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YouthYouthYouthbybybyJoseph ConradJoseph ConradJoseph Conrad

Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski3 December 1857 – 3 August 1924was born a citizen of the Russian Empire (because therewas no country called 'Poland' until 1919).He spoke Polish and French. Later, English became histhird language at the age of 23 when he joined theBritish Merchant Marine and achieved BritishNationality - taking the English name Joseph Conrad.Conrad spent more than ten years at sea and earned hismate's tickets to become First Mate. Then, in the port ofBangkok (which he spells 'Bankok'), the crew of hisship became sick with fever and the captain died. Theshipping company appointed Conrad as Master (strictly,there is no rank of captain in the Merchant Marine). So,Conrad had to make all the necessary arrangement torefit and reload the ship and hire crew members.Two American seamen had founded the BangkokOriental as a sailors' mission in 1863 with pretensions tocreate a hotel. It burned down, except for the wingwhich houses the famous Authors' Lounge in the currentOriental. Two Danish master mariners created theOriental Hotel, after the fire, and maintained a traditionof accepting ships' officers as guests. Conrad stayedthere and began a draft of Youth - a narrative of avoyage to Bankok which ends in disaster.i

However, he lacked confidence in his written Englishand worked on the story until 1899; and, even then, hedid not dare to publish it. Instead, he took the openingpassage in which Marlow narrates the tale of Youth. Hechanged the setting to Africa and described conditionsin the Belgian Congo. The result was Heart ofDarkness which T S Eliot hailed as the milestone thatissued in modern 20th century English literature.Conrad became a name in English letters during the last20 years of his life, having begun to write seriously atthe late age of forty.As for Bangkok, the showy and exotic East wore thinquickly. The traffic! The crush of people! The smells!He called Bangkok 'a fever port' and declared it to be avast bamboo city held together with not half a pound ofnails. He did not come back, but the Conrad Hotel in AllSeasons Place on Wireless Road commemorates him, asdoes the Author's Lounge at the Oriental. Steve MongkutEditorAugust 2023ii

Youtha narrativebyJoseph ConradThis could have occurred nowhere but in England,where men and sea interpenetrate, so to speak—the seaentering into the life of most men, and the men knowingsomething or everything about the sea, in the way ofamusement, of travel, or of bread-winning.We were sitting round a mahogany table that reflectedthe bottle, the claret-glasses, and our faces as we leanedon our elbows. There was a director of companies, anaccountant, a lawyer, Marlow, and myself. The directorhad been a Conway boy, the accountant had served fouryears at sea, the lawyer—a fine crusted Tory, HighChurchman, the best of old fellows, the soul of honour—had been chief officer in the P & O service in the olddays when mail-boats were square-rigged at least ontwo masts, and used to come down the China Sea beforea fair monsoon with stun'-sails set alow and aloft. 1

We all began life in the merchant service. Between thefive of us there was the strong bond of the sea, and alsothe fellowship of the craft, which no amount ofenthusiasm for yachting, cruising, and so on can give,since one is only the amusement of life and the other islife 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 Iremember best is my first voyage there. You fellowsknow there are those voyages that sees ordered for theillustration of life, that might stand for a symbol ofexistence. You fight, work, sweat, nearly kill yourself,sometimes do kill yourself, trying to accomplishsomething—and you can't. Not from any fault of yours.You simply can do nothing, neither great nor little—nota thing in the world—not even marry an old maid, or geta wretched 600-ton cargo of coal to its port ofdestination."It was altogether a memorable affair. It was my firstvoyage to the East, and my first voyage as second mate;it was also my skipper's first command. You'll admit itwas time. He was sixty if a day; a little man, with abroad, not very straight back, with bowed shoulders and 2

one leg more bandy than the other, he had that queertwisted-about appearance you see so often in men whowork in the fields. He had a nut-cracker face—chin andnose trying to come together over a sunken mouth—andit was framed in iron-grey fluffy hair, that looked like achin strap of cotton-wool sprinkled with coal-dust. Andhe had blue eyes in that old face of his, which wereamazingly like a boy's, with that candid expressionsome quite common men preserve to the end of theirdays by a rare internal gift of simplicity of heart andrectitude of soul. What induced him to accept me was awonder. I had come out of a crack Australian clipper,where I had been third officer, and he seemed to have aprejudice against crack clippers as aristocratic and high-toned. He said to me, 'You know, in this ship you willhave to work.' I said I had to work in every ship I hadever been in. 'Ah, but this is different, and yougentlemen out of them big ships; . . . but there! I daresay you will do. Join to-morrow.'"I joined to-morrow. It was twenty-two years ago; and Iwas just twenty. How time passes! It was one of thehappiest days of my life. Fancy! Second mate for thefirst time—a really responsible officer! I wouldn't havethrown up my new billet for a fortune. The mate lookedme over carefully. He was also an old chap, but of 3

another stamp. He had a Roman nose, a snow-white,long beard, and his name was Mahon, but he insistedthat it should be pronounced Mann. He was wellconnected; yet there was something wrong with hisluck, 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 Indiantrade. He had never been round the Capes. He could justwrite a kind of sketchy hand, and didn't care for writingat all. Both were thorough good seamen of course, andbetween those two old chaps I felt like a small boybetween two grandfathers."The ship also was old. Her name was the Judea. Queername, isn't it? She belonged to a man Wilmer, Wilcox—some name like that; but he has been bankrupt and deadthese 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 outof a palace into a ruined cottage. She was about 400tons, had a primitive windlass, wooden latches to thedoors, not a bit of brass about her, and a big squarestern. There was on it, below her name in big letters, alot of scroll work, with the gilt off, and some sort of acoat of arms, with the motto 'Do or Die' underneath. Iremember it took my fancy immensely. There was a 4

touch of romance in it, something that made me love theold thing—something that appealed to my youth!"We left London in ballast—sand ballast—to load acargo of coal in a northern port for Bankok. Bankok! Ithrilled. I had been six years at sea, but had only seenMelbourne and Sydney, very good places, charmingplaces in their way—but Bankok!"We worked out of the Thames under canvas, with aNorth Sea pilot on board. His name was Jermyn, and hedodged all day long about the galley drying hishandkerchief before the stove. Apparently he neverslept. He was a dismal man, with a perpetual tearsparkling at the end of his nose, who either had been introuble, or was in trouble, or expected to be in trouble—couldn't be happy unless something went wrong. Hemistrusted my youth, my common-sense, and myseamanship, and made a point of showing it in ahundred little ways. I daresay he was right. It seems tome I knew very little then, and I know not much morenow; but I cherish a hate for that Jermyn to this day."We were a week working up as far as YarmouthRoads, and then we got into a gale—the famous Octobergale of twenty-two years ago. It was wind, lightning,sleet, snow, and a terrific sea. We were flying light, andyou may imagine how bad it was when I tell you we had 5

smashed bulwarks and a flooded deck. On the secondnight she shifted her ballast into the lee bow, and by thattime we had been blown off somewhere on the DoggerBank. There was nothing for it but go below withshovels and try to right her, and there we were in thatvast hold, gloomy like a cavern, the tallow dips stuckand flickering on the beams, the gale howling above, theship tossing about like mad on her side; there we allwere, Jermyn, the captain, everyone, hardly able to keepour feet, engaged on that gravedigger's work, and tryingto toss shovelfuls of wet sand up to windward. At everytumble of the ship you could see vaguely in the dimlight men falling down with a great flourish of shovels.One of the ship's boys (we had two), impressed by theweirdness of the scene, wept as if his heart would break.We could hear him blubbering somewhere in theshadows."On the third day the gale died out, and by-and-by anorth-country tug picked us up. We took sixteen days inall to get from London to the Tyne! When we got intodock we had lost our turn for loading, and they hauledus off to a tier where we remained for a month. Mrs.Beard (the captain's name was Beard) came fromColchester to see the old man. She lived on board. Thecrew of runners had left, and there remained only the 6

