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<chapter id="chapt01">
<title>I</title>

<paragraph>The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a
flutter of the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind
was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it
was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide.</paragraph>

<paragraph>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 joint, and 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 peaked, with gleams of
varnished spirits. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea
in vanishing flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther
back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless
over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth.</paragraph>

<paragraph>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 pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness
personified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in
the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding
gloom.</paragraph>

<paragraph>Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the
bond of the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long
periods of separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each
other's yarns &mdash; and even convictions. The Lawyer &mdash; the
best of old fellows &mdash; had, because of his many years and many
virtues, the only cushion on deck, and was lying on the only rug. The
Accountant had brought out already a box of dominoes, and was toying
architecturally with the bones. Marlow sat cross-legged right aft,
leaning against the mizzenmast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow
complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms
dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an idol. The Director,
satisfied the anchor had good hold, made 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 meditative, and fit for nothing but
placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still and
exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a
speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the
Essex marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded
rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the
gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more sombre
every minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.</paragraph>

<paragraph>And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun
sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays
and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by
the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.</paragraph>

<paragraph>Forthwith a change came over the waters, and 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 ever, but in the august light of
abiding memories. And indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as
the phrase goes, &ldquo;followed the sea&rdquo; with reverence and
affection, than 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 Franklin, knights all, titled and untitled &mdash; the
great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the ships whose
names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from the Golden
Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to be visited
by the Queen's Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale, to the
Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests &mdash; and that never
returned.  It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed from
Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith &mdash; the adventurers and the
settlers; kings' ships and the ships of men on &lsquo;Change;
captains, admirals, the dark "interlopers" of the Eastern trade, and
the commissioned "generals" of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or
pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream, bearing the
sword, and often the torch, messengers 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!
&hellip; The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of
empires.</paragraph>

<paragraph>The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, and lights began
to appear along the shore. The Chapman lighthouse, a three-legged
thing erect on a mud-flat, shone strongly. Lights of ships moved in
the fairway &mdash; 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 sky, a brooding gloom in
sunshine, a lurid glare under the stars.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;And this also,&rdquo; said Marlow suddenly,
&ldquo;has been one of the dark places of the
earth.&rdquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>He was the only man of us who still &ldquo;followed the
sea.&rdquo; The worst that could be said of him was that he did not
represent his class. He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer, too,
while most seamen lead, if one may so express it, a sedentary
life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home order, and their home is
always with them &mdash; the ship; and so is their country &mdash; the
sea. One ship is very much like another, and the sea is always the
same. In the immutability of their surroundings the foreign shores,
the foreign faces, the changing immensity of life, glide 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 rest, after his hours of work, a casual stroll or a
casual spree on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole
continent, and generally he finds the secret not worth knowing. The
yarns of seamen have a direct simplicity, the 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 haze, in the
likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible
by the spectral illumination of moonshine.</paragraph>

<paragraph>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 said, very slow &mdash;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans
first came here, nineteen hundred years ago &mdash; the other
day&hellip; Light came out of this river since &mdash; you say
Knights?  Yes; but it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash
of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker &mdash; 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 &mdash; what
d'ye call 'em? &mdash; 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 &mdash; a wonderful lot of handy
men they must have been, too &mdash; used to build, apparently by the
hundred, in a month or two, if we may believe what we read. Imagine
him here &mdash; the very end of the world, a sea the colour of lead,
a sky the colour of smoke, a kind of ship about as rigid as a
concertina &mdash; and going up this river with stores, or orders, or
what you like. Sand-banks, marshes, forests, savages, &mdash; precious
little to eat fit for a civilized man, nothing 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
&mdash; cold, fog, tempests, disease, exile, and death &mdash; death
skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush. They must have been
dying like flies here. Oh, yes &mdash; he did it. Did it very well,
too, no doubt, and without thinking much about it either, except
afterwards to brag of what he had gone through in his time,
perhaps. 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 by, if he had good friends in Rome and survived the
awful climate. Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga &mdash;
perhaps too much dice, you know &mdash; coming out here in the train
of some prefect, or tax-gatherer, or trader even, to mend his
fortunes. Land in a swamp, march through the woods, and in some inland
