Heart of Darkness

by Joseph Conrad

behind me! There was nothing but that wretched,

  old, mangled steamboat I was leaning against, while

  he talked fluently about 'the necessity for every man

  to get on.' 'And when one comes out here, you con-

  ceive, it is not to gaze at the moon.' Mr. Kurtz was a

  'universal genius,' but even a genius would find it

  easier to work with 'adequate tools -- intelligent men.'

  He did not make bricks -- why, there was a physical

  impossibility in the way -- as I was well aware; and if

  he did secretarial work for the manager, it was be-

  cause 'no sensible man rejects wantonly the confidence

  of his superiors.' Did I see it? I saw it. What more did

  I want? What I really wanted was rivets, by heaven!

  Rivets. To get on with the work -- to stop the hole.

  Rivets I wanted. There were cases of them down at

  the coast cases piled up -- burst -- split! You kicked

  a loose rivet at every second step in that station-yard

  on the hillside. Rivets had rolled into the grove of

  death. You could fill your pockets with rivets for the

  trouble of stooping down -- and there wasn't one rivet

  to be found where it was wanted. We had plates that

  would to, but nothing to fasten them with. And every

  week the messenger, a lone negro, letterbag on shoul-

  der and staff in hand, left our station for the coast.

  And several times a week a coast caravan came in with

  trade goods -- ghastly glazed calico that made you

  shudder only to look at it, glass beads value about a

  penny a quart, confounded spotted cotton handker-

  chiefs. And no rivets. Three carriers could have

  brought all that was wanted to set that steamboat

  afloat.

  "He was becoming confidential now, but I fancy my

  unresponsive attitude must have exasperated him at

  last, for he judged it necessary to inform me he feared

  neither God nor devil, let alone any mere man. I said

  I could see that very well, but what I wanted was a

  certain quantity of rivets -- and rivets were what really

  Mr. Kurtz wanted, if he had only known it. Now

  letters went to the coast every week.... 'My dear

  sir,' he cried, 'I write from dictation.' I demanded

  rivets. There was a way -- for an intelligent man. He

  changed his manner; became very cold, and suddenly

  began to talk about a hippopotamus; wondered

  whether sleeping on board the steamer (I stuck to

  my salvage night and day) I wasn't disturbed. There

  was an old hippo that had the bad habit of getting out

  on the bank and roaming at night over the station

  grounds. The pilgrims used to turn out in a body and

  empty every rifle they could lay hands on at him.

  Some even had sat up o' nights for him. All this

  energy was wasted, though. 'That animal has a

  charmed life,' he said; 'but you can say this only of

  brutes in this country. No man -- you apprehend me?

  -- no man here bears a charmed life.' He stood there

  for a moment in the moonlight with his delicate

  hooked nose set a little askew, and his mica eyes

  glittering without a wink, then, with a curt Good-

  night, he strode off. I could see he was disturbed and

  considerably puzzled, which made me feel more hope-

  ful than I had been for days. It was a great comfort

  to turn from that chap to my influential friend, the

  battered, twisted, ruined, tin-pot steamboat. I clam-

  bered on board. She rang under my feet like an empty

  Huntley & Palmer biscuit-tin kicked along a gutter;

  she was nothing so solid in make, and rather less pretty

  in shape, but I had expended enough hard work on

  her to make me love her. No influential friend would

  have served me better. She had given me a chance to

  come out a bit -- to find out what I could do. No, I

  don't like work. I had rather laze about and think of

  all the fine things that can be done. I don't like work

  -- no man does -- but I like what is in the work -- the

  chance to find yourself. Your own reality -- for your-

  self, not for others -- what no other man can ever

  know. They can only see the mere show, and never

  can tell what it really means.