officers, one boy, and the steward, a mulatto who answered to the name of Abraham. Mrs. Beard was anold woman, with a face all wrinkled and ruddy like awinter apple, and the figure of a young girl. She caughtsight of me once, sewing on a button, and insisted onhaving my shirts to repair. This was something differentfrom the captains' wives I had known on board crackclippers. When I brought her the shirts, she said: 'Andthe socks? They want mending, I am sure, and John's—Captain Beard's—things are all in order now. I would beglad of something to do.' Bless the old woman! Sheoverhauled my outfit for me, and meantime I read forthe first time Sartor Resartus and Burnaby's Ride toKhiva. I didn't understand much of the first then; but Iremember I preferred the soldier to the philosopher atthe 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 matter."They loaded us at last. We shipped a crew. Eight ableseamen and two boys. We hauled off one evening to thebuoys at the dock-gates, ready to go out, and with a fairprospect of beginning the voyage next day. Mrs. Beardwas to start for home by a late train. When the ship7

was fast we went to tea. We sat rather silent through themeal—Mahon, the old couple, and I. I finished first, andslipped away for a smoke, my cabin being in a deck-house just against the poop. It was high water, blowingfresh with a drizzle; the double dock-gates were opened,and the steam colliers were going in and out in thedarkness with their lights burning bright, a greatplashing of propellers, rattling of winches, and a lot ofhailing on the pier-heads. I watched the procession ofhead-lights gliding high and of green lights gliding lowin the night, when suddenly a red gleam flashed at me,vanished, came into view again, and remained. Thefore-end of a steamer loomed up close. I shouted downthe cabin, 'Come up, quick!' and then heard a startledvoice saying afar in the dark, 'Stop her, sir.' A belljingled. Another voice cried warningly, 'We are goingright into that barque, sir.' The answer to this was agruff 'All right,' and the next thing was a heavy crash asthe steamer struck a glancing blow with the bluff of herbow about our fore-rigging. There was a moment ofconfusion, yelling, and running about. Steam roared.Then somebody was heard saying, 'All clear, sir.' . . .'Are you all right?' asked the gruff voice. I had jumpedforward to see the damage, and hailed back, 'I think so.''Easy astern,' said the gruff voice. A bell jingled. 'What 8

steamer is that?' screamed Mahon. By that time she wasno more to us than a bulky shadow maneuvering a littleway off. They shouted at us some name--a woman'sname, Miranda or Melissa—or some such thing. 'Thismeans another month in this beastly hole,' said Mahonto me, as we peered with lamps about the splinteredbulwarks and broken braces. 'But where's the captain?'"We had not heard or seen anything of him all that time.We went aft to look. A doleful voice arose hailingsomewhere 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 belatedwaterman offered his services, and Mahon struck abargain with him for half-a-crown to tow our skipperalongside; but it was Mrs. Beard that came up the ladderfirst. They had been floating about the dock in thatmizzly cold rain for nearly an hour. I was never sosurprised in my life."It appears that when he heard my shout 'Come up,' heunderstood at once what was the matter, caught up hiswife, 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 hisarms that old woman--the woman of his life. He set herdown on a thwart, and was ready to climb back on9

board when the painter came adrift somehow, and awaythey went together. Of course in the confusion we didnot hear him shouting. He looked abashed. She saidcheerfully, 'I suppose it does not matter my losing thetrain now?' 'No, Jenny--you go below and get warm,' hegrowled. Then to us: 'A sailor has no business with awife--I say. There I was, out of the ship. Well, no harmdone this time. Let's go and look at what that fool of asteamer smashed.'"It wasn't much, but it delayed us three weeks. At theend of that time, the captain being engaged with hisagents, I carried Mrs. Beard's bag to the railway-stationand put her all comfy into a third-class carriage. Shelowered the window to say, 'You are a good young man.If you see John--Captain Beard--without his muffler atnight, just remind him from me to keep his throat well wrapped up.' 'Certainly, Mrs. Beard,' I said. 'You are agood young man; I noticed how attentive you are toJohn--to Captain--' The train pulled out suddenly; I tookmy 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 forBankok we had been already three months out ofLondon. We had expected to be a fortnight or so--at theoutside. 10

"It was January, and the weather was beautiful--thebeautiful sunny winter weather that has more charmthan in the summer-time, because it is unexpected, andcrisp, and you know it won't, it can't, last long. It's like awindfall, like a godsend, like an unexpected piece ofluck."It lasted all down the North Sea, all down Channel; andit lasted till we were three hundred miles or so to thewestward of the Lizards: then the wind went round tothe sou'west and began to pipe up. In two days it blew agale. The Judea, hove to, wallowed on the Atlantic likean old candlebox. It blew day after day: it blew withspite, without interval, without mercy, without rest. Theworld was nothing but an immensity of great foamingwaves rushing at us, under a sky low enough to touchwith the hand and dirty like a smoked ceiling. In thestormy space surrounding us there was as much flyingspray as air. Day after day and night after night therewas nothing round the ship but the howl of the wind, thetumult of the sea, the noise of water pouring over herdeck. There was no rest for her and no rest for us. Shetossed, she pitched, she stood on her head, she sat on hertail, she rolled, she groaned, and we had to hold onwhile on deck and cling to our bunks when below, in aconstant effort of body and worry of mind.11

"One night Mahon spoke through the small window ofmy berth. It opened right into my very bed, and I waslying there sleepless, in my boots, feeling as though Ihad not slept for years, and could not if I tried. He saidexcitedly--"'You got the sounding-rod in here, Marlow? I can't getthe 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 ofthe pumps. When I came on deck they were still at it,and my watch relieved at the pumps. By the light of thelantern brought on deck to examine the sounding-rod Icaught a glimpse of their weary, serious faces. Wepumped all the four hours. We pumped all night, allday, all the week,--watch and watch. She was workingherself loose, and leaked badly--not enough to drown usat once, but enough to kill us with the work at thepumps. And while we pumped the ship was By the lightof the lantern brought on deck to examine the sounding-rod I caught a glimpse of their weary, serious faces. Wepumped all the four hours. We pumped all night, allday, all the week,--watch and watch. She was workingherself loose, and leaked badly--not enough to drown usat once, but enough to kill us with the work at thepumps. And while we pumped the ship was going 12

from us piecemeal: the bulwarks went, the stanchionswere torn out, the ventilators smashed, the cabin-doorburst in. There was not a dry spot in the ship. She wasbeing gutted bit by bit. The long-boat changed, as if bymagic, into matchwood where she stood in her gripes. Ihad lashed her myself, and was rather proud of myhandiwork, which had withstood so long the malice ofthe sea. And we pumped. And there was no break in theweather. The sea was white like a sheet of foam, like acaldron of boiling milk; there was not a break in theclouds, no--not the size of a man's hand--no, not for somuch as ten seconds. There was for us no sky, there werefor us no stars, no sun, no universe--nothing but angryclouds and an infuriated sea. We pumped watch andwatch, for dear life; and it seemed to last for months, foryears, for all eternity, as though we had been dead andgone to a hell for sailors. We forgot the day of the week,the name of the month, what year it was, and whether wehad ever been ashore. The sails blew away, she laybroadside on under a weather-cloth, the ocean pouredover her, and we did not care. We turned those handles,and had the eyes of idiots. As soon as we had crawled ondeck I used to take a round turn with a rope about themen, the pumps, and the mainmast, and we turned, weturned incessantly, with the water to our waists, to our 13

