By Joseph Conrad
"... But the Dwarf answered: No; something human is dearer to me
than the wealth of all the world." GRIMM'S TALES.
TO MY WIFE
This could have occurred nowhere but in England, where men and sea
interpenetrate, so to speak—the sea entering into the life of most
men, and the men knowing something or everything about the sea, in the way
of amusement, of travel, or of bread-winning.
We were sitting round a mahogany table that reflected the bottle, the
claret-glasses, and our faces as we leaned on our elbows. There was a
director of companies, an accountant, a lawyer, Marlow, and myself. The
director had been a Conway boy, the accountant had served four
years at sea, the lawyer—a fine crusted Tory, High Churchman, the
best of old fellows, the soul of honour—had been chief officer in
the P. & O. service in the good old days when mail-boats were
square-rigged at least on two masts, and used to come down the China Sea
before a fair monsoon with stun'-sails set alow and aloft. We all began
life in the merchant service. Between the five of us there was the strong
bond of the sea, and also the fellowship of the craft, which no amount of
enthusiasm for yachting, cruising, and so on can give, since one is only
the amusement of life and the other is life itself.
Marlow (at least I think that is how he spelt his name) told the story, or
rather the chronicle, of a voyage:
"Yes, I have seen a little of the Eastern seas; but what I remember best
is my first voyage there. You fellows know there are those voyages that
seem ordered for the illustration of life, that might stand for a symbol
of existence. You fight, work, sweat, nearly kill yourself, sometimes do
kill yourself, trying to accomplish something—and you can't. Not
from any fault of yours. You simply can do nothing, neither great nor
little—not a thing in the world—not even marry an old maid, or
get a wretched 600-ton cargo of coal to its port of destination.
"It was altogether a memorable affair. It was my first voyage to the East,
and my first voyage as second mate; it was also my skipper's first
command. You'll admit it was time. He was sixty if a day; a little man,
with a broad, not very straight back, with bowed shoulders and one leg
more bandy than the other, he had that queer twisted-about appearance you
see so often in men who work in the fields. He had a nut-cracker face—chin
and nose trying to come together over a sunken mouth—and it was
framed in iron-grey fluffy hair, that looked like a chin strap of
cotton-wool sprinkled with coal-dust. And he had blue eyes in that old
face of his, which were amazingly like a boy's, with that candid
expression some quite common men preserve to the end of their days by a
rare internal gift of simplicity of heart and rectitude of soul. What
induced him to accept me was a wonder. I had come out of a crack
Australian clipper, where I had been third officer, and he seemed to have
a prejudice against crack clippers as aristocratic and high-toned. He said
to me, 'You know, in this ship you will have to work.' I said I had to
work in every ship I had ever been in. 'Ah, but this is different, and you
gentlemen out of them big ships;... but there! I dare say you will do.
"I joined to-morrow. It was twenty-two years ago; and I was just twenty.
How time passes! It was one of the happiest days of my life. Fancy! Second
mate for the first time—a really responsible officer! I wouldn't
have thrown up my new billet for a fortune. The mate looked me over
carefully. He was also an old chap, but of another stamp. He had a Roman
nose, a snow-white, long beard, and his name was Mahon, but he insisted
that it should be pronounced Mann. He was well connected; yet there was
something wrong with his luck, and he had never got on.
"As to the captain, he had been for years in coasters, then in the
Mediterranean, and last in the West Indian trade. He had never been round
the Capes. He could just write a kind of sketchy hand, and didn't care for
writing at all. Both were thorough good seamen of course, and between
those two old chaps I felt like a small boy between two grandfathers.
"The ship also was old. Her name was the Judea. Queer name, isn't
it? She belonged to a man Wilmer, Wilcox—some name like that; but he
has been bankrupt and dead these twenty years or more, and his name don't
matter. She had been laid up in Shadwell basin for ever so long. You may
imagine her state. She was all rust, dust, grime—soot aloft, dirt on
deck. To me it was like coming out of a palace into a ruined cottage. She
was about 400 tons, had a primitive windlass, wooden latches to the doors,
not a bit of brass about her, and a big square stern. There was on it,
below her name in big letters, a lot of scroll work, with the gilt off,
and some sort of a coat of arms, with the motto 'Do or Die' underneath. I
remember it took my fancy immensely. There was a touch of romance in it,
something that made me love the old thing—something that appealed to
"We left London in ballast—sand ballast—to load a cargo of
coal in a northern port for Bankok. Bankok! I thrilled. I had been six
years at sea, but had only seen Melbourne and Sydney, very good places,
charming places in their way—but Bankok!
"We worked out of the Thames under canvas, with a North Sea pilot on
board. His name was Jermyn, and he dodged all day long about the galley
drying his handkerchief before the stove. Apparently he never slept. He
was a dismal man, with a perpetual tear sparkling at the end of his nose,
who either had been in trouble, or was in trouble, or expected to be in
trouble—couldn't be happy unless something went wrong. He mistrusted
my youth, my common-sense, and my seamanship, and made a point of showing
it in a hundred little ways. I dare say he was right. It seems to me I
knew very little then, and I know not much more now; but I cherish a hate
for that Jermyn to this day.
"We were a week working up as far as Yarmouth Roads, and then we got into
a gale—the famous October gale of twenty-two years ago. It was wind,
lightning, sleet, snow, and a terrific sea. We were flying light, and you
may imagine how bad it was when I tell you we had smashed bulwarks and a
flooded deck. On the second night she shifted her ballast into the lee
bow, and by that time we had been blown off somewhere on the Dogger Bank.
There was nothing for it but go below with shovels and try to right her,
and there we were in that vast hold, gloomy like a cavern, the tallow dips
stuck and flickering on the beams, the gale howling above, the ship
tossing about like mad on her side; there we all were, Jermyn, the
captain, everyone, hardly able to keep our feet, engaged on that
gravedigger's work, and trying to toss shovelfuls of wet sand up to
windward. At every tumble of the ship you could see vaguely in the dim
light men falling down with a great flourish of shovels. One of the ship's
boys (we had two), impressed by the weirdness of the scene, wept as if his
heart would break. We could hear him blubbering somewhere in the shadows.
"On the third day the gale died out, and by-and-by a north-country tug
picked us up. We took sixteen days in all to get from London to the Tyne!
When we got into dock we had lost our turn for loading, and they hauled us
off to a tier where we remained for a month. Mrs. Beard (the captain's
name was Beard) came from Colchester to see the old man. She lived on
board. The crew of runners had left, and there remained only the officers,
one boy, and the steward, a mulatto who answered to the name of Abraham.
Mrs. Beard was an old woman, with a face all wrinkled and ruddy like a
winter apple, and the figure of a young girl. She caught sight of me once,
sewing on a button, and insisted on having my shirts to repair. This was
something different from the captains' wives I had known on board crack
clippers. When I brought her the shirts, she said: 'And the socks? They
want mending, I am sure, and John's—Captain Beard's—things are
all in order now. I would be glad of something to do.' Bless the old
woman! She overhauled my outfit for me, and meantime I read for the first
time Sartor Resartus and Burnaby's Ride to Khiva. I didn't
understand much of the first then; but I remember I preferred the soldier
to the philosopher at the time; a preference which life has only
confirmed. One was a man, and the other was either more—or less.
However, they are both dead, and Mrs. Beard is dead, and youth, strength,
genius, thoughts, achievements, simple hearts—all dies .... No
"They loaded us at last. We shipped a crew. Eight able seamen and two
boys. We hauled off one evening to the buoys at the dock-gates, ready to
go out, and with a fair prospect of beginning the voyage next day. Mrs.