post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed round him
&mdash; all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the
forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There's no
initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live in the midst of
the incomprehensible, which is also detestable. And it has a
fascination, too, that goes to work upon him. The fascination of the
abomination &mdash; you know, imagine the growing regrets, the longing
to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the
hate.&rdquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>He paused.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;Mind,&rdquo; he began again, lifting one arm from
the elbow, the palm of the hand outwards, so that, with his legs
folded before him, he had the pose of a Buddha preaching in European
clothes and without a lotus-flower &mdash; &ldquo;Mind, none of us
would feel exactly like this.  What saves us is efficiency &mdash; the
devotion to efficiency. But these chaps were not much account,
really. They were no colonists; their administration was merely a
squeeze, and nothing more, I suspect. They were conquerors, and for
that you want only brute force &mdash; nothing to boast of, when you
have it, since 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 violence, aggravated
murder on a great scale, and men going at it blind &mdash; as is very
proper for those who tackle a darkness. The conquest of the earth,
which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different
complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is 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 &mdash; something you can
set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice
to&hellip;&rdquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>He broke off. Flames glided in the river, small green
flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing, overtaking, joining,
crossing each other &mdash; 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 &mdash; there was
nothing else to do till the end of the flood; but it was only after a
long silence, when he said, in a hesitating voice, &ldquo;I suppose
you fellows remember I did once turn fresh water sailor for a
bit,&rdquo; that we knew we were fated, before the ebb began to run,
to hear about one of Marlow's inconclusive experiences.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I don't want to bother you much with what happened
to me personally,&rdquo; he began, showing in this remark the weakness
of many tellers of tales who seem so often unaware of what their
audience would best like to hear; &ldquo;yet to understand the effect
of it on me you ought to know how I got out there, what I saw, how 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 &mdash; and into my thoughts. It was sombre enough, too
&mdash; and pitiful &mdash; not extraordinary in any way &mdash; not
very clear either. No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a
kind of light.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 &mdash; 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 &mdash; 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;Now when I was a little chap I had a passion for
maps. I would look for hours at South America, or Africa, or
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, &lsquo;When I grow up I will go
there.&rsquo; The North Pole was one of these places, I
remember. Well, I haven't been there yet, and shall not try now. The
glamour's off. Other places were scattered about the Equator, and in
every sort of latitude all over the two hemispheres. I have been in
some of them, and &hellip; well, we won't talk about that.  But there
was one yet &mdash; the biggest, the most blank, so to speak &mdash;
that I had a hankering after.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 &mdash;
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 &mdash; 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 &mdash; 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;You understand it was a Continental concern, that
Trading society; but I have a lot of relations living on the
Continent, because it's cheap and not so nasty as it looks, they
say.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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
&mdash; you see &mdash; I felt somehow I must get there by hook or by
crook. So I worried them. The men said &lsquo;My dear fellow,&rsquo;
and did nothing. Then &mdash; would you believe it? &mdash; I tried
the women. I, Charlie Marlow, set the women to work &mdash; to get a
job. Heavens! We]l, you see, the notion drove me. I had an aunt, a
dear enthusiastic soul. She wrote: &lsquo;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,&rsquo; etc., etc. She was
determined to make no end of fuss to get me appointed skipper of a
river steamboat, if such was my fancy.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I got my appointment &mdash; 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 chance, and it made me the more anxious to go. It was only months
and months afterwards, when I made the attempt to recover what was
left of the body, that I heard the original quarrel arose from a
misunderstanding about some hens. Yes, two black hens. Fresleven
&mdash; that was the fellow's name, a Dane &mdash; thought himself
wronged somehow in the bargain, so he went ashore and started to
hammer the chief of the village with a stick. Oh, it didn't surprise
me in the least to hear this, and at the same time to be told that
Fresleven was the gentlest, quietest 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 cause, you know, and he probably felt the
need at last of asserting his self-respect in some way. Therefore he
whacked the old nigger mercilessly, while a big crowd of his people
watched him, thunderstruck, till some man &mdash; I was told the
chief's son &mdash; in desperation at hearing the old chap yell, made
a tentative jab with a spear at the white man &mdash; and of course it
went quite easy between the shoulder-blades. Then the whole population
cleared into the forest, expecting all kinds of calamities to happen,
while, on the other hand, the steamer Fresleven commanded left also in
a bad panic, in charge of the engineer, I believe. Afterwards nobody
seemed to trouble much about Fresleven's remains, till I got out and
stepped into his shoes. I couldn't let it rest, though; but when an
opportunity offered at last to meet my predecessor, the 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 deserted, the huts gaped black, rotting, all askew
within the fallen enclosures. A calamity had come to it, sure enough.
The people had vanished. Mad terror had scattered them, men, women,
and children, through the bush, and they had never returned. What
became of the hens I don't know either. I should think the cause of
progress got them, anyhow. However, through this glorious affair I got
my appointment, before I had fairly begun to hope for it.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I flew around like mad to get ready, and before
forty-eight hours I was crossing the Channel to snow 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;A narrow and deserted street in deep shadow, high
houses, innumerable windows with venetian blinds, a dead silence,
grass sprouting between the stones, imposing carriage archways right
and left, immense double doors standing ponderously ajar. I slipped
through one of these cracks, went up a swept and ungarnished
staircase, as arid as a desert, and opened the first door I came to.
