Joseph Conrad - The Nigger Of The Narcissus

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Something had to be done. We had to get him aft. A rope was tied slack
under his armpits, and, reaching up at the risk of our lives, we
hung him on the fore-sheet cleet. He emitted no sound; he looked as
ridiculously lamentable as a doll that had lost half its sawdust, and we
started on our perilous journey over the main deck, dragging along
with care that pitiful, that limp, that hateful burden. He was not very
heavy, but had he weighed a ton he could not have been more awkward to
handle. We literally passed him from hand to hand. Now and then we had
to hang him up on a handy belaying-pin, to draw a breath and reform
the line. Had the pin broken he would have irretrievably gone into
the Southern Ocean, but he had to take his chance of that; and after a
little while, becoming apparently aware of it, he groaned slightly, and
with a great effort whispered a few words. We listened eagerly. He was
reproaching us with our carelessness in letting him run such risks:
"Now, after I got myself out from there," he breathed out weakly.
"There" was his cabin. And he got himself out. We had nothing to do with
it apparently!... No matter.... We went on and let him take his chances,
simply because we could not help it; for though at that time we hated
him more than ever--more than anything under heaven--we did not want to
lose him. We had so far saved him; and it had become a personal
matter between us and the sea. We meant to stick to him. Had we (by an
incredible hypothesis) undergone similar toil and trouble for an empty
cask, that cask would have become as precious to us as Jimmy was. More
precious, in fact, because we would have had no reason to hate the cask.
And we hated James Wait. We could not get rid of the monstrous suspicion
that this astounding black-man was shamming sick, had been malingering
heartlessly in the face of our toil, of our scorn, of our patience--and
now was malingering in the face of our devotion--in the face of death.
Our vague and imperfect morality rose with disgust at his unmanly lie.
But he stuck to it manfully--amazingly. No! It couldn't be. He was
at all extremity. His cantankerous temper was only the result of the
provoking invincible-ness of that death he felt by his side. Any man may
be angry with such a masterful chum. But, then, what kind of men were
we--with our thoughts! Indignation and doubt grappled within us in a
scuffle that trampled upon the finest of our feelings. And we hated him
because of the suspicion; we detested him because of the doubt. We could
not scorn him safely--neither could we pity him without risk to our
dignity. So we hated him and passed him carefully from hand to hand. We
cried, "Got him?"--"Yes. All right. Let go."

And he swung from one enemy to another, showing about as much life as an
old bolster would do. His eyes made two narrow white slits in the black
face. The air escaped through his lips with a noise like the sound
of bellows. We reached the poop ladder at last, and it being a
comparatively safe place, we lay for a moment in an exhausted heap to
rest a little. He began to mutter. We were always incurably anxious to
hear what he had to say. This time he mumbled peevishly, "It took you
some time to come! I began to think the whole smart lot of you had been
washed overboard. What kept you back? Hey? Funk?" We said nothing. With
sighs we started again to drag him up. The secret and ardent desire of
our hearts was the desire to beat him viciously with our fists about
the head; and we handled him as tenderly as though he had been made of
glass....

