Lord Jim, Joseph Conrad [world of reading TXT] 📗

touched a red-hot coal. I pushed the bottle slightly. ‘Won’t you have some more?’ I asked. He looked at me angrily. ‘Don’t you think I can tell you what there is to tell without screwing myself up?’ he asked. The squad of globetrotters had gone to bed. We were alone but for a vague white form erect in the shadow, that, being looked at, cringed forward, hesitated, backed away silently. It was getting late, but I did not hurry my guest.

“In the midst of his forlorn state he heard his companions begin to abuse someone. ‘What kept you from jumping, you lunatic?’ said a scolding voice. The chief engineer left the stern-sheets, and could be heard clambering forward as if with hostile intentions against ‘the greatest idiot that ever was.’ The skipper shouted with rasping effort offensive epithets from where he sat at the oar. He lifted his head at that uproar, and heard the name ‘George,’ while a hand in the dark struck him on the breast. ‘What have you got to say for yourself, you fool?’ queried somebody, with a sort of virtuous fury. ‘They were after me,’ he said. ‘They were abusing me⁠—abusing me⁠ ⁠… by the name of George.’

“He paused to stare, tried to smile, turned his eyes away and went on. ‘That little second puts his head right under my nose, “Why, it’s that blasted mate!” “What!” howls the skipper from the other end of the boat. “No!” shrieks the chief. And he too stooped to look at my face.’

“The wind had left the boat suddenly. The rain began to fall again, and the soft, uninterrupted, a little mysterious sound with which the sea receives a shower arose on all sides in the night. ‘They were too taken aback to say anything more at first,’ he narrated steadily, ‘and what could I have to say to them?’ He faltered for a moment, and made an effort to go on. ‘They called me horrible names.’ His voice, sinking to a whisper, now and then would leap up suddenly, hardened by the passion of scorn, as though he had been talking of secret abominations. ‘Never mind what they called me,’ he said grimly. ‘I could hear hate in their voices. A good thing too. They could not forgive me for being in that boat. They hated it. It made them mad.⁠ ⁠…’ He laughed short.⁠ ⁠… ‘But it kept me from⁠—Look! I was sitting with my arms crossed, on the gunwale!⁠ ⁠…’ He perched himself smartly on the edge of the table and crossed his arms.⁠ ⁠… ‘Like this⁠—see? One little tilt backwards and I would have been gone⁠—after the others. One little tilt⁠—the least bit⁠—the least bit.’ He frowned, and tapping his forehead with the tip of his middle finger, ‘It was there all the time,’ he said impressively. ‘All the time⁠—that notion. And the rain⁠—cold, thick, cold as melted snow⁠—colder⁠—on my thin cotton clothes⁠—I’ll never be so cold again in my life, I know. And the sky was black too⁠—all black. Not a star, not a light anywhere. Nothing outside that confounded boat and those two yapping before me like a couple of mean mongrels at a tree’d thief. Yap! yap! “What you doing here? You’re a fine sort! Too much of a bloomin’ gentleman to put your hand to it. Come out of your trance, did you? To sneak in? Did you?” Yap! yap! “You ain’t fit to live!” Yap! yap! Two of them together trying to out-bark each other. The other would bay from the stern through the rain⁠—couldn’t see him⁠—couldn’t make it out⁠—some of his filthy jargon. Yap! yap! Bow-ow-ow-ow-ow! Yap! yap! It was sweet to hear them; it kept me alive, I tell you. It saved my life. At it they went, as if trying to drive me overboard with the noise!⁠ ⁠… “I wonder you had pluck enough to jump. You ain’t wanted here. If I had known who it was, I would have tipped you over⁠—you skunk. What have you done with the other? Where did you get the pluck to jump⁠—you coward? What’s to prevent us three from firing you overboard?”⁠ ⁠… They were out of breath; the shower passed away upon the sea. Then nothing. There was nothing round the boat, not even a sound. Wanted to see me overboard, did they? Upon my soul! I think they would have had their wish if they had only kept quiet. Fire me overboard! Would they? “Try,” I said. “I would for twopence.” “Too good for you,” they screeched together. It was so dark that it was only when one or the other of them moved that I was quite sure of seeing him. By heavens! I only wish they had tried.’

“I couldn’t help exclaiming, ‘What an extraordinary affair!’

“ ‘Not bad⁠—eh?’ he said, as if in some sort astounded. ‘They pretended to think I had done away with that donkey-man for some reason or other. Why should I? And how the devil was I to know? Didn’t I get somehow into that boat? into that boat⁠—I⁠ ⁠…’ The muscles round his lips contracted into an unconscious grimace that tore through the mask of his usual expression⁠—something violent, short-lived and illuminating like a twist of lightning that admits the eye for an instant into the secret convolutions of a cloud. ‘I did. I was plainly there with them⁠—wasn’t I? Isn’t it awful a man should be driven to do a thing like that⁠—and be responsible? What did I know about their George they were howling after? I remembered I had seen him curled up on the deck. “Murdering coward!” the chief kept on calling me. He didn’t seem able to remember any other two words. I didn’t care, only his noise began to worry me. “Shut up,” I said. At that he collected himself for a confounded screech. “You killed him! You killed him!” “No,” I shouted, “but I will kill you directly.” I jumped up, and he fell backwards over a thwart with an awful loud thump. I