Two women, one fat and the other slim, sat on straw-bottomed chairs,
knitting black wool. The slim one got up and walked straight at me
&mdash; still knitting with downcast eyes &mdash; and only just as I
began to think of getting out of her way, as you would for a
somnambulist, stood still, and looked up. Her dress was as plain as an
umbrella-cover, and she turned round without a word and preceded me
into a waiting-room. I gave my name, and looked about. Deal table in
the middle, plain chairs all round the walls, on one end a large
shining map, marked with all the colours of a rainbow. There was a
vast amount of red &mdash; good to see at any time, because one knows
that some real work is done in there, a deuce of a lot of blue, a
little green, smears of orange, and, on the East Coast, a purple
patch, to show where the jolly pioneers of progress drink the jolly
lager-beer. However, I wasn't going into any of these. I was going
into the yellow. Dead in the centre. And the river was there &mdash;
fascinating &mdash; deadly &mdash; like a snake. Ough! A door opened,
a white-haired secretarial head, but wearing a compassionate
expression, appeared, and a skinny forefinger beckoned me into the
sanctuary. Its light was dim, and 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 judge, and had his grip on the handle-end of ever so
many millions. He shook hands, I fancy, murmured vaguely, Was
satisfied with my French. Bon voyage.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I began to feel slightly uneasy. You know I am not
used to such ceremonies, and there was something ominous in the
atmosphere. It was just as though I had been let into some conspiracy
&mdash; I don't know &mdash; something not quite right; and I was glad
to get out. In the outer room the two women knitted black wool
feverishly. People were arriving, and 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-warmer, and a cat reposed on
her lap. She wore a starched white affair on her head, had a wart on
one cheek, and 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 me, too. An eerie feeling came over me. She seemed uncanny
and fateful. Often far away there I thought of these two, guarding the
door of Darkness, knitting black wool as for a warm pall, one
introducing, introducing 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 &mdash; not half, by a long
way.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;There was yet a visit to the doctor. &lsquo;A simple
formality,&rsquo; 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 &mdash; there must
have been clerks in the business, though the house was as still as a
house in a city of the dead &mdash; 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. &lsquo;I am not such a fool as I look, quoth Plato to his
disciples,&rsquo; he said sententiously, emptied his glass with great
resolution, and we rose.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;The old doctor felt my pulse, evidently thinking of
something else the while. &lsquo;Good, good for there,&rsquo; he
mumbled, and then with a certain eagerness asked me whether I would
let him measure my head. Rather surprised, I said Yes, when he
produced a thing like calipers and got the dimensions back and front
and every way, taking notes carefully. He was an unshaven little man
in a threadbare coat like a gaberdine, with his feet in slippers, and
I thought him a harmless fool. &lsquo;I always ask leave, in the
interests of science, to measure the crania of those going out
there,&rsquo; he said.  &lsquo;And when they come back, too?&rsquo; I
asked. &lsquo;Oh, I never see them,&rsquo; he remarked; &lsquo;and,
moreover, the changes take place inside, you know.&rsquo; He smiled,
as if at some quiet joke. &lsquo;So you are going out there. Famous.
Interesting, too.&rsquo; He gave me a searching glance, and made
another note. &lsquo;Ever any madness in your family?&rsquo; he asked,
in a matter-of-fact tone. I felt very annoyed. &lsquo;Is that question
in the interests of science, too?&rsquo; &lsquo;It would be,&rsquo; he
said, without taking notice of my irritation, &lsquo;interesting for
science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the spot, but
&hellip;&rsquo; &lsquo;Are you an alienist?&rsquo; I
interrupted. &lsquo;Every doctor should be &mdash; a little,&rsquo;
answered that original, imperturbably.  &lsquo;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&hellip;&rsquo; I hastened to assure him I was not
in the least typical. &lsquo;If I were,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I
wouldn't be talking like this with you.&rsquo; &lsquo;What you say is
rather profound, and probably erroneous,&rsquo; he said, with a
laugh. &lsquo;Avoid irritation more than exposure to the
sun. Adieu. How do you English say, eh? Good-bye.  Ah!
Good-bye. Adieu. In the tropics one must before everything keep
calm.&rsquo; &hellip; He lifted a warning forefinger&hellip; &ldquo;Du
calme, du calme, Adieu.&rdquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;One thing more remained to do &mdash; say good-bye
to my excellent aunt. I found her triumphant. I had a cup of tea
&mdash; the last decent cup of tea for many days &mdash; 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
&mdash; a piece of good fortune for the Company &mdash; 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 &mdash; 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 &lsquo;weaning those ignorant
millions from their horrid ways,&rsquo; till, upon my word, she made
me quite uncomfortable. I ventured to hint that the Company was run
for profit.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo; &lsquo;You forget, dear Charlie, that the labourer
is worthy of his hire,&rsquo; she said, brightly. It's queer how out
of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their own, and
there has never been anything like it, and never can be. It is too
beautiful altogether, and 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;After this I got embraced, told to wear flannel, be
sure to write often, and so on &mdash; and I left. In the street
&mdash; I don't know why &mdash; a queer feeling came to me that I was
an impostor. 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 &mdash; 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I left in a French steamer, and she called in every
blamed port they have out there, for, as 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 &mdash; smiling, frowning, inviting,
grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of
whispering, &lsquo;Come and find out.&rsquo; This one was almost
featureless, as if still in the making, with an aspect of monotonous
grimness. The edge of a colossal jungle, so dark-green as to be almost
black, fringed with white surf, ran straight, like a ruled line, far,
far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping
mist. The sun was fierce, the land seemed to glisten and drip with
steam. Here and there greyish-whitish specks showed up clustered
inside the white surf, with a flag flying above them