Beard was to start for home by a late train. When the ship was fast we
went to tea. We sat rather silent through the meal—Mahon, the old
couple, and I. I finished first, and slipped away for a smoke, my cabin
being in a deck-house just against the poop. It was high water, blowing
fresh with a drizzle; the double dock-gates were opened, and the steam
colliers were going in and out in the darkness with their lights burning
bright, a great plashing of propellers, rattling of winches, and a lot of
hailing on the pier-heads. I watched the procession of head-lights gliding
high and of green lights gliding low in the night, when suddenly a red
gleam flashed at me, vanished, came into view again, and remained. The
fore-end of a steamer loomed up close. I shouted down the cabin, 'Come up,
quick!' and then heard a startled voice saying afar in the dark, 'Stop
her, sir.' A bell jingled. Another voice cried warningly, 'We are going
right into that barque, sir.' The answer to this was a gruff 'All right,'
and the next thing was a heavy crash as the steamer struck a glancing blow
with the bluff of her bow about our fore-rigging. There was a moment of
confusion, yelling, and running about. Steam roared. Then somebody was
heard saying, 'All clear, sir.'... 'Are you all right?' asked the gruff
voice. I had jumped forward to see the damage, and hailed back, 'I think
so.' 'Easy astern,' said the gruff voice. A bell jingled. 'What steamer is
that?' screamed Mahon. By that time she was no more to us than a bulky
shadow maneuvering a little way off. They shouted at us some name—a
woman's name, Miranda or Melissa—or some such thing. 'This means
another month in this beastly hole,' said Mahon to me, as we peered with
lamps about the splintered bulwarks and broken braces. 'But where's the
"We had not heard or seen anything of him all that time. We went aft to
look. A doleful voice arose hailing somewhere in the middle of the dock, 'Judea
ahoy!'... How the devil did he get there?... 'Hallo!' we shouted. 'I am
adrift in our boat without oars,' he cried. A belated waterman offered his
services, and Mahon struck a bargain with him for half-a-crown to tow our
skipper alongside; but it was Mrs. Beard that came up the ladder first.
They had been floating about the dock in that mizzly cold rain for nearly
an hour. I was never so surprised in my life.
"It appears that when he heard my shout 'Come up,' he understood at once
what was the matter, caught up his wife, ran on deck, and across, and down
into our boat, which was fast to the ladder. Not bad for a sixty-year-old.
Just imagine that old fellow saving heroically in his arms that old woman—the
woman of his life. He set her down on a thwart, and was ready to climb
back on board when the painter came adrift somehow, and away they went
together. Of course in the confusion we did not hear him shouting. He
looked abashed. She said cheerfully, 'I suppose it does not matter my
losing the train now?' 'No, Jenny—you go below and get warm,' he
growled. Then to us: 'A sailor has no business with a wife—I say.
There I was, out of the ship. Well, no harm done this time. Let's go and
look at what that fool of a steamer smashed.'
"It wasn't much, but it delayed us three weeks. At the end of that time,
the captain being engaged with his agents, I carried Mrs. Beard's bag to
the railway-station and put her all comfy into a third-class carriage. She
lowered the window to say, 'You are a good young man. If you see John—Captain
Beard—without his muffler at night, just remind him from me to keep
his throat well wrapped up.' 'Certainly, Mrs. Beard,' I said. 'You are a
good young man; I noticed how attentive you are to John—to Captain—'
The train pulled out suddenly; I took my cap off to the old woman: I never
saw her again... Pass the bottle.
"We went to sea next day. When we made that start for Bankok we had been
already three months out of London. We had expected to be a fortnight or
so—at the outside.
"It was January, and the weather was beautiful—the beautiful sunny
winter weather that has more charm than in the summer-time, because it is
unexpected, and crisp, and you know it won't, it can't, last long. It's
like a windfall, like a godsend, like an unexpected piece of luck.
"It lasted all down the North Sea, all down Channel; and it lasted till we
were three hundred miles or so to the westward of the Lizards: then the
wind went round to the sou'west and began to pipe up. In two days it blew
a gale. The Judea, hove to, wallowed on the Atlantic like an old
candlebox. It blew day after day: it blew with spite, without interval,
without mercy, without rest. The world was nothing but an immensity of
great foaming waves rushing at us, under a sky low enough to touch with
the hand and dirty like a smoked ceiling. In the stormy space surrounding
us there was as much flying spray as air. Day after day and night after
night there was nothing round the ship but the howl of the wind, the
tumult of the sea, the noise of water pouring over her deck. There was no
rest for her and no rest for us. She tossed, she pitched, she stood on her
head, she sat on her tail, she rolled, she groaned, and we had to hold on
while on deck and cling to our bunks when below, in a constant effort of
body and worry of mind.
"One night Mahon spoke through the small window of my berth. It opened
right into my very bed, and I was lying there sleepless, in my boots,
feeling as though I had not slept for years, and could not if I tried. He
"'You got the sounding-rod in here, Marlow? I can't get the pumps to suck.
By God! it's no child's play.'
"I gave him the sounding-rod and lay down again, trying to think of
various things—but I thought only of the pumps. When I came on deck
they were still at it, and my watch relieved at the pumps. By the light of
the lantern brought on deck to examine the sounding-rod I caught a glimpse
of their weary, serious faces. We pumped all the four hours. We pumped all
night, all day, all the week,—watch and watch. She was working
herself loose, and leaked badly—not enough to drown us at once, but
enough to kill us with the work at the pumps. And while we pumped the ship
was going from us piecemeal: the bulwarks went, the stanchions were torn
out, the ventilators smashed, the cabin-door burst in. There was not a dry
spot in the ship. She was being gutted bit by bit. The long-boat changed,
as if by magic, into matchwood where she stood in her gripes. I had lashed
her myself, and was rather proud of my handiwork, which had withstood so
long the malice of the sea. And we pumped. And there was no break in the
weather. The sea was white like a sheet of foam, like a caldron of boiling
milk; there was not a break in the clouds, no—not the size of a
man's hand—no, not for so much as ten seconds. There was for us no
sky, there were for us no stars, no sun, no universe—nothing but
angry clouds and an infuriated sea. We pumped watch and watch, for dear
life; and it seemed to last for months, for years, for all eternity, as
though we had been dead and gone to a hell for sailors. We forgot the day
of the week, the name of the month, what year it was, and whether we had
ever been ashore. The sails blew away, she lay broadside on under a
weather-cloth, the ocean poured over her, and we did not care. We turned
those handles, and had the eyes of idiots. As soon as we had crawled on
deck I used to take a round turn with a rope about the men, the pumps, and
the mainmast, and we turned, we turned incessantly, with the water to our
waists, to our necks, over our heads. It was all one. We had forgotten how
it felt to be dry.
"And there was somewhere in me the thought: By Jove! this is the deuce of
an adventure—something you read about; and it is my first voyage as
second mate—and I am only twenty—and here I am lasting it out
as well as any of these men, and keeping my chaps up to the mark. I was
pleased. I would not have given up the experience for worlds. I had
moments of exultation. Whenever the old dismantled craft pitched heavily
with her counter high in the air, she seemed to me to throw up, like an
appeal, like a defiance, like a cry to the clouds without mercy, the words
written on her stern: 'Judea, London. Do or Die.'
"O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it! To
me she was not an old rattle-trap carting about the world a lot of coal
for a freight—to me she was the endeavour, the test, the trial of
life. I think of her with pleasure, with affection, with regret—as
you would think of someone dead you have loved. I shall never forget
her.... Pass the bottle.
