Серце темряви

           Ithrewmyheadbacktoaglintingwhizzthattraversedthepilot-house,inatoneshutter-holeandoutattheother.Lookingpastthatmadhelmsman,whowasshakingtheemptyrifleandyellingattheshore,Isawvagueformsofmenrunningbentdouble,leaping,gliding,distinct,incomplete,evanescent.Somethingbigappearedintheairbeforetheshutter,theriflewentoverboard,andthemansteppedbackswiftly,lookedatmeoverhisshoulderinanextraordinary,profound,familiarmanner,andfelluponmyfeet.Thesideofhisheadhitthewheeltwice,andtheendofwhatappearedalongcaneclatteredroundandknockedoveralittlecamp-stool.Itlookedasthoughafterwrenchingthatthingfromsomebodyashorehehadlosthisbalanceintheeffort.Thethinsmokehadblownaway,wewereclearofthesnag,andlookingaheadIcouldseethatinanotherhundredyardsorsoIwouldbefreetosheeroff,awayfromthebank;butmyfeetfeltsoverywarmandwetthatIhadtolookdown.Themanhadrolledonhisbackandstaredstraightupatme;bothhishandsclutchedthatcane.Itwastheshaftofaspearthat,eitherthrownorlungedthroughtheopening,hadcaughthimintheside,justbelowtheribs;thebladehadgoneinoutofsight,aftermakingafrightfulgash;myshoeswerefull;apoolofbloodlayverystill,gleamingdark-redunderthewheel;hiseyesshonewithanamazinglustre.Thefusilladeburstoutagain.Helookedatmeanxiously,grippingthespearlikesomethingprecious,withanairofbeingafraidIwouldtrytotakeitawayfromhim.