perhaps. Settlements some centuries old, and still no bigger than
pinheads on the untouched expanse of their background. We pounded
along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerks
to levy toll in what looked like a God-forsaken wilderness, with a tin
shed and a flag-pole lost in it; landed more soldiers to take care of
the custom-house clerks, presumably. Some, I heard, got drowned in the
surf; but whether they did or not, nobody seemed particularly to
care. They were just flung out there, and on we went. Every day the
coast looked the same, as though we had not moved; but we passed
various places &mdash; trading places with names like Gran' Bassam,
Little Popo; names that seemed to belong to some sordid farce acted in
front of a sinister back-cloth.  The idleness of a passenger, my
isolation amongst all these men with whom I had no point of contact,
the oily and languid sea, the uniform sombreness of the coast, seemed
to keep me away from the truth of things, within the toil of a
mournful and senseless delusion.  The voice of the surf heard now and
then was a positive pleasure, like the speech of a brother. It was
something natural, that had its reason, that 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 shouted, sang; their bodies
streamed with perspiration; they had faces like grotesque masks
&mdash; these chaps; but they had bone, muscle, a wild vitality, an
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. Once, I remember, we
came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. There wasn't even a
shed there, and 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 down,
swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and
water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing into a continent. Pop,
would go one of the six-inch guns; a small flame would dart and
vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would
give a feeble screech &mdash; and nothing happened. Nothing could
happen.  There was a touch of insanity in the proceeding, a 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
&mdash; he called them enemies! &mdash; 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</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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. &lsquo;Been living there?&rsquo;
he asked. I said, &lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; &lsquo;Fine lot these government
chaps &mdash; are they not?&rsquo; he went on, speaking English with
great precision and considerable bitterness.  &lsquo;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?&rsquo; I said to him I expected to
see that soon. &lsquo;So-o-o!&rsquo; he exclaimed. He shuffled
athwart, keeping one eye ahead vigilantly. &lsquo;Don't be too
sure,&rsquo; he continued. &lsquo;The other day I took up a man who
hanged himself on the road. He was a Swede, too.&rsquo; &lsquo;Hanged
himself! Why, in God's name?&rsquo; I cried. He kept on looking out
watchfully. &lsquo;Who knows? The sun too much for him, or the country
perhaps.&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;At last we opened a reach. A rocky cliff appeared,
mounds of turned-up earth by the shore, houses on a hill, others with
iron roofs, amongst 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 people, mostly black and
naked, moved about like ants. A jetty projected into the river. A
blinding sunlight drowned all this at times in a sudden recrudescence
of glare. &lsquo;There's your Company's station,&rsquo; said the
Swede, pointing to three wooden barrack-like structures on the rocky
slope. &lsquo;I will send your things up. Four boxes did you say?
So. Farewell.&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;A slight clinking behind me made me turn my
head. Six black men advanced in a file, toiling up the path. They
walked erect and slow, balancing small baskets full of earth on their
heads, and the clink kept time with their footsteps. Black rags were
wound round their loins, and 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 neck, and all were
connected together with a chain whose bights swung between them,
rhythmically 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 criminals, and the
outraged law, like the bursting shells, had come to them, an insoluble
mystery from the sea. All their meagre breasts panted together, the
violently dilated nostrils quivered, the eyes stared stonily
uphill. They passed me within six inches, without a glance, with that
complete, deathlike indifference of unhappy savages. Behind this raw
matter one of the reclaimed, the product of the new forces at work,
strolled despondently, carrying a rifle by its middle.  He had a
uniform jacket with one button off, and seeing a white man on the
path, hoisted 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 reassured, and with a
large, white, rascally grin, and a glance at his charge, seemed to
take me into partnership in his exalted trust. After all, I also was a
part of the great cause of these high and just
proceedings.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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
&mdash; that's only one way of resisting &mdash; 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 &mdash; 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I avoided a vast artificial hole somebody had been
digging on the slope, the purpose of which I found it impossible to
divine. It wasn't a quarry or a sandpit, anyhow. 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 ravine, almost 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 uninterrupted, uniform,
headlong, rushing noise filled the mournful stillness of the grove,
where not a breath stirred, not a leaf moved, with a mysterious sound
&mdash; as though the tearing pace of the launched earth had suddenly
become audible.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees
leaning against the trunks, clinging to the earth, half coming out,
half effased 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;They were dying slowly &mdash; it was very
clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, they were
nothing earthly now &mdash; nothing but black shadows of disease and
starvation, lying confusedly in the greenish gloom. Brought from all
the recesses of the coast in all the legality of time contracts, lost
in uncongenial surroundings, fed on unfamiliar food, they sickened,
became inefficient, and were then allowed to crawl away and
rest. These moribund shapes were free as air &mdash; and nearly as
thin. I began to distinguish the gleam of the eyes under the
trees. Then, glancing down, I 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
vacant, a kind of blind, white flicker in the depths of the orbs,
which died out slowly. The man seemed young &mdash; almost a boy
&mdash; 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 &mdash; there was
no other movement and no other glance. He had tied a bit of white
worsted round his neck &mdash; Why? Where did he get it? Was it a
badge &mdash; an ornament &mdash; charm &mdash; a propitiatory act?