  "I was not surprised to see somebody sitting aft, on

  the deck, with his legs dangling over the mud. You

  see I rather chummed with the few mechanics there

  were in that station, whom the other pilgrims natur-

  ally despised -- on account of their imperfect manners,

  I suppose. This was the foreman -- a boiler-maker by

  trade -- a good worker. He was a lank, bony, yellow-

  faced man, with big intense eyes. His aspect was

  worried, and his head was as bald as the palm of my

  hand; but his hair in falling seemed to have stuck to

  his chin, and had prospered in the new locality, for

  his beard hung down to his waist. He was a widower

  with six young children (he had left them in charge

  of a sister of his to come out there), and the passion of

  his life was pigeon-flying. He was an enthusiast and

  a connoisseur. He would rave about pigeons. After

  work hours he used sometimes to come over from his

  hut for a talk about his children and his pigeons; at

  work, when he had to crawl in the mud under the

  bottom of the steamboat, he would tie up that beard

  of his in a kind of white serviette he brought for the

  purpose. It had loops to go over his ears. In the eve-

  ning he could be seen squatted on the bank rinsing that

  wrapper in the creek with great care, then spreading

  it solemnly on a bush to dry.

  "I slapped him on the back and shouted, 'We shall

  have rivets!' He scrambled to his feet exclaiming,

  'No! Rivets!' as though he couldn't believe his ears.

  Then in a low voice, 'You . . . eh?' I don't know

  why we behaved like lunatics. I put my finger to the

  side of my nose and nodded mysteriously. 'Good for

  you!' he cried, snapped his fingers above his head,

  lifting one foot. I tried a jig. We capered on the iron

  deck. A frightful clatter came out of that hulk, and

  the virgin forest on the other bank of the creek sent

  it back in a thundering roll upon the sleeping station.

  It must have made some of the pilgrims sit up in their

  hovels. A dark figure obscured the lighted doorway

  of the manager's hut, vanished, then, a second or

  so after, the doorway itself vanished, too. We stopped,

  and the silence driven away by the stamping of our

  feet flowed back again from the recesses of the land.

  The great wall of vegetation, an exuberant and en-

  tangled mass of trunks, branches, leaves, boughs, fes-

  toons, motionless in the moonlight, was like a rioting

  invasion of soundless life, a rolling wave of plants,

  piled up, crested, ready to topple over the creek, to

  sweep every little man of us out of his little existence.

  And it moved not. A deadened burst of mighty

  splashes and snorts reached us from afar, as though

  an ichthyosaurus had been taking a bath of glitter in
r />   the great river. 'After all,' said the boiler-maker in a

  reasonable tone, 'why shouldn't we get the rivets?'

  Why not, indeed! I did not know of any reason why

  we shouldn't. 'They'll come in three weeks,' I said,

  confidently.

  "But they didn't. Instead of rivets there came an

  invasion, an infliction, a visitation. It came in sections

  during the next three weeks, each section headed by

  a donkey carrying a white man in new clothes and

  tan shoes, bowing from that elevation right and left

  to the impressed pilgrims. A quarrelsome band of

  footsore sulky niggers trod on the heels of the don-

  key; a lot of tents, campstools, tin boxes, white cases,

  brown bales would be shot down in the court-yard,

  and the air of mystery would deepen a little over the

  muddle of the station. Five such instalments came,

  with their absurd air of disorderly flight with the

  loot of innumerable outfit shops and provision stores,

  that, one would think, they were lugging, after a

  raid, into the wilderness for equitable division. It was

  an inextricable mess of things decent in themselves

  but that human folly made look like the spoils of

  thieving.

  "This devoted band called itself the Eldorado

  Exploring Expedition, and I believe they were sworn

  to secrecy. Their talk, however, was the talk of sordid

  buccaneers: it was reckless without hardihood, greedy

  without audacity, and cruel without courage; there

  was not an atom of foresight or of serious intention in

  the whole batch of them, and they did not seem aware

  these things are wanted for the work of the world.

  To tear treasure out of the bowels of the land was

  their desire, with no more moral purpose at the back

  of it than there is in burglars breaking into a safe.

  Who paid the expenses of the noble enterprise I don't

  know; but the uncle of our manager was leader of

  that lot.

  "In exterior he resembled a butcher in a poor neigh-

  bourhood, and his eyes had a look of sleepy cunning.