"One night when tied to the mast, as I explained, we were pumping on,
deafened with the wind, and without spirit enough in us to wish ourselves
dead, a heavy sea crashed aboard and swept clean over us. As soon as I got
my breath I shouted, as in duty bound, 'Keep on, boys!' when suddenly I
felt something hard floating on deck strike the calf of my leg. I made a
grab at it and missed. It was so dark we could not see each other's faces
within a foot—you understand.
"After that thump the ship kept quiet for a while, and the thing, whatever
it was, struck my leg again. This time I caught it—and it was a
saucepan. At first, being stupid with fatigue and thinking of nothing but
the pumps, I did not understand what I had in my hand. Suddenly it dawned
upon me, and I shouted, 'Boys, the house on deck is gone. Leave this, and
let's look for the cook.'
"There was a deck-house forward, which contained the galley, the cook's
berth, and the quarters of the crew. As we had expected for days to see it
swept away, the hands had been ordered to sleep in the cabin—the
only safe place in the ship. The steward, Abraham, however, persisted in
clinging to his berth, stupidly, like a mule—from sheer fright I
believe, like an animal that won't leave a stable falling in an
earthquake. So we went to look for him. It was chancing death, since once
out of our lashings we were as exposed as if on a raft. But we went. The
house was shattered as if a shell had exploded inside. Most of it had gone
overboard—stove, men's quarters, and their property, all was gone;
but two posts, holding a portion of the bulkhead to which Abraham's bunk
was attached, remained as if by a miracle. We groped in the ruins and came
upon this, and there he was, sitting in his bunk, surrounded by foam and
wreckage, jabbering cheerfully to himself. He was out of his mind;
completely and for ever mad, with this sudden shock coming upon the
fag-end of his endurance. We snatched him up, lugged him aft, and pitched
him head-first down the cabin companion. You understand there was no time
to carry him down with infinite precautions and wait to see how he got on.
Those below would pick him up at the bottom of the stairs all right. We
were in a hurry to go back to the pumps. That business could not wait. A
bad leak is an inhuman thing.
"One would think that the sole purpose of that fiendish gale had been to
make a lunatic of that poor devil of a mulatto. It eased before morning,
and next day the sky cleared, and as the sea went down the leak took up.
When it came to bending a fresh set of sails the crew demanded to put back—and
really there was nothing else to do. Boats gone, decks swept clean, cabin
gutted, men without a stitch but what they stood in, stores spoiled, ship
strained. We put her head for home, and—would you believe it? The
wind came east right in our teeth. It blew fresh, it blew continuously. We
had to beat up every inch of the way, but she did not leak so badly, the
water keeping comparatively smooth. Two hours' pumping in every four is no
joke—but it kept her afloat as far as Falmouth.
"The good people there live on casualties of the sea, and no doubt were
glad to see us. A hungry crowd of shipwrights sharpened their chisels at
the sight of that carcass of a ship. And, by Jove! they had pretty
pickings off us before they were done. I fancy the owner was already in a
tight place. There were delays. Then it was decided to take part of the
cargo out and calk her topsides. This was done, the repairs finished,
cargo re-shipped; a new crew came on board, and we went out—for
Bankok. At the end of a week we were back again. The crew said they
weren't going to Bankok—a hundred and fifty days' passage—in a
something hooker that wanted pumping eight hours out of the twenty-four;
and the nautical papers inserted again the little paragraph: 'Judea.
Barque. Tyne to Bankok; coals; put back to Falmouth leaky and with crew
"There were more delays—more tinkering. The owner came down for a
day, and said she was as right as a little fiddle. Poor old Captain Beard
looked like the ghost of a Geordie skipper—through the worry and
humiliation of it. Remember he was sixty, and it was his first command.
Mahon said it was a foolish business, and would end badly. I loved the
ship more than ever, and wanted awfully to get to Bankok. To Bankok! Magic
name, blessed name. Mesopotamia wasn't a patch on it. Remember I was
twenty, and it was my first second mate's billet, and the East was waiting
"We went out and anchored in the outer roads with a fresh crew—the
third. She leaked worse than ever. It was as if those confounded
shipwrights had actually made a hole in her. This time we did not even go
outside. The crew simply refused to man the windlass.
"They towed us back to the inner harbour, and we became a fixture, a
feature, an institution of the place. People pointed us out to visitors as
'That 'ere bark that's going to Bankok—has been here six months—put
back three times.' On holidays the small boys pulling about in boats would
hail, 'Judea, ahoy!' and if a head showed above the rail shouted,
'Where you bound to?—Bankok?' and jeered. We were only three on
board. The poor old skipper mooned in the cabin. Mahon undertook the
cooking, and unexpectedly developed all a Frenchman's genius for preparing
nice little messes. I looked languidly after the rigging. We became
citizens of Falmouth. Every shopkeeper knew us. At the barber's or
tobacconist's they asked familiarly, 'Do you think you will ever get to
Bankok?' Meantime the owner, the underwriters, and the charterers
squabbled amongst themselves in London, and our pay went on.... Pass the
"It was horrid. Morally it was worse than pumping for life. It seemed as
though we had been forgotten by the world, belonged to nobody, would get
nowhere; it seemed that, as if bewitched, we would have to live for ever
and ever in that inner harbour, a derision and a by-word to generations of
long-shore loafers and dishonest boatmen. I obtained three months' pay and
a five days' leave, and made a rush for London. It took me a day to get
there and pretty well another to come back—but three months' pay
went all the same. I don't know what I did with it. I went to a
music-hall, I believe, lunched, dined, and supped in a swell place in
Regent Street, and was back to time, with nothing but a complete set of
Byron's works and a new railway rug to show for three months' work. The
boatman who pulled me off to the ship said: 'Hallo! I thought you had left
the old thing. She will never get to Bankok.' 'That's all you
know about it,' I said scornfully—but I didn't like that prophecy at
"Suddenly a man, some kind of agent to somebody, appeared with full
powers. He had grog-blossoms all over his face, an indomitable energy, and
was a jolly soul. We leaped into life again. A hulk came alongside, took
our cargo, and then we went into dry dock to get our copper stripped. No
wonder she leaked. The poor thing, strained beyond endurance by the gale,
had, as if in disgust, spat out all the oakum of her lower seams. She was
recalked, new coppered, and made as tight as a bottle. We went back to the
hulk and re-shipped our cargo.
"Then on a fine moonlight night, all the rats left the ship.
"We had been infested with them. They had destroyed our sails, consumed
more stores than the crew, affably shared our beds and our dangers, and
now, when the ship was made seaworthy, concluded to clear out. I called
Mahon to enjoy the spectacle. Rat after rat appeared on our rail, took a
last look over his shoulder, and leaped with a hollow thud into the empty
hulk. We tried to count them, but soon lost the tale. Mahon said: 'Well,
well! don't talk to me about the intelligence of rats. They ought to have
left before, when we had that narrow squeak from foundering. There you
have the proof how silly is the superstition about them. They leave a good
ship for an old rotten hulk, where there is nothing to eat, too, the
fools!... I don't believe they know what is safe or what is good for them,
any more than you or I.'
"And after some more talk we agreed that the wisdom of rats had been
grossly overrated, being in fact no greater than that of men.
