الفصل الفصل 3 · A marvellous stillness pervaded the world, and the stars, together with

. A marvellous stillness pervaded the world, and the stars, together with

the serenity of their rays, seemed to shed upon the earth the assurance

of everlasting security. The young moon recurved, and shining low in the

west, was like a slender shaving thrown up from a bar of gold, and the

Arabian Sea, smooth and cool to the eye like a sheet of ice, extended

its perfect level to the perfect circle of a dark horizon. The propeller

turned without a check, as though its beat had been part of the scheme

of a safe universe; and on each side of the Patna two deep folds of

water, permanent and sombre on the unwrinkled shimmer, enclosed within

their straight and diverging ridges a few white swirls of foam bursting

in a low hiss, a few wavelets, a few ripples, a few undulations that,

left behind, agitated the surface of the sea for an instant after the

passage of the ship, subsided splashing gently, calmed down at last

into the circular stillness of water and sky with the black speck of the

moving hull remaining everlastingly in its centre.

Jim on the bridge was penetrated by the great certitude of unbounded

safety and peace that could be read on the silent aspect of nature like

the certitude of fostering love upon the placid tenderness of a mother’s

face. Below the roof of awnings, surrendered to the wisdom of white men

and to their courage, trusting the power of their unbelief and the iron

shell of their fire-ship, the pilgrims of an exacting faith slept

on mats, on blankets, on bare planks, on every deck, in all the dark

corners, wrapped in dyed cloths, muffled in soiled rags, with their

heads resting on small bundles, with their faces pressed to bent

forearms: the men, the women, the children; the old with the young, the

decrepit with the lusty--all equal before sleep, death’s brother.

A draught of air, fanned from forward by the speed of the ship, passed

steadily through the long gloom between the high bulwarks, swept over

the rows of prone bodies; a few dim flames in globe-lamps were hung

short here and there under the ridge-poles, and in the blurred circles

of light thrown down and trembling slightly to the unceasing vibration

of the ship appeared a chin upturned, two closed eyelids, a dark hand

with silver rings, a meagre limb draped in a torn covering, a head bent

back, a naked foot, a throat bared and stretched as if offering itself

to the knife. The well-to-do had made for their families shelters with

heavy boxes and dusty mats; the poor reposed side by side with all they

had on earth tied up in a rag under their heads; the lone old men slept,

with drawn-up legs, upon their prayer-carpets, with their hands over

their ears and one elbow on each side of the face; a father, his

shoulders up and his knees under his forehead, dozed dejectedly by a

boy who slept on his back with tousled hair and one arm commandingly

extended; a woman covered from head to foot, like a corpse, with a piece

of white sheeting, had a naked child in the hollow of each arm; the

Arab’s belongings, piled right aft, made a heavy mound of broken

outlines, with a cargo-lamp swung above, and a great confusion of

vague forms behind: gleams of paunchy brass pots, the foot-rest of a

deck-chair, blades of spears, the straight scabbard of an old sword

leaning against a heap of pillows, the spout of a tin coffee-pot. The

patent log on the taffrail periodically rang a single tinkling stroke

for every mile traversed on an errand of faith. Above the mass of

sleepers a faint and patient sigh at times floated, the exhalation of a

troubled dream; and short metallic clangs bursting out suddenly in the

depths of the ship, the harsh scrape of a shovel, the violent slam of a

furnace-door, exploded brutally, as if the men handling the mysterious

things below had their breasts full of fierce anger: while the slim high

hull of the steamer went on evenly ahead, without a sway of her bare

masts, cleaving continuously the great calm of the waters under the

inaccessible serenity of the sky.