The return on the poop was like the return of wanderers after many years
amongst people marked by the desolation of time. Eyes were turned slowly
in their sockets, glancing at us. Faint murmurs were heard, "Have you
got 'im after all?" The well-known faces looked strange and familiar;
they seemed faded and grimy; they had a mingled expression of fatigue
and eagerness. They seemed to have become much thinner during our
absence, as if all these men had been starving for a long time in their
abandoned attitudes. The captain, with a round turn of a rope on his
wrist, and kneeling on one knee, swung with a face cold and stiff; but
with living eyes he was still holding the ship up, heeding no one, as
if lost in the unearthly effort of that endeavour. We fastened up James
Wait in a safe place. Mr. Baker scrambled along to lend a hand. Mr.
Creighton, on his back, and very pale, muttered, "Well done," and gave
us, Jimmy and the sky, a scornful glance, then closed his eyes slowly.
Here and there a man stirred a little, but most of them remained
apathetic, in cramped positions, muttering between shivers. The sun was
setting. A sun enormous, unclouded and red, declining low as if bending
down to look into their faces. The wind whistled across long sunbeams
that, resplendent and cold, struck full on the dilated pupils of staring
eyes without making them wink. The wisps of hair and the tangled beards
were grey with the salt of the sea. The faces were earthy, and the dark
patches under the eyes extended to the ears, smudged into the hollows of
sunken cheeks. The lips were livid and thin, and when they moved it
was with difficulty, as though they had been glued to the teeth. Some
grinned sadly in the sunlight, shaking with cold. Others were sad and
still. Charley, subdued by the sudden disclosure of the insignificance
of his youth, darted fearful glances. The two smooth-faced Norwegians
resembled decrepit children, staring stupidly. To leeward, on the edge
of the horizon, black seas leaped up towards the glowing sun. It sank
slowly, round and blazing, and the crests of waves splashed on the edge
of the luminous circle. One of the Norwegians appeared to catch sight
of it, and, after giving a violent start, began to speak. His voice,
startling the others, made them stir. They moved their heads stiffly, or
turning with difficulty, looked at him with surprise, with fear, or in
grave silence. He chattered at the setting sun, nodding his head, while
the big seas began to roll across the crimson disc; and over miles of
turbulent waters the shadows of high waves swept with a running darkness
the faces of men. A crested roller broke with a loud hissing roar, and
the sun, as if put out, disappeared. The chattering voice faltered, went
out together with the light. There were sighs. In the sudden lull that
follows the crash of a broken sea a man said wearily, "Here's that
blooming Dutchman gone off his chump." A seaman, lashed by the middle,
tapped the deck with his open hand with unceasing quick flaps. In the
gathering greyness of twilight a bulky form was seen rising aft, and
began marching on all fours with the movements of some big cautious
beast. It was Mr. Baker passing along the line of men. He grunted
encouragingly over every one, felt their fastenings. Some, with
half-open eyes, puffed like men oppressed by heat; others mechanically
and in dreamy voices answered him, "Aye! aye! sir!" He went from one to
another grunting, "Ough!... See her through it yet;" and unexpectedly,
with loud angry outbursts, blew up Knowles for cutting off a long
piece from the fall of the relieving tackle. "Ough!------Ashamed
of yourself------Relieving tackle------Don't you know
better!------Ough!------Able seaman! Ough!" The lame man was crushed.
He muttered, "Get som'think for a lashing for myself, sir."--"Ough!
Lashing------yourself. Are you a tinker or a sailor------What?
Ough!------May want that tackle directly------Ough!------More use to
the ship than your lame carcass. Ough!------Keep it!------Keep it, now
you've done it."

He crawled away slowly, muttering to himself about some men being "worse
than children." It had been a comforting row. Low exclamations were
heard: "Hallo... Hallo."... Those who had been painfully dozing asked
with convulsive starts, "What's up?... What is it?" The answers came
with unexpected cheerfulness: "The mate is going bald-headed for lame
Jack about something or other." "No!".... "What 'as he done?" Some one
even chuckled. It was like a whiff of hope, like a reminder of safe
days. Donkin, who had been stupefied with fear, revived suddenly and
began to shout:--"'Ear 'im; that's the way they tawlk to us. Vy donch
'ee 'it 'im--one ov yer? 'It 'im. 'It 'im! Comin' the mate over us.
We are as good men as 'ee! We're all goin' to 'ell now. We 'ave been
starved in this rotten ship, an' now we're goin' to be drowned for them
black 'earted bullies! 'It 'im!" He shrieked in the deepening gloom, he
blubbered and sobbed, screaming:--"'It 'im! 'It 'im!" The rage and fear
of his disregarded right to live tried the steadfastness of hearts
more than the menacing shadows of the night that advanced through the
unceasing clamour of the gale. From aft Mr. Baker was heard:--"Is one
of you men going to stop him--must I come along?" "Shut up!"... "Keep
quiet!" cried various voices, exasperated, trembling with cold.--"You'll
get one across the mug from me directly," said an invisible seaman, in
a weary tone, "I won't let the mate have the trouble." He ceased and lay
still with the silence of despair. On the black sky the stars, coming
out, gleamed over an inky sea that, speckled with foam, flashed back at
them the evanescent and pale light of a dazzling whiteness born from the
black turmoil of the waves. Remote in the eternal calm they glittered
hard and cold above the uproar of the earth; they surrounded the
vanquished and tormented ship on all sides: more pitiless than the eyes
of a triumphant mob, and as unapproachable as the hearts of men.

