.
He had given me some reason to infer that it was his impatience
of comparative poverty that drove him out there.


`. . . Who was not his friend who had heard him speak once?'
she was saying. `He drew men towards him by what was best in them.'
She looked at me with intensity. `It is the gift of the great'
she went onand the sound of her low voice seemed to have
the accompaniment of all the other soundsfull of mystery
desolationand sorrowI had ever heard--the ripple of the river



the soughing of the trees swayed by the windthe murmurs of the crowds
the faint ring of incomprehensible words cried from afarthe whisper
of a voice speaking from beyond the threshold of an eternal darkness.
`But you have heard him! You know!' she cried.


`Yes, I know,' I said with something like despair in my heart,
but bowing my head before the faith that was in her, before that great
and saving illusion that shone with an unearthly glow in the darkness,
in the triumphant darkness from which I could not have defended her--
from which I could not even defend myself.


`What a loss to me--to us!'--she corrected herself with
beautiful generosity; then added in a murmur`To the world.'
By the last gleams of twilight I could see the glitter of her eyes
full of tears--of tears that would not fall.


`I have been very happy--very fortunate--very proud,'
she went on. `Too fortunate. Too happy for a little while.
And now I am unhappy for--for life.'


She stood up; her fair hair seemed to catch all the remaining light
in a glimmer of gold. I rosetoo.


`And of all this,' she went on mournfully, `of all
his promise, and of all his greatness, of his generous mind,
of his noble heart, nothing remains--nothing but a memory.
You and I--'


`We shall always remember him' I said hastily.


`No!' she cried. `It is impossible that all this should be lost--
that such a life should be sacrificed to leave nothing--but sorrow.
You know what vast plans he had. I knew of them, too--I could not
perhaps understand--but others knew of them. Something must remain.
His words, at least, have not died.'


`His words will remain' I said.


`And his example,' she whispered to herself. `Men looked up to him--
his goodness shone in every act. His example--'


`True' I said; `his exampletoo. Yeshis example.
I forgot that.'


But I do not. I cannot--I cannot believe--not yet.
I cannot believe that I shall never see him again, that nobody
will see him again, never, never, never.'


She put out her arms as if after a retreating figurestretching them
back and with clasped pale hands across the fading and narrow sheen
of the window. Never see him! I saw him clearly enough then.
I shall see this eloquent phantom as long as I liveand I shall see her
tooa tragic and familiar Shaderesembling in this gesture another one
tragic alsoand bedecked with powerless charmsstretching bare brown
arms over the glitter of the infernal streamthe stream of darkness.
She said suddenly very low`He died as he lived.'


`His end,' said I, with dull anger stirring in me, `was in every
way worthy of his life.'


`And I was not with him' she murmured. My anger subsided
before a feeling of infinite pity.


`Everything that could be done--' I mumbled.



`Ahbut I believed in him more than any one on earth--more than
his own mothermore than--himself. He needed me! Me! I would
have treasured every sighevery wordevery signevery glance.'


I felt like a chill grip on my chest. `Don't,' I said,
in a muffled voice.


`Forgive me. I--I have mourned so long in silence--in silence.
. . . You were with him--to the last? I think of his loneliness.
Nobody near to understand him as I would have understood.
Perhaps no one to hear. . . .'


`To the very end,' I said, shakily. `I heard his very last words.
. . .' I stopped in a fright.


`Repeat them' she murmured in a heart-broken tone.
`I want--I want--something--something--to--to live with.'


I was on the point of crying at her, `Don't you hear them?'
The dusk was repeating them in a persistent whisper all around us,
in a whisper that seemed to swell menacingly like the first whisper
of a rising wind. `The horror! The horror!'


`His last word--to live with' she insisted. `Don't you understand I
loved him--I loved him--I loved him!'


I pulled myself together and spoke slowly.


`The last word he pronounced was--your name.'


I heard a light sigh and then my heart stood still,
stopped dead short by an exulting and terrible cry,
by the cry of inconceivable triumph and of unspeakable pain.
`I knew it--I was sure!' . . . She knew. She was sure.
I heard her weeping; she had hidden her face in her hands.
It seemed to me that the house would collapse before I
could escape, that the heavens would fall upon my head.
But nothing happened. The heavens do not fall for such a trifle.
Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered Kurtz
that justice which was his due? Hadn't he said he wanted
only justice? But I couldn't. I could not tell her.
It would have been too dark--too dark altogether.
. . .


Marlow ceasedand sat apartindistinct and silent
in the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody moved for a time.
We have lost the first of the ebb,said the Director suddenly.
I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank
of cloudsand the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost
ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky--
seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.