Was there any idea at all connected with it? It looked startling round
his black neck, this bit of white thread from beyond the
seas.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I didn't want any more loitering in the shade, and I
made haste towards the station. When near the buildings I met a white
man, in such an unexpected elegance of getup that in the first moment
I took him for a sort of vision. I saw a high starched collar, white
cuffs, a light alpaca jacket, snowy trousers, a clean necktie, and
varnished boots. No hat. Hair parted, brushed, oiled, under a
green-lined parasol held in a big white hand. He was amazing, and had
a penholder behind his ear.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I shook hands with this miracle, and I learned he
was the Company's chief accountant, and that all the bookkeeping was
done at this station. He had come out for a moment, he said, &lsquo;to
get a breath of fresh air.&rsquo; 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, &lsquo;I've
been teaching one of the native women about the station. It was
difficult.  She had a distaste for the work.&rsquo; Thus this man had
verily accomplished something. And he was devoted to his books, which
were in apple-pie order.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;Everything else in the station was in a muddle
&mdash; heads, things, buildings. Strings of dusty niggers with splay
feet arrived and departed; a stream of manufactured goods, rubbishy
cottons, beads, and brass-wire set into the depths of darkness, and in
return came a precious trickle of ivory.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I had to wait in the station for ten days &mdash; 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 up-country) was put in there, he
exhibited a gentle annoyance.  &lsquo;The groans of this sick
person,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;distract my attention. And without that
it is extremely difficult to guard against clerical errors in this
climate.&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;One day he remarked, without lifting his head,
&lsquo;In the interior you will no doubt meet Mr. Kurtz.&rsquo; On my
asking who Mr. Kurtz was, he said he was a first-class agent; and
seeing my disappointment at this information, he added slowly, laying
down his pen, &lsquo;He is a very remarkable person.&rsquo; Further
questions elicited from him that Mr. Kurtz was at present in charge of
a trading-post, a very important one, in the true ivory-country, at
&lsquo;the very bottom of there.  Sends in as much ivory as all the
others put together &hellip;&rsquo; He began to write again. The sick
man was too ill to groan. The flies buzzed in a great
peace.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 &lsquo;giving it
up&rsquo; tearfully for the twentieth time that day&hellip; He rose
slowly. &lsquo;What a frightful row,&rsquo; he said. He crossed the
room gently to look at the sick man, and returning, said to me,
&lsquo;He does not hear.&rsquo; &lsquo;What!  Dead?&rsquo; I asked,
startled. &lsquo;No, not yet,&rsquo; he answered, with great
composure. Then, alluding with a toss of the head to the tumult in the
station-yard, &lsquo;When one has got to make correct entries, one
comes to hate those savages &mdash; hate them to the death.&rsquo; He
remained thoughtful for a moment. &lsquo;When you see Mr. Kurtz&rsquo;
he went on, &lsquo;tell him from me that everything here&rsquo;
&mdash; he glanced at the deck &mdash; &lsquo;is very satisfactory. I
don't like to write to him &mdash; with those messengers of ours you
never know who may get hold of your letter &mdash; at that Central
Station.&rsquo; He stared at me for a moment with his mild, bulging
eyes. &lsquo;Oho, he will go far, very far,&rsquo; he began
again. &lsquo;He will be a somebody in the Administration before
long. They, above &mdash; the Council in Europe, you know &mdash; mean
him to be.&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 flushed and insensible;
the other, bent over his books, was making correct entries of
perfectly correct transactions; and fifty feet below the doorstep I
could see the still treetops of the grove of death.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;Next day I left that station at last, with a caravan
of sixty men, for a two-hundred-mile tramp.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;No use telling you much about that. Paths, paths,
everywhere; a stamped-in network of paths spreading over the empty
land, through the long grass, through burnt grass, through thickets,
down and up chilly ravines, up and down stony hills ablaze with heat;
and a solitude, a solitude, nobody, not a hut. The population had
cleared out a long time ago. Well, if 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 them, I fancy every farm and cottage
thereabouts would get empty very soon. Only here the dwellings were
gone, too. Still I passed through several abandoned villages. There's
something pathetically childish in the ruins of grass walls. Day after
day, with the stamp and shuffle of sixty pair of bare feet behind me,
each pair under a 60-lb. load. Camp, cook, sleep, strike camp,
march. Now and then a carrier dead in harness, at 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 drums, sinking, swelling, a tremor
vast, faint; a sound weird, appealing, suggestive, and wild &mdash;
and perhaps with as profound a meaning as the sound of bells in a
Christian country.  Once a white man in an unbuttoned uniform, camping
on the path with an armed escort of lank Zanzibaris, very hospitable
and festive &mdash; 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 negro, with a bullet-hole in the forehead,
upon which I absolutely stumbled three miles farther on, may be
considered as a permanent improvement. I had a white companion, too,
not a bad chap, but rather too fleshy and with the exasperating habit
of fainting on the hot hillsides, miles away from the least bit of
shade and water. Annoying, you know, to 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. &lsquo;To make
money, of course. What do you think?&rsquo; he said, scornfully.  Then
he got fever, and 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 jibbed, ran away, sneaked off with their loads in the
night &mdash; quite a mutiny. So, one evening, I 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 &mdash; man, hammock, groans, blankets, horrors. The
heavy pole had skinned his poor nose.  He was very anxious for me to
kill somebody, but there wasn't the shadow of a carrier near. I
remembered the old doctor &mdash; &lsquo;It would be interesting for
science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the
spot.&rsquo; I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting.
