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THE HEART OF DARKNESS.*

BY JOSEPH CONRAD.

IV.

"One evening, as I was lying flat on the deck of my steamboat, I heard voices approaching-and there was 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 a 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 frighful?' They both agreed it was frightful, then made several bizarre remarks: 'Make rain and fine weather-one man -the council-by the nose'-bits of absurd sentences that got the better of my drowsiness, so that I had pretty near the whole of my wits about me when the uncle said, "The climate may do away with this difficulty for you. Is he alone there?' 'Yes,' answered the manager; 'he sent his assistant down the river with a note to me in these terms: "Clear this poor devil out of the country, and don't bother sending more of that sort. I had rather be alone than have the kind of men you can dispose of with me." It was more than a year ago. Can you imagine such impu* Copyright by S. S. McClure & Co.

dence?' 'Anything since then?' asked the other, hoarsely. 'Ivory,' jerked the nephew; 'lots of it-prime sort-lotsmost annoying, from him.' 'And with that?' questioned the heavy rumble. 'Invoice,' was the reply, fired out, so to speak. Then silence. They had been talking about Kurtz.

"I was broad awake by this time, but lying perfectly at ease, remained still, having no inducement to change my position. 'How did that ivory come all this way?' growled the elder man, who seemed very vexed. The other explained that it had come with a fleet of canoes in charge of an English halfcaste 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 300 miles had suddenly decided to go back, which he started to do alone in a small dugout with four paddlers, leaving the half-caste to continue down the river with the ivory. The two fellows there seemed astounded at anybody attempting such a thing, They were at a loss for an adequate motive. As to me, I seemed to see Kurtz for the first time. It was a distinct glimpse. The dugout, four paddling savages and the lone white man turning his back suddenly on the headquarters, on relief, on thoughts of home-perhaps; setting his face toward the depths of the wilderness, toward 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 pru

dence and pluck, was invariably alluded to as 'that scoundrel.' The 'scoundrel' had said the 'man' had been ill-had recovered. . . . The two below me moved away then a few paces and strolled back and forth at some little distance. I heard: 'Military post-doctor-200 miles-quite alone now-unavoidable delays-nine months-no news-strange rumors.' They approached again just as the manager was saying, 'Nobody 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 until 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 possible.' The fat man sighed, 'Very sad.' 'And the pestiferous absurdity of his talk,' continued the other; 'he bothered me enough when he was here. Each station should be like a beacon on the road towards better things, a centre for trade, of course, but also for humanizing, improving, instructing. Conceive you that ass! And he wants to be manager! No, its' Here he got choked by excessive indignation, and I lifted my head the least bit. I was surprised to see how near they wereright 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? O, like a charm-like a charm. But the rest-0, my goodness! All sick. They die so quick, too, that I haven't the time to send them out of the countryit's incredible!' 'H'h. Just so,' grunted the uncle. Ah, my boy, trust to thisI say trust to this.' I saw him extend his short flipper of an arm for a semicircular gesture that took in the forest, the creek, the mud, the river, seemed to beckon with a dishonoring flourish before the sunlit face of the land a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart. It was so startling that I leaped to my feet and looked back at the edge of the forest, as though I had expected an answer of some sort to that black display of confidence. You know the foolish notions that come to one sometimes. The high stillness confronted these two figures with its ominous patience, waiting for the passing away of a fantastic invasion.

"They swore aloud together-out of sheer fright, I believe then, pretending not to know anything of my existence, turned back to the station. The sun was low, and, leaning forward side by side, they seemed to be tugging painfully uphill their two ridiculous shadows of unequal length, that trailed behind them slowly over the tall grass without bending a single blade.

"In a few days the Eldorado expedition went into the patient wilderness, that closed upon them as the sea closes over a diver. Long afterward the news came that all the donkeys were dead. I know nothing as to the fate of the less valuable animals. They, no doubt, like the rest of us, found what they deserved. I did not inquire. I was then rather excited at the prospect of meeting Kurtz very soon. When

I say very soon, I mean 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 travelling 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 sandbanks 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 forever 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 to yourself; but it came in the shape of an unrestful and noisy dream, remembered with wonder among the overwhelming realities of this strange world of plants, 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 afterward; 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 tinpot 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 á voice, and I knew there was at least one listener awake beside myself.