The icy south wind howled exultingly under the sombre splendour of the
sky. The cold shook the men with a resistless violence as though it had
tried to shake them to pieces. Short moans were swept unheard off the
stiff lips. Some complained in mutters of "not feeling themselves below
the waist;" while those who had closed their eyes, imagined they had a
block of ice on their chests. Others, alarmed at not feeling any pain
in their fingers, beat the deck feebly with their hands--obstinate and
exhausted. Wamibo stared vacant and dreamy. The Scandinavians kept on a
meaningless mutter through chattering teeth. The spare Scotchmen, with
determined efforts, kept their lower jaws still. The West-country men
lay big and stolid in an invulnerable surliness. A man yawned and swore
in turns. Another breathed with a rattle in his throat. Two elderly
hard-weather shellbacks, fast side by side, whispered dismally to one
another about the landlady of a boarding-house in Sunderland, whom they
both knew. They extolled her motherliness and her liberality; they
tried to talk about the joint of beef and the big fire in the downstairs
kitchen. The words dying faintly on their lips, ended in light sighs.
A sudden voice cried into the cold night, "O Lord!" No one changed
his position or took any notice of the cry. One or two passed, with a
repeated and vague gesture, their hand over their faces, but most of
them kept very still. In the benumbed immobility of their bodies they
were excessively wearied by their thoughts, which rushed with the
rapidity and vividness of dreams. Now and then, by an abrupt and
startling exclamation, they answered the weird hail of some illusion;
then, again, in silence contemplated the vision of known faces and
familiar things. They recalled the aspect of forgotten shipmates and
heard the voice of dead and gone skippers. They remembered the noise of
gaslit streets, the steamy heat of tap-rooms or the scorching sunshine
of calm days at sea.

Mr. Baker left his insecure place, and crawled, with stoppages, along
the poop. In the dark and on all fours he resembled some carnivorous
animal prowling amongst corpses. At the break, propped to windward of
a stanchion, he looked down on the main deck. It seemed to him that
the ship had a tendency to stand up a little more. The wind had eased
a little, he thought, but the sea ran as high as ever. The waves foamed
viciously, and the lee side of the deck disappeared under a hissing
whiteness as of boiling milk, while the rigging sang steadily with a
deep vibrating note, and, at every upward swing of the ship, the wind
rushed with a long-drawn clamour amongst the spars. Mr. Baker watched
very still. A man near him began to make a blabbing noise with his
lips, all at once and very loud, as though the cold had broken brutally
through him. He went on:--"Ba--ba--ba--brrr--brr--ba--ba."--"Stop that!"
cried Mr. Baker, groping in the dark. "Stop it!" He went on shaking the
leg he found under his hand.--"What is it, sir?" called out Belfast,
in the tone of a man awakened suddenly; "we are looking after that
'ere Jimmy."--"Are you? Ough! Don't make that row then. Who's that near
you?"--"It's me--the boatswain, sir," growled the West-country man;
"we are trying to keep life in that poor devil."--"Aye, aye!" said Mr.
Baker. "Do it quietly, can't you?"--"He wants us to hold him up above
the rail," went on the boatswain, with irritation, "says he can't
breathe here under our jackets."--"If we lift 'im, we drop 'im
overboard," said another voice, "we can't feel our hands with cold."--"I
don't care. I am choking!" exclaimed James Wait in a clear tone.--"Oh,
no, my son," said the boatswain, desperately, "you don't go till we
all go on this fine night."--"You will see yet many a worse," said Mr.
Baker, cheerfully.--"It's no child's play, sir!" answered the boatswain.
"Some of us further aft, here, are in a pretty bad way."--"If the blamed
sticks had been cut out of her she would be running along on her bottom
now like any decent ship, an' giv' us all a chance," said some one,
with a sigh.--"The old man wouldn't have it... much he cares for us,"
whispered another.--"Care for you!" exclaimed Mr. Baker, angrily. "Why
should he care for you? Are you a lot of women passengers to be taken
care of? We are here to take care of the ship--and some of you ain't up
to that. Ough!... What have you done so very smart to be taken care of?
Ough!... Some of you can't stand a bit of a breeze without crying over
it."--"Come, sorr. We ain't so bad," protested Belfast, in a voice
shaken by shivers; "we ain't... brr..."--"Again," shouted the mate,
grabbing at the shadowy form; "again!... Why, you're in your shirt! What
have you done?"--"I've put my oilskin and jacket over that half-dead
nayggur--and he says he chokes," said Belfast, complainingly.--"You
wouldn't call me nigger if I wasn't half dead, you Irish beggar!" boomed
James Wait, vigorously.--"You... brrr... You wouldn't be white if you
were ever so well... I will fight you... brrrr... in fine weather...
brrr ... with one hand tied behind my back... brrrrrr..."--"I don't want
your rags--I want air," gasped out the other faintly, as if suddenly
exhausted.

