View source for An Outpost of Progress

== Introduction ==

Conrad, Joseph. "An Outpost of Progress." ''Cosmopolis: An International Review'' 18 (1897): 609-620; 19 (1897): 1-15. Print.

	
“An Outpost of Progress” is a short story by Joseph Conrad (1857-1924) that appeared in two installments in the journal ''Cosmopolis'' in 1897.  Joseph Conrad – born Józef Konrad Korzeniowski to a Polish noble family – is held to be one of the greatest writers of the English language, even though he did not speak fluent English until he was in his twenties.<ref> C.D. Merriman, “Joseph Conrad,” ''The Literature Network'', Jalic, 2007, Web, 9 Mar. 2009.</ref>  Brought up by his literary father on Polish translations of Shakespeare, Dickens, and Hugo, young Conrad was orphaned at age eleven and took to traveling by the time he was sixteen.  His travels took him as far as South America, the heart of Africa, and Australia.  In 1886, he became a British citizen, and by 1894, he had left the sea forever, settling down in London with his wife and children to start a literary career.

Conrad's novels and short stories are mainly semi-autobiographical accounts of his travels or semi-fictionalized descriptions of people that he had encountered all across the world.  Much of his writing is dominated by themes of the nature of good and evil, and he is widely held as a major forerunner of modernist literature.  His best-known works include ''Heart of Darkness'' (1899) and ''Lord Jim'' (1900).

“An Outpost of Progress” is an especially biting criticism against British colonialism.  Themes and characters are similar to those in Conrad’s more famous work ''Heart of Darkness''.  ''Cosmopolis'' was a journal that championed international cooperation and understanding that was continually undermined by the rampant colonialism that was utilized by so many European powers at the time<ref>Julia Reid, “''The Academy'' and ''Cosmopolis'': Evolution and Culture in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Periodical Encounters,” ''Culture and Science in Nineteenth-Century Media'', ed. Louise Henson, Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2004, 263-74, Print.</ref>.  Colonialism in Africa, for instance, served to exacerbate tensions between the various nations with holdings there due to boundary disputes and clashes between native tribes that were subservient to different countries.  ''Cosmopolis'' eagerly welcomed short stories like Conrad’s that targeted the moral corruption of colonialist rule.

The plot of the short story traces an eight-month tenure of two English overseers at a small African trading post (presumably located on a branch of the Congo river).  The two overseers seem to represent British colonialism as a whole – they are lazy and incompetent.  Furthermore, the plot traces both their physical and moral deterioration as they succumb to the pressures of the African “savagery” that surrounds them, and eventually this deterioration leads to self-destruction.  The piece’s significance for Conrad’s contemporaries and modern readers alike lies in its denouncement of racial superiority and of any system that is founded upon such a belief, for despite the fact that even the African natives in Conrad’s story firmly believe in the superiority of the white overseers, the colonizers’ degeneracy is ultimately the result of the failure of the ironically titled “Outpost of Progress.”



== Transcription ==

'''An Outpost of Progress''' 

(See [[media:An_Outpost_Of_Progress_1.pdf|PDF Version, Part 1]])

(See [[media:An_Outpost_Of_Progress_2.pdf|PDF Version, Part 2]])

