Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad (motivational novels for students TXT) đ
- Author: Joseph Conrad
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â âWhatâs the good?â Brown had said unmoved once, seeing the Yankee, who had been swearing under his breath, prepare to go down. âThatâs so,â assented the deserter, reluctantly desisting.
âThereâs no encouragement for wounded men here. Only his noise is calculated to make all the others think too much of the hereafter, capân.â âWater!â cried the wounded man in an extraordinarily clear vigorous voice, and then went off moaning feebly. âAy, water.
Water will do it,â muttered the other to himself, resignedly.
âPlenty by-and-by. The tide is flowing.â
âAt last the tide flowed, silencing the plaint and the cries of pain, and the dawn was near when Brown, sitting with his chin in the palm of his hand before Patusan, as one might stare at the unscalable side of a mountain, heard the brief ringing bark of a brass 6-pounder far away in town somewhere. âWhatâs this?â he asked of Cornelius, who hung about him. Cornelius listened. A muffled roaring shout rolled down-river over the town; a big drum began to throb, and others responded, pulsating and droning. Tiny scattered lights began to twinkle in the dark half of the town, while the part lighted by the loom of fires hummed with a deep and prolonged murmur.
âHe has come,â said Cornelius. âWhat? Already? Are you sure?â
Brown asked. âYes! yes! Sure. Listen to the noise.â âWhat are they making that row about?â pursued Brown. âFor joy,â snorted Cornelius; âhe is a very great man, but all the same, he knows no more than a child, and so they make a great noise to please him, because they know no better.â âLook here,â said Brown, âhow is one to get at him?â âHe shall come to talk to you,â Cornelius declared. âWhat do you mean? Come down here strolling as it were?â Cornelius nodded vigorously in the dark. âYes. He will come straight here and talk to you. He is just like a fool. You shall see what a fool he is.â Brown was incredulous. âYou shall see; you shall see,â repeated Cornelius. âHe is not afraidânot afraid of anything. He will come and order you to leave his people alone.
Everybody must leave his people alone. He is like a little child. He will come to you straight.â Alas! he knew Jim wellâthat âmean little skunk,â as Brown called him to me. âYes, certainly,â he pursued with ardour, âand then, captain, you tell that tall man with a gun to shoot him. Just you kill him, and you will frighten everybody so much that you can do anything you like with them afterwardsâget what you likeâgo away when you like. Ha! ha!
ha! Fine âŠâ He almost danced with impatience and eagerness; and Brown, looking over his shoulder at him, could see, shown up by the pitiless dawn, his men drenched with dew, sitting amongst the cold ashes and the litter of the camp, haggard, cowed, and in rags.â
âTo the very last moment, till the full day came upon them with a spring, the fires on the west bank blazed bright and clear; and then Brown saw in a knot of coloured figures motionless between the advanced houses a man in European clothes, in a helmet, all white. âThatâs him; look! look!â Cornelius said excitedly. All Brownâs men had sprung up and crowded at his back with lustreless eyes. The group of vivid colours and dark faces with the white figure in their midst were observing the knoll. Brown could see naked arms being raised to shade the eyes and other brown arms pointing. What should he do? He looked around, and the forests that faced him on all sides walled the cock-pit of an unequal contest.
He looked once more at his men. A contempt, a weariness, the desire of life, the wish to try for one more chanceâfor some other graveâstruggled in his breast. From the outline the figure presented it seemed to him that the white man there, backed up by all the power of the land, was examining his position through binoculars. Brown jumped up on the log, throwing his arms up, the palms outwards. The coloured group closed round the white man, and fell back twice before he got clear of them, walking slowly alone. Brown remained standing on the log till Jim, appearing and disappearing between the patches of thorny scrub, had nearly reached the creek; then Brown jumped off and went down to meet him on his side.
âThey met, I should think, not very far from the place, perhaps on the very spot, where Jim took the second desperate leap of his lifeâthe leap that landed him into the life of Patusan, into the trust, the love, the confidence of the people. They faced each other across the creek, and with steady eyes tried to understand each other before they opened their lips. Their antagonism must have been expressed in their glances; I know that Brown hated Jim at first sight. Whatever hopes he might have had vanished at once. This was not the man he had expected to see. He hated him for thisâ
and in a checked flannel shirt with sleeves cut off at the elbows, grey bearded, with a sunken, sun-blackened faceâhe cursed in his heart the otherâs youth and assurance, his clear eyes and his untroubled bearing. That fellow had got in a long way before him!