The sprays swept over whistling and pattering. Men disturbed in their
peaceful torpor by the pain of quarrelsome shouts, moaned, muttering
curses. Mr. Baker crawled off a little way to leeward where a water-cask
loomed up big, with something white against it. "Is it you, Podmore?"
asked Mr. Baker, He had to repeat the question twice before the cook
turned, coughing feebly.--"Yes, sir. I've been praying in my mind for
a quick deliverance; for I am prepared for any call.... I------"--"Look
here, cook," interrupted Mr. Baker, "the men are perishing with
cold."--"Cold!" said the cook, mournfully; "they will be warm enough
before long."--"What?" asked Mr. Baker, looking along the deck into the
faint sheen of frothing water.--"They are a wicked lot," continued the
cook solemnly, but in an unsteady voice, "about as wicked as any ship's
company in this sinful world! Now, I"--he trembled so that he could
hardly speak; his was an exposed place, and in a cotton shirt, a thin
pair of trousers, and with his knees under his nose, he received,
quaking, the flicks of stinging, salt drops; his voice sounded
exhausted--"now. I--any time ... My eldest youngster, Mr. Baker.. a
clever boy... last Sunday on shore before this voyage he wouldn't go to
church, sir. Says I, 'You go and clean yourself, or I'll know the reason
why!' What does he do?... Pond, Mr. Baker--fell into the pond in his
best rig, sir!... Accident?... 'Nothing will save you, fine scholar
though you are!' says I.... Accident!... I whopped him, sir, till
I couldn't lift my arm...." His voice faltered. "I whopped 'im!" he
repeated, rattling his teeth; then, after a while, let out a mournful
sound that was half a groan, half a snore. Mr. Baker shook him by the
shoulders. "Hey! Cook! Hold up, Podmore! Tell me--is there any fresh
water in the galley tank? The ship is lying along less, I think; I would
try to get forward. A little water would do them good. Hallo! Look out!
Look out!" The cook struggled.--"Not you, sir--not you!" He began to
scramble to windward. "Galley!... my business!" he shouted.--"Cook's
going crazy now," said several voices. He yelled:--"Crazy, am I? I am
more ready to die than any of you, officers incloosive--there! As long
as she swims I will cook! I will get you coffee."--"Cook, ye are a
gentleman!" cried Belfast. But the cook was already going over the
weather-ladder. He stopped for a moment to shout back on the poop:--"As
long as she swims I will cook!" and disappeared as though he had gone
overboard. The men who had heard sent after him a cheer that sounded
like a wail of sick children. An hour or more afterwards some one
said distinctly: "He's gone for good."--"Very likely," assented the
boatswain; "even in fine weather he was as smart about the deck as a
milch-cow on her first voyage. We ought to go and see." Nobody moved. As
the hours dragged slowly through the darkness Mr. Baker crawled back and
forth along the poop several times. Some men fancied they had heard him
exchange murmurs with the master, but at that time the memories were
incomparably more vivid than anything actual, and they were not certain
whether the murmurs were heard now or many years ago. They did not try
to find out. A mutter more or less did not matter. It was too cold
for curiosity, and almost for hope. They could not spare a moment or
a thought from the great mental occupation of wishing to live. And the
desire of life kept them alive, apathetic and enduring, under the cruel
persistence of wind and cold; while the bestarred black dome of the sky
revolved slowly above the ship, that drifted, bearing their patience and
their suffering, through the stormy solitude of the sea.

