Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
[Note: See also etext #219 which is a different version of this eBook]
By Joseph Conrad
The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter ofthe sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearlycalm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to cometo and wait for the turn of the tide.
The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning ofan interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were weldedtogether without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sailsof the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in redclusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. Ahaze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness.The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemedcondensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest,and the greatest, town on earth.
The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We fouraffectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking toseaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half sonautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthinesspersonified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there inthe luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.
Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond ofthe sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods ofseparation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other'syarns—and even convictions. The Lawyer—the best of old fellows—had,because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck,and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant had brought out already abox of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones. Marlowsat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. He hadsunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect,and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled anidol. The Director, satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his wayaft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwardsthere was silence on board the yacht. For some reason or other we didnot begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and fit for nothingbut placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still andexquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without aspeck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on theEssex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the woodedrises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only thegloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more somberevery minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.
And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, andfrom glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat,as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of thatgloom brooding over a crowd of men.
Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became lessbrilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach restedunruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to therace that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of awaterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at thevenerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes anddeparts for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. Andindeed nothing is easier for a man who has, a