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The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of thesails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and beingbound down the river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for theturn of the tide.
The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of aninterminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded togetherwithout a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the bargesdrifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvassharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A haze rested on the lowshores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness. The air was dark aboveGravesend, and farther back still seemed condensed 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 four affectionatelywatched his back as he stood in the bows looking to seaward. On the whole riverthere was nothing that looked half so nautical. He resembled a pilot, which toa seaman is trustworthiness personified. It was difficult to realize his workwas not out there in the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the broodinggloom.
Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond of the sea.Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of separation, it hadthe effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns—and evenconvictions. The Lawyer—the best of old fellows—had, because of hismany years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck, and was lying on theonly rug. The Accountant had brought out already a box of dominoes, and wastoying architecturally with the bones. Marlow sat cross-legged right aft,leaning against the mizzen-mast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, astraight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms dropped, the palms ofhands outwards, resembled an idol. The director, satisfied the anchor had goodhold, made his way aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few wordslazily. Afterwards there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason orother we did not begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and fit fornothing but placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still andexquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a speck,was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the Essex marsh waslike a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and drapingthe low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the gloom to the west, brooding overthe upper reaches, became more sombre every minute, as if angered by theapproach of the sun.
And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and fromglowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if aboutto go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding overa crowd of men.
Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less brilliantbut more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested unruffled at thedecline of day, after ages of good service done to the race that peopled itsbanks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a waterway leading to theuttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the venerable stream not in the vividflush of a short day that comes