However, all that is to no purpose. On the fifteenth day I came in
sight of the big river again, and 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 side, and on the three others enclosed by
a crazy fence of rushes. A neglected gap was all the gate it had, and
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 buildings, strolling up to take a
look at me, and then retired out of sight somewhere. One of them, a
stout, excitable chap with black moustaches, informed me with great
volubility and many digressions, as soon as I told him who I was, that
my steamer was at the bottom of the river. I was thunderstruck. What,
how, why? Oh, it was &lsquo;all right.&rsquo; The &lsquo;manager
himself&rsquo; was there. All quite correct. &lsquo;Everybody had
behaved splendidly! splendidly!&rsquo; &mdash; &lsquo;you must,&rsquo;
he said in agitation, &lsquo;go and see the general manager at
once. He is waiting!&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 &mdash; when I think of it &mdash; to be
altogether natural. Still &hellip; 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 complexion, in feature, in manners, and in
voice. He was of middle size and of ordinary build. His eyes, of the
usual blue, were 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 indefinable, faint expression of his lips,
something stealthy &mdash; a smile &mdash; not a smile &mdash; I
remember it, but I can't explain. It was unconscious, this smile was,
though 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 trader, from his youth up employed in
these parts &mdash; nothing more. He was obeyed, yet he inspired
neither love nor fear, nor even respect. He inspired uneasiness. That
was it! Uneasiness. Not a definite mistrust &mdash; just uneasiness
&mdash; nothing more. You have no idea how effective such a &hellip; a
&hellip; faculty can be. He had no genius for organizing, for
initiative, or for order even. That was evident in such things as the
deplorable state of the station. He had no learning, and no
intelligence. His position had come to him &mdash; why? Perhaps
because he was never ill &hellip; He had served three terms of three
years out there &hellip; 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 &mdash; pompously.  Jack ashore
&mdash; with a difference &mdash; in externals only.  This one could
gather from his casual talk. He originated nothing, he could keep the
routine going &mdash; 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 &mdash; for out there
there were no external checks. Once when various tropical diseases had
laid low almost every &lsquo;agent&rsquo; in the station, he was heard
to say, &lsquo;Men who come out here should have no entrails.&rsquo;
He sealed the utterance with that smile of his, as though it had been
a door opening into a darkness he had in his keeping. You fancied you
had seen things &mdash; but the seal was on. When annoyed at mealtimes
by the constant quarrels of the white men about precedence, he ordered
an immense round table to be made, for which a special house had to be
built. This was the station's mess-room. Where he sat was the first
place &mdash; the rest were nowhere. One felt this to be his
unalterable conviction. He was neither civil nor uncivil. He was
quiet. He allowed his &lsquo;boy&rsquo; &mdash; an over-fed young
negro from the coast &mdash; to treat the white men, under his very
eyes, with provoking insolence.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 &mdash; and so on, and so on. He paid no attention to my
explanation, and, playing with a stick of sealing-wax, repeated
several times that the situation was &lsquo;very grave, very
grave.&rsquo; 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 &hellip; I felt weary and irritable.  Hang Kurtz,
I thought. I interrupted him by saying I had heard of Mr. Kurtz on the
coast. &lsquo;Ah! So they talk of him down there,&rsquo; 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,
&lsquo;very, very uneasy.&rsquo; Certainly he fidgeted on his chair a
good deal, exclaimed, &lsquo;Ah, Mr. Kurtz!&rsquo; broke the stick of
sealing-wax and seemed dumfounded by the accident. Next thing he
wanted to know &lsquo;how long it would take to&rsquo; &hellip; I
interrupted him again. Being hungry, you know, and kept on my feet
too, I was getting savage.  &lsquo;How can I tell?&rsquo; I
said. &lsquo;I haven't even seen the wreck yet &mdash; some months, no
doubt.&rsquo; All this talk seemed to me so futile. &lsquo;Some
months,&rsquo; he said. "Well, let us say three months before we can
make a start.  Yes. That ought to do the affair.&rsquo; 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 &lsquo;affair.&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I went to work the next day, turning, so to speak,
my back on that station. In that way only it seemed to me I could keep
my hold on the redeeming facts of life. Still, one must look about
sometimes; and then I saw this station, these 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 &lsquo;ivory&rsquo; rang in the air, was
whispered, was sighed. You would think they were praying to it. A
taint of imbecile rapacity blew through it all, like a whiff from some
corpse. By Jove! I've never seen anything so unreal in my life. And
outside, the silent wilderness surrounding this cleared speck on the
earth struck me as something great and invincible, like evil or truth,
waiting patiently for the passing away of this fantastic
invasion.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;Oh, these months! Well, never mind. Various things