There were two white men in charge of the trading station.<ref>Trading stations such as this were perched up and down African rivers. The main commodity that Europeans wished to gain from such stations was, as described in this text, ivory. Frequently they would also require food and other living essentials. Natives would trade these commodities for guns, beads, etc.  Frequently such trades were exploitative towards Africans. More than a lucrative trading post, however, colonial outposts such as this one would establish the claim of a particular nation or company on the surrounding territory, even when the influence of the trading post itself was extremely limited. As becomes obvious in the text, the Managing Director seems to have no real interest in the profit of the post itself (Merriman).</ref> Kayerts, the chief, was short and fat; Carlier, the assistant, was tall, with a large head and a very broad trunk perched upon a long pair of thin legs.  The third man on the staff was a Sierra Leone nigger, who maintained that his name was James Price.  However, for some reason or other, the natives down the river<ref>The river on which the “Outpost of Progress” is situated is no doubt a tributary of the Congo. Conrad himself traveled down the Congo as captain of a steamboat in 1889 (Merriman).</ref> had given him the name of Makola, and it stuck to him through all his wanderings about the country.  Everyone called him by it.  He spoke English and French with a warbling accent, wrote a beautiful hand, understood bookkeeping, and cherished in his innermost heart the worship of evil spirits.  His wife was a negress from Loanda,<ref>The capital city of Angola, in southwestern Africa. Today called Luanda. Angola was a Portuguese province until 1975.  Loanda was a port city, and thus benefited from booming trade; in the mid-20th century, Luanda was called “the Paris of Africa” (“A História da Cidade De Luanda,” ''Cidade Luanda'', N.p., 2008, Web, 9 Mar. 2009).</ref> very large and very noisy.  Three children rolled about in the sunshine before the door of his low, shed-like dwelling.  Makola, taciturn and impenetrable, despised the two white men.  He had charge of a small clay storehouse with a palm-leaf roof, and pretended to keep a correct account of beads, cotton cloth, red kerchiefs, brass wire, and other trade goods it contained.  Besides the storehouse and Makola's hut, there was only one large building in the cleared ground of the station.  It was built neatly of reeds, with a verandah on all the four sides.  There were three rooms in it.  The one in the middle was the living-room, and had two rough tables and a few stools in it.  The other two were the bedrooms for the white men.  Each had a bedstead and a mosquito net for all furniture.  The plank floor was littered with the belongings of the white men: open half-empty boxes, torn wearing apparel, old boots: all the things dirty, and all the things broken, that accumulate mysteriously round untidy men.  There was also another dwelling-place some distance away from the buildings.  In it, under a tall cross much out of the perpendicular, slept the man who had seen the beginning of all this; who had planned and had watched the construction of this outpost of progress.  He had been, at home, an unsuccessful painter who, weary of pursuing fame on an empty stomach, had gone out there through high protections.  He had been the first chief of that station.  Makola had watched the energetic artist die of fever in the just finished house with his usual kind of "I told you so" indifference.  Then, for a time, he dwelt alone with his family, his account books, and the Evil Spirit that rules the lands under the equator.  He got on very well with his god.  Perhaps he had propitiated him by a promise of more white men to play with, by and by.  At any rate the director of the Great Trading Company,<ref>Conrad’s satirical name of the chartered company for which Kayerts and Carlier work.  Chartered companies were rampant in Africa during the colonial period, and usually consisted of groups of merchants joining together to generate enough capital for an overseas venture.  These groups were usually commissioned or at least legitimized by a national government, which would set certain stipulations upon them, such as how they were to treat native peoples, their obligation to obey existing laws, and property rights and future development of land that fell under their influence (Bamber Gascoigne, “History of the Democratic Republic of Congo,” ''HistoryWorld'', N.p., 2009, Web, 9 Mar. 2009).</ref> coming up in a steamer that resembled an enormous sardine box with a flat-roofed shed erected on it, found the station in good order, and Makola as usual quietly diligent.  The director had the cross put up over the first agent's grave, and appointed Kayerts to the post.  Carlier was told off as second in charge.  The director was a man ruthless and efficient, who at times, but very imperceptibly, indulged in grim humour.  He made a speech to Kayerts and Carlier, pointing out to them the promising aspect of their station.  The nearest trading post was about three hundred miles away.  It was an exceptional opportunity for them to distinguish themselves and to earn percentages on the trade.  This appointment was a favour done to beginners.  Kayerts was moved almost to tears by his director's kindness.  He would, he said, by doing his best, try to justify the flattering confidence, &c., &c.  Kayerts had been in the Administration of the Telegraphs, and knew how to express himself correctly.  Carlier, an ex-non-commissioned officer of cavalry in an army guaranteed harmless by several European Powers, was less impressed.  If there were commissions to get, so much the better; and, trailing a sulky glance over the river, the forests, the impenetrable bush that seemed to cut off the station from the rest of the world, he muttered between his teeth, "We shall see, very soon."

