Heart of Darkness

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