Heart of Darkness | Page 7

felt the
need at last of asserting his self-respect in some way. Therefore he
whacked the old nigger mercilessly, while a big crowd of his people
watched him, thunderstruck, till some man,-- I was told the chief's
son,--in desperation at hearing the old chap yell, made a tentative jab
with a spear at the white man-- and of course it went quite easy
between the shoulder-blades. Then the whole population cleared into
the forest, expecting all kinds of calamities to happen, while, on the
other hand, the steamer Fresleven commanded left also in a bad panic,
in charge of the engineer, I believe. Afterwards nobody seemed to
trouble much about Fresleven's remains, till I got out and stepped into
his shoes. I couldn't let it rest, though; but when an opportunity offered
at last to meet my predecessor, the grass growing through his ribs was
tall enough to hide his bones. They were all there. The supernatural
being had not been touched after he fell. And the village was deserted,
the huts gaped black, rotting, all askew within the fallen enclosures. A
calamity had come to it, sure enough. The people had vanished. Mad
terror had scattered them, men, women, and children, through the bush,
and they had never returned. What became of the hens I don't know
either. I should think the cause of progress got them, anyhow. However,
through this glorious affair I got my appointment, before I had fairly
begun to hope for it.
"I flew around like mad to get ready, and before forty-eight hours I was
crossing the Channel to show myself to my employers, and sign the
contract. In a very few hours I arrived in a city that always makes me
think of a whited sepulcher. Prejudice no doubt. I had no difficulty in
finding the Company's offices. It was the biggest thing in the town, and
everybody I met was full of it. They were going to run an over-sea

empire, and make no end of coin by trade.
"A narrow and deserted street in deep shadow, high houses,
innumerable windows with venetian blinds, a dead silence, grass
sprouting between the stones, imposing carriage archways right and left,
immense double doors standing ponderously ajar. I slipped through one
of these cracks, went up a swept and ungarnished staircase, as arid as a
desert, and opened the first door I came to. Two women, one fat and the
other slim, sat on straw-bottomed chairs, knitting black wool. The slim
one got up and walked straight at me-- still knitting with downcast
eyes--and only just as I began to think of getting out of her way, as you
would for a somnambulist, stood still, and looked up. Her dress was as
plain as an umbrella-cover, and she turned round without a word and
preceded me into a waiting-room. I gave my name, and looked about.
Deal table in the middle, plain chairs all round the walls, on one end a
large shining map, marked with all the colors of a rainbow. There was a
vast amount of red--good to see at any time, because one knows that
some real work is done in there, a deuce of a lot of blue, a little green,
smears of orange, and, on the East Coast, a purple patch, to show where
the jolly pioneers of progress drink the jolly lager-beer. However, I
wasn't going into any of these. I was going into the yellow. Dead in the
center. And the river was there--fascinating--deadly--like a snake.
Ough! A door opened, a white-haired secretarial head, but wearing a
compassionate expression, appeared, and a skinny forefinger beckoned
me into the sanctuary. Its light was dim, and a heavy writing-desk
squatted in the middle. From behind that structure came out an
impression of pale plumpness in a frock-coat. The great man himself.
He was five feet six, I should judge, and had his grip on the handle-end
of ever so many millions. He shook hands, I fancy, murmured vaguely,
was satisfied with my French. Bon voyage.
"In about forty-five seconds I found myself again in the waiting-room
with the compassionate secretary, who, full of desolation and sympathy,
made me sign some document. I believe I undertook amongst other
things not to disclose any trade secrets. Well, I am not going to.
"I began to feel slightly uneasy. You know I am not used to such

ceremonies, and there was something ominous in the atmosphere. It
was just as though I had been let into some conspiracy-- I don't
know--something not quite right; and I was glad to get out. In the outer
room the two women knitted black wool feverishly. People were
arriving, and the younger one was walking back and forth introducing
them. The old one sat on her chair. Her flat