necks, over our heads. It was all one. We had forgottenhow it felt to be dry."And there was somewhere in me the thought: By Jove!this is the deuce of an adventure--something you readabout; and it is my first voyage as second mate--and Iam only twenty--and here I am lasting it out as well asany of these men, and keeping my chaps up to the mark.I was pleased. I would not have given up the experiencefor worlds. I had moments of exultation. Whenever theold dismantled craft pitched heavily with her counterhigh in the air, she seemed to me to throw up, like anappeal, like a defiance, like a cry to the clouds withoutmercy, the words written on her stern: 'Judea, London.Do or Die.'"O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, theimagination of it! To me she was not an old rattle-trapcarting about the world a lot of coal for a freight--to meshe was the endeavour, the test, the trial of life. I thinkof her with pleasure, with affection, with regret--as youwould think of someone dead you have loved. I shallnever forget her. . . . Pass the bottle."One night when tied to the mast, as I explained, wewere pumping on, deafened with the wind, and withoutspirit enough in us to wish ourselves dead, a heavy seacrashed aboard and swept clean over us. As soon as I 14

got my breath I shouted, as in duty bound, 'Keep on,boys!' when suddenly I felt something hard floating ondeck strike the calf of my leg. I made a grab at it andmissed. It was so dark we could not see each other'sfaces within a foot--you understand.After that thump the ship kept quiet for a while, and thething, whatever it was, struck my leg again. This time Icaught it--and it was a saucepan. At first, being stupidwith fatigue and thinking of nothing but the pumps, Idid not understand what I had in my hand. Suddenly itdawned upon me, and I shouted, 'Boys, the house ondeck is gone. Leave this, and let's look for the cook.'"There was a deck-house forward, which contained thegalley, the cook's berth, and the quarters of the crew. Aswe had expected for days to see it swept away, thehands had been ordered to sleep in the cabin--the onlysafe 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'tleave a stable falling in an earthquake. So we went tolook for him. It was chancing death, since once out ofour lashings we were as exposed as if on a raft. But wewent. The house was shattered as if a shell had explodedinside. Most of it had gone overboard--stove,15

men's quarters, and their property, all was gone; but twoposts, holding a portion of the bulkhead to whichAbraham's bunk was attached, remained as if by amiracle. We groped in the ruins and came upon this, andthere he was, sitting in his bunk, surrounded by foamand wreckage, jabbering cheerfully to himself. He wasout of his mind; completely and for ever mad, with thissudden shock coming upon the fag-end of hisendurance. We snatched him up, lugged him aft, andpitched him head-first down the cabin companion. Youunderstand there was no time to carry him down withinfinite precautions and wait to see how he got on.Those below would pick him up at the bottom of thestairs all right. We were in a hurry to go back to thepumps. That business could not wait. A bad leak is aninhuman thing."One would think that the sole purpose of that fiendishgale had been to make a lunatic of that poor devil of amulatto. It eased before morning, and next day the skycleared, and as the sea went down the leak took up.When it came to bending a fresh set of sails the crewdemanded to put back--and really there was nothing elseto do. Boats gone, decks swept clean, cabin gutted, menwithout a stitch but what they stood in, stores spoiled,ship strained. We put her head for home, and--would 16

you believe it? The wind came east right in our teeth. Itblew fresh, it blew continuously. We had to beat upevery inch of the way, but she did not leak so badly, thewater keeping comparatively smooth. Two hours'pumping in every four is no joke--but it kept her afloatas far as Falmouth."The good people there live on casualties of the sea, andno doubt were glad to see us. A hungry crowd ofshipwrights sharpened their chisels at the sight of thatcarcass of a ship. And, by Jove! they had pretty pickingsoff us before they were done. I fancy the owner wasalready in a tight place. There were delays. Then it wasdecided to take part of the cargo out and calk hertopsides. 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 hundredand fifty days' passage--in a something hooker thatwanted pumping eight hours out of the twenty-four; andthe nautical papers inserted again the little paragraph:'Judea. Barque. Tyne to Bankok; coals; put back toFalmouth leaky and with crew refusing duty.'"There were more delays--more tinkering. The ownercame down for a day, and said she was as right as a littlefiddle. Poor old Captain Beard looked like the ghost of a 17

Geordie skipper--through the worry and humiliation ofit. Remember he was sixty, and it was his firstcommand. Mahon said it was a foolish business, andwould end badly. I loved the ship more than ever, andwanted awfully to get to Bankok. To Bankok! Magicname, blessed name. Mesopotamia wasn't a patch on it.Remember I was twenty, and it was my first secondmate's billet, and the East was waiting for me."We went out and anchored in the outer roads with afresh crew--the third. She leaked worse than ever. It wasas if those confounded shipwrights had actually made ahole in her. This time we did not even go outside. Thecrew simply refused to man the windlass."They towed us back to the inner harbour, and webecame a fixture, a feature, an institution of the place.People pointed us out to visitors as 'That 'ere bark that'sgoing to Bankok--has been here six months--put backthree times.' On holidays the small boys pulling about inboats would hail, 'Judea, ahoy!' and if a head showedabove the rail shouted, 'Where you bound to?--Bankok?'and jeered. We were only three on board. The poor oldskipper mooned in the cabin. Mahon undertook thecooking, and unexpectedly developed all a Frenchman'sgenius for preparing nice little messes. I lookedlanguidly after the rigging. We became citizens of 18

Falmouth. Every shopkeeper knew us. At the barber's ortobacconist's they asked familiarly, 'Do you think youwill ever get to Bankok?' Meantime the owner, theunderwriters, and the charterers squabbled amongstthemselves in London, and our pay went on.. . . Pass thebottle."It was horrid. Morally it was worse than pumping forlife. It seemed as though we had been forgotten by theworld, belonged to nobody, would get nowhere; itseemed that, as if bewitched, we would have to live forever and ever in that inner harbour, a derision and a by-word to generations of long-shore loafers and dishonestboatmen. I obtained three months' pay and a five days'leave, and made a rush for London. It took me a day toget there and pretty well another to come back--butthree months' pay went all the same. I don't know what Idid with it. I went to a music-hall, I believe, lunched,dined, and supped in a swell place in Regent Street, andwas back to time, with nothing but a complete set ofByron's works and a new railway rug to show for threemonths' work. The boatman who pulled me off to theship said: 'Hallo! I thought you had left the old thing.She will never get to Bankok.' 'That's all you knowabout it,' I said scornfully--but I didn't like thatprophecy at all. 19

