Heart of Darkness 2 Episode 89 to 94

Heart of Darkness 2 Episode 89 to 94

Heart of Darkness

 

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but as we opened the reach more, I perceived it was the
head of a long sand-bank, or rather of a chain of shallow
patches stretching down the middle of the river. They
were discoloured, just awash, and the whole lot was seen
just under the water, exactly as a man’s backbone is seen
running down the middle of his back under the skin.
Now, as far as I did see, I could go to the right or to the
left of this. I didn’t know either channel, of course. The
banks looked pretty well alike, the depth appeared the
same; but as I had been informed the station was on the
west side, I naturally headed for the western passage.
‘No sooner had we fairly entered it than I became
aware it was much narrower than I had supposed. To the
left of us there was the long uninterrupted shoal, and to
the right a high, steep bank heavily overgrown with
bushes. Above the bush the trees stood in serried ranks.
The twigs overhung the current thickly, and from distance
to distance a large limb of some tree projected rigidly over
the stream. It was then well on in the afternoon, the face
of the forest was gloomy, and a broad strip of shadow had
already fallen on the water. In this shadow we steamed
up—very slowly, as you may imagine. I sheered her well
inshore—the water being deepest near the bank, as the
sounding-pole informed me.

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‘One of my hungry and forbearing friends was
sounding in the bows just below me. This steamboat was
exactly like a decked scow. On the deck, there were two
little teakwood houses, with doors and windows. The
boiler was in the fore-end, and the machinery right astern.
yOver the whole there was a light roof, supported on
stanchions. The funnel projected through that roof, and in
front of the funnel a small cabin built of light planks served
for a pilot-house. It contained a couch, two camp-stools, a
loaded Martini-Henry leaning in one corner, a tiny table,
and the steering-wheel. It had a wide door in front and a
broad shutter at each side. All these were always thrown
open, of course. I spent my days perched up there on the
extreme fore-end of that roof, before the door. At night I
slept, or tried to, on the couch. An athletic black
belonging to some coast tribe and educated by my poor
predecessor, was the helmsman. He sported a pair of brass
earrings, wore a blue cloth wrapper from the waist to the
ankles, and thought all the world of himself. He was the
most unstable kind of fool I had ever seen. He steered
with no end of a swagger while you were by; but if he lost
sight of you, he became instantly the prey of an abject
funk, and would let that cripple of a steamboat get the
upper hand of him in a minute.

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‘I was looking down at the sounding-pole, and feeling
much annoyed to see at each try a little more of it stick
out of that river, when I saw my poleman give up on the
business suddenly, and stretch himself flat on the deck,
without even taking the trouble to haul his pole in. He
kept hold on it though, and it trailed in the water. At the
same time the fireman, whom I could also see below me,
sat down abruptly before his furnace and ducked his head.
I was amazed. Then I had to look at the river mighty
quick, because there was a snag in the fairway. Sticks, little
sticks, were flying about—thick: they were whizzing
before my nose, dropping below me, striking behind me
against my pilot-house. All this time the river, the shore,
the woods, were very quiet— perfectly quiet. I could only
hear the heavy splashing thump of the stern-wheel and the
patter of these things. We cleared the snag clumsily.
Arrows, by Jove! We were being shot at! I stepped in
quickly to close the shutter on the landside. That foolhelmsman,
his hands on the spokes, was lifting his knees
high, stamping his feet, champing his mouth, like a
reined-in horse. Confound him! And we were staggering
within ten feet of the bank. I had to lean right out to
swing the heavy shutter, and I saw a face amongst the
leaves on the level with my own, looking at me very

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fierce and steady; and then suddenly, as though a veil had
been removed from my eyes, I made out, deep in the
tangled gloom, naked breasts, arms, legs, glaring eyes—
the bush was swarming with human limbs in movement,
glistening. of bronze colour. The twigs shook, swayed,
and rustled, the arrows flew out of them, and then the
shutter came to. ‘Steer her straight,’ I said to the
helmsman. He held his head rigid, face forward; but his
eyes rolled, he kept on lifting and setting down his feet
gently, his mouth foamed a little. ‘Keep quiet!’ I said in a
fury. I might just as well have ordered a tree not to sway
in the wind. I darted out. Below me there was a great
scuffle of feet on the iron deck; confused exclamations; a
voice screamed, ‘Can you turn back?’ I caught sight of a
V-shaped ripple on the water ahead. What? Another snag!
A fusillade burst out under my feet. The pilgrims had
opened with their Winchesters, and were simply squirting
lead into that bush. A deuce of a lot of smoke came up
and drove slowly forward. I swore at it. Now I couldn’t
see the ripple or the snag either. I stood in the doorway,
peering, and the arrows came in swarms. They might have
been poisoned, but they looked as though they wouldn’t
kill a cat. The bush began to howl. Our wood-cutters
raised a warlike whoop; the report of a rifle just at my

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back deafened me. I glanced over my shoulder, and the
pilot-house was yet full of noise and smoke when I made a
dash at the wheel. The fool-nigger had dropped
everything, to throw the shutter open and let off that
Martini-Henry. He stood before the wide opening,
glaring, and I yelled at him to come back, while I
straightened the sudden twist out of that steamboat. There
was no room to turn even if I had wanted to, the snag was
somewhere very near ahead in that confounded smoke,
there was no time to lose, so I just crowded her into the
bank— right into the bank, where I knew the water was
deep.
‘We tore slowly along the overhanging bushes in a
whirl of broken twigs and flying leaves. The fusillade
below stopped short, as I had foreseen it would when the
squirts got empty. I threw my head back to a glinting
whizz that traversed the pilot-house, in at one shutter-hole
and out at the other. Looking past that mad helmsman,
who was shaking the empty rifle and yelling at the shore, I
saw vague forms of men running bent double, leaping,
gliding, distinct, incomplete, evanescent. Something big
appeared in the air before the shutter, the rifle went
overboard, and the man stepped back swiftly, looked at
me over his shoulder in an extraordinary, profound,

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familiar manner, and fell upon my feet. The side of his
head hit the wheel twice, and the end of what appeared a
long cane clattered round and knocked over a little campstool.
It looked as though after wrenching that thing from
somebody ashore he had lost his balance in the effort. The
thin smoke had blown away, we were clear of the snag,
and looking ahead I could see that in another hundred
yards or so I would be free to sheer off, away from the
bank; but my feet felt so very warm and wet that I had to
look down. The man had rolled on his back and stared
straight up at me; both his hands clutched that cane. It was
the shaft of a spear that, either thrown or lunged through
the opening, had caught him in the side, just below the
ribs; the blade had gone in out of sight, after making a
frightful gash; my shoes were full; a pool of blood lay very
still, gleaming dark-red under the wheel; his eyes shone
with an amazing lustre. The fusillade burst out again. He
looked at me anxiously, gripping the spear like something
precious, with an air of being afraid I would try to take it
away from him. I had to make an effort to free my eyes
from his gaze and attend to the steering. With one hand I
felt above my head for the line of the steam whistle, and
jerked out screech after screech hurriedly. The tumult of
angry and warlike yells was checked instantly, and then