Next day, some bales of cotton goods and a few cases of provisions having been thrown on shore, the sardine-box steamer went off, not to return for another six months.  On the deck the director touched his cap to the two agents, who stood on the bank waving their hats, and turning to an old servant of the Company on his passage to headquarters, said, "Look at those two imbeciles.  They must be mad at home to send me such specimens.  I told those fellows to plant a vegetable garden, build new storehouses and fences, and construct a landing stage.  I bet, nothing will be done!  They won't know how to begin.  The two most useless men I ever saw.  I always thought the station on this river useless, and they just fit the station!"

"They will form themselves there," said the old stager with a quiet smile.

"At any rate, I am rid of them for six months," retorted the director.

The two useless men watched the steamer round the bend, then, ascending arm in arm the slope of the bank, returned to the station.  They had been in this vast and dark country<ref>Assuming that the river is a tributary of the Congo, the trading station is located in what was then the Congo Free State, in the modern-day Democratic Republic of the Congo (also known as Zaire).  The Congo Free State was a corporate state controlled privately by Leopold II of Belgium.  Existing from 1885 to 1905, Leopold and his charter companies exploited the region for rubber, copper, ivory, and other natural resources.  By 1902, reports concerning atrocities committed by the corporate government towards African natives began leaking out to the public, helped by eyewitness accounts and works such as Conrad’s ''Heart of Darkness'' (1899) and Mark Twain’s ''King Leopold’s Soliloquy'' (1905).  In 1908, the Belgian government annexed the Congo Free State, calling it the Belgian Congo (Gascoigne).</ref> only a very short time, and as yet always in the midst of other white men, under the eye and guidance of their superiors.  And now, dull as they were to the subtle influence of surroundings, they felt themselves very much alone, when suddenly left unassisted to face the wilderness; a wilderness rendered more strange, more incomprehensible by the mysterious glimpses of the vigorous life it contained.  They were two perfectly insignificant and incapable individuals, whose existence is only rendered possible through the high organisation of the civilised crowds.  Few men realise that their life, the very essence of their character, their capabilities and their audacities, are only the expression of their belief in the safety of their surroundings.  The courage, the composure, the confidence; the emotions and principles; every great and every insignificant thought belongs not to the individual but to the crowd: to the crowd that believes blindly in the irresistible force of its institutions and of its morals, in the power of its police and of its opinion.  But the contact with pure unmitigated savagery, with primitive nature and primitive man, brings sudden and profound trouble into the heart.  To the sentiment of being alone of one's kind, to the clear perception of the loneliness of one's thoughts, of one's sensations; to the negation of the habitual, which is safe, there is added the affirmation of the unusual, which is dangerous; a suggestion of things vague, uncontrollable, and repulsive, whose discomposing intrusion excites the imagination and tries the civilised nerves of the foolish and the wise alike.

Kayerts and Carlier walked arm in arm, drawing close to one another as children do in the dark; and they had the same, not altogether unpleasant, sense of danger which one half suspects to be imaginary.  They chatted persistently in familiar tones.  "Our station is prettily situated," said one.  The other assented with enthusiasm, enlarging volubly on the beauties of the situation.  Then they passed near the grave.  "Poor devil!" said Kayerts.  "He died of fever, didn't he?" muttered Carlier, stopping short.  "Why," retorted Kayerts with indignation, "I've been told that the fellow exposed himself recklessly to the sun.  The climate here, everybody says, is not at all worse than at home, as long as you keep out of the sun.  Do you hear that, Carlier?  I am chief here, and my orders are that you should not expose yourself to the sun!"  He assumed his superiority jocularly, but his meaning was serious.  The idea that he would, perhaps, have to bury Carlier and remain alone, gave him an inward shiver.  He felt suddenly that this Carlier was more precious to him, here, in the centre of Africa, than a brother could be anywhere else.  Carlier, entering into the spirit of the thing, made a military salute and answered in a brisk tone, "Your orders shall be attended to, chief!"  Then he burst out laughing, slapped Kayerts on the back, and shouted, "We shall let life run easily here!  Just sit still and gather in the ivory the savages will bring.  This country has its good points, after all!"  They both laughed loudly while Carlier thought:  That poor Kayerts; he is so fat and unhealthy.  It would be awful if I had to bury him here.  He is a man I respect.  Before they reached the verandah of their house they called one another "my dear fellow."