Jim paced athwart, and his footsteps in the vast silence were loud to

his own ears, as if echoed by the watchful stars: his eyes, roaming

about the line of the horizon, seemed to gaze hungrily into the

unattainable, and did not see the shadow of the coming event. The only

shadow on the sea was the shadow of the black smoke pouring heavily from

the funnel its immense streamer, whose end was constantly dissolving in

the air. Two Malays, silent and almost motionless, steered, one on each

side of the wheel, whose brass rim shone fragmentarily in the oval

of light thrown out by the binnacle. Now and then a hand, with black

fingers alternately letting go and catching hold of revolving spokes,

appeared in the illumined part; the links of wheel-chains ground heavily

in the grooves of the barrel. Jim would glance at the compass, would

glance around the unattainable horizon, would stretch himself till his

joints cracked, with a leisurely twist of the body, in the very excess

of well-being; and, as if made audacious by the invincible aspect of the

peace, he felt he cared for nothing that could happen to him to the end

of his days. From time to time he glanced idly at a chart pegged

out with four drawing-pins on a low three-legged table abaft the

steering-gear case. The sheet of paper portraying the depths of the sea

presented a shiny surface under the light of a bull’s-eye lamp lashed to

a stanchion, a surface as level and smooth as the glimmering surface of

the waters. Parallel rulers with a pair of dividers reposed on it; the

ship’s position at last noon was marked with a small black cross, and

the straight pencil-line drawn firmly as far as Perim figured the course

of the ship--the path of souls towards the holy place, the promise of

salvation, the reward of eternal life--while the pencil with its sharp

end touching the Somali coast lay round and still like a naked ship’s

spar floating in the pool of a sheltered dock. ‘How steady she goes,’

thought Jim with wonder, with something like gratitude for this high

peace of sea and sky. At such times his thoughts would be full of

valorous deeds: he loved these dreams and the success of his imaginary

achievements. They were the best parts of life, its secret truth, its

hidden reality. They had a gorgeous virility, the charm of vagueness,

they passed before him with an heroic tread; they carried his soul away

with them and made it drunk with the divine philtre of an unbounded

confidence in itself. There was nothing he could not face. He was so

pleased with the idea that he smiled, keeping perfunctorily his eyes

ahead; and when he happened to glance back he saw the white streak of

the wake drawn as straight by the ship’s keel upon the sea as the black

line drawn by the pencil upon the chart.

The ash-buckets racketed, clanking up and down the stoke-hold

ventilators, and this tin-pot clatter warned him the end of his watch

was near. He sighed with content, with regret as well at having to

part from that serenity which fostered the adventurous freedom of his

thoughts. He was a little sleepy too, and felt a pleasurable languor

running through every limb as though all the blood in his body had

turned to warm milk. His skipper had come up noiselessly, in pyjamas and

with his sleeping-jacket flung wide open. Red of face, only half awake,

the left eye partly closed, the right staring stupid and glassy, he hung

his big head over the chart and scratched his ribs sleepily. There was

something obscene in the sight of his naked flesh. His bared breast

glistened soft and greasy as though he had sweated out his fat in his

sleep. He pronounced a professional remark in a voice harsh and dead,

resembling the rasping sound of a wood-file on the edge of a plank; the

fold of his double chin hung like a bag triced up close under the hinge

of his jaw. Jim started, and his answer was full of deference; but

the odious and fleshy figure, as though seen for the first time in a

revealing moment, fixed itself in his memory for ever as the incarnation

of everything vile and base that lurks in the world we love: in our own

hearts we trust for our salvation, in the men that surround us, in the

sights that fill our eyes, in the sounds that fill our ears, and in the

air that fills our lungs.

The thin gold shaving of the moon floating slowly downwards had lost

itself on the darkened surface of the waters, and the eternity beyond

the sky seemed to come down nearer to the earth, with the augmented

glitter of the stars, with the more profound sombreness in the lustre of

the half-transparent dome covering the flat disc of an opaque sea. The

ship moved so smoothly that her onward motion was imperceptible to the

senses of men, as though she had been a crowded planet speeding through

the dark spaces of ether behind the swarm of suns, in the appalling and

calm solitudes awaiting the breath of future creations. ‘Hot is no name

for it down below,’ said a voice.

