and move the steamboat at once if necessary. 'Will
they attack?' whispered an awed voice. 'We will be
all butchered in this fog,' murmured another. The
faces twitched with the strain, the hands trembled
slightly, the eyes forgot to wink. It was very curious
to see the contrast of expressions of the white men
and of the black fellows of our crew, who were as
much strangers to that part of the river as we, though
their homes were only eight hundred miles away.
The whites, of course greatly discomposed, had be-
sides a curious look of being painfully shocked by such
an outrageous row. The others had an alert, naturally
interested expression; but their faces were essentially
quiet, even those of the one or two who grinned as
they hauled at the chain. Several exchanged short,
grunting phrases, which seemed to settle the matter
to their satisfaction. Their headman, a young, broad-
chested black, severely draped in darkblue fringed
cloths, with fierce nostrils and his hair all done up
artfully in oily ringlets, stood near me. 'Aha!' I said,
just for good fellowship's sake. 'Catch 'im,' he
snapped, with a bloodshot widening of his eyes and
a flash of sharp teeth -- 'catch 'im. Give 'im to us."To
you, eh?' I asked; 'what would you do with them?'
'Eat 'im!' he said curtly, and, leaning his elbow on the
rail, looked out into the fog in a dignified and pro-
foundly pensive attitude. I would no doubt have been
properly horrified, had it not occurred to me that he
and his chaps must be very hungry: that they must
have been growing increasingly hungry for at least
this month past. They had been engaged for six
months (I don't think a single one of them had any
clear idea of time, as we at the end of countless ages
have. They still belonged to the beginnings of time --
had no inherited experience to teach them as it were),
and of course, as long as there was a piece of paper
written over in accordance with some farcical law or
other made down the river, it didn't enter anybody's
head to trouble how they would live. Certainly they
had brought with them some rotten hippo-meat, which
couldn't have lasted very long, anyway, even if the
pilgrims hadn't, in the midst of a shocking hullabaloo,
thrown a considerable quantity of it overboard. It
looked like a high-handed proceeding; but it was
really a case of legitimate self-defence. You can't
breathe dead hippo waking, sleeping, and eating, and
at the same time keep your precarious grip on exist-
ence. Besides that, they had given them every week
three pieces of brass wire, each about nine inches long;
and the theory was they were to buy their provisions
with that currency in riverside villages. You can see
how that worked. There were either no villages, or
the people were hostile, or the director, who like the
rest of us fed out of tins, with an occasional old he-goat
thrown in, didn't want to stop the steamer for some
more or less recondite reason. So, unless they swal-
lowed the wire itself, or made loops of it to snare the
fishes with, I don't see what good their extravagant
salary could be to them. I must say it was paid with a
regularity worthy of a large and honourable trading
company. For the rest, the only thing to eat -- though
it didn't look eatable in the least -- I saw in their pos-
session was a few lumps of some stuff like half-cooked
dough, of a dirty lavender colour, they kept wrapped
in leaves, and now and then swallowed a piece of,
but so small that it seemed done more for the looks of
the thing than for any serious purpose of sustenance.
Why in the name of all the gnawing devils of hunger
they didn't go for us -- they were thirty to five -- and
have a good tuck-in for once, amazes me now when I
think of it. They were big powerful men, with not
much capacity to weigh the consequences, with cour-
age, with strength, even yet, though their skins were
no longer glossy and their muscles no longer hard.
And I saw that something restraining, one of those
human secrets that baffle probability, had come into
play there. I looked at them with a swift quickening of
interest -- not because it occurred to me I might be
eaten by them before very long, though I own to you
that just then I perceived -- in a new light, as it were
-- how unwholesome the pilgrims looked, and I
hoped, yes, I positively hoped, that my aspect was not
so -- what shall I say? -- so -- unappetizing: a touch of
fantastic vanity which fitted well with the dream-sen-
sation that pervaded all my days at that time. Perhaps
I had a little fever, too. One can't live with one's finger
everlastingly on one's pulse. I had often 'a little
fever,' or a little touch of other things -- the playful
paw-strokes of the wilderness, the preliminary trifling
before the more serious onslaught which came in due
course. Yes; I looked at them as you would on any
human being, with a curiosity of their impulses,
motives, capacities, weaknesses, when brought to the
test of an inexorable physical necessity. Restraint!