The first day they were very active, pottering about with hammers and nails and red calico, to put up curtains, make their house habitable and pretty; resolved to settle down comfortably to their new life.  For them an impossible task.  To grapple effectually with even purely material problems requires more serenity of mind and more lofty courage than people generally imagine.  No two beings could have been more unfitted for such a struggle.  Society, not from any tenderness, but because of its strange needs, had taken care of those two men, forbidding them all independent thought, all initiative, all departure from routine; and forbidding it under pain of death.  They could only live on condition of being machines.  And now, released from the fostering care of men with pens behind their ears, or of men with gold lace on the sleeves, they were like those lifelong prisoners who, liberated after many years, do not know what use to make of their freedom.  They did not know what use to make of their faculties, being both, through want of practice, incapable of independent thought.

At the end of two months Kayerts often would say, "If it was not for my Melie, you wouldn't catch me here."  Melie was his daughter.  He had thrown up his post in the Administration of the Telegraphs, though he had been for seventeen years perfectly happy there, to earn a dowry for his girl.  His wife was dead, and the child was being brought up by his sisters.  He regretted the streets, the pavements, the cafés, his friends of many years; all the things he was used to see, day after day; all the thoughts suggested by familiar things -- the thoughts effortless, monotonous, and soothing of a Government clerk; he regretted all the gossip, the small enmities, the mild venom, and the little jokes of Government offices.  "If I had had a decent brother-in-law," Carlier would remark, "a fellow with a heart, I would not be here."  He had left the army and had made himself so obnoxious to his family by his laziness and impudence, that an exasperated brother-in-law had made superhuman efforts to procure him an appointment in the Company as a second-class agent.  Having not a penny in the world, he was compelled to accept this means of livelihood as soon as it became quite clear to him that there was nothing more to squeeze out of his relations.  He, like Kayerts, regretted his old life.   He regretted the clink of sabre and spurs on a fine afternoon, the barrack-room witticisms, the girls of garrison towns; but, besides, he had also a sense of grievance.  He was evidently a much ill-used man.  This made him moody, at times.  But the two men got on well together in the fellowship of their stupidity and laziness.  Together they did nothing, absolutely nothing, and enjoyed the sense of idleness for which they were well paid.  And in time they came to feel something resembling affection for one another.

They lived like blind men in a large room, aware only of what came in contact with them (and of that only imperfectly), but unable to see the general aspect of things.  The river, the forest, all the great land throbbing with life, were like a great emptiness.  Even the brilliant sunshine disclosed nothing intelligible.  Things appeared and disappeared before their eyes in an unconnected and aimless kind of way.  The river seemed to come from nowhere and flow nowhere.  It flowed through a void.  Out of that void, at times, came canoes, and men with handfuls of spears in their hand would suddenly crowd the yard of the station.  They were naked, glossy black, ornamented with snowy shells and glistening brass wire, perfect of limb.  They made an uncouth babbling noise when they spoke, moved in a stately manner, and sent quick, wild glances out of their startled, never-resting eyes.  Those warriors would squat in long rows, four or more deep, before the verandah, while their chiefs bargained for hours with Makola over an elephant tusk.  Kayerts sat on his chair and looked down on the proceedings, understanding nothing.  He stared at them with his round blue eyes, called out to Carlier, "Here, look!  look at that fellow there -- and that other one, to the left.  Did you ever see such a face?  Oh, the funny brute!"

Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger up twirling his moustaches, and, surveying the warriors with haughty indulgence, would say: --

"Fine animals.  Brought any bone?  Yes?  It's not any too soon.  Look at the muscles of that fellow -- third from the end.  I wouldn't care to get a punch on the nose from him.  Fine arms, but legs no good below the knee.  Couldn't make cavalry men of them."  And after glancing down complacently at his own shanks, he always concluded:  "Pah!  Don't they stink!  You, Makola!  Take that herd over to the fetish " (the storehouse was in every station called the fetish, perhaps because of the spirit of civilisation it contained<ref>An object that elicits unquestioned devotion or reverence, or is regarded as being the habitation of a spirit or of supernatural potency ([[Works Cited |OED]]).</ref>) "and give them up some of the rubbish you keep there.  I'd rather see it full of bone than full of rags."

Kayerts approved.

