sentimental pretence but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the ideaâsomething you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to. . . .ââ
He broke off. Flames glided in the river, small green flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing, overtaking, joining, crossing each otherâthen separating slowly or hastily. The traffic of the great city went on in the deepening night upon the sleepless river. We looked on, waiting patientlyâthere was nothing else to do till the end of the flood; but it was only after a long silence, when he said, in a hesitating voice, ââI suppose you fellows remember I did once turn fresh-water sailor for a bit,ââ that we knew we were fated, before the ebb began to run, to hear about one of Marlowâs inconclusive experiences.
ââI donât want to bother you much with what happened to me personally,ââ he began, showing in this remark the weakness of many tellers of tales who seem so often unaware of what their audience would best like to hear; ââyet to understand the effect of it on me you ought to know how I got out there, what I saw, how I went up that river to the place where I first met the poor chap. It was the farthest point of navigation and the culminating point of my experience. It seemed somehow to throw a kind of light on everything about meâand into my thoughts. It was sombre enough, tooâand pitifulânot extraordinary in any wayânot very clear either. No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of light.
ââI had then, as you remember, just returned to London after a lot of Indian Ocean, Pacific, China Seasâ a regular dose of the Eastâsix years or so, and I was loafing about, hindering you fellows in your work and invading your homes, just as though I had got a heavenly mission to civilize you. It was very fine for a time, but after a bit I did get tired of resting. Then I began to look for a shipâI should think the hardest work on earth. But the ships wouldnât even look at me. And I got tired of that game, too.
ââNow when I was a little chap I had a passion for maps. I would look for hours at South America, or Africa, or Australia, and lose myself in all the glories of exploration. At that time there were many blank spaces on the earth, and when I saw one that looked particularly inviting on a map (but they all look that) I would put my finger on it and say, âWhen I grow up I will go there.â The North Pole was one of these places, I remember. Well, I havenât been there yet, and shall not try now. The glamourâs off. Other places were scattered about the Equator, and in every sort of latitude all over the two hemispheres. I have been in some of them, and . . . well we wonât talk about that. But there was one yetâthe biggest, the most blank, so to speakâthat I had a hankering after.
ââTrue, by this time it was not a blank space any more. It had got filled since my boyhood with rivers and lakes and names. It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mysteryâa white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over. It had become a place of darkness. But there was in it one river especially, a mighty big river, that you could see on the map, resemblingan immense snake uncoiled, with its head in the sea, its body at rest curving afar over a vast country, and its tail lost in the depths of the land. And as I looked at the map of it in a shop-window, it fascinated me as a snake would a birdâa silly little bird. Then I remembered there was a big concern, a Company for trade on that river. Dash it all! I thought to myself, they canât trade without using some kind of craft on that lot of fresh waterâsteamboats! Why shouldnât I try to get charge of one? I went on along Fleet Street, but could not shake off the idea. The snake had charmed me.
ââYou understand it was a
He broke off. Flames glided in the river, small green flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing, overtaking, joining, crossing each otherâthen separating slowly or hastily. The traffic of the great city went on in the deepening night upon the sleepless river. We looked on, waiting patientlyâthere was nothing else to do till the end of the flood; but it was only after a long silence, when he said, in a hesitating voice, ââI suppose you fellows remember I did once turn fresh-water sailor for a bit,ââ that we knew we were fated, before the ebb began to run, to hear about one of Marlowâs inconclusive experiences.
ââI donât want to bother you much with what happened to me personally,ââ he began, showing in this remark the weakness of many tellers of tales who seem so often unaware of what their audience would best like to hear; ââyet to understand the effect of it on me you ought to know how I got out there, what I saw, how I went up that river to the place where I first met the poor chap. It was the farthest point of navigation and the culminating point of my experience. It seemed somehow to throw a kind of light on everything about meâand into my thoughts. It was sombre enough, tooâand pitifulânot extraordinary in any wayânot very clear either. No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of light.
ââI had then, as you remember, just returned to London after a lot of Indian Ocean, Pacific, China Seasâ a regular dose of the Eastâsix years or so, and I was loafing about, hindering you fellows in your work and invading your homes, just as though I had got a heavenly mission to civilize you. It was very fine for a time, but after a bit I did get tired of resting. Then I began to look for a shipâI should think the hardest work on earth. But the ships wouldnât even look at me. And I got tired of that game, too.
ââNow when I was a little chap I had a passion for maps. I would look for hours at South America, or Africa, or Australia, and lose myself in all the glories of exploration. At that time there were many blank spaces on the earth, and when I saw one that looked particularly inviting on a map (but they all look that) I would put my finger on it and say, âWhen I grow up I will go there.â The North Pole was one of these places, I remember. Well, I havenât been there yet, and shall not try now. The glamourâs off. Other places were scattered about the Equator, and in every sort of latitude all over the two hemispheres. I have been in some of them, and . . . well we wonât talk about that. But there was one yetâthe biggest, the most blank, so to speakâthat I had a hankering after.
ââTrue, by this time it was not a blank space any more. It had got filled since my boyhood with rivers and lakes and names. It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mysteryâa white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over. It had become a place of darkness. But there was in it one river especially, a mighty big river, that you could see on the map, resemblingan immense snake uncoiled, with its head in the sea, its body at rest curving afar over a vast country, and its tail lost in the depths of the land. And as I looked at the map of it in a shop-window, it fascinated me as a snake would a birdâa silly little bird. Then I remembered there was a big concern, a Company for trade on that river. Dash it all! I thought to myself, they canât trade without using some kind of craft on that lot of fresh waterâsteamboats! Why shouldnât I try to get charge of one? I went on along Fleet Street, but could not shake off the idea. The snake had charmed me.
ââYou understand it was a
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