"The story of the ship was known, by this, all up the Channel from Land's
End to the Forelands, and we could get no crew on the south coast. They
sent us one all complete from Liverpool, and we left once more—for
"We had fair breezes, smooth water right into the tropics, and the old
Judea lumbered along in the sunshine. When she went eight knots everything
cracked aloft, and we tied our caps to our heads; but mostly she strolled
on at the rate of three miles an hour. What could you expect? She was
tired—that old ship. Her youth was where mine is—where yours
is—you fellows who listen to this yarn; and what friend would throw
your years and your weariness in your face? We didn't grumble at her. To
us aft, at least, it seemed as though we had been born in her, reared in
her, had lived in her for ages, had never known any other ship. I would
just as soon have abused the old village church at home for not being a
"And for me there was also my youth to make me patient. There was all the
East before me, and all life, and the thought that I had been tried in
that ship and had come out pretty well. And I thought of men of old who,
centuries ago, went that road in ships that sailed no better, to the land
of palms, and spices, and yellow sands, and of brown nations ruled by
kings more cruel than Nero the Roman and more splendid than Solomon the
Jew. The old bark lumbered on, heavy with her age and the burden of her
cargo, while I lived the life of youth in ignorance and hope. She lumbered
on through an interminable procession of days; and the fresh gilding
flashed back at the setting sun, seemed to cry out over the darkening sea
the words painted on her stern, 'Judea, London. Do or Die.'
"Then we entered the Indian Ocean and steered northerly for Java Head. The
winds were light. Weeks slipped by. She crawled on, do or die, and people
at home began to think of posting us as overdue.
"One Saturday evening, I being off duty, the men asked me to give them an
extra bucket of water or so—for washing clothes. As I did not wish
to screw on the fresh-water pump so late, I went forward whistling, and
with a key in my hand to unlock the forepeak scuttle, intending to serve
the water out of a spare tank we kept there.
"The smell down below was as unexpected as it was frightful. One would
have thought hundreds of paraffin-lamps had been flaring and smoking in
that hole for days. I was glad to get out. The man with me coughed and
said, 'Funny smell, sir.' I answered negligently, 'It's good for the
health, they say,' and walked aft.
"The first thing I did was to put my head down the square of the midship
ventilator. As I lifted the lid a visible breath, something like a thin
fog, a puff of faint haze, rose from the opening. The ascending air was
hot, and had a heavy, sooty, paraffiny smell. I gave one sniff, and put
down the lid gently. It was no use choking myself. The cargo was on fire.
"Next day she began to smoke in earnest. You see it was to be expected,
for though the coal was of a safe kind, that cargo had been so handled, so
broken up with handling, that it looked more like smithy coal than
anything else. Then it had been wetted—more than once. It rained all
the time we were taking it back from the hulk, and now with this long
passage it got heated, and there was another case of spontaneous
"The captain called us into the cabin. He had a chart spread on the table,
and looked unhappy. He said, 'The coast of West Australia is near, but I
mean to proceed to our destination. It is the hurricane month too; but we
will just keep her head for Bankok, and fight the fire. No more putting
back anywhere, if we all get roasted. We will try first to stifle this
'ere damned combustion by want of air.'
"We tried. We battened down everything, and still she smoked. The smoke
kept coming out through imperceptible crevices; it forced itself through
bulkheads and covers; it oozed here and there and everywhere in slender
threads, in an invisible film, in an incomprehensible manner. It made its
way into the cabin, into the forecastle; it poisoned the sheltered places
on the deck, it could be sniffed as high as the main-yard. It was clear
that if the smoke came out the air came in. This was disheartening. This
combustion refused to be stifled.
"We resolved to try water, and took the hatches off. Enormous volumes of
smoke, whitish, yellowish, thick, greasy, misty, choking, ascended as high
as the trucks. All hands cleared out aft. Then the poisonous cloud blew
away, and we went back to work in a smoke that was no thicker now than
that of an ordinary factory chimney.
"We rigged the force pump, got the hose along, and by-and-by it burst.
Well, it was as old as the ship—a prehistoric hose, and past repair.
Then we pumped with the feeble head-pump, drew water with buckets, and in
this way managed in time to pour lots of Indian Ocean into the main hatch.
The bright stream flashed in sunshine, fell into a layer of white crawling
smoke, and vanished on the black surface of coal. Steam ascended mingling
with the smoke. We poured salt water as into a barrel without a bottom. It
was our fate to pump in that ship, to pump out of her, to pump into her;
and after keeping water out of her to save ourselves from being drowned,
we frantically poured water into her to save ourselves from being burnt.
"And she crawled on, do or die, in the serene weather. The sky was a
miracle of purity, a miracle of azure. The sea was polished, was blue, was
pellucid, was sparkling like a precious stone, extending on all sides, all
round to the horizon—as if the whole terrestrial globe had been one
jewel, one colossal sapphire, a single gem fashioned into a planet. And on
the luster of the great calm waters the Judea glided imperceptibly,
enveloped in languid and unclean vapours, in a lazy cloud that drifted to
leeward, light and slow: a pestiferous cloud defiling the splendour of sea
"All this time of course we saw no fire. The cargo smoldered at the bottom
somewhere. Once Mahon, as we were working side by side, said to me with a
queer smile: 'Now, if she only would spring a tidy leak—like that
time when we first left the Channel—it would put a stopper on this
fire. Wouldn't it?' I remarked irrelevantly, 'Do you remember the rats?'
"We fought the fire and sailed the ship too as carefully as though nothing
had been the matter. The steward cooked and attended on us. Of the other
twelve men, eight worked while four rested. Everyone took his turn,
captain included. There was equality, and if not exactly fraternity, then
a deal of good feeling. Sometimes a man, as he dashed a bucketful of water
down the hatchway, would yell out, 'Hurrah for Bankok!' and the rest
laughed. But generally we were taciturn and serious—and thirsty. Oh!
how thirsty! And we had to be careful with the water. Strict allowance.
The ship smoked, the sun blazed.... Pass the bottle.
"We tried everything. We even made an attempt to dig down to the fire. No
good, of course. No man could remain more than a minute below. Mahon, who
went first, fainted there, and the man who went to fetch him out did
likewise. We lugged them out on deck. Then I leaped down to show how
easily it could be done. They had learned wisdom by that time, and
contented themselves by fishing for me with a chain-hook tied to a
broom-handle, I believe. I did not offer to go and fetch up my shovel,
which was left down below.
"Things began to look bad. We put the long-boat into the water. The second
boat was ready to swing out. We had also another, a fourteen-foot thing,
on davits aft, where it was quite safe.
"Then behold, the smoke suddenly decreased. We re-doubled our efforts to
flood the bottom of the ship. In two days there was no smoke at all.
Everybody was on the broad grin. This was on a Friday. On Saturday no
work, but sailing the ship of course was done. The men washed their
clothes and their faces for the first time in a fortnight, and had a
special dinner given them. They spoke of spontaneous combustion with
contempt, and implied they were the boys to put out combustions.
Somehow we all felt as though we each had inherited a large fortune. But a
beastly smell of burning hung about the ship. Captain Beard had hollow
eyes and sunken cheeks. I had never noticed so much before how twisted and
bowed he was. He and Mahon prowled soberly about hatches and ventilators,
sniffing. It struck me suddenly poor Mahon was a very, very old chap. As
to me, I was as pleased and proud as though I had helped to win a great
naval battle. O! Youth!
"The night was fine. In the morning a homeward-bound ship passed us hull
down,—the first we had seen for months; but we were nearing the land
at last, Java Head being about 190 miles off, and nearly due north.
"Next day it was my watch on deck from eight to twelve. At breakfast the
captain observed, 'It's wonderful how that smell hangs about the cabin.'
About ten, the mate being on the poop, I stepped down on the main-deck for
a moment. The carpenter's bench stood abaft the mainmast: I leaned against
it sucking at my pipe, and the carpenter, a young chap, came to talk to
me. He remarked, 'I think we have done very well, haven't we?' and then I
perceived with annoyance the fool was trying to tilt the bench. I said
curtly, 'Don't, Chips,' and immediately became aware of a queer sensation,
of an absurd delusion,—I seemed somehow to be in the air. I heard
all round me like a pent-up breath released—as if a thousand giants
simultaneously had said Phoo!—and felt a dull concussion which made
my ribs ache suddenly. No doubt about it—I was in the air, and my
body was describing a short parabola. But short as it was, I had the time
to think several thoughts in, as far as I can remember, the following
order: 'This can't be the carpenter—What is it?—Some accident—Submarine
volcano?—Coals, gas!—By Jove! we are being blown up—Everybody's
dead—I am falling into the after-hatch—I see fire in it.'