What possible restraint? Was it superstition, disgust,
patience, fear -- or some kind of primitive honour? No
fear can stand up to hunger, no patience can wear it out,
disgust simply does not exist where hunger is; and as
to superstition, beliefs, and what you may call princi-
ples, they are less than chaff in a breeze. Don't you
know the devilry of lingering starvation, its exasperat-
ing torment, its black thoughts, its sombre and brood-
ing ferocity? Well, I do. It takes a man all his inborn
strength to fight hunger properly. It's really easier to
face bereavement, dishonour, and the perdition of
one's soul -- than this kind of prolonged hunger. Sad,
but true. And these chaps, too, had no earthly reason
for any kind of scruple. Restraint! I would just as
soon have expected restraint from a hyena prowling
amongst the corpses of a battlefield. But there was the
fact facing me -- the fact dazzling, to be seen, like the
foam on the depths of the sea, like a ripple on an un-
fathomable enigma, a mystery greater -- when I
thought of it -- than the curious, inexplicable note of
desperate grief in this savage clamour that had swept
by us on the river-bank, behind the blind whiteness of
the fog.
"Two pilgrims were quarrelling in hurried whis-
pers as to which bank. 'Left.' 'No, no; how can you?
Right, right, of course.' 'It is very serious,' said the
manager's voice behind me; 'I would be desolated if
anything should happen to Mr. Kurtz before we came
up.' I looked at him, and had not the slightest doubt
he was sincere. He was just the kind of man who
would wish to preserve appearances. That was his re-
straint.
But when he muttered something about going
on at once, I did not even take the trouble to answer
him. I knew, and he knew, that it was impossible.
Were we to let go our hold of the bottom, we would
be absolutely in the air -- in space. We wouldn't be
able to tell where we were going to -- whether up or
down stream, or across -- till we fetched against one
bank or the other -- and then we wouldn't know at
first which it was. Of course I made no move. I had
no mind for a smash-up. You couldn't imagine a more
deadly place for a shipwreck. Whether drowned at
once or not, we were sure to perish speedily in one
way or another. 'I authorize you to take all the risks,'
he said, after a short silence. 'I refuse to take any,' I
said shortly; which was just the answer he expected,
though its tone might have surprised him. 'Well, I
must defer to your judgment. You are captain,' he
said with marked civility. I turned my shoulder to him
in sign of my appreciation, and looked into the fog.
How long would it last? It was the most hopeless
lookout. The approach to this Kurtz grubbing for
ivory in the wretched bush was beset by as many dan-
gers as though he had been an enchanted princess
sleeping in a fabulous castle. 'Will they attack, do you
think?' asked the manager, in a confidential tone.
"I did not think they would attack, for several
obvious reasons. The thick fog was one. If they left
the bank in their canoes they would get lost in it, as
we would be if we attempted to move. Still, I had
also judged the jungle of both banks quite impene-
trable -- and yet eyes were in it, eyes that had seen us.
The riverside bushes were certainly very thick; but
the undergrowth behind was evidently penetrable.
However, during the short lift I had seen no canoes
anywhere in the reach -- certainly not abreast of the
steamer. But what made the idea of attack inconceiv-
able to me was the nature of the noise -- of the cries
we had heard. They had not the fierce character
boding immediate hostile intention. Unexpected,
wild, and violent as they had been, they had given
me an irresistible impression of sorrow. The glimpse
of the steamboat had for some reason filled those
savages with unrestrained grief. The danger, if any,
I expounded, was from our proximity to a great
human passion let loose. Even extreme grief may ul-
timately vent itself in violence -- but more generally
takes the form of apathy....