Jim smiled without looking round. The skipper presented an unmoved

breadth of back: it was the renegade’s trick to appear pointedly unaware

of your existence unless it suited his purpose to turn at you with a

devouring glare before he let loose a torrent of foamy, abusive jargon

that came like a gush from a sewer. Now he emitted only a sulky grunt;

the second engineer at the head of the bridge-ladder, kneading with

damp palms a dirty sweat-rag, unabashed, continued the tale of his

complaints. The sailors had a good time of it up here, and what was the

use of them in the world he would be blowed if he could see. The poor

devils of engineers had to get the ship along anyhow, and they could

very well do the rest too; by gosh they--‘Shut up!’ growled the German

stolidly. ‘Oh yes! Shut up--and when anything goes wrong you fly to

us, don’t you?’ went on the other. He was more than half cooked, he

expected; but anyway, now, he did not mind how much he sinned, because

these last three days he had passed through a fine course of training

for the place where the bad boys go when they die--b’gosh, he

had--besides being made jolly well deaf by the blasted racket below.

The durned, compound, surface-condensing, rotten scrap-heap rattled and

banged down there like an old deck-winch, only more so; and what made

him risk his life every night and day that God made amongst the refuse

of a breaking-up yard flying round at fifty-seven revolutions, was more

than _he_ could tell. He must have been born reckless, b’gosh.

He . . . ‘Where did you get drink?’ inquired the German, very savage; but

motionless in the light of the binnacle, like a clumsy effigy of a

man cut out of a block of fat. Jim went on smiling at the retreating

horizon; his heart was full of generous impulses, and his thought was

contemplating his own superiority. ‘Drink!’ repeated the engineer with

amiable scorn: he was hanging on with both hands to the rail, a shadowy

figure with flexible legs. ‘Not from you, captain. You’re far too mean,

b’gosh. You would let a good man die sooner than give him a drop of

schnapps. That’s what you Germans call economy. Penny wise, pound

foolish.’ He became sentimental. The chief had given him a four-finger

nip about ten o’clock--‘only one, s’elp me!’--good old chief; but as to

getting the old fraud out of his bunk--a five-ton crane couldn’t do

it. Not it. Not to-night anyhow. He was sleeping sweetly like a little

child, with a bottle of prime brandy under his pillow. From the thick

throat of the commander of the Patna came a low rumble, on which the

sound of the word schwein fluttered high and low like a capricious

feather in a faint stir of air. He and the chief engineer had been

cronies for a good few years--serving the same jovial, crafty, old

Chinaman, with horn-rimmed goggles and strings of red silk plaited into

the venerable grey hairs of his pigtail. The quay-side opinion in the

Patna’s home-port was that these two in the way of brazen peculation

‘had done together pretty well everything you can think of.’ Outwardly

they were badly matched: one dull-eyed, malevolent, and of soft fleshy

curves; the other lean, all hollows, with a head long and bony like the

head of an old horse, with sunken cheeks, with sunken temples, with an

indifferent glazed glance of sunken eyes. He had been stranded out East

somewhere--in Canton, in Shanghai, or perhaps in Yokohama; he probably

did not care to remember himself the exact locality, nor yet the cause

of his shipwreck. He had been, in mercy to his youth, kicked quietly

out of his ship twenty years ago or more, and it might have been so much

worse for him that the memory of the episode had in it hardly a trace

of misfortune. Then, steam navigation expanding in these seas and men

of his craft being scarce at first, he had ‘got on’ after a sort. He

was eager to let strangers know in a dismal mumble that he was ‘an old

stager out here.’ When he moved, a skeleton seemed to sway loose in his

clothes; his walk was mere wandering, and he was given to wander thus

around the engine-room skylight, smoking, without relish, doctored

tobacco in a brass bowl at the end of a cherrywood stem four feet long,

with the imbecile gravity of a thinker evolving a system of philosophy

from the hazy glimpse of a truth. He was usually anything but free with

his private store of liquor; but on that night he had departed from his

principles, so that his second, a weak-headed child of Wapping, what

with the unexpectedness of the treat and the strength of the stuff,

had become very happy, cheeky, and talkative. The fury of the New South

Wales German was extreme; he puffed like an exhaust-pipe, and Jim,

faintly amused by the scene, was impatient for the time when he could

get below: the last ten minutes of the watch were irritating like a

gun that hangs fire; those men did not belong to the world of heroic

adventure; they weren’t bad chaps though. Even the skipper himself . . .