"The coal-dust suspended in the air of the hold had glowed dull-red at the
moment of the explosion. In the twinkling of an eye, in an infinitesimal
fraction of a second since the first tilt of the bench, I was sprawling
full length on the cargo. I picked myself up and scrambled out. It was
quick like a rebound. The deck was a wilderness of smashed timber, lying
crosswise like trees in a wood after a hurricane; an immense curtain of
soiled rags waved gently before me—it was the mainsail blown to
strips. I thought, The masts will be toppling over directly; and to get
out of the way bolted on all-fours towards the poop-ladder. The first
person I saw was Mahon, with eyes like saucers, his mouth open, and the
long white hair standing straight on end round his head like a silver
halo. He was just about to go down when the sight of the main-deck
stirring, heaving up, and changing into splinters before his eyes,
petrified him on the top step. I stared at him in unbelief, and he stared
at me with a queer kind of shocked curiosity. I did not know that I had no
hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, that my young moustache was burnt off,
that my face was black, one cheek laid open, my nose cut, and my chin
bleeding. I had lost my cap, one of my slippers, and my shirt was torn to
rags. Of all this I was not aware. I was amazed to see the ship still
afloat, the poop-deck whole—and, most of all, to see anybody alive.
Also the peace of the sky and the serenity of the sea were distinctly
surprising. I suppose I expected to see them convulsed with horror....
Pass the bottle.
"There was a voice hailing the ship from somewhere—in the air, in
the sky—I couldn't tell. Presently I saw the captain—and he
was mad. He asked me eagerly, 'Where's the cabin-table?' and to hear such
a question was a frightful shock. I had just been blown up, you
understand, and vibrated with that experience,—I wasn't quite sure
whether I was alive. Mahon began to stamp with both feet and yelled at
him, 'Good God! don't you see the deck's blown out of her?' I found my
voice, and stammered out as if conscious of some gross neglect of duty, 'I
don't know where the cabin-table is.' It was like an absurd dream.
"Do you know what he wanted next? Well, he wanted to trim the yards. Very
placidly, and as if lost in thought, he insisted on having the foreyard
squared. 'I don't know if there's anybody alive,' said Mahon, almost
tearfully. 'Surely,' he said gently, 'there will be enough left to square
"The old chap, it seems, was in his own berth, winding up the
chronometers, when the shock sent him spinning. Immediately it occurred to
him—as he said afterwards—that the ship had struck something,
and he ran out into the cabin. There, he saw, the cabin-table had vanished
somewhere. The deck being blown up, it had fallen down into the lazarette
of course. Where we had our breakfast that morning he saw only a great
hole in the floor. This appeared to him so awfully mysterious, and
impressed him so immensely, that what he saw and heard after he got on
deck were mere trifles in comparison. And, mark, he noticed directly the
wheel deserted and his barque off her course—and his only thought
was to get that miserable, stripped, undecked, smouldering shell of a ship
back again with her head pointing at her port of destination. Bankok!
That's what he was after. I tell you this quiet, bowed, bandy-legged,
almost deformed little man was immense in the singleness of his idea and
in his placid ignorance of our agitation. He motioned us forward with a
commanding gesture, and went to take the wheel himself.
"Yes; that was the first thing we did—trim the yards of that wreck!
No one was killed, or even disabled, but everyone was more or less hurt.
You should have seen them! Some were in rags, with black faces, like
coal-heavers, like sweeps, and had bullet heads that seemed closely
cropped, but were in fact singed to the skin. Others, of the watch below,
awakened by being shot out from their collapsing bunks, shivered
incessantly, and kept on groaning even as we went about our work. But they
all worked. That crew of Liverpool hard cases had in them the right stuff.
It's my experience they always have. It is the sea that gives it—the
vastness, the loneliness surrounding their dark stolid souls. Ah! Well! we
stumbled, we crept, we fell, we barked our shins on the wreckage, we
hauled. The masts stood, but we did not know how much they might be
charred down below. It was nearly calm, but a long swell ran from the west
and made her roll. They might go at any moment. We looked at them with
apprehension. One could not foresee which way they would fall.
"Then we retreated aft and looked about us. The deck was a tangle of
planks on edge, of planks on end, of splinters, of ruined woodwork. The
masts rose from that chaos like big trees above a matted undergrowth. The
interstices of that mass of wreckage were full of something whitish,
sluggish, stirring—of something that was like a greasy fog. The
smoke of the invisible fire was coming up again, was trailing, like a
poisonous thick mist in some valley choked with dead wood. Already lazy
wisps were beginning to curl upwards amongst the mass of splinters. Here
and there a piece of timber, stuck upright, resembled a post. Half of a
fife-rail had been shot through the foresail, and the sky made a patch of
glorious blue in the ignobly soiled canvas. A portion of several boards
holding together had fallen across the rail, and one end protruded
overboard, like a gangway leading upon nothing, like a gangway leading
over the deep sea, leading to death—as if inviting us to walk the
plank at once and be done with our ridiculous troubles. And still the air,
the sky—a ghost, something invisible was hailing the ship.
"Someone had the sense to look over, and there was the helmsman, who had
impulsively jumped overboard, anxious to come back. He yelled and swam
lustily like a merman, keeping up with the ship. We threw him a rope, and
presently he stood amongst us streaming with water and very crestfallen.
The captain had surrendered the wheel, and apart, elbow on rail and chin
in hand, gazed at the sea wistfully. We asked ourselves, What next? I
thought, Now, this is something like. This is great. I wonder what will
happen. O youth!
"Suddenly Mahon sighted a steamer far astern. Captain Beard said, 'We may
do something with her yet.' We hoisted two flags, which said in the
international language of the sea, 'On fire. Want immediate assistance.'
The steamer grew bigger rapidly, and by-and-by spoke with two flags on her
foremast, 'I am coming to your assistance.'
"In half an hour she was abreast, to windward, within hail, and rolling
slightly, with her engines stopped. We lost our composure, and yelled all
together with excitement, 'We've been blown up.' A man in a white helmet,
on the bridge, cried, 'Yes! All right! all right!' and he nodded his head,
and smiled, and made soothing motions with his hand as though at a lot of
frightened children. One of the boats dropped in the water, and walked
towards us upon the sea with her long oars. Four Calashes pulled a
swinging stroke. This was my first sight of Malay seamen. I've known them
since, but what struck me then was their unconcern: they came alongside,
and even the bowman standing up and holding to our main-chains with the
boat-hook did not deign to lift his head for a glance. I thought people
who had been blown up deserved more attention.
"A little man, dry like a chip and agile like a monkey, clambered up. It
was the mate of the steamer. He gave one look, and cried, 'O boys—you
had better quit.'
"We were silent. He talked apart with the captain for a time,—seemed
to argue with him. Then they went away together to the steamer.