Huddled close to one another, they fancied themselves utterly alone.
They heard sustained loud noises, and again bore the pain of existence
through long hours of profound silence. In the night they saw sunshine,
felt warmth, and suddenly, with a start, thought that the sun would
never rise upon a freezing world. Some heard laughter, listened to
songs; others, near the end of the poop, could hear loud human shrieks,
and opening their eyes, were surprised to hear them still, though very
faint, and far away. The boatswain said:--"Why, it's the cook, hailing
from forward, I think." He hardly believed his own words or recognised
his own voice. It was a long time before the man next to him gave a
sign of life. He punched hard his other neighbour and said:--"The cook's
shouting!" Many did not understand, others did not care; the majority
further aft did not believe. But the boatswain and another man had the
pluck to crawl away forward to see. They seemed to have been gone for
hours, and were very soon forgotten. Then suddenly men who had been
plunged in a hopeless resignation became as if possessed with a desire
to hurt. They belaboured one another with fists. In the darkness they
struck persistently anything soft they could feel near, and, with a
greater effort than for a shout, whispered excitedly:--"They've got some
hot coffee.... Boss'en got it...." "No!... Where?".... "It's coming!
Cook made it." James Wait moaned. Donkin scrambled viciously, caring not
where he kicked, and anxious that the officers should have none of it.
It came in a pot, and they drank in turns. It was hot, and while it
blistered the greedy palates, it seemed incredible. The men sighed out
parting with the mug:--"How 'as he done it?" Some cried weakly:--"Bully
for you, doctor!"

He had done it somehow. Afterwards Archie declared that the thing
was "meeraculous." For many days we wondered, and it was the one
ever-interesting subject of conversation to the end of the voyage.
We asked the cook, in fine weather, how he felt when he saw his stove
"reared up on end." We inquired, in the north-east trade and on serene
evenings, whether he had to stand on his head to put things right
somewhat. We suggested he had used his bread-board for a raft, and from
there comfortably had stoked his grate; and we did our best to conceal
our admiration under the wit of fine irony. He affirmed not to know
anything about it, rebuked our levity, declared himself, with solemn
animation, to have been the object of a special mercy for the saving of
our unholy lives. Fundamentally he was right, no doubt; but he need not
have been so offensively positive about it--he need not have hinted
so often that it would have gone hard with us had he not been there,
meritorious and pure, to receive the inspiration and the strength for
the work of grace. Had we been saved by his recklessness or his agility,
we could have at length become reconciled to the fact; but to admit our
obligation to anybody's virtue and holiness alone was as difficult
for us as for any other handful of mankind. Like many benefactors of
humanity, the cook took himself too seriously, and reaped the reward of
irreverence. We were not un-ungrateful, however. He remained heroic. His
saying--_the_ saying of his life--became proverbial in the mouth of men
as are the sayings of conquerors or sages. Later, whenever one of us
was puzzled by a task and advised to relinquish it, he would express his
determination to persevere and to succeed by the words:--"As long as she
swims I will cook!"

The hot drink helped us through the bleak hours that precede the dawn.
The sky low by the horizon took on the delicate tints of pink and yellow
like the inside of a rare shell. And higher, where it glowed with a
pearly sheen, a small black cloud appeared, like a forgotten fragment of
the night set in a border of dazzling gold. The beams of light skipped
on the crests of waves. The eyes of men turned to the eastward. The
sunlight flooded their weary faces. They were giving themselves up to
fatigue as though they had done for ever with their work. On Singleton's
black oilskin coat the dried salt glistened like hoar frost. He hung
on by the wheel, with open and lifeless eyes. Captain Allistoun,
unblinking, faced the rising sun. His lips stirred, opened for the first
time in twenty-four hours, and with a fresh firm voice he cried, "Wear
ship!"

