Серце темряви

           Imaginethefeelingsofacommanderofafine—whatd’yecall’em?—triremeintheMediterranean,orderedsuddenlytothenorth;runoverlandacrosstheGaulsinahurry;putinchargeofoneofthesecraftthelegionaries—awonderfullotofhandymentheymusthavebeen,too—usedtobuild,apparentlybythehundred,inamonthortwo,ifwemaybelievewhatweread.Imaginehimhere—theveryendoftheworld,aseathecolouroflead,askythecolourofsmoke,akindofshipaboutasrigidasaconcertina—andgoingupthisriverwithstores,ororders,orwhatyoulike.Sand-banks,marshes,forests,savages—preciouslittletoeatfitforacivilizedman,nothingbutThameswatertodrink.NoFalernianwinehere,nogoingashore.Hereandthereamilitarycamplostinawilderness,likeaneedleinabundleofhay—cold,fog,tempests,disease,exile,anddeath—deathskulkingintheair,inthewater,inthebush.Theymusthavebeendyinglikeflieshere.Oh,yes—hedidit.Diditverywell,too,nodoubt,andwithoutthinkingmuchaboutiteither,exceptafterwardstobragofwhathehadgonethroughinhistime,perhaps.Theyweremenenoughtofacethedarkness.AndperhapshewascheeredbykeepinghiseyeonachanceofpromotiontothefleetatRavennabyandby,ifhehadgoodfriendsinRomeandsurvivedtheawfulclimate.Orthinkofadecentyoungcitizeninatoga—perhapstoomuchdice,youknow—comingouthereinthetrainofsomeprefect,ortax-gatherer,ortradereven,tomendhisfortunes.