  He carried his fat paunch with ostentation on his

  short legs, and during the time his gang infested the

  station spoke to no one but his nephew. You could

  see these two roaming about all day long with their

  heads close together in an everlasting confab.

  "I had given up worrying myself about the rivets.

  One's capacity for that kind of folly is more limited

  than you would suppose. I said Hang! -- and let

  things slide. I had plenty of time for meditation, and

  now and then I would give some thought to Kurtz.

  I wasn't very interested in him. No. Still, I was curious

  to see whether this man, who had come out equipped

  with moral ideas of some sort, would climb to the top

  after all and how he would set about his work when

  there."

  II

  "One evening as I was lying flat on the deck of my

  steamboat, I heard voices approaching -- and there

  were the nephew and the uncle strolling along the

  bank. I laid my head on my arm again, and had nearly

  lost myself in a doze, when somebody said in my ear,

  as it were: 'I am as harmless as a little child, but I

  don't like to be dictated to. Am I the manager -- or am

  I not? I was ordered to send him there. It's incred-

  ible.'. . . I became aware that the two were standing

  on the shore alongside the forepart of the steamboat,

  just below my head. I did not move; it did not occur

  to me to move: I was sleepy. 'It is unpleasant,'

  grunted the uncle. 'He has asked the Administration

  to be sent there,' said the other, 'with the idea of show-

  ing what he could do; and I was instructed accord-

  ingly. Look at the influence that man must have. Is

  it not frightful?' They both agreed it was frightful,

  then made several bizarre remarks: 'Make rain and

  fine weather -- one man -- the Council -- by the nose' --

  bits of absurd sentences that got the better of my

  drowsiness, so that I had pretty near the whole of my

  wits about me when the uncle said, 'The climate may

  do away with this difficulty for you. Is he alone there?'

  'Yes,' answered the manager; 'he sent his assistant

  down the river with a note to me in these terms:

  "Clear this poor devil out of the country, and don't

  bother sending more of that sort. I had rather be

  alone than have the kind of men you can dispose of

  with me." It was more than a year ago. Can you im-

  agine such impudence!' 'Anything since then?' asked

  the other hoarsely. 'Ivory,' jerked the nephew; 'lots

  of it -- prime sort -- lots -- most annoying, from him.'

  'And with that?' questioned the heavy rumble. 'In-

  voice,' was the reply fired out, so to speak. Then si-

  lence. They had been talking about Kurtz.

  "I was broad awake by this time, but, lying per-

  fectly at ease, remained still, having no inducement to

  change my position. 'How did that ivory come all

  this way?' growled the elder man, who seemed very

  vexed. The other explained that it had come with a

  fleet of canoes in charge of an English half-caste

  clerk Kurtz had with him; that Kurtz had apparently

  intended to return himself, the station being by that

  time bare of goods and stores, but after coming three

  hundred miles, had suddenly decided to go back,

  which he started to do alone in a small dugout with

  four paddlers, leaving the half-caste to continue down

  the river with the ivory. The two fellows there seemed

  astounded at anybody attempting such a thing. They

  were at a loss for an adequate motive. As to me, I

  seemed to see Kurtz for the first time. It was a distinct

  glimpse: the dugout, four paddling savages, and the

  lone white man turning his back suddenly on the

  headquarters, on relief, on thoughts of home -- per-

  haps; setting his face towards the depths of the wil-

  derness, towards his empty and desolate station. I

  did not know the motive. Perhaps he was just simply

  a fine fellow who stuck to his work for its own sake.

  His name, you understand, had not been pronounced

  once. He was 'that man.' The half caste, who, as far

  as I could see, had conducted a difficult trip with great

  prudence and pluck, was invariably alluded to as

  'that scoundrel.' The 'scoundrel' had reported that

  the 'man' had been very ill -- had recovered imper-

  fectly.... The two below me moved away then a

  few paces, and strolled back and forth at some little

  distance. I heard: 'Military post -- doctor -- two hun-

  dred miles -- quite alone now -- unavoidable delays --

  nine months -- no news -- strange rumours.' They ap-

  proached again, just as the manager was saying, 'No

  one, as far as I know, unless a species of wandering

  trader -- a pestilential fellow, snapping ivory from the

  natives.' Who was it they were talking about now? I

  gathered in snatches that thi
s was some man supposed

  to be in Kurtz's district, and of whom the manager

  did not approve. 'We will not be free from unfair

  competition till one of these fellows is hanged for an

  example,' he said. 'Certainly,' grunted the other; 'get

  him hanged! Why not? Anything -- anything can be

  done in this country. That's what I say; nobody here,

  you understand, here, can endanger your position.