The commanding sharp tones made all these torpid men start like a sudden
flick of a whip. Then again, motionless where they lay, the force of
habit made some of them repeat the order in hardly audible murmurs.
Captain Allistoun glanced down at his crew, and several, with fumbling
fingers and hopeless movements, tried to cast themselves adrift. He
repeated impatiently, "Wear ship. Now then, Mr. Baker, get the
men along. What's the matter with them?"--"Wear ship. Do you hear
there?--Wear ship!" thundered out the boatswain suddenly. His voice
seemed to break through a deadly spell. Men began to stir and crawl.--"I
want the fore-top-mast staysail run up smartly," said the master,
very loudly; "if you can't manage it standing up you must do it lying
down--that's all. Bear a hand!"--"Come along! Let's give the old girl
a chance," urged the boatswain.--"Aye! aye! Wear ship!" exclaimed
quavering voices. The forecastle men, with reluctant faces, prepared to
go forward. Mr. Baker pushed ahead, grunting, on all fours to show the
way, and they followed him over the break. The others lay still with a
vile hope in their hearts of not being required to move till they got
saved or drowned in peace.

After some time they could be seen forward appearing on the forecastle
head, one by one in unsafe attitudes; hanging on to the rails,
clambering over the anchors; embracing the cross-head of the windlass
or hugging the fore-capstan. They were restless with strange exertions,
waved their arms, knelt, lay flat down, staggered up, seemed to strive
their hardest to go overboard. Suddenly a small white piece of canvas
fluttered amongst them, grew larger, beating. Its narrow head rose
in jerks--and at last it stood distended and triangular in the
sunshine.--"They have done it!" cried the voices aft. Captain Allistoun
let go the rope he had round his wrist and rolled to leeward headlong.
He could be seen casting the lee main braces off the pins while the
backwash of waves splashed over him.--"Square the main yard!" he shouted
up to us--who stared at him in wonder. We hesitated to stir. "The
main brace, men. Haul! haul anyhow! Lay on your backs and haul!" he
screeched, half drowned down there. We did not believe we could move the
main yard, but the strongest and the less discouraged tried to execute
the order. Others assisted half-heartedly. Singleton's eyes blazed
suddenly as he took a fresh grip of the spokes. Captain Allistoun fought
his way up to windward.--"Haul, men! Try to move it! Haul, and help the
ship." His hard face worked suffused and furious. "Is she going off,
Singleton?" he cried.--"Not a move yet, sir," croaked the old seaman in
a horribly hoarse voice.--"Watch the helm, Singleton," spluttered the
master. "Haul, men! Have you no more strength than rats? Haul, and earn
your salt." Mr. Creigh-ton, on his back, with a swollen leg and a
face as white as a piece of paper, blinked his eyes; his bluish lips
twitched. In the wild scramble men grabbed at him, crawled over his
hurt leg, knelt on his chest. He kept perfectly still, setting his teeth
without a moan, without a sigh. The master's ardour, the cries of that
silent man inspired us. We hauled and hung in bunches on the rope. We
heard him say with violence to Donkin, who sprawled abjectly on his
stomach,--"I will brain you with this belaying pin if you don't catch
hold of the brace," and that victim of men's injustice, cowardly and
cheeky, whimpered:--"Are you goin' to murder us now?" while with sudden
desperation he gripped the rope. Men sighed, shouted, hissed meaningless
words, groaned. The yards moved, came slowly square against the
wind, that hummed loudly on the yard-arms.--"Going off, sir," shouted
Singleton, "she's just started."--"Catch a turn with that brace. Catch a
turn!" clamoured the master. Mr. Creighton, nearly suffocated and unable
to move, made a mighty effort, and with his left hand managed to nip the
rope.

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