Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad (best ebook reader for chromebook .txt) 📕

it to the very last harrowing detail. I think he went through it again while he was telling me these things he could not tell the court.

“ ‘I saw as clearly as I see you now that there was nothing I could do. It seemed to take all life out of my limbs. I thought I might just as well stand where I was and wait. I did not think I had many seconds⁠ ⁠…’ Suddenly the steam ceased blowing off. The noise, he remarked, had been distracting, but the silence at once became intolerably oppressive.

“ ‘I thought I would choke before I got drowned,’ he said.

“He protested he did not think of saving himself. The only distinct thought formed, vanishing, and reforming in his brain, was: eight hundred people and seven boats; eight hundred people and seven boats.

“ ‘Somebody was speaking aloud inside my head,’ he said a little wildly. ‘Eight hundred people and seven boats⁠—and no time! Just think of it.’ He leaned towards me across the little table, and I tried to avoid his stare. ‘Do you think I was afraid of death?’ he asked in a voice very fierce and low. He brought down his open hand with a bang that made the coffee-cups dance. ‘I am ready to swear I was not⁠—I was not.⁠ ⁠… By God⁠—no!’ He hitched himself upright and crossed his arms; his chin fell on his breast.

“The soft clashes of crockery reached us faintly through the high windows. There was a burst of voices, and several men came out in high good-humour into the gallery. They were exchanging jocular reminiscences of the donkeys in Cairo. A pale anxious youth stepping softly on long legs was being chaffed by a strutting and rubicund globetrotter about his purchases in the bazaar. ‘No, really⁠—do you think I’ve been done to that extent?’ he inquired very earnest and deliberate. The band moved away, dropping into chairs as they went; matches flared, illuminating for a second faces without the ghost of an expression and the flat glaze of white shirtfronts; the hum of many conversations animated with the ardour of feasting sounded to me absurd and infinitely remote.

“ ‘Some of the crew were sleeping on the number one hatch within reach of my arm,’ began Jim again.

“You must know they kept Kalashee watch in that ship, all hands sleeping through the night, and only the reliefs of quartermasters and lookout men being called. He was tempted to grip and shake the shoulder of the nearest lascar, but he didn’t. Something held his arms down along his sides. He was not afraid⁠—oh no! only he just couldn’t⁠—that’s all. He was not afraid of death perhaps, but I’ll tell you what, he was afraid of the emergency. His confounded imagination had evoked for him all the horrors of panic, the trampling rush, the pitiful screams, boats swamped⁠—all the appalling incidents of a disaster at sea he had ever heard of. He might have been resigned to die but I suspect he wanted to die without added terrors, quietly, in a sort of peaceful trance. A certain readiness to perish is not so very rare, but it is seldom that you meet men whose souls, steeled in the impenetrable armour of resolution, are ready to fight a losing battle to the last; the desire of peace waxes stronger as hope declines, till at last it conquers the very desire of life. Which of us here has not observed this, or maybe experienced something of that feeling in his own person⁠—this extreme weariness of emotions, the vanity of effort, the yearning for rest? Those striving with unreasonable forces know it well⁠—the shipwrecked castaways in boats, wanderers lost in a desert, men battling against the unthinking might of nature, or the stupid brutality of crowds.”

VIII

“How long he stood stock-still by the hatch expecting every moment to feel the ship dip under his feet and the rush of water take him at the back and toss him like a chip, I cannot say. Not very long⁠—two minutes perhaps. A couple of men he could not make out began to converse drowsily, and also, he could not tell where, he detected a curious noise of shuffling feet. Above these faint sounds there was that awful stillness preceding a catastrophe, that trying silence of the moment before the crash; then it came into his head that perhaps he would have time to rush along and cut all the lanyards of the grips, so that the boats would float as the ship went down.

“The Patna had a long bridge, and all the boats were up there, four on one side and three on the other⁠—the smallest of them on the port-side and nearly abreast of the steering gear. He assured me, with evident anxiety to be believed, that he had been most careful to keep them ready for instant service. He knew his duty. I dare say he was a good enough mate as far as that went. ‘I always believed in being prepared for the worst,’ he commented, staring anxiously in my face. I nodded my approval of the sound principle, averting my eyes before the subtle unsoundness of the man.

“He started unsteadily to run. He had to step over legs, avoid stumbling against the heads. Suddenly someone caught hold of his coat from below, and a distressed voice spoke under his elbow. The light of the lamp he carried in his right hand fell upon an upturned dark face whose eyes entreated him together with the voice. He had picked up enough of the language to understand the word water, repeated several times in a tone of insistence, of prayer, almost of despair. He gave a jerk to get away, and felt an arm embrace his leg.

“ ‘The beggar clung to me like a drowning man,’ he said impressively. ‘Water, water! What water did he mean? What did he know? As calmly as I could I ordered him to let go. He was