"Yes, yes!  Go and finish that palaver<ref>A parley or conference, especially between European colonizers or traders and native people ([[Works Cited |OED]]).</ref> over there, Mr. Makola.  I will come round when you are ready, to weigh the tusk.  We must be careful."  Then, turning to his companion:  "This is the tribe that lives down the river; they are rather aromatic.  I remember, they had been once before here.  D'ye hear that row?  What a fellow has got to put up with in this dog of a country!  My head is split."

Such profitable visits were rare.  For days the two pioneers of trade and progress would look on their empty courtyard in the vibrating brilliance of vertical sunshine.  Below the high bank, the silent river flowed on glittering and steady.  On the sands in the middle of the stream, hippos and alligators sunned themselves side by side.  And stretching away in all directions, surrounding the insignificant cleared spot of the trading post, immense forests, hiding fateful complications of fantastic life, lay in eloquent silence of mute greatness.  The two men understood nothing, cared for nothing but for the passage of days that separated them from the steamer's return.  Their predecessor had left some torn books.  They took up these wrecks of novels, and, as they had never read anything of the kind before, they were surprised and amused.  Then during long days there were interminable and silly discussions about plots and personages.  In the centre of Africa they made the acquaintance of Richelieu and of d'Artangan,<ref>Richelieu and d’Artagnan are characters from Alexandre Dumas’ 1844 novel ''The Three Musketeers.''  While d’Artagnan is fictional, the historical Cardinal Richelieu (1585-1642) was a French politician, credited to be the world’s first Prime Minister.</ref> of Hawk's Eye<ref> Possibly a Victorian reviewer of theater and horseracing.</ref> and of Father Goriot,<ref> A character from Honoré de Balzac’s 1835 novel ''Le Père Goriot''.  Father Goriot is an old man whose quest to attain the love of his estranged daughters borders on obsession.</ref> and of many other people.  All these imaginary personages became subjects of gossip as if they had been living friends.  They discounted their virtues, discussed their motives, decried their successes; were scandalised at their duplicity or were doubtful about their courage.  The accounts of crimes filled them with indignation, while tender or pathetic passages moved them deeply.  Carlier cleared his throat and said in a soldierly voice, "What nonsense!"  Kayerts, his round eyes suffused with tears, his fat cheeks quivering, rubbed his bald head, and declared, "This is a splendid book.  I had no idea there were such clever fellows in the world."  They also found some old copies of a home paper.  That print discussed what it was pleased to call "Our Colonial Expansion" in high-flown language.  It spoke much of the rights and duties of civilisation,<ref>Propagandist tracts such as this typically outlined the pseudo-scientific theories behind colonialism, namely social Darwinism.  The premise of the theory (which came after Darwin, whose theories never dealt with social dynamics) is that subjugated peoples are weaker and therefore deserve to be ruled by conquering powers.  It also encompasses the concept of the “White Man’s Burden” (the phrase coming from an 1899 poem by Rudyard Kipling), that delineates the responsibility of the Western powers to “educate” and “civilize” more primitive cultures (often robbing them of their own cultural identity in the process) (“The White Man’s Burden and the Person Sitting in Darkness,” Assumption College, n.d., Web, 9 Mar. 2009).</ref> of the sacredness of the civilising work, and extolled the merits of those who went about bringing light, and faith, and commerce to the dark places of the earth.  Carlier and Kayerts read, wondered, and began to think better of themselves.  Carlier said one evening, waving his hand about, "In a hundred years, there will be perhaps a town here.  Quays, and warehouses, and barracks, and -- and -- billiard-rooms.  Civilisation, my boy, and virtue -- and all.  And then, chaps will read that two good fellows, Kayerts and Carlier, were the first civilised men to live in this very spot!"  Kayerts nodded, "Yes, it is a consolation to think of that."  They seemed to forget their dead predecessor; but, early one day, Carlier went out and replanted the cross firmly.  "It used to make me squint whenever I walked that way," he explained to Kayerts over the morning coffee.  "It made me squint, leaning over so much.  So I just planted it upright.  And solid, I promise you!  I suspended myself with both hands to the cross-piece.  Not a move.  Oh, I did that properly."