happened. 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
&lsquo;behaving splendidly, splendidly,&rsquo; dipped about a quart of
water and tore back again. I noticed there was a hole in the bottom of
his pail.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 high, driven everybody back, lighted up
everything &mdash; 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 may, he was
screeching most horribly. I saw him, later, for several days, sitting
in a bit of shade looking very sick and trying to recover himself:
afterwards he arose and went out &mdash; 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 men, talking. I heard the name
of Kurtz pronounced, then the words, &lsquo;take advantage of this
unfortunate accident.&rsquo; One of the men was the manager. I wished
him a good evening. &lsquo;Did you ever see anything like it &mdash;
eh? it is incredible,&rsquo; he said, and walked off.  The other man
remained. He was a first-class agent, young, gentlemanly, a bit
reserved, with a forked little beard and a hooked nose. He was
stand-offish with the other agents, and they on their side said he was
the manager's spy upon them. As to me, I had hardly ever spoken to him
before. We got into talk, and by and by we strolled away from the
hissing ruins.  Then he asked me to his room, which was in the main
building of the station. He struck a match, and 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 spears, assegais, shields, knives was
hung up in trophies.  The business intrusted to this fellow was the
making of bricks &mdash; so I had been informed; but there wasn't a
fragment of a brick anywhere in the station, and he could not make
bricks without something, I don't know what &mdash; straw
maybe. Anyway, it could not be found there and as it was not likely to
be sent from Europe, it did not appear clear to me what he was waiting
for. An act of special creation perhaps. However, they were all
waiting all the sixteen or twenty pilgrims of them &mdash; for
something; and upon my word it did not seem an uncongenial occupation,
from the way they took it, though the only thing that ever came to
them was disease &mdash; as far as I could see. They beguiled the time
by backbiting and intriguing against each other in a foolish kind of
way. There was an air of plotting about that station, but nothing came
of it, of course. It was as unreal as everything else &mdash; as the
philanthropic pretence of the whole concern, as their talk, as their
government, as their show of work. The only real feeling was a desire
to get appointed to a trading-post where ivory was to be had, so that
they could earn percentages. They intrigued and slandered and hated
each other only on that account &mdash; but as to effectually lifting
a little finger &mdash; oh, no. 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I had no idea why he wanted to be sociable, but as
we chatted in there it suddenly ocurred to me the fellow was trying to
get at something &mdash; in fact, pumping me. He alluded constantly to
Europe, to the people I was supposed to know there &mdash; putting
leading questions as to my acquaintances in the sepulchral city, and
so on. His little eyes glittered like mica discs &mdash; with
curiosity &mdash; 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
&mdash; almost black. The movement of the woman was stately, and the
effect of the torchlight on the face was sinister.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;It arrested me, and he stood by civilly, holding an
empty half-pint champagne bottle (medical comforts) with the candle
stuck in it. To my question he said Mr. Kurtz had painted this &mdash;
in this very station more than a year ago &mdash; while waiting for
means to go to his trading-post. &lsquo;Tell me, pray,&rsquo; said I,
&lsquo;who is this Mr.  Kurtz?&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo; &lsquo;The chief of the Inner Station,&rsquo; he
answered in a short tone, looking away. &lsquo;Much obliged,&rsquo; I
said, laughing. &lsquo;And you are the brickmaker of the Central
Station. Every one knows that.&rsquo; He was silent for a
while. &lsquo;He is a prodigy,&rsquo; he said at last. &lsquo;He is an
emissary of pity and science and progress, and devil knows what
else. We want,&rsquo; he began to declaim suddenly, &lsquo;for the
guidance of the cause intrusted to us by Europe, so to speak, higher
intelligence, wide sympathies, a singleness of purpose.&rsquo;
&lsquo;Who says that?&rsquo; I asked. &lsquo;Lots of them,&rsquo; he
replied. &lsquo;Some even write that; and so he comes here, a special
being, as you ought to know.&rsquo; &lsquo;Why ought I to know?&rsquo;
I interrupted, really surprised. He paid no attention. &lsquo;Yes.
Today he is chief of the best station, next year he will be
assistant-manager, two years more and &hellip; but I daresay you know
what he will be in two years' time.  You are of the new gang &mdash;
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.&rsquo;
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. &lsquo;Do you read the Company's confidential
correspondence?&rsquo; I asked. He hadn't a word to say. It was great
fun. &lsquo;When Mr. Kurtz,&rsquo; I continued, severely, &lsquo;is
General Manager, you won't have the opportunity.&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;He blew the candle out suddenly, and we went
outside. The moon had risen. Black figures strolled about listlessly,
pouring water on the glow, whence proceeded a sound of hissing; steam
ascended in the moonlight, the beaten nigger groaned somewhere.
