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“The earth seemed unearthly. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled
form of a conquered monster, but there—there you could look at a thing
monstrous and free. It was unearthly, and the men were—No, they were not
inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it—this suspicion of their
not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped, and
spun, and made horrid faces; but what thrilled you was just the thought of
their humanity—like yours—the thought of your remote kinship with this wild
and passionate uproar. Ugly. Yes, it was ugly enough; but if you were man
enough you would admit to yourself that there was in you just the faintest
trace of a response to the terrible frankness of that noise, a dim suspicion
of there being a meaning in it which you—you so remote from the night of
first ages—could comprehend. And why not? The mind of man is capable of
anything—because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the
future. What was there after all? Joy, fear, sorrow, devotion, valour,
rage—who can tell?—but truth—truth stripped of its cloak of time. Let the
fool gape and shudder—the man knows, and can look on without a wink. But he
must at least be as much of a man as these on the shore. He must meet that
truth with his own true stuff—with his own inborn strength. Principles won’t
do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty rags—rags that would fly off at the first
good shake. No; you want a deliberate belief. An appeal to me in this
fiendish row—is there? Very well; I hear; I admit, but I have a voice, too,
and for good or evil mine is the speech that cannot be silenced. Of course,
a fool, what with sheer fright and fine sentiments, is always safe. Who’s
that grunting? You wonder I didn’t go ashore for a howl and a dance? Well,
no—I didn’t. Fine sentiments, you say? Fine sentiments, be hanged! I had no
time. I had to mess about with white-lead and strips of woolen blanket
helping to put bandages on those leaky steam-pipes—I tell you. I had to
watch the steering, and circumvent those snags, and get the tin-pot along by
hook or by crook. There was surface-truth enough in these things to save a
wiser man. And between whiles I had to look after the savage who was
fireman. He was an improved specimen; he could fire up a vertical boiler. He
was there below me, and, upon my word, to look at him was as edifying as
seeing a dog in a parody of breeches and a feather hat, walking on his
hind-legs. A few months of training had done for that really fine chap. He
squinted at the steam-gauge and at the water-gauge with an evident effort of
intrepidity—and he had filed teeth, too, the poor devil, and the wool of his
pate shaved into queer patterns, and three ornamental scars on each of his
cheeks. He ought to have been clapping his hands and stamping his feet on
the bank, instead of which he was hard at work, a thrall to strange
witchcraft, full of improving knowledge. He was useful because he had been
instructed; and what he knew was this—that should the water in that
transparent thing disappear, the evil spirit inside the boiler would get
angry through the greatness of his thirst, and take a terrible vengeance. So
he sweated and fired up and watched the glass fearfully (with an impromptu
charm, made of rags, tied to his arm, and a piece of polished bone, as big
as a watch, stuck flatways through his lower lip), while the wooded banks
slipped past us slowly, the short noise was left behind, the interminable
miles of silence—and we crept on, towards Kurtz. But the snags were thick,
the water was treacherous and shallow, the boiler seemed indeed to have a
sulky devil in it, and thus neither that fireman nor I had any time to peer
into our creepy thoughts.
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“The earth seemed unearthly. We are used to looking at it like a
chained-up monster, but there it was monstrous and free. It was unearthly,
and the men were . . . no, not inhuman. That was the worst part, knowing
that they were not inhuman. They howled and made horrible faces, but you
knew that they were human just like you, that you were distant relatives. It
was ugly, of course, but if you were man enough you could admit that on some
level you understood those people. And why not? The mind of man is capable
of anything. Everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.
After all, what did we really see? Joy, fear, sorrow, devotion, bravery,
rage, it doesn’t matter. What we saw was truth, truth without the disguises
that we’ve put on it over time. Let the idiots laugh at them or fear them.
The wise man knows to look at them without blinking. But he must be as much
a man as the men on shore. He must meet that truth with his own strength.
Principles won’t help him, and possessions are just rags that would fly away
at the first good shake. No, you need a passionate belief. You need to be
able to admit that you are attracted to that wildness and savagery, but also
say that you have a voice that those screams and drums can’t drown out. Of
course, idiots are always safe, because their fear keeps them from getting
too close. Did one of you just laugh? Are you wondering whether I went
ashore to howl and dance? No, I didn’t. You think these are just nice ideas?
I didn’t have time for nice ideas. I was busy patching those leaky steam
pipes. I had to steer around those snags and keep us moving. But there’s
enough truth in what I say to save a wiser man. I also had to watch the
native who manned the boiler. Looking at him was like seeing a dog in pants
and a feathered hat walking on its hind legs. A few months training had
turned him into a fine worker. He watched the steam gauge and the water
gauge closely, bravely even. Poor guy, he had filed teeth, strange patterns
cut in his hair, and ornamental scars on each cheek. He should have been
dancing on the riverbank, but instead he was hard at work, under the spell
of a different kind of witchcraft, full of helpful knowledge. He was useful
because he’d been trained. He knew that if the water in the clear thing went
away, the evil spirit inside would get angry. So he watched the gauge
fearfully, with a charm made of rags tied to his arm and a bone stuck
through his lower lip. And so we crawled on towards Kurtz. But the snags
were thick, the water was dangerous and shallow, and the engine really did
seem to have an evil spirit inside. So I didn’t have any time for strange
thoughts.
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