His gorge rose at the mass of panting flesh from which issued

gurgling mutters, a cloudy trickle of filthy expressions; but he was

too pleasurably languid to dislike actively this or any other thing. The

quality of these men did not matter; he rubbed shoulders with them, but

they could not touch him; he shared the air they breathed, but he was

different. . . . Would the skipper go for the engineer? . . . The life

was easy and he was too sure of himself--too sure of himself to . . .

The line dividing his meditation from a surreptitious doze on his feet

was thinner than a thread in a spider’s web.

The second engineer was coming by easy transitions to the consideration

of his finances and of his courage.

‘Who’s drunk? I? No, no, captain! That won’t do. You ought to know by

this time the chief ain’t free-hearted enough to make a sparrow drunk,

b’gosh. I’ve never been the worse for liquor in my life; the stuff ain’t

made yet that would make _me_ drunk. I could drink liquid fire against

your whisky peg for peg, b’gosh, and keep as cool as a cucumber. If I

thought I was drunk I would jump overboard--do away with myself, b’gosh.

I would! Straight! And I won’t go off the bridge. Where do you expect

me to take the air on a night like this, eh? On deck amongst that vermin

down there? Likely--ain’t it! And I am not afraid of anything you can

do.’

The German lifted two heavy fists to heaven and shook them a little

without a word.

‘I don’t know what fear is,’ pursued the engineer, with the enthusiasm

of sincere conviction. ‘I am not afraid of doing all the bloomin’ work

in this rotten hooker, b’gosh! And a jolly good thing for you that there

are some of us about the world that aren’t afraid of their lives, or

where would you be--you and this old thing here with her plates like

brown paper--brown paper, s’elp me? It’s all very fine for you--you

get a power of pieces out of her one way and another; but what about

me--what do I get? A measly hundred and fifty dollars a month and

find yourself. I wish to ask you respectfully--respectfully, mind--who

wouldn’t chuck a dratted job like this? ‘Tain’t safe, s’elp me, it

ain’t! Only I am one of them fearless fellows . . .’

He let go the rail and made ample gestures as if demonstrating in

the air the shape and extent of his valour; his thin voice darted in

prolonged squeaks upon the sea, he tiptoed back and forth for the better

emphasis of utterance, and suddenly pitched down head-first as though he

had been clubbed from behind. He said ‘Damn!’ as he tumbled; an instant

of silence followed upon his screeching: Jim and the skipper staggered

forward by common accord, and catching themselves up, stood very stiff

and still gazing, amazed, at the undisturbed level of the sea. Then they

looked upwards at the stars.

What had happened? The wheezy thump of the engines went on. Had the

earth been checked in her course? They could not understand; and

suddenly the calm sea, the sky without a cloud, appeared formidably

insecure in their immobility, as if poised on the brow of yawning

destruction. The engineer rebounded vertically full length and collapsed

again into a vague heap. This heap said ‘What’s that?’ in the muffled

accents of profound grief. A faint noise as of thunder, of thunder

infinitely remote, less than a sound, hardly more than a vibration,

passed slowly, and the ship quivered in response, as if the thunder had

growled deep down in the water. The eyes of the two Malays at the wheel

glittered towards the white men, but their dark hands remained closed

on the spokes. The sharp hull driving on its way seemed to rise a few

inches in succession through its whole length, as though it had become

pliable, and settled down again rigidly to its work of cleaving the

smooth surface of the sea. Its quivering stopped, and the faint noise

of thunder ceased all at once, as though the ship had steamed across a

narrow belt of vibrating water and of humming air.