"You should have seen the pilgrims stare! They
had no heart to grin, or even to revile me: but I be-
lieve they thought me gone mad -- with fright, maybe.
I delivered a regular lecture. My dear boys, it was no
good bothering. Keep a lookout? Well, you may guess
I watched the fog for the signs of lifting as a cat
watches a mouse; but for anything else our eyes were
of no more use to us than if we had been buried miles
deep in a heap of cotton-wool. It feIt like it, too --
choking, warm, stifling. Besides, all I said, though it
sounded extravagant, was absolutely true to fact.
What we afterwards alluded to as an attack was
really an attempt at repulse. The action was very far
from being aggressive -- it was not even defensive, in
the usual sense: it was undertaken under the stress of
desperation, and in its essence was purely protective.
"It developed itself, I should say, two hours after
the fog lifted, and its commencement was at a spot,
roughly speaking, about a mile and a half below
Kurtz's station. We had just floundered and flopped
round a bend, when I saw an islet, a mere grassy hum-
mock of bright green, in the middle of the stream.
It was the only thing of the kind; but as we opened
the reach more, I perceived it was the head of a long
sand-bank, or rather of a chain of shallow patches
stretching down the middle of the river. They were
discoloured, just awash, and the whole lot was seen
just under the water, exactly as a man's backbone is
seen running down the middle of his back under the
skin. Now, as far as I did see, I could go to the right
or to the left of this. I didn't know either channel, of
course. The banks looked pretty well alike, the depth
appeared the same; but as I had been informed the
station was on the west side, I naturally headed for
the western passage.
"No sooner had we fairly entered it than I became
aware it was much narrower than I had supposed. To
the left of us there was the long uninterrupted shoal,
and to the right a high, steep bank heavily overgrown
with bushes. Above the bush the trees stood in serried
ranks. The twigs overhung the current thickly, and
from distance to distance a large limb of some tree
projected rigidly over the stream. It was then well on
in the afternoon, the face of the forest was gloomy,
and a broad strip of shadow had already fallen on the
water. In this shadow we steamed up -- very slowly, as
you may imagine. I sheered her well inshore -- the
water being deepest near the bank, as the sounding-
pole informed me.
"One of my hungry and forbearing friends was
sounding in the bows just below me. This steamboat
was exactly like a decked scow. On the deck, there
were two little teakwood houses, with doors and win-
dows. The boiler was in the fore-end, and the ma-
chinery right astern. Over the whole there was a light
roof, supported on stanchions. The funnel projected
through that roof, and in front of the funnel a small
cabin built of light planks served for a pilot-house. It
contained a couch, two camp-stools, a loaded Martini-
Henry leaning in one corner, a tiny table, and the
steering-wheel. It had a wide door in front and a
broad shutter at each side. All these were always
thrown open, of course. I spent my days perched up
there on the extreme fore-end of that roof, before the
door. At night I slept, or tried to, on the couch. An
athletic black belonging to some coast tribe and edu-
cated by my poor predecessor, was the helmsman. He
sported a pair of brass earrings, wore a blue cloth
wrapper from the waist to the ankles, and thought all
the world of himself. He was the most unstable kind
of fool I had ever seen. He steered with no end of a
swagger while you were by; but if he lost sight of
you, he became instantly the prey of an abject funk,
and would let that cripple of a steamboat get the upper
hand of him in a minute.
"I was looking down at the sounding-pole, and
feeling much annoyed to see at each try a little more
of it stick out of that river, when I saw my poleman
give up the business suddenly, and stretch himself flat
on the deck, without even taking the trouble to haul his
pole in. He kept hold on it though, and it
trailed in
the water. At the same time the fireman, whom I
could also see below me, sat down abruptly before his
furnace and ducked his head. I was amazed. Then I
had to look at the river mighty quick, because there
was a snag in the fairway. Sticks, little sticks, were
flying about -- thick: they were whizzing before my
nose, dropping below me, striking behind me against
my pilot-house. All this time the river, the shore, the
woods, were very quiet -- perfectly quiet. I could only
hear the heavy splashing thump of the stern-wheel
and the patter of these things. We cleared the snag
clumsily. Arrows, by Jove! We were being shot at!