"When our skipper came back we learned that the steamer was the Sommerville,
Captain Nash, from West Australia to Singapore via Batavia with mails, and
that the agreement was she should tow us to Anjer or Batavia, if possible,
where we could extinguish the fire by scuttling, and then proceed on our
voyage—to Bankok! The old man seemed excited. 'We will do it yet,'
he said to Mahon, fiercely. He shook his fist at the sky. Nobody else said
"At noon the steamer began to tow. She went ahead slim and high, and what
was left of the Judea followed at the end of seventy fathom of tow-rope,—followed
her swiftly like a cloud of smoke with mastheads protruding above. We went
aloft to furl the sails. We coughed on the yards, and were careful about
the bunts. Do you see the lot of us there, putting a neat furl on the
sails of that ship doomed to arrive nowhere? There was not a man who
didn't think that at any moment the masts would topple over. From aloft we
could not see the ship for smoke, and they worked carefully, passing the
gaskets with even turns. 'Harbour furl—aloft there!' cried Mahon
"You understand this? I don't think one of those chaps expected to get
down in the usual way. When we did I heard them saying to each other,
'Well, I thought we would come down overboard, in a lump—sticks and
all—blame me if I didn't.' 'That's what I was thinking to myself,'
would answer wearily another battered and bandaged scarecrow. And, mind,
these were men without the drilled-in habit of obedience. To an onlooker
they would be a lot of profane scallywags without a redeeming point. What
made them do it—what made them obey me when I, thinking consciously
how fine it was, made them drop the bunt of the foresail twice to try and
do it better? What? They had no professional reputation—no examples,
no praise. It wasn't a sense of duty; they all knew well enough how to
shirk, and laze, and dodge—when they had a mind to it—and
mostly they had. Was it the two pounds ten a month that sent them there?
They didn't think their pay half good enough. No; it was something in
them, something inborn and subtle and everlasting. I don't say positively
that the crew of a French or German merchantman wouldn't have done it, but
I doubt whether it would have been done in the same way. There was a
completeness in it, something solid like a principle, and masterful like
an instinct—a disclosure of something secret—of that hidden
something, that gift, of good or evil that makes racial difference, that
shapes the fate of nations.
"It was that night at ten that, for the first time since we had been
fighting it, we saw the fire. The speed of the towing had fanned the
smoldering destruction. A blue gleam appeared forward, shining below the
wreck of the deck. It wavered in patches, it seemed to stir and creep like
the light of a glowworm. I saw it first, and told Mahon. 'Then the game's
up,' he said. 'We had better stop this towing, or she will burst out
suddenly fore and aft before we can clear out.' We set up a yell; rang
bells to attract their attention; they towed on. At last Mahon and I had
to crawl forward and cut the rope with an ax. There was no time to cast
off the lashings. Red tongues could be seen licking the wilderness of
splinters under our feet as we made our way back to the poop.
"Of course they very soon found out in the steamer that the rope was gone.
She gave a loud blast of her whistle, her lights were seen sweeping in a
wide circle, she came up ranging close alongside, and stopped. We were all
in a tight group on the poop looking at her. Every man had saved a little
bundle or a bag. Suddenly a conical flame with a twisted top shot up
forward and threw upon the black sea a circle of light, with the two
vessels side by side and heaving gently in its center. Captain Beard had
been sitting on the gratings still and mute for hours, but now he rose
slowly and advanced in front of us, to the mizzen-shrouds. Captain Nash
hailed: 'Come along! Look sharp. I have mail-bags on board. I will take
you and your boats to Singapore.'
"'Thank you! No!' said our skipper. 'We must see the last of the ship.'
"'I can't stand by any longer,' shouted the other. 'Mails—you know.'
"'Ay! ay! We are all right.'
"'Very well! I'll report you in Singapore.... Good-bye!'
"He waved his hand. Our men dropped their bundles quietly. The steamer
moved ahead, and passing out of the circle of light, vanished at once from
our sight, dazzled by the fire which burned fiercely. And then I knew that
I would see the East first as commander of a small boat. I thought it
fine; and the fidelity to the old ship was fine. We should see the last of
her. Oh the glamour of youth! Oh the fire of it, more dazzling than the
flames of the burning ship, throwing a magic light on the wide earth,
leaping audaciously to the sky, presently to be quenched by time, more
cruel, more pitiless, more bitter than the sea—and like the flames
of the burning ship surrounded by an impenetrable night."
"The old man warned us in his gentle and inflexible way that it was part
of our duty to save for the under-writers as much as we could of the
ship's gear. According we went to work aft, while she blazed forward to
give us plenty of light. We lugged out a lot of rubbish. What didn't we
save? An old barometer fixed with an absurd quantity of screws nearly cost
me my life: a sudden rush of smoke came upon me, and I just got away in
time. There were various stores, bolts of canvas, coils of rope; the poop
looked like a marine bazaar, and the boats were lumbered to the gunwales.
One would have thought the old man wanted to take as much as he could of
his first command with him. He was very very quiet, but off his balance
evidently. Would you believe it? He wanted to take a length of old
stream-cable and a kedge-anchor with him in the long-boat. We said, 'Ay,
ay, sir,' deferentially, and on the quiet let the thing slip overboard.
The heavy medicine-chest went that way, two bags of green coffee, tins of
paint—fancy, paint!—a whole lot of things. Then I was ordered
with two hands into the boats to make a stowage and get them ready against
the time it would be proper for us to leave the ship.
"We put everything straight, stepped the long-boat's mast for our skipper,
who was in charge of her, and I was not sorry to sit down for a moment. My
face felt raw, every limb ached as if broken, I was aware of all my ribs,
and would have sworn to a twist in the back-bone. The boats, fast astern,
lay in a deep shadow, and all around I could see the circle of the sea
lighted by the fire. A gigantic flame arose forward straight and clear. It
flared there, with noises like the whir of wings, with rumbles as of
thunder. There were cracks, detonations, and from the cone of flame the
sparks flew upwards, as man is born to trouble, to leaky ships, and to
ships that burn.
"What bothered me was that the ship, lying broadside to the swell and to
such wind as there was—a mere breath—the boats would not keep
astern where they were safe, but persisted, in a pig-headed way boats
have, in getting under the counter and then swinging alongside. They were
knocking about dangerously and coming near the flame, while the ship
rolled on them, and, of course, there was always the danger of the masts
going over the side at any moment. I and my two boat-keepers kept them off
as best we could with oars and boat-hooks; but to be constantly at it
became exasperating, since there was no reason why we should not leave at
once. We could not see those on board, nor could we imagine what caused
the delay. The boat-keepers were swearing feebly, and I had not only my
share of the work, but also had to keep at it two men who showed a
constant inclination to lay themselves down and let things slide.
"At last I hailed 'On deck there,' and someone looked over. 'We're ready
here,' I said. The head disappeared, and very soon popped up again. 'The
captain says, All right, sir, and to keep the boats well clear of the
"Half an hour passed. Suddenly there was a frightful racket, rattle,
clanking of chain, hiss of water, and millions of sparks flew up into the
shivering column of smoke that stood leaning slightly above the ship. The
cat-heads had burned away, and the two red-hot anchors had gone to the
bottom, tearing out after them two hundred fathom of red-hot chain. The
ship trembled, the mass of flame swayed as if ready to collapse, and the
fore top-gallant-mast fell. It darted down like an arrow of fire, shot
under, and instantly leaping up within an oar's-length of the boats,
floated quietly, very black on the luminous sea. I hailed the deck again.
After some time a man in an unexpectedly cheerful but also muffled tone,
as though he had been trying to speak with his mouth shut, informed me,
'Coming directly, sir,' and vanished. For a long time I heard nothing but
the whir and roar of the fire. There were also whistling sounds. The boats
jumped, tugged at the painters, ran at each other playfully, knocked their
sides together, or, do what we would, swung in a bunch against the ship's
side. I couldn't stand it any longer, and swarming up a rope, clambered
aboard over the stern.
"It was as bright as day. Coming up like this, the sheet of fire facing
me, was a terrifying sight, and the heat seemed hardly bearable at first.