He did not look like a man who would be willing to give anything for assistance. He had all the advantages on his sideâpossession, security, power; he was on the side of an overwhelming force! He was not hungry and desperate, and he did not seem in the least afraid. And there was something in the very neatness of Jimâs clothes, from the white helmet to the canvas leggings and the pipeclayed shoes, which in Brownâs sombre irritated eyes seemed to belong to things he had in the very shaping of his life condemned and flouted.
â âWho are you?â asked Jim at last, speaking in his usual voice.
âMy nameâs Brown,â answered the other loudly; âCaptain Brown.
Whatâs yours?â and Jim after a little pause went on quietly, as If he had not heard: âWhat made you come here?â âYou want to know,â
said Brown bitterly. âItâs easy to tell. Hunger. And what made you?â
â âThe fellow started at this,â said Brown, relating to me the opening of this strange conversation between those two men, separated only by the muddy bed of a creek, but standing on the opposite poles of that conception of life which includes all mankindââThe fellow started at this and got very red in the face. Too big to be questioned, I suppose. I told him that if he looked upon me as a dead man with whom you may take liberties, he himself was not a whit better off really. I had a fellow up there who had a bead drawn on him all the time, and only waited for a sign from me. There was nothing to be shocked at in this. He had come down of his own free will. âLet us agree,â said I, âthat we are both dead men, and let us talk on that basis, as equals. We are all equal before death,â I said.
I admitted I was there like a rat in a trap, but we had been driven to it, and even a trapped rat can give a bite. He caught me up in a moment. âNot if you donât go near the trap till the rat is dead.â I told him that sort of game was good enough for these native friends of his, but I would have thought him too white to serve even a rat so. Yes, I had wanted to talk with him. Not to beg for my life, though. My fellows wereâwellâwhat they wereâmen like himself, anyhow. All we wanted from him was to come on in the devilâs name and have it out. âGod dân it,â said I, while he stood there as still as a wooden post, âyou donât want to come out here every day with your glasses to count how many of us are left on our feet.
Come. Either bring your infernal crowd along or let us go out and starve in the open sea, by God! You have been white once, for all your tall talk of this being your own people and you being one with them. Are you? And what the devil do you get for it; what is it youâve found here that is so dâd precious? Hey? You donât want us to come down here perhapsâdo you? You are two hundred to one. You donât want us to come down into the open. Ah! I promise you we shall give you some sport before youâve done. You talk about me making a cowardly set upon unoffending people. Whatâs that to me that they are unoffending, when I am starving for next to no offence? But I am not a coward. Donât you be one. Bring them along or, by all the fiends, we shall yet manage to send half your unoffending town to heaven with us in smoke!â â
âHe was terribleârelating this to meâthis tortured skeleton of a man drawn up together with his face over his knees, upon a miserable bed in that wretched hovel, and lifting his head to look at me with malignant triumph.
â âThatâs what I told himâI knew what to say,â he began again, feebly at first, but working himself up with incredible speed into a fiery utterance of his scorn. âWe arenât going into the forest to wander like a string of living skeletons dropping one after another for ants to go to work upon us before we are fairly dead. Oh no! âŠ
âYou donât deserve a better fate,â he said. âAnd what do you deserve,â I shouted at him, âyou that I find skulking here with your mouth full of your responsibility, of innocent lives, of your infernal duty? What do you know more of me than I know of you? I came here for food. Dâye hear?âfood to fill our bellies. And what did you come for? What did you ask for when you came here? We donât ask you for anything but to give us a fight or a clear road to go back whence we came⊠.â âI would fight with you now,â says he, pulling at his little moustache. âAnd I would let you shoot me, and welcome,â I said. âThis is as good a jumping-off place for me as another. I am sick of my infernal luck. But it would be too easy.
There are my men in the same boatâand, by God, I am not the sort to jump out of trouble and leave them in a dâd lurch,â I said.
He stood thinking for a while and then wanted to know what I had done (âout thereâ he says, tossing his head down-stream) to be hazed about so. âHave we met to tell each other the story of our lives?â
I asked him. âSuppose you begin. No? Well, I am sure I donât want to hear. Keep it to yourself. I know it is no better than mine. Iâve livedâand so did you, though you talk as if you were one of those people that should have wings so as to go about without touching the dirty earth. Wellâit is dirty. I havenât got any wings. I am here because I was afraid once in my life. Want to know what of? Of a prison. That scares me, and you may know itâif itâs any good to you. I wonât ask you what scared you into
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