"Suddenly a man, some kind of agent to somebody,appeared with full powers. He had grog-blossoms allover his face, an indomitable energy, and was a jollysoul. We leaped into life again. A hulk came alongside,took our cargo, and then we went into dry dock to getour copper stripped. No wonder she leaked. The poorthing, strained beyond endurance by the gale, had, as ifin disgust, spat out all the oakum of her lower seams.She was recalked, new coppered, and made as tight as abottle. We went back to the hulk and re-shipped ourcargo."Then on a fine moonlight night, all the rats left theship."We had been infested with them. They had destroyedour sails, consumed more stores than the crew, affablyshared our beds and our dangers, and now, when theship was made seaworthy, conc luded to clear out. Icalled Mahon to enjoy the spectacle. Rat after ratappeared on our rail, took a last look over his shoulder,and leaped with a hollow thud into the empty hulk. Wetried to count them, but soon lost the tale. Mahon said:'Well, well! don't talk to me about the intelligence ofrats. They ought to have left before, when we had thatnarrow squeak from foundering. There you have theproof how silly is the superstition about them. They 20

leave a good ship for an old rotten hulk, where there is nothing to eat, too, the fools! . . . I don't believe theyknow what is safe or what is good for them, any morethan you or I.'"And after some more talk we agreed that the wisdomof rats had been grossly overrated, being in fact nogreater than that of men."The story of the ship was known, by this, all up theChannel from Land's End to the Forelands, and wecould get no crew on the south coast. They sent us oneall complete from Liverpool, and we left once more--forBankok."We had fair breezes, smooth water right into thetropics, and the old Judea lumbered along in thesunshine. When she went eight knots everythingcracked aloft, and we tied our caps to our heads; butmostly 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--youfellows who listen to this yarn; and what friend wouldthrow your years and your weariness in your face? Wedidn't grumble at her. To us aft, at least, it seemed asthough we had been born in her, reared in her, had livedin her for ages, had never known any other ship. I would 21

just as soon have abused the old village church at homefor not being a cathedral."And for me there was also my youth to make mepatient. There was all the East before me, and all life,and the thought that I had been tried in that ship and hadcome out pretty well. And I thought of men of old who,centuries ago, went that road in ships that sailed nobetter, to the land of palms, and spices, and yellowsands, and of brown nations ruled by kings more cruelthan Nero the Roman and more splendid than Solomonthe Jew. The old bark lumbered on, heavy with her ageand the burden of her cargo, while I lived the life ofyouth in ignorance and hope. She lumbered on throughan interminable procession of days; and the freshgilding flashed back at the setting sun, seemed to cryout over the darkening sea the words painted on herstern, 'Judea, London. Do or Die.'"Then we entered the Indian Ocean and steerednortherly for Java Head. The winds were light. Weeksslipped by. She crawled on, do or die, and people athome began to think of posting us as overdue.22

"One Saturday evening, I being off duty, the men askedme to give them an extra bucket of water or so--forwashing clothes. As I did not wish to screw on thefresh-water pump so late, I went forward whistling, andwith a key in my hand to unlock the forepeak scuttle,intending to serve the water out of a spare tank we keptthere."The smell down below was as unexpected as it wasfrightful. One would have thought hundreds of paraffin-lamps had been flaring and smoking in that hole fordays. I was glad to get out. The man with me coughedand said, 'Funny smell, sir.' I answered negligently, 'It'sgood for the health, they say,' and walked aft."The first thing I did was to put my head down thesquare of the midship ventilator. As I lifted the lid avisible breath, something like a thin fog, a puff of fainthaze, rose from the opening. The ascending air was hot,and had a heavy, sooty, paraffiny smell. I gave onesniff, and put down the lid gently. It was no use chokingmyself. The cargo was on fire."Next day she began to smoke in earnest. You see it wasto be expected, for though the coal was of a safe kind,that cargo had been so handled, so broken up withhandling, that it looked more like smithy coal thananything else. Then it had been wetted--more than once. 23

It rained all the time we were taking it back from thehulk, and now with this long passage it got heated, andthere was another case of spontaneous combustion."The captain called us into the cabin. He had a chartspread on the table, and looked unhappy. He said, 'Thecoast of West Australia is near, but I mean to proceed toour destination. It is the hurricane month too; but wewill 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 bywant of air.'"We tried. We battened down everything, and still shesmoked. The smoke kept coming out throughimperceptible crevices; it forced itself throughbulkheads and covers; it oo zed here and there andeverywhere in slender threads, in an invisible film, in anincomprehensible manner. It made its way into thecabin, into the forecastle; it poisoned the shelteredplaces on the deck, it could be sniffed as high as themain-yard. It was clear that if the smoke came out theair came in. This was disheartening. This combustionrefused 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. 24

All hands cleared out aft. Then the poisonous cloudblew away, and we went back to work in a smoke thatwas no thicker now than that of an ordinary factorychimney."We rigged the force pump, got the hose along, and by-and-by it burst. Well, it was as old as the ship--aprehistoric hose, and past repair. Then we pumped withthe feeble head-pump, drew water with buckets, and inthis way managed in time to pour lots of Indian Oceaninto the main hatch. The bright stream flashed insunshine, fell into a layer of white crawling smoke, andvanished on the black surface of coal. Steam ascendedmingling with the smoke. We poured salt water as into abarrel without a bottom. It was our fate to pump in thatship, to pump out of her, to pump into her; and afterkeeping water out of her to save ourselves from beingdrowned, we frantically poured water into her to saveourselves 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. Thesea was polished, was blue, was pellucid, was sparklinglike a precious stone, extending on all sides, all round tothe horizon--as if the whole terrestrial globe had beenone jewel, one colossal sapphire, a single gem fashionedinto a planet. And on the luster of the great calm waters 25

the Judea glided imperceptibly, enveloped in languidand unclean vapours, in a lazy cloud that drifted toleeward, light and slow: a pestiferous cloud defiling thesplendour of sea and sky."All this time of course we saw no fire. The cargosmoldered at the bottom somewhere. Once Mahon, aswe were working side by side, said to me with a queersmile: 'Now, if she only would spring a tidy leak--likethat time when we first left the Channel--it would put astopper on this fire. Wouldn't it?' I remarkedirrelevantly, 'Do you remember the rats?'"We fought the fire and sailed the ship too as carefullyas though nothing had been the matter. The stewardcooked 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 exactlyfraternity, then a deal of good feeling. Sometimes aman, as he dashed a bucketful of water down thehatchway, would yell out, 'Hurrah for Bankok!' and therest laughed. But generally we were taciturn andserious--and thirsty. Oh! how thirsty! And we had to becareful with the water. Strict allowance. The shipsmoked, the sun blazed. . . . Pass the bottle. 26

"We tried everything. We even made an attempt to digdown to the fire. No good, of course. No man couldremain more than a minute below. Mahon, who wentfirst, fainted there, and the man who went to fetch himout did likewise. We lugged them out on deck. Then Ileaped down to show how easily it could be done. Theyhad learned wisdom by that time, and contentedthemselves by fishing for me with a chain-hook tied to abroom-handle, I believe. I did not offer to go and fetchup my shovel, which was left down below."Things began to look bad. We put the long-boat intothe water. The second boat was ready to swing out. Wehad 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. Intwo days there was no smoke at all. Everybody was onthe broad grin. This was on a Friday. On Saturday nowork, but sailing the ship of course was done. The menwashed their clothes and their faces for the first time ina fortnight, and had a special dinner given them. Theyspoke of spontaneous combustion with contempt, andimplied they were the boys to put out combustions.Somehow we all felt as though we each had inherited alarge fortune. But a beastly smell of burning hung about 27