I stepped in quickly to close the shutter on the land-
side. That fool-helmsman, his hands on the spokes,
was lifting his knees high, stamping his feet, champing
his mouth, like a reined-in horse. Confound him! And
we were staggering within ten feet of the bank. I
had to lean right out to swing the heavy shutter, and I
saw a face amongst the leaves on the level with my
own, looking at me very fierce and steady; and then
suddenly, as though a veil had been removed from
my eyes, I made out, deep in the tangled gloom,
naked breasts, arms, legs, glaring eyes -- the bush was
swarming with human limbs in movement, glistening,
of bronze colour. The twigs shook, swayed, and
rustled, the arrows flew out of them, and then the
shutter came to. 'Steer her straight,' I said to the
helmsman. He held his head rigid, face forward; but
his eyes rolled, he kept on lifting and setting down
his feet gently, his mouth foamed a little. 'Keep
quiet!' I said in a fury. I might just as well have
ordered a tree not to sway in the wind. I darted out.
Below me there was a great scuffle of feet on the iron
deck; confused exclamations; a voice screamed, 'Can
you turn back?' I caught sight of a V-shaped ripple on
the water ahead. What? Another snag! A fusillade
burst out under my feet. The pilgrims had opened
with their Winchesters, and were simply squirting
lead into that bush. A deuce of a lot of smoke came
up and drove slowly forward. I swore at it. Now I
couldn't see the ripple or the snag either. I stood in
the doorway, peering, and the arrows came in swarms.
They might have been poisoned, but they looked as
though they wouldn't kill a cat. The bush began to
howl. Our wood-cutters raised a warlike whoop; the
report of a rifle just at my back deafened me. I glanced
over my shoulder, and the pilot-house was yet full of
noise and smoke when I made a dash at the wheel.
The fool-nigger had dropped everything, to throw
the shutter open and let off that Martini-Henry. He
stood before the wide opening, glaring, and I yelled
at him to come back, while I straightened the sudden
twist out of that steamboat. There was no room to
turn even if I had wanted to, the snag was somewhere
very near ahead in that confounded smoke, there was
no time to lose, so I just crowded her into the bank --
right into the bank, where I knew the water was deep.
"We tore slowly along the overhanging bushes in
a whirl of broken twigs and flying leaves. The fusil-
lade below stopped short, as I had foreseen it would
when the squirts got empty. I threw my head back to
a glinting whizz that traversed the pilot-house, in at
one shutter-hole and out at the other. Looking past that
mad helmsman, who was shaking the empty rifle and
yelling at the shore, I saw vague forms of men run-
ning bent double, leaping, gliding, distinct, incom-
plete, evanescent. Something big appeared in the air
before the shutter, the rifle went overboard, and the
man stepped back swiftly, looked at me over his
shoulder in an extraordinary, profound, familiar man-
ner, and fell upon my feet. The side of his head hit
the wheel twice, and the end of what appeared a long
cane clattered round and knocked over a little camp-
stool. It looked as though after wrenching that thing
from somebody ashore he had lost his balance in the
effort. The thin smoke had blown away, we were clear
of the snag, and looking ahead I could see that in
another hundred yards or so I would be free to sheer
off, away from the bank; but my feet felt so very
warm and wet that I had to look down. The man had
rolled on his back and stared straight up at me; both
his hands clutched that cane. It was the shaft of a
spear that, either thrown or lunged through the open-
ing, had caught him in the side just below the ribs;
the blade had gone in out of sight, after making a
Heart of Darkness Page 7