  And why? You stand the climate -- you outlast them

  all. The danger is in Europe; but there before I left

  I took care to --' They moved off and whispered,

  then their voices rose again. 'The extraordinary series

  of delays is not my fault. I did my best.' The fat man

  sighed. 'Very sad.' 'And the pestiferous absurdity of

  his talk,' continued the other; 'he bothered me enough

  when he was here. "Each station should be like a

  beacon on the road towards better things, a centre for

  trade of course, but also for humanizing, improving,

  instructing." Conceive you -- that ass! And he wants

  to be manager! No, it's --' Here he got choked by

  excessive indignation, and I lifted my head the least

  bit. I was surprised to see how near they were --

  right under me. I could have spat upon their hats.

  They were looking on the ground, absorbed in

  thought. The manager was switching his leg with a

  slender twig: his sagacious relative lifted his head.

  'You have been well since you came out this time?' he

  asked. The other gave a start. 'Who? I? Oh! Like a

  charm -- like a charm. But the rest -- oh, my goodness!

  All sick. They die so quick, too, that I haven't the

  time to send them out of the country -- it's incredible!'

  'H'm. Just so,' grunted the uncle. 'Ah! my boy, trust

  to this -- I say, trust to this.' I saw him extend his

  short flipper of an arm for a gesture that took in the

  forest, the creek, the mud, the river -- seemed to

  beckon with a dishonouring flourish before the sunlit

  face of the land a treacherous appeal to the lurking

  death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of

  its heart. It was so startling that I leaped to my feet

  and looked back at the edge of the forest, as though

  I had expected an answer of some sort to that black

  display of confidence. You know the foolish notions

  that come to one sometimes. The high stillness con-

  fronted these two figures with its ominous patience,

  waiting for the passing away of a fantastic invasion.

  "They swore aloud together -- out of sheer fright,

  I believe -- then pretending not to know anything of

  my existence, turned back to the station. The sun was

  low; and leaning forward side by side, they seemed

  to be tugging painfully uphill their two ridiculous

  shadows of unequal length, that trailed behind them

  slowly over the tall grass without bending a single

  blade.

  "In a few days the Eldorado Expedition went into

  the patient wilderness, that dosed upon it as the sea

  closes over a diver. Long afterwards the news came

  that all the donkeys were dead. I know nothing as to

  the fate of the less valuable animals. They, no doubt,

  like the rest of us, found what they deserved. I did not

  inquire. I was then rather excited at the prospect of

  meeting Kurtz very soon. When I say very soon I

  mean it comparatively. It was just two months from

  the day we left the creek when we came to the bank

  below Kurtz's station.

  "Going up that river was like travelling back to the

  earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation

  rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. An

  empty stream, a great silence, an impenetrable forest.

  The air was warm, thick, heavy, sluggish. There was

  no joy in the brilliance of sunshine. The long stretches

  of the waterway ran on, deserted, into the gloom of

  over-shadowed distances. On silvery sandbanks hippos

  and alligators sunned themselves side by side. The

  broadening waters flowed through a mob of wooded

  islands; you lost your way on that river as you would

  in a desert, and butted all day long against shoals,

  trying to find the channel, till you thought yourself

  bewitched and cut off for ever from everything you

  had known once -- somewhere -- far away -- in another

  existence perhaps. There were moments when one's

  past came back to one, as it will sometimes when you

  have not a moment to spare to yourself; but it came in

  the shape of an unrestful and noisy dream, remembered

  with wonder amongst the overwhelming realities

  of this strange world of plants, and water, and silence.

  And this stillness of life did not in the least resemble