the ship. Captain Beard had hollow eyes and sunkencheeks. I had never noticed so much before how twistedand bowed he was. He and Mahon prowled soberlyabout hatches and ventilators, sniffing. It struck mesuddenly poor Mahon was a very, very old chap. As tome, I was as pleased and proud as though I had helpedto win a great naval battle. O! Youth!"The night was fine. In the morning a homeward-boundship passed us hull down,--the first we had seen formonths; but we were nearing the land at last, Java Headbeing about 190 miles off, and nearly due north."Next day it was my watch on deck from eight totwelve. At breakfast the captain observed, 'It'swonderful how that smell hangs about the cabin.' Aboutten, the mate being on the poop, I stepped down on themain-deck for a moment. The carpenter's bench stoodabaft the mainmast: I leaned against it sucking at mypipe, and the carpenter, a young chap, came to talk tome. He remarked, 'I think we have done very well,haven't we?' and then I perceived with annoyance thefool was trying to tilt the bench. I said curtly, 'Don't,Chips,' and immediately became aware of a queersensation, of an absurd delusion,--I seemed somehow tobe in the air. I heard all round me like a pent-up breathreleased--as if a thousand giants simultaneously had 28

said Phoo!--and felt a dull concussion which made myribs ache suddenly. No doubt about it--I was in the air,and my body was describing a short parabola. But shortas it was, I had the time to think several thoughts in, asfar as I can remember, the following order: 'This can'tbe the carpenter--What is it?--Some accident--Submarine volcano?--Coals, gas!--By Jove! we arebeing blown up--Everybody's dead--I am falling into theafter-hatch--I see fire in it.'"The coal-dust suspended in the air of the hold hadglowed dull-red at the moment of the explosion. In thetwinkling of an eye, in an infinitesimal fraction of asecond since the first tilt of the bench, I was sprawlingfull length on the cargo. I picked myself up andscrambled out. It was quick like a rebound. The deckwas a wilderness of smashed timber, lying crosswiselike trees in a wood after a hurricane; an immensecurtain of soiled rags waved gently before me--it wasthe mainsail blown to strips. I thought, The masts willbe toppling over directly; and to get out of the waybolted on all-fours towards the poop-ladder. The firstperson I saw was Mahon, with eyes like saucers, hismouth open, and the long white hair standing straight onend round his head like a silver halo. He was just aboutto go down when the sight of the main-deck stirring, 29

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 shockedcuriosity. I did not know that I had no hair, noeyebrows, no eyelashes, that my young moustache wasburnt 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 allthis I was not aware. I was amazed to see the ship stillafloat, the poop-deck whole--and, most of all, to seeanybody alive. Also the peace of the sky and theserenity of the sea were distinctly surprising. I suppose Iexpected to see them convulsed with horror . . . . Passthe bottle."There was a voice hailing the ship from somewhere--inthe air, in the sky--I couldn't tell. Presently I saw thecaptain--and he was mad. He asked me eagerly,'Where's the cabin-table?' and to hear such a questionwas a frightful shock. I had just been blown up, youunderstand, and vibrated with that experience,--I wasn'tquite sure whether I was alive. Mahon began to stampwith both feet and yelled at him, 'Good God! don't yousee the deck's blown out of her?' I found my voice, andstammered out as if conscious of some gross neglect ofduty, 'I don't know where the cabin-table is.' It was like 30

an absurd dream."Do you know what he wanted next? Well, he wanted totrim the yards. Very placidly, and as if lost in thought,he insisted on having the foreyard squared. 'I don't knowif there's anybody alive,' said Mahon, almost tearfully.'Surely,' he said gently, 'there will be enough left tosquare the foreyard.'"The old chap, it seems, was in his own berth, windingup 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 intothe cabin. There, he saw, the cabin-table had vanishedsomewhere. The deck being blown up, it had fallendown into the lazarette of course. Where we had ourbreakfast that morning he saw only a great hole in thefloor. This appeared to him so awfully mysterious, andimpressed him so immensely, that what he saw andheard after he got on deck were mere trifles incomparison. And, mark, he noticed directly the wheeldeserted and his barque off her course--and his onlythought was to get that miserable, stripped, undecked,smouldering shell of a ship back again with her headpointing at her port of destination. Bankok! That's whathe was after. I tell you this quiet, bowed, bandy-legged,almost deformed little man was immense in the 31

singleness of his idea and in his placid ignorance of our agitation. He motioned us forward with a commandinggesture, and went to take the wheel himself."Yes; that was the first thing we did--trim the yards ofthat wreck! No one was killed, or even disabled, buteveryone was more or less hurt. You should have seenthem! Some were in rags, with black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps, and had bullet heads that seemedclosely cropped, but were in fact singed to the skin.Others, of the watch below, awakened by being shot outfrom their collapsing bunks, shivered incessantly, andkept on groaning even as we went about our work. Butthey all worked. That crew of Liverpool hard cases hadin them the right stuff. It's my experience they alwayshave. It is the sea that gives it--the vastness, theloneliness surrounding their dark stolid souls. Ah! Well!we stumbled, we crept, we fell, we barked our shins onthe wreckage, we hauled. The masts stood, but we didnot know how much they might be charred down below.It was nearly calm, but a long swell ran from the westand made her roll. They might go at any moment. Welooked at them with apprehension. One could notforesee which way they would fall. 32

"Then we retreated aft and looked about us. The deckwas a tangle of planks on edge, of planks on end, ofsplinters, of ruined woodwork. The masts rose from thatchaos like big trees above a matted undergrowth. Theinterstices of that mass of wreckage were full ofsomething whitish, sluggish, stirring--of something thatwas like a greasy fog. The smoke of the invisible firewas coming up again, was trailing, like a poisonousthick mist in some valley choked with dead wood.Already lazy wisps were beginning to curl upwardsamongst the mass of splinters. Here and there a piece oftimber, stuck upright, resembled a post. Half of a fife-rail had been shot through the foresail, and the sky madea patch of glorious blue in the ignobly soiled canvas. Aportion of several boards holding together had fallenacross the rail, and one end protruded overboard, like agangway leading upon nothing, like a gangway leadingover the deep sea, leading to death--as if inviting us towalk the plank at once and be done with our ridiculoustroubles. And still the air, the sky--a ghost, somethinginvisible was hailing the ship."Someone had the sense to look over, and there was thehelmsman, who had impulsively jumped overboard,anxious to come back. He yelled and swam lustily like amerman, keeping up with the ship. We threw him a 33

rope, and presently he stood amongst us streaming withwater and very crestfallen. The captain had surrenderedthe wheel, and apart, elbow on rail and chin in hand,gazed at the sea wistfully. We asked ourselves, Whatnext? I thought, Now, this is something like. This isgreat. I wonder what will happen. O youth!"Suddenly Mahon sighted a steamer far astern. CaptainBeard said, 'We may do something with her yet.' Wehoisted two flags, which said in the internationallanguage of the sea, 'On fire. Want immediateassistance.' The steamer grew bigger rapidly, and by-and-by spoke with two flags on her foremast, 'I amcoming to your assistance.'"In half an hour she was abreast, to windward, withinhail, and rolling slightly, with her engines stopped. Welost our composure, and yelled all together withexcitement, 'We've been blown up.' A man in a whitehelmet, on the bridge, cried, 'Yes! All right! all right!'and he nodded his head, and smiled, and made soothingmotions with his hand as though at a lot of frightenedchildren. One of the boats dropped in the water, andwalked towards us upon the sea with her long oars. FourCalashes pulled a swinging stroke. This was my firstsight of Malay seamen. I've known them since, but whatstruck me then was their unconcern: they came 34