On a settee cushion dragged out of the cabin, Captain Beard, with his legs
drawn up and one arm under his head, slept with the light playing on him.
Do you know what the rest were busy about? They were sitting on deck right
aft, round an open case, eating bread and cheese and drinking bottled
"On the background of flames twisting in fierce tongues above their heads
they seemed at home like salamanders, and looked like a band of desperate
pirates. The fire sparkled in the whites of their eyes, gleamed on patches
of white skin seen through the torn shirts. Each had the marks as of a
battle about him—bandaged heads, tied-up arms, a strip of dirty rag
round a knee—and each man had a bottle between his legs and a chunk
of cheese in his hand. Mahon got up. With his handsome and disreputable
head, his hooked profile, his long white beard, and with an uncorked
bottle in his hand, he resembled one of those reckless sea-robbers of old
making merry amidst violence and disaster. 'The last meal on board,' he
explained solemnly. 'We had nothing to eat all day, and it was no use
leaving all this.' He flourished the bottle and indicated the sleeping
skipper. 'He said he couldn't swallow anything, so I got him to lie down,'
he went on; and as I stared, 'I don't know whether you are aware, young
fellow, the man had no sleep to speak of for days—and there will be
dam' little sleep in the boats.' 'There will be no boats by-and-by if you
fool about much longer,' I said, indignantly. I walked up to the skipper
and shook him by the shoulder. At last he opened his eyes, but did not
move. 'Time to leave her, sir,' I said, quietly.
"He got up painfully, looked at the flames, at the sea sparkling round the
ship, and black, black as ink farther away; he looked at the stars shining
dim through a thin veil of smoke in a sky black, black as Erebus.
"'Youngest first,' he said.
"And the ordinary seaman, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, got
up, clambered over the taffrail, and vanished. Others followed. One, on
the point of going over, stopped short to drain his bottle, and with a
great swing of his arm flung it at the fire. 'Take this!' he cried.
"The skipper lingered disconsolately, and we left him to commune alone for
awhile with his first command. Then I went up again and brought him away
at last. It was time. The ironwork on the poop was hot to the touch.
"Then the painter of the long-boat was cut, and the three boats, tied
together, drifted clear of the ship. It was just sixteen hours after the
explosion when we abandoned her. Mahon had charge of the second boat, and
I had the smallest—the 14-foot thing. The long-boat would have taken
the lot of us; but the skipper said we must save as much property as we
could—for the under-writers—and so I got my first command. I
had two men with me, a bag of biscuits, a few tins of meat, and a breaker
of water. I was ordered to keep close to the long-boat, that in case of
bad weather we might be taken into her.
"And do you know what I thought? I thought I would part company as soon as
I could. I wanted to have my first command all to myself. I wasn't going
to sail in a squadron if there were a chance for independent cruising. I
would make land by myself. I would beat the other boats. Youth! All youth!
The silly, charming, beautiful youth.
"But we did not make a start at once. We must see the last of the ship.
And so the boats drifted about that night, heaving and setting on the
swell. The men dozed, waked, sighed, groaned. I looked at the burning
"Between the darkness of earth and heaven she was burning fiercely upon a
disc of purple sea shot by the blood-red play of gleams; upon a disc of
water glittering and sinister. A high, clear flame, an immense and lonely
flame, ascended from the ocean, and from its summit the black smoke poured
continuously at the sky. She burned furiously, mournful and imposing like
a funeral pile kindled in the night, surrounded by the sea, watched over
by the stars. A magnificent death had come like a grace, like a gift, like
a reward to that old ship at the end of her laborious days. The surrender
of her weary ghost to the keeping of stars and sea was stirring like the
sight of a glorious triumph. The masts fell just before daybreak, and for
a moment there was a burst and turmoil of sparks that seemed to fill with
flying fire the night patient and watchful, the vast night lying silent
upon the sea. At daylight she was only a charred shell, floating still
under a cloud of smoke and bearing a glowing mass of coal within.
"Then the oars were got out, and the boats forming in a line moved round
her remains as if in procession—the long-boat leading. As we pulled
across her stern a slim dart of fire shot out viciously at us, and
suddenly she went down, head first, in a great hiss of steam. The
unconsumed stern was the last to sink; but the paint had gone, had
cracked, had peeled off, and there were no letters, there was no word, no
stubborn device that was like her soul, to flash at the rising sun her
creed and her name.
"We made our way north. A breeze sprang up, and about noon all the boats
came together for the last time. I had no mast or sail in mine, but I made
a mast out of a spare oar and hoisted a boat-awning for a sail, with a
boat-hook for a yard. She was certainly over-masted, but I had the
satisfaction of knowing that with the wind aft I could beat the other two.
I had to wait for them. Then we all had a look at the captain's chart,
and, after a sociable meal of hard bread and water, got our last
instructions. These were simple: steer north, and keep together as much as
possible. 'Be careful with that jury rig, Marlow,' said the captain; and
Mahon, as I sailed proudly past his boat, wrinkled his curved nose and
hailed, 'You will sail that ship of yours under water, if you don't look
out, young fellow.' He was a malicious old man—and may the deep sea
where he sleeps now rock him gently, rock him tenderly to the end of time!
"Before sunset a thick rain-squall passed over the two boats, which were
far astern, and that was the last I saw of them for a time. Next day I sat
steering my cockle-shell—my first command—with nothing but
water and sky around me. I did sight in the afternoon the upper sails of a
ship far away, but said nothing, and my men did not notice her. You see I
was afraid she might be homeward bound, and I had no mind to turn back
from the portals of the East. I was steering for Java—another
blessed name—like Bankok, you know. I steered many days.
"I need not tell you what it is to be knocking about in an open boat. I
remember nights and days of calm when we pulled, we pulled, and the boat
seemed to stand still, as if bewitched within the circle of the sea
horizon. I remember the heat, the deluge of rain-squalls that kept us
baling for dear life (but filled our water-cask), and I remember sixteen
hours on end with a mouth dry as a cinder and a steering-oar over the
stern to keep my first command head on to a breaking sea. I did not know
how good a man I was till then. I remember the drawn faces, the dejected
figures of my two men, and I remember my youth and the feeling that will
never come back any more—the feeling that I could last for ever,
outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures
us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort—to death; the
triumphant conviction of strength, the heat of life in the handful of
dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold,
grows small, and expires—and expires, too soon—before life
"And this is how I see the East. I have seen its secret places and have
looked into its very soul; but now I see it always from a small boat, a
high outline of mountains, blue and afar in the morning; like faint mist
at noon; a jagged wall of purple at sunset. I have the feel of the oar in
my hand, the vision of a scorching blue sea in my eyes. And I see a bay, a
wide bay, smooth as glass and polished like ice, shimmering in the dark. A
red light burns far off upon the gloom of the land, and the night is soft
and warm. We drag at the oars with aching arms, and suddenly a puff of
wind, a puff faint and tepid and laden with strange odors of blossoms, of
aromatic wood, comes out of the still night—the first sigh of the
East on my face. That I can never forget. It was impalpable and enslaving,
like a charm, like a whispered promise of mysterious delight.
"We had been pulling this finishing spell for eleven hours. Two pulled,
and he whose turn it was to rest sat at the tiller. We had made out the
red light in that bay and steered for it, guessing it must mark some small
coasting port. We passed two vessels, outlandish and high-sterned,
sleeping at anchor, and, approaching the light, now very dim, ran the
boat's nose against the end of a jutting wharf. We were blind with
fatigue. My men dropped the oars and fell off the thwarts as if dead. I
made fast to a pile. A current rippled softly. The scented obscurity of
the shore was grouped into vast masses, a density of colossal clumps of
vegetation, probably—mute and fantastic shapes. And at their foot
the semicircle of a beach gleamed faintly, like an illusion. There was not
a light, not a stir, not a sound. The mysterious East faced me, perfumed
like a flower, silent like death, dark like a grave.
