The water shone pacifically the sky, without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light the very mist on the Essex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. The day was ending in a serenity of still and exquisite brilliance. We felt medi- tative, and fit for nothing but placid staring. For some reason or other we did not begin that game of dominoes. Afterwards there was silence on board the yacht. The Director, satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way aft and sat down amongst us. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow complex- ion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an idol. Marlow sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. The Accountant had brought out already a box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones. The Lawyer–the best of old fellows –had, because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck, and was lying on the only rug. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns–and even convictions. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.īetween us there was, as I have already said some- where, the bond of the sea. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness personified. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so nautical. We four affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to seaward. The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding mo- tionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. The flood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide.

The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor with- out a flutter of the sails, and was at rest.

Conrad heart of darkness