alongside, and even the bowman standing up andholding to our main-chains with the boat-hook did notdeign to lift his head for a glance. I thought people whohad 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 gaveone look, and cried, 'O boys--you had better quit.'"We were silent. He talked apart with the captain for atime,--seemed to argue with him. Then they went awaytogether to the steamer."When our skipper came back we learned that thesteamer was the Sommerville, Captain Nash, from WestAustralia to Singapore via Batavia with mails, and thatthe agreement was she should tow us to Anjer orBatavia, if possible, where we could extinguish the fireby scuttling, and then proceed on our voyage--toBankok! The old man seemed excited. 'We will do ityet,' he said to Mahon, fiercely. He shook his fist at thesky. Nobody else said a word."At noon the steamer began to tow. She went ahead slimand high, and what was left of the Judea followed at theend of seventy fathom of tow-rope,--followed herswiftly like a cloud of smoke with mastheads protrudingabove. We went aloft to furl the sails. We coughed onthe yards, and were careful about the bunts. Do you see 35

the lot of us there, putting a neat furl on the sails of thatship doomed to arrive nowhere? There was not a manwho didn't think that at any moment the masts wouldtopple over. From aloft we could not see the ship forsmoke, and they worked carefully, passing the gasketswith even turns. 'Harbour furl--aloft there!' cried Mahonfrom below."You understand this? I don't think one of those chapsexpected to get down in the usual way. When we did Iheard them saying to each other, 'Well, I thought wewould come down overboard, in a lump--sticks and all--blame me if I didn't.' 'That's what I was thinking tomyself,' would answer wearily another battered andbandaged scarecrow. And, mind, these were menwithout the drilled-in habit of obedience. To anonlooker they would be a lot of profane scallywagswithout a redeeming point. What made them do it--whatmade them obey me when I, thinking consciously howfine it was, made them drop the bunt of the foresailtwice to try and do it better? What? They had noprofessional reputation--no examples, no praise. Itwasn't a sense of duty; they all knew well enough howto shirk, and laze, and dodge--when they had a mind toit--and mostly they had. Was it the two pounds ten amonth that sent them there? They didn't think their pay 36

half good enough. No; it was something in them,something inborn and subtle and everlasting. I don't saypositively that the crew of a French or Germanmerchantman wouldn't have done it, but I doubt whetherit would have been done in the same way. There was acompleteness in it, something solid like a principle, andmasterful like an instinct--a disclosure of somethingsecret--of that hidden something, that gift, of good orevil that makes racial difference, that shapes the fate ofnations."It was that night at ten that, for the first time since wehad been fighting it, we saw the fire. The speed of thetowing had fanned the smoldering destruction. A bluegleam appeared forward, shining below the wreck of thedeck. It wavered in patches, it seemed to stir and creeplike the light of a glowworm. I saw it first, and toldMahon. 'Then the game's up,' he said. 'We had betterstop this towing, or she will burst out suddenly fore andaft before we can clear out.' We set up a yell; rang bellsto attract their attention; they towed on. At last Mahonand I had to crawl forward and cut the rope with an ax.There was no time to cast off the lashings. Red tonguescould be seen licking the wilderness of splinters underour feet as we made our way back to the poop.37

"Of course they very soon found out in the steamer thatthe rope was gone. She gave a loud blast of her whistle,her lights were seen sweeping in a wide circle, she cameup ranging close alongside, and stopped. We were all ina tight group on the poop looking at her. Every man hadsaved a little bundle or a bag. Suddenly a conical flamewith a twisted top shot up forward and threw upon theblack sea a circle of light, with the two vessels side byside and heaving gently in its center. Captain Beard hadbeen sitting on the gratings still and mute for hours, butnow he rose slowly and advanced in front of us, to themizzen-shrouds. Captain Nash hailed: 'Come along!Look sharp. I have mail-bags on board. I will take youand your boats to Singapore.'"'Thank you! No!' said our skipper. 'We must see thelast 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 bundlesquietly. The steamer moved ahead, and passing out ofthe circle of light, vanished at once from our sight,dazzled by the fire which burned fiercely. And then Iknew that I would see the East first as commander of a 38

small boat. I thought it fine; and the fidelity to the oldship was fine. We should see the last of her. Oh theglamour of youth! Oh the fire of it, more dazzling thanthe flames of the burning ship, throwing a magic lighton the wide earth, leaping audaciously to the sky,presently to be quenched by time, more cruel, morepitiless, more bitter than the sea--and like the flames ofthe burning ship surrounded by an impenetrable night." "The old man warned us in his gentle and inflexible waythat it was part of our duty to save for the under-writersas much as we could of the ship's gear. According wewent to work aft, while she blazed forward to give usplenty of light. We lugged out a lot of rubbish. Whatdidn't we save? An old barometer fixed with an absurdquantity of screws nearly cost me my life: a sudden rushof 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 boatswere lumbered to the gunwales. One would havethought the old man wanted to take as much as he couldof his first command with him. He was very very quiet,but off his balance evidently. Would you believe it? Hewanted to take a length of old stream-cable and a kedge-anchor with him in the long-boat. We said, 'Ay, ay, sir,' 39

deferentially, and on the quiet let the thing slipoverboard. The heavy medicine-chest went that way,two bags of green coffee, tins of paint--fancy, paint!--awhole lot of things. Then I was ordered with two handsinto the boats to make a stowage and get them readyagainst the time it would be proper for us to leave theship."We put everything straight, stepped the long-boat'smast for our skipper, who was in charge of her, and Iwas not sorry to sit down for a moment. My face feltraw, every limb ached as if broken, I was aware of allmy ribs, and would have sworn to a twist in the back-bone. The boats, fast astern, lay in a deep shadow, andall around I could see the circle of the sea lighted by thefire. A gigantic flame arose forward straight and clear. Itflared there, with noises like the whir of wings, withrumbles as of thunder. There were cracks, detonations,and from the cone of flame the sparks flew upwards, asman is born to trouble, to leaky ships, and to ships thatburn."What bothered me was that the ship, lying broadside tothe 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 40

under the counter and then swinging alongside. Theywere knocking about dangerously and coming near theflame, while the ship rolled on them, and, of course,there was always the danger of the masts going over theside at any moment. I and my two boat-keepers keptthem off as best we could with oars and boat-hooks; butto be constantly at it became exasperating, since therewas no reason why we should not leave at once. Wecould not see those on board, nor could we imaginewhat caused the delay. The boat-keepers were swearingfeebly, and I had not only my share of the work, but alsohad to keep at it two men who showed a constantinclination to lay themselves down and let things slide."At last I hailed 'On deck there,' and someone lookedover. 'We're ready here,' I said. The head disappeared,and very soon popped up again. 'The captain says, Allright, sir, and to keep the boats well clear of the ship.'"Half an hour passed. Suddenly there was a frightfulracket, rattle, clanking of chain, hiss of water, andmillions of sparks flew up into the shivering column ofsmoke that stood leaning slightly above the ship. Thecat-heads had burned away, and the two red-hot anchorshad gone to the bottom, tearing out after them twohundred fathom of red-hot chain. The ship trembled, themass of flame swayed as if ready to collapse, and the 41