"And I sat weary beyond expression, exulting like a conqueror, sleepless
and entranced as if before a profound, a fateful enigma.
"A splashing of oars, a measured dip reverberating on the level of water,
intensified by the silence of the shore into loud claps, made me jump up.
A boat, a European boat, was coming in. I invoked the name of the dead; I
hailed: Judea ahoy! A thin shout answered.
"It was the captain. I had beaten the flagship by three hours, and I was
glad to hear the old man's voice, tremulous and tired. 'Is it you,
Marlow?' 'Mind the end of that jetty, sir,' I cried.
"He approached cautiously, and brought up with the deep-sea lead-line
which we had saved—for the under-writers. I eased my painter and
fell alongside. He sat, a broken figure at the stern, wet with dew, his
hands clasped in his lap. His men were asleep already. 'I had a terrible
time of it,' he murmured. 'Mahon is behind—not very far.' We
conversed in whispers, in low whispers, as if afraid to wake up the land.
Guns, thunder, earthquakes would not have awakened the men just then.
"Looking around as we talked, I saw away at sea a bright light travelling
in the night. 'There's a steamer passing the bay,' I said. She was not
passing, she was entering, and she even came close and anchored. 'I wish,'
said the old man, 'you would find out whether she is English. Perhaps they
could give us a passage somewhere.' He seemed nervously anxious. So by
dint of punching and kicking I started one of my men into a state of
somnambulism, and giving him an oar, took another and pulled towards the
lights of the steamer.
"There was a murmur of voices in her, metallic hollow clangs of the
engine-room, footsteps on the deck. Her ports shone, round like dilated
eyes. Shapes moved about, and there was a shadowy man high up on the
bridge. He heard my oars.
"And then, before I could open my lips, the East spoke to me, but it was
in a Western voice. A torrent of words was poured into the enigmatical,
the fateful silence; outlandish, angry words, mixed with words and even
whole sentences of good English, less strange but even more surprising.
The voice swore and cursed violently; it riddled the solemn peace of the
bay by a volley of abuse. It began by calling me Pig, and from that went
crescendo into unmentionable adjectives—in English. The man up there
raged aloud in two languages, and with a sincerity in his fury that almost
convinced me I had, in some way, sinned against the harmony of the
universe. I could hardly see him, but began to think he would work himself
into a fit.
"Suddenly he ceased, and I could hear him snorting and blowing like a
porpoise. I said—
"'What steamer is this, pray?'
"'Eh? What's this? And who are you?'
"'Castaway crew of an English barque burnt at sea. We came here to-night.
I am the second mate. The captain is in the long-boat, and wishes to know
if you would give us a passage somewhere.'
"'Oh, my goodness! I say... This is the Celestial from Singapore on her
return trip. I'll arrange with your captain in the morning... and,... I
say... did you hear me just now?'
"'I should think the whole bay heard you.'
"'I thought you were a shore-boat. Now, look here—this infernal lazy
scoundrel of a caretaker has gone to sleep again—curse him. The
light is out, and I nearly ran foul of the end of this damned jetty. This
is the third time he plays me this trick. Now, I ask you, can anybody
stand this kind of thing? It's enough to drive a man out of his mind. I'll
report him.... I'll get the Assistant Resident to give him the sack, by...
See—there's no light. It's out, isn't it? I take you to witness the
light's out. There should be a light, you know. A red light on the—'
"'There was a light,' I said, mildly.
"'But it's out, man! What's the use of talking like this? You can see for
yourself it's out—don't you? If you had to take a valuable steamer
along this God-forsaken coast you would want a light too. I'll kick him
from end to end of his miserable wharf. You'll see if I don't. I will—'
"'So I may tell my captain you'll take us?' I broke in.
"'Yes, I'll take you. Good night,' he said, brusquely.
"I pulled back, made fast again to the jetty, and then went to sleep at
last. I had faced the silence of the East. I had heard some of its
languages. But when I opened my eyes again the silence was as complete as
though it had never been broken. I was lying in a flood of light, and the
sky had never looked so far, so high, before. I opened my eyes and lay
"And then I saw the men of the East—they were looking at me. The
whole length of the jetty was full of people. I saw brown, bronze, yellow
faces, the black eyes, the glitter, the colour of an Eastern crowd. And
all these beings stared without a murmur, without a sigh, without a
movement. They stared down at the boats, at the sleeping men who at night
had come to them from the sea. Nothing moved. The fronds of palms stood
still against the sky. Not a branch stirred along the shore, and the brown
roofs of hidden houses peeped through the green foliage, through the big
leaves that hung shining and still like leaves forged of heavy metal. This
was the East of the ancient navigators, so old, so mysterious, resplendent
and somber, living and unchanged, full of danger and promise. And these
were the men. I sat up suddenly. A wave of movement passed through the
crowd from end to end, passed along the heads, swayed the bodies, ran
along the jetty like a ripple on the water, like a breath of wind on a
field—and all was still again. I see it now—the wide sweep of
the bay, the glittering sands, the wealth of green infinite and varied,
the sea blue like the sea of a dream, the crowd of attentive faces, the
blaze of vivid colour—the water reflecting it all, the curve of the
shore, the jetty, the high-sterned outlandish craft floating still, and
the three boats with tired men from the West sleeping unconscious of the
land and the people and of the violence of sunshine. They slept thrown
across the thwarts, curled on bottom-boards, in the careless attitudes of
death. The head of the old skipper, leaning back in the stern of the
long-boat, had fallen on his breast, and he looked as though he would
never wake. Farther out old Mahon's face was upturned to the sky, with the
long white beard spread out on his breast, as though he had been shot
where he sat at the tiller; and a man, all in a heap in the bows of the
boat, slept with both arms embracing the stem-head and with his cheek laid
on the gunwale. The East looked at them without a sound.
"I have known its fascination since: I have seen the mysterious shores,
the still water, the lands of brown nations, where a stealthy Nemesis lies
in wait, pursues, overtakes so many of the conquering race, who are proud
of their wisdom, of their knowledge, of their strength. But for me all the
East is contained in that vision of my youth. It is all in that moment
when I opened my young eyes on it. I came upon it from a tussle with the
sea—and I was young—and I saw it looking at me. And this is
all that is left of it! Only a moment; a moment of strength, of romance,
of glamour—of youth!... A flick of sunshine upon a strange shore,
the time to remember, the time for a sigh, and—good-bye!—Night—Good-bye...!"
"Ah! The good old time—the good old time. Youth and the sea. Glamour
and the sea! The good, strong sea, the salt, bitter sea, that could
whisper to you and roar at you and knock your breath out of you."
He drank again.
"By all that's wonderful, it is the sea, I believe, the sea itself—or
is it youth alone? Who can tell? But you here—you all had something
out of life: money, love—whatever one gets on shore—and, tell
me, wasn't that the best time, that time when we were young at sea; young
and had nothing, on the sea that gives nothing, except hard knocks—and
sometimes a chance to feel your strength—that only—what you
And we all nodded at him: the man of finance, the man of accounts, the man
of law, we all nodded at him over the polished table that like a still
sheet of brown water reflected our faces, lined, wrinkled; our faces
marked by toil, by deceptions, by success, by love; our weary eyes looking
still, looking always, looking anxiously for something out of life, that
while it is expected is already gone—has passed unseen, in a sigh,
in a flash—together with the youth, with the strength, with the
romance of illusions.