You

"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? do your tricks very well. And I don'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 20 cannibals splashing around and pushing. We had enlisted 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 tumbledown 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 woodcutters slept, their fires burned low. The snapping of a twig would make

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you start. We were wanderers on a prehistoric earth-on an earth that wore the aspect of an unknown planet. could fancy ourselves the first of men taking possession of an accursed inheritance to be subdued at the cost of profound anguish and of excessive toil. But suddenly, as we struggled round a bend, there would be a glimpse of rush walls, of peaked grass roofs, a burst of yells, a whirl of black limbs, a mass of hands clapping, of feet stamping, of bodies swaying, of eyes rolling, under the droop of heavy and motionless foliage. The steamer toiled along slowly on the edge of a black and incomprehensible frenzy. The prehistoric man was cursing us, praying to us, welcoming us, who could tell? We were cut off from the comprehension of our surroundings; we glided past like phantoms, wondering and secretly appalled, as sane men would be before an enthusiastic outbreak in a madhouse. We could not understand, because we were too far, and could not remember, because we were travelling in the night of first ages, of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign and no memories.

"The earth seemed unearthly. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there -there you could look at a thing monstrous and free. It was unearthly, and the men were . . . No, they were not inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it, this suspicion of their not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped and spun, and made horrid faces; but what thrilled you was just the thought of their humanity-like yours-the thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate uproar. Ugly. Yes, it was ugly enough, but if you were man enough you would admit to yourself that there was in you just the faintest trace of a response to the terrible frankness of that noise, a dim sus

picion of there being a meaning in it which you-you so remote from the night of first ages-could comprehend. And why not? The mind of man is capable of anything-because everything is in it-all the past as well as all the future. What was there, after all? Joy, fear, sorrow, devotion, valor, rage -who can tell?-but truth-truth stripped of its cloak of time. Let the fool gape and shudder-the man knows and can look on without a wink. But he must, at least, be as much of a man as these on the shore. He must meet the truth with his own true stuff-with his own inborn strength. Principles? principles won't do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty rags-rags that would fly off at the first good shake. No you want a deliberate belief. An appeal to me in this fiendish row-is there? Very well. I have a voice, too, and for good or evil mine is the speech that cannot be silenced. Of course a fool, what with sheer fright and fine sentiments, is always safe. Who's that grunting? You wonder I didn't go ashore for a howl and a dance? Well, no-I didn't. Fine sentiments, you say? Fine sentiments be hanged! I had no time. I had to mess about with white lead and strips of woollen blanket helping to put bandages on those leaky steampipes-I tell you. I had to watch the steering and circumvent those snags, and get the tinpot along by hook or by crook. There was surface-truth enough in these things to save a wiser man. And between whiles, I had to look after the savage who was fireman. He was an improved specimen. He could fire up a vertical boiler. He was there below me, and, upon my word, to look at him was as edifying as seeing a dog in a parody of breeches and a feather hat, walking on its 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 at intrepidity

and he had filed teeth, too, the poor devil, and the wool of his pate shaved into queer patterns, and three ornamental weals on each of his cheeks. He ought to have been clapping his hands and stamping his feet on the bank, instead of which he was hard at work, a thrall to strange witchcraft, full of improving knowledge. He was useful because he had been instructed; and what he knew was this-that, should the water in that transparent thing disappear, the evil spirit inside the boiler would get angry through the greatness of his thirst, and take a terrible vengeance. So he sweated and fired up and watched the glass fearfully (with an impromptu charm, made of rags, tied to his arm, and a piece of polished bone, as big as a watch, stuck flatways through his lower lip), while the wooded banks slipped past us slowly, the short noise was left behind, the interminable miles of silence-and we crept on, toward Kurtz. But the snags were thick, the water was treacherous and shallow, the boiler seemed, indeed, to have a sulky devil in it, and thus neither fireman nor I had any spare time to peer into our creepy thoughts.

"Some 50 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 woodpile. This was unexpected. We came to the bank, and on the stack of firewood found a flat piece of board with some faded pencilwriting 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

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