fore top-gallant-mast fell. It darted down like an arrowof fire, shot under, and instantly leaping up within anoar's-length of the boats, floated quietly, very black onthe luminous sea. I hailed the deck again. After sometime a man in an unexpectedly cheerful but also muffledtone, as though he had been trying to speak with hismouth shut, informed me, 'Coming directly, sir,' andvanished. For a long time I heard nothing but the whirand roar of the fire. There were also whistling sounds.The boats jumped, tugged at the painters, ran at eachother playfully, knocked their sides together, or, dowhat we would, swung in a bunch against the ship'sside. I couldn't stand it any longer, and swarming up arope, clambered aboard over the stern."It was as bright as day. Coming up like this, the sheetof fire facing me, was a terrifying sight, and the heatseemed hardly bearable at first. On a settee cushiondragged out of the cabin, Captain Beard, with his legsdrawn up and one arm under his head, slept with thelight playing on him. Do you know what the rest werebusy about? They were sitting on deck right aft, roundan open case, eating bread and cheese and drinkingbottled stout."On the background of flames twisting in fierce tonguesabove their heads they seemed at home like 42

salamanders, and looked like a band of desperatepirates. The fire sparkled in the whites of their eyes,gleamed on patches of white skin seen through the tornshirts. Each had the marks as of a battle about him--bandaged heads, tied-up arms, a strip of dirty rag rounda knee--and each man had a bottle between his legs anda chunk of cheese in his hand. Mahon got up. With hishandsome and disreputable head, his hooked profile, hislong white beard, and with an uncorked bottle in hishand, he resembled one of those reckless sea-robbers ofold making merry amidst violence and disaster. 'The lastmeal on board,' he explained solemnly. 'We had nothingto eat all day, and it was no use leaving all this.' Heflourished the bottle and indicated the sleeping skipper.'He said he couldn't swallow anything, so I got him tolie down,' he went on; and as I stared, 'I don't knowwhether you are aware, young fellow, the man had nosleep to speak of for days--and there will be dam' littlesleep in the boats.' 'There will be no boats by-and-by ifyou fool about much longer,' I said, indignantly. Iwalked up to the skipper and shook him by the shoulder.At last he opened his eyes, but did not move. 'Time toleave her, sir,' I said, quietly."He got up painfully, looked at the flames, at the seasparkling round the ship, and black, black as ink farther 43

away; he looked at the stars shining dim through a thinveil of smoke in a sky black, black as Erebus."'Youngest first,' he said."And the ordinary seaman, wiping his mouth with theback of his hand, got up, clambered over the taffrail,and vanished. Others followed. One, on the point ofgoing over, stopped short to drain his bottle, and with agreat swing of his arm flung it at the fire. 'Take this!' hecried."The skipper lingered disconsolately, and we left him tocommune alone for awhile with his first command.Then I went up again and brought him away at last. Itwas time. The ironwork on the poop was hot to thetouch."Then the painter of the long-boat was cut, and the threeboats, tied together, drifted clear of the ship. It was justsixteen hours after the explosion when we abandonedher. Mahon had charge of the second boat, and I had thesmallest--the 14-foot thing. The long-boat would havetaken the lot of us; but the skipper said we must save asmuch property as we could--for the under-writers--andso I got my first command. I had two men with me, abag of biscuits, a few tins of meat, and a breaker ofwater. I was ordered to keep close to the long-boat, thatin case of bad weather we might be taken into her.44

"And do you know what I thought? I thought I wouldpart company as soon as I could. I wanted to have myfirst command all to myself. I wasn't going to sail in asquadron if there were a chance for independentcruising. I would make land by myself. I would beat theother boats. Youth! All youth! The silly, charming,beautiful youth."But we did not make a start at once. We must see thelast of the ship. And so the boats drifted about thatnight, heaving and setting on the swell. The men dozed,waked, sighed, groaned. I looked at the burning ship."Between the darkness of earth and heaven she wasburning fiercely upon a disc of purple sea shot by theblood-red play of gleams; upon a disc of water glitteringand sinister. A high, clear flame, an immense and lonelyflame, ascended from the ocean, and from its summitthe black smoke poured continuously at the sky. Sheburned furiously, mournful and imposing like a funeralpile kindled in the night, surrounded by the sea, watchedover by the stars. A magnificent death had come like agrace, like a gift, like a reward to that old ship at the endof her laborious days. The surrender of her weary ghostto the keeping of stars and sea was stirring like the sightof a glorious triumph. The masts fell just beforedaybreak, and for a moment there was a burst and 45

turmoil of sparks that seemed to fill with flying fire thenight patient and watchful, the vast night lying silentupon the sea. At daylight she was only a charred shell,floating still under a cloud of smoke and bearing aglowing mass of coal within."Then the oars were got out, and the boats forming in aline moved round her remains as if in procession--thelong-boat leading. As we pulled across her stern a slimdart of fire shot out viciously at us, and suddenly shewent down, head first, in a great hiss of steam. Theunconsumed stern was the last to sink; but the paint hadgone, had cracked, had peeled off, and there were noletters, there was no word, no stubborn device that waslike her soul, to flash at the rising sun her creed and hername."We made our way north. A breeze sprang up, andabout 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 aspare oar and hoisted a boat-awning for a sail, with aboat-hook for a yard. She was certainly over-masted,but I had the satisfaction of knowing that with the windaft 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 asociable meal of hard bread and water, got our lastinstructions. These were simple: steer north, and keep 46

together as much as possible. 'Be careful with that juryrig, Marlow,' said the captain; and Mahon, as I sailedproudly past his boat, wrinkled his curved nose andhailed, 'You will sail that ship of yours under water, ifyou don't look out, young fellow.' He was a maliciousold man--and may the deep sea where he sleeps nowrock him gently, rock him tenderly to the end of time!"Before sunset a thick rain-squall passed over the twoboats, which were far astern, and that was the last I sawof them for a time. Next day I sat steering my cockle-shell--my first command--with nothing but water andsky around me. I did sight in the afternoon the uppersails of a ship far away, but said nothing, and my mendid not notice her. You see I was afraid she might behomeward bound, and I had no mind to turn back fromthe portals of the East. I was steering for Java--anotherblessed name--like Bankok, you know. I steered manydays."I need not tell you what it is to be knocking about in anopen boat. I remember nights and days of calm when wepulled, we pulled, and the boat seemed to stand still, asif bewitched within the circle of the sea horizon. Iremember the heat, the deluge of rain-squalls that keptus baling for dear life (but filled our water-cask), and Iremember sixteen hours on end with a mouth dry as a 47

cinder and a steering-oar over the stern to keep my firstcommand head on to a breaking sea. I did not know howgood a man I was till then. I remember the drawn faces,the dejected figures of my two men, and I remember myyouth and the feeling that will never come back anymore--the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast thesea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling thatlures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort--todeath; the triumphant conviction of strength, the heat oflife in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that withevery year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, andexpires--and expires, too soon--before life itself."And this is how I see the East. I have seen its secretplaces and have looked into its very soul; but now I seeit always from a small boat, a high outline of mountains,blue and afar in the morning; like faint mist at noon; ajagged wall of purple at sunset. I have the feel of the oarin my hand, the vision of a scorching blue sea in myeyes. And I see a bay, a wide bay, smooth as glass andpolished like ice, shimmering in the dark. A red lightburns far off upon the gloom of the land, and the nightis soft and warm. We drag at the oars with aching arms,and suddenly a puff of wind, a puff faint and tepid andladen with strange odors of blossoms, of aromatic wood,comes out of the still night--the first sigh of the East on 48