&lsquo;What a row the brute makes!&rsquo; said the indefatigable man
with the moustaches, appearing near us. &lsquo;Serve him
right. Transgression &mdash; punishment &mdash; bang! Pitiless,
pitiless. That's the only way. This will prevent all conflagrations
for the future. I was just telling the manager &hellip;&rsquo; He
noticed my companion, and became crestfallen all at once. &lsquo;Not
in bed yet,&rsquo; he said, with a kind of servile heartiness;
&lsquo;it's so natural. Ha!  Danger &mdash; agitation.&rsquo; He
vanished. I went on to the riverside, and the other followed me. I
heard a scathing murmur at my ear, &lsquo;Heap of muffs &mdash; go
to.&rsquo; The pilgrims could be seen in knots gesticulating,
discussing.  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 moonlight, and through the dim stir,
through the faint sounds of that lamentable courtyard, the silence of
the land went home to one's very heart &mdash; its mystery, its
greatness, the amazing reality of its concealed life. The hurt nigger
moaned feebly somewhere near by, and then fetched a deep sigh that
made me mend my pace away from there. I felt a hand introducing itself
under my arm. &lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; said the fellow, &lsquo;I
don't want to be misunderstood, and especially by you, who will see
Mr. Kurtz long before I can have that pleasure. I wouldn't like him to
get a false idea of my disposition&hellip;&rsquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 &mdash; 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 &mdash; God knows! Yet somehow it didn't bring any image
with it &mdash; 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 &lsquo;walking on all-fours.&rsquo; If
you as much as smiled, he would &mdash; though a man of sixty &mdash;
offer to fight you. I would not have gone so far as to fight for
Kurtz, but I went for him near enough to 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 &mdash; 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 a dream &mdash;
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&hellip;&rdquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>He was silent for a while.</paragraph>

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

<paragraph>He paused again again if reflecting, then
added:</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;Of course in this you fellows see more than I could
then. You see me, whom you know&hellip;&rdquo;</paragraph>

<paragraph>It had become so pitch dark that we listeners could hardly
see one another. For a long time already he, sitting apart, had been
no more to us than a voice.  There was not a word from anybody. The
others might have been asleep, but I was awake. I listened, I listened
on the watch for the sentence, for 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;&hellip; Yes &mdash; 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 &lsquo;the necessity for every man to get
on.&rsquo; &lsquo;And when one comes out here, you conceive, it is not
to gaze at the moon.&rsquo; Mr. Kurtz was a &lsquo;universal
genius,&rsquo; but even a genius would find it easier to work with
&lsquo;adequate tools &mdash; intelligent men.&rsquo; He did not make
bricks &mdash; why, there was a physical impossibility in the way
&mdash; as I was well aware; and if he did secretarial work for the
manager, it was because &lsquo;no sensible man rejects wantonly the
confidence of his superiors.&rsquo; 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 &mdash; to stop the hole.  Rivets I wanted. There
were cases of them down at the coast cases piled up &mdash; burst
&mdash; 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 &mdash; and there wasn't one rivet to be found where it
was wanted. We had plates that would to, but nothing to fasten them
with. And every week the messenger, a lone negro, letterbag 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 &mdash;
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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;He was becoming confidential now, but I fancy my
unresponsive attitude must have exasperated him at last, for 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 &mdash; and rivets were what really
Mr. Kurtz wanted, if he had only known it. Now letters went to the
coast every week&hellip; &lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; he cried, &lsquo;I
write from dictation.&rsquo; I demanded rivets. There was a way
&mdash; for an intelligent man. He changed his manner; became very
cold, and 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 wasted, though. &lsquo;That animal has a
charmed life,&rsquo; he said; &lsquo;but you can say this only of
brutes in this country. No man &mdash; you apprehend me?  &mdash; no
man here bears a charmed life.&rsquo; He stood there for a moment in
the moonlight with his delicate hooked nose set a little askew, and
his mica eyes glittering without a wink, then, with a curt Good-night,
he 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 friend, the
battered, twisted, ruined, tin-pot steamboat. I clambered on
board. She rang under my feet like an empty Huntley &amp; Palmer
biscuit-tin kicked along a gutter; she was nothing so solid in make,
and 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 &mdash; to find
out what I could do. No, I 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
&mdash; no man does &mdash; but I like what is in the work &mdash; the
chance to find yourself. Your own reality &mdash; for yourself, not
for others &mdash; what no other man can ever know. They can only see
the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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 &mdash; on account of their
imperfect manners, I suppose. This was the foreman &mdash; a
boiler-maker by trade &mdash; 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;I slapped him on the back and shouted, &lsquo;We
shall have rivets!&rsquo; He scrambled to his feet exclaiming,
&lsquo;No! Rivets!&rsquo; as though he couldn't believe his ears.
Then in a low voice, &lsquo;You &hellip; eh?&rsquo; I don't know why
we behaved like lunatics. I put my finger to the side of my nose and
nodded mysteriously. &lsquo;Good for you!&rsquo; he cried, snapped his
fingers above his head, lifting one foot. I tried a jig. We capered on
the iron deck. A frightful clatter came out of that hulk, and 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, vanished, then, a second or so
after, the doorway itself vanished, too. We stopped, and the silence
driven away by the stamping of our feet flowed back again from the
recesses of the land.  The great wall of vegetation, an exuberant and
entangled mass of trunks, branches, leaves, boughs, festoons,
motionless in the moonlight, was like a rioting invasion of soundless
life, a rolling wave of plants, piled up, crested, ready 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 afar, as though an ichthyosaurus had been
taking a bath of glitter in the great river. &lsquo;After all,&rsquo;
said the boiler-maker in a reasonable tone, &lsquo;why shouldn't we
get the rivets?&rsquo; Why not, indeed! I did not know of any reason
why we shouldn't. &lsquo;They'll come in three weeks,&rsquo; I said,
confidently.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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, campstools,
tin boxes, white cases, brown bales would be shot down in the
court-yard, 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;This devoted band called itself the Eldorado
Exploring Expedition, and I believe they were sworn to secrecy. Their
talk, however, was the talk of sordid buccaneers: it was reckless
without hardihood, greedy without audacity, and cruel without courage;
there was not an atom of foresight or of serious intention in the
whole batch of them, and 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 desire, with 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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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.</paragraph>

<paragraph>&ldquo;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! &mdash; and let things slide. I had plenty of
time for meditation, and now and then I would give some thought to
Kurtz.  I wasn't very interested in him. No. Still, I was curious to
see whether this man, who had come out equipped with moral ideas of
some sort, would climb to the top after all and how he would set about
his work when there.&rdquo;</paragraph>

</chapter>