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episodes puts to shame the pride of documentary history？
Providence which saved my MS。 from the Congo rapids brought it to
the knowledge of a helpful soul far out on the open sea。 It
would be on my part the greatest ingratitude ever to forget the
sallow； sunken face and the deep…set； dark eyes of the young
Cambridge man （he was a 〃passenger for his health〃 on board the
good ship Torrens outward bound to Australia） who was the first
reader of 〃Almayer's Folly〃the very first reader I ever had。
〃Would it bore you very much reading a MS。 in a handwriting like
mine？〃 I asked him one evening on a sudden impulse at the end of
a longish conversation whose subject was Gibbon's History。
Jacques （that was his name） was sitting in my cabin one stormy
dog…watch below； after bringing me a book to read from his own
travelling store。
〃Not at all；〃 he answered with his courteous intonation and a
faint smile。 As I pulled a drawer open his suddenly aroused
curiosity gave him a watchful expression。 I wonder what he
expected to see。 A poem； maybe。 All that's beyond guessing now。
He was not a cold but a calm man； still more subdued by disease
a man of few words and of an unassuming modesty in general
intercourse； but with something uncommon in the whole of his
person which set him apart from the undistinguished lot of our
sixty passengers。 His eyes had a thoughtful introspective look。
In his attractive reserved manner； and in a veiled sympathetic
voice he asked：
〃What is this？〃 〃It is a sort of tale；〃 I answered with an
effort。 〃It is not even finished yet。 Nevertheless I would like
to know what you think of it。〃 He put the MS。 in the breast…
pocket of his jacket； I remember perfectly his thin brown fingers
folding it lengthwise。 〃I will read it tomorrow；〃 he remarked；
seizing the door…handle； and then； watching the roll of the ship
for a propitious moment； he opened the door and was gone。 In the
moment of his exit I heard the sustained booming of the wind； the
swish of the water on the decks of the Torrens； and the subdued；
as if distant； roar of the rising sea。 I noted the growing
disquiet in the great restlessness of the ocean； and responded
professionally to it with the thought that at eight o'clock； in
another half…hour or so at the furthest； the top…gallant sails
would have to come off the ship。
Next day； but this time in the first dog…watch； Jacques entered
my cabin。 He had a thick； woollen muffler round his throat and
the MS。 was in his hand。 He tendered it to me with a steady look
but without a word。 I took it in silence。 He sat down on the
couch and still said nothing。 I opened and shut a drawer under
my desk； on which a filled…up log…slate lay wide open in its
wooden frame waiting to be copied neatly into the sort of book I
was accustomed to write with care； the ship's log…book。 I turned
my back squarely on the desk。 And even then Jacques never
offered a word。 〃Well； what do you say？〃 I asked at last。 〃Is
it worth finishing？〃 This question expressed exactly the whole
of my thoughts。
〃Distinctly；〃 he answered in his sedate； veiled voice and then
coughed a little。
〃Were you interested？〃 I inquired further almost in a whisper。
〃Very much！〃
In a pause I went on meeting instinctively the heavy rolling of
the ship； and Jacques put his feet upon the couch。 The curtain
of my bed…place swung to and fro as it were a punkah； the
bulkhead lamp circled in its gimbals； and now and then the cabin
door rattled slightly in the gusts of wind。 It was in latitude
40 south； and nearly in the longitude of Greenwich； as far as I
can remember； that these quiet rites of Almayer's and Nina's
resurrection were taking place。 In the prolonged silence it
occurred to me that there was a good deal of retrospective
writing in the story as far as it went。 Was it intelligible in
its action； I asked myself； as if already the story…teller were
being born into the body of a seaman。 But I heard on deck the
whistle of the officer of the watch and remained on the alert to
catch the order that was to follow this call to attention。 It
reached me as a faint； fierce shout to 〃Square the yards。〃
〃Aha！〃 I thought to myself； 〃a westerly blow coming on。〃 Then I
turned to my very first reader who； alas！ was not to live long
enough to know the end of the tale。
〃Now let me ask you one more thing： is the story quite clear to
you as it stands？〃
He raised his dark； gentle eyes to my face and seemed surprised。
〃Yes！ Perfectly。〃
This was all I was to hear from his lips concerning the merits of
〃Almayer's Folly。〃 We never spoke together of the book again。 A
long period of bad weather set in and I had no thoughts left but
for my duties； whilst poor Jacques caught a fatal cold and had to
keep close in his cabin。 When we arrived in Adelaide the first
reader of my prose went at once up…country； and died rather
suddenly in the end； either in Australia or it may be on the
passage while going home through the Suez Canal。 I am not sure
which it was now； and I do not think I ever heard precisely；
though I made inquiries about him from some of our return
passengers who； wandering about to 〃see the country〃 during the
ship's stay in port； had come upon him here and there。 At last
we sailed； homeward bound； and still not one line was added to
the careless scrawl of the many pages which poor Jacques had had
the patience to read with the very shadows of Eternity gathering
already in the hollows of his kind； steadfast eyes。
The purpose instilled into me by his simple and final
〃Distinctly〃 remained dormant； yet alive to await its
opportunity。 I dare say I am compelled； unconsciously compelled；
now to write volume after volume； as in past years I was
compelled to go to sea voyage after voyage。 Leaves must follow
upon each other as leagues used to follow in the days gone by； on
and on to the appointed end； which； being Truth itself； is One
one for all men and for all occupations。
I do not know which of the two impulses has appeared more
mysterious and more wonderful to me。 Still； in writing； as in
going to sea； I had to wait my opportunity。 Let me confess here
that I was never one of those wonderful fellows that would go
afloat in a wash…tub for the sake of the fun； and if I may pride
myself upon my consistency； it was ever just the same with my
writing。 Some men； I have heard； write in railway carriages； and
could do it； perhaps； sitting cross…legged on a clothes…line； but
I must confess that my sybaritic disposition will not consent to
write without something at least resembling a chair。 Line by
line； rather than page by page； was the growth of 〃Almayer's
Folly。〃
And so it happened that I very nearly lost the MS。； advanced now
to the first words of the ninth chapter； in the Friedrichstrasse
railway station （that's in Berlin； you know）； on my way to
Poland； or more precisely to Ukraine。 On an early； sleepy
morning changing trains in a hurry I left my Gladstone bag in a
refreshment…room。 A worthy and intelligent Koffertrager rescued
it。 Yet in my anxiety I was not thinking of the MS。 but of all
the other things that were packed in the bag。
In Warsaw； where I spent two days； those wandering pages were
never exposed to the light； except once； to candle…light； while
the bag lay open on a chair。 I was dressing hurriedly to dine at
a sporting club。 A friend of my childhood （he had been in the
Diplomatic Service； but had turned to growing wheat on paternal
acres； and we had not seen each other for over twenty years） was
sitting on the hotel sofa waiting to carry me off there。
〃You might tell me something of your life while you are
dressing；〃 he suggested kindly。
I do not think I told him much of my life…story either then or
later。 The talk of the select little party with which he made me
dine was extremely animated and embraced most subjects under
heaven； from big…game shooting in Africa to the last poem
published in a very modernist review； edited by the very young
and patronised by the highest society。 But it never touched upon
〃Almayer's Folly；〃 and next morning； in uninterrupted obscurity；
this inseparable companion went on rolling with me in the south…
east direction towards the Governmen