my face. That I can never forget. It was impalpable andenslaving, like a charm, like a whispered promise ofmysterious delight."We had been pulling this finishing spell for elevenhours. Two pulled, and he whose turn it was to rest satat the tiller. We had made out the red light in that bayand steered for it, guessing it must mark some smallcoasting port. We passed two vessels, outlandish andhigh-sterned, sleeping at anchor, and, approaching thelight, now very dim, ran the boat's nose against the endof a jutting wharf. We were blind with fatigue. My mendropped the oars and fell off the thwarts as if dead. Imade fast to a pile. A current rippled softly. The scentedobscurity of the shore was grouped into vast masses, adensity of colossal clumps of vegetation, probably--mute and fantastic shapes. And at their foot thesemicircle of a beach gleamed faintly, like an illusion.There was not a light, not a stir, not a sound. Themysterious East faced me, perfumed like a flower, silentlike death, dark like a grave."And I sat weary beyond expression, exulting like aconqueror, sleepless and entranced as if before aprofound, a fateful enigma."A splashing of oars, a measured dip reverberating onthe level of water, intensified by the silence of the shore 49

into loud claps, made me jump up. A boat, a Europeanboat, was coming in. I invoked the name of the dead; Ihailed: Judea ahoy! A thin shout answered."It was the captain. I had beaten the flagship by threehours, and I was glad to hear the old man's voice,tremulous and tired. 'Is it you, Marlow?' 'Mind the endof that jetty, sir,' I cried."He approached cautiously, and brought up with thedeep-sea lead-line which we had saved--for the under-writers. I eased my painter and fell alongside. He sat, abroken figure at the stern, wet with dew, his handsclasped in his lap. His men were asleep already. 'I had aterrible time of it,' he murmured. 'Mahon is behind--notvery far.' We conversed in whispers, in low whispers, asif afraid to wake up the land. Guns, thunder,earthquakes would not have awakened the men justthen."Looking around as we talked, I saw away at sea abright light traveling in the night. 'There's a steamerpassing the bay,' I said. She was not passing, she wasentering, and she even came close and anchored. 'Iwish,' said the old man, 'you would find out whether sheis English. Perhaps they could give us a passagesomewhere.' He seemed nervously anxious. So by dintof punching and kicking I started one of my men into a 50

state of somnambulism, and giving him an oar, tookanother and pulled towards the lights of the steamer."There was a murmur of voices in her, metallic hollowclangs of the engine-room, footsteps on the deck. Herports shone, round like dilated eyes. Shapes movedabout, and there was a shadowy man high up on thebridge. He heard my oars."And then, before I could open my lips, the East spoketo me, but it was in a Western voice. A torrent of wordswas poured into the enigmatical, the fateful silence;outlandish, angry words, mixed with words and evenwhole sentences of good English, less strange but evenmore surprising. The voice swore and cursed violently;it riddled the solemn peace of the bay by a volley ofabuse. It began by calling me Pig, and from that wentcrescendo into unmentionable adjectives--in English.The man up there raged aloud in two languages, andwith a sincerity in his fury that almost convinced me Ihad, in some way, sinned against the harmony of theuniverse. I could hardly see him, but began to think hewould work himself into a fit."Suddenly he ceased, and I could hear him snorting andblowing like a porpoise. I said--"'What steamer is this, pray?'"'Eh? What's this? And who are you?'51

"'Castaway crew of an English barque burnt at sea. Wecame here to-night. I am the second mate. The captain isin the long-boat, and wishes to know if you would giveus a passage somewhere.'"'Oh, my goodness! I say . . . This is the Celestial fromSingapore on her return trip. I'll arrange with yourcaptain in the morning . . . and, . . . I say . . . did youhear me just now?'"'I should think the whole bay heard you.'"'I thought you were a shore-boat. Now, look here--thisinfernal lazy scoundrel of a caretaker has gone to sleepagain--curse him. The light is out, and I nearly ran foulof the end of this damned jetty. This is the third time heplays me this trick. Now, I ask you, can anybody standthis kind of thing? It's enough to drive a man out of hismind. I'll report him. . . . I'll get the Assistant Residentto give him the sack, by . . . See--there's no light. It'sout, isn't it? I take you to witness the light's out. Thereshould 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 hadto take a valuable steamer along this God-forsaken coastyou would want a light too. I'll kick him from end toend of his miserable wharf. You'll see if I don't. I will--'52

"'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 thenwent to sleep at last. I had faced the silence of the East.I had heard some of its languages. But when I openedmy eyes again the silence was as complete as though ithad never been broken. I was lying in a flood of light,and the sky had never looked so far, so high, before. Iopened my eyes and lay without moving."And then I saw the men of the East--they were lookingat me. The whole length of the jetty was full of people. Isaw brown, bronze, yellow faces, the black eyes, theglitter, the colour of an Eastern crowd. And all thesebeings stared without a murmur, without a sigh, withouta movement. They stared down at the boats, at thesleeping men who at night had come to them from thesea. Nothing moved. The fronds of palms stood stillagainst the sky. Not a branch stirred along the shore,and the brown roofs of hidden houses peeped throughthe green foliage, through the big leaves that hungshining and still like leaves forged of heavy metal. Thiswas the East of the ancient navigators, so old, somysterious, resplendent and somber, living andunchanged, full of danger and promise. And these werethe men. I sat up suddenly. A wave of movement passed 53

through the crowd from end to end, passed along theheads, swayed the bodies, ran along the jetty like aripple on the water, like a breath of wind on a field--andall was still again. I see it now--the wide sweep of thebay, the glittering sands, the wealth of green infinite andvaried, the sea blue like the sea of a dream, the crowd ofattentive faces, the blaze of vivid colour--the waterreflecting it all, the curve of the shore, the jetty, thehigh-sterned outlandish craft floating still, and the threeboats with tired men from the West sleepingunconscious of the land and the people and of theviolence of sunshine. They slept thrown across thethwarts, curled on bottom-boards, in the carelessattitudes of death. The head of the old skipper, leaningback in the stern of the long-boat, had fallen on hisbreast, 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, asthough he had been shot where he sat at the tiller; and aman, all in a heap in the bows of the boat, slept withboth arms embracing the stem-head and with his cheeklaid on the gunwale. The East looked at them without asound.54

"I have known its fascination since: I have seen themysterious shores, the still water, the lands of brownnations, where a stealthy Nemesis lies in wait, pursues,overtakes so many of the conquering race, who areproud of their wisdom, of their knowledge, of theirstrength. But for me all the East is contained in thatvision of my youth. It is all in that moment when Iopened my young eyes on it. I came upon it from atussle with the sea—and I was young—and I saw itlooking at me. And this is all that is left of it! Only amoment; a moment of strength, of romance, of glamour—of youth! . . . A flick of sunshine upon a strangeshore, the time to remember, the time for a sigh, and—good-bye!—Night—Good-bye . . .!"He drank."Ah! The good old time—the good old time. Youth andthe sea. Glamour and the sea! The good, strong sea, thesalt, bitter sea, that could whisper to you and roar at youand knock your breath out of you."He drank again."By all that's wonderful, it is the sea, I believe, the seaitself—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 thatthe best time, that time when we were young at sea; 55

young and had nothing, on the sea that gives nothing,except hard knocks—and sometimes a chance to feelyour strength—that only—what you all regret?"And we all nodded at him: the man of finance, the manof accounts, the man of law, we all nodded at him overthe polished table that like a still sheet of brown waterreflected our faces, lined, wrinkled; our faces marked bytoil, by deceptions, by success, by love; our weary eyeslooking still, looking always, looking anxiously forsomething out of life, that while it is expected is alreadygone—has passed unseen, in a sigh, in a flash—togetherwith the youth, with the strength, with the romance ofillusions. Joseph Conrad56

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