At times Gobila came to see them.  Gobila was the chief of the neighboring villages.  He was a grey-headed savage, thin and black, with a white cloth round his loins and a mangy panther skin hanging over his back.  He came up with long strides of his skeleton legs, swinging a staff as tall as himself, and, entering the common room of the station, would squat on his heels to the left of the door.  There he sat, watching Kayerts, and now and then making a speech which the other did not understand.  Kayerts, without interrupting his occupation, would from time to time say in a friendly manner:  "How goes it, you old image?" and they would smile at one another.  The two whites had a liking for that old and incomprehensible creature, and called him Father Gobila.  Gobila's manner was paternal, and he seemed really to love all white men.  They all appeared to him very young, indistinguishably alike (except for stature), and he knew that they were all brothers, and also immortal.  The death of the artist, who was the first white man whom he knew intimately, did not disturb this belief, because he was firmly convinced that the white stranger had pretended to die and got himself buried for some mysterious purpose of his own, into which it was useless to inquire.  Perhaps it was his way of going home to his own country?  At any rate, these were his brothers, and he transferred his absurd affection to them.  They returned it in a way.  Carlier slapped him on the back, and recklessly struck off matches for his amusement.  Kayerts was always ready to let him have a sniff at the ammonia bottle.  In short, they behaved just like that other white creature that had hidden itself in a hole in the ground.  Gobila considered them attentively.  Perhaps they were the same being with the other -- or -- one of them was.  He couldn't decide -- clear up that mystery; but he remained always very friendly.  In consequence of that friendship the women of Gobila's village walked in single file through the reedy grass, bringing every morning to the station fowls, and sweet potatoes, and palm wine, and sometimes a goat.  The Company never provisions the stations fully, and the agents required those local supplies to live.  They had them through the good-will of Gobila, and lived well.  Now and then one of them had a bout of fever, and the other nursed him with gentle devotion.  They did not think much of it.  It left them weaker, and their appearance changed for the worse.  Carlier was hollow-eyed and irritable.  Kayerts showed a drawn, flabby face above the rotundity of his stomach, which gave him a weird aspect.  But being constantly together, they did not notice the change that took place gradually in their appearance, and also in their dispositions.

Five months passed in this way.

Then, one morning, as Kayerts and Carlier, lounging in their chairs under the verandah, talked about the approaching visit of the steamer, a knot of armed men came out of the forest and advanced towards the station.  They were strangers to that part of the country.  They were tall, slight, draped classically from neck to heel in blue fringed cloths, and carried percussion muskets over their bare right shoulders.  Makola showed signs of excitement, and ran out of the storehouse (where he spent all his days) to meet these visitors.  They came into the courtyard and looked about them with steady, scornful glances.  Their leader, a powerful and determined-looking man with bloodshot eyes, stood in front of the verandah and made a long speech.  He gesticulated much, and ceased very suddenly.

There was something in his intonation, in the sounds of the long sentences he used, that startled the two whites.  It was like a reminiscence of something not entirely familiar, and yet resembling the speech of civilised men.  It sounded like one of those impossible languages which sometimes we hear in our dreams.

"What lingo is that?" said the amazed Carlier.  "In the first moment I fancied the fellow was going to speak French.  Anyway, it is a different kind of gibberish to what we ever heard."

"Yes," replied Kayerts.  "Hey, Makola, what does he say?  Where do they come from?  Who are they?"

But Makola, who seemed to be standing on hot bricks, answered hurriedly, "I don't know.  They come from very far.  Perhaps Mrs. Price will understand.  They are perhaps bad men."

The leader, after waiting a while, said something sharply to Makola, who shook his head.  Then the man, after looking round, noticed Makola's hut and walked over there.  The next moment Mrs. Makola was heard speaking with great volubility.  The other strangers -- they were six in all -- strolled about with an air of ease, put their heads through the door of the storeroom, congregated round the grave, pointed understandingly at the cross, and generally made themselves at home.

"I don't like those chaps -- and, I say, Kayerts, they must be from the coast; they've got firearms," observed the sagacious Carlier.

Kayerts also did not like those chaps.  They both, for the first time, became aware that they lived in conditions where the unusual may be dangerous, and that there was no power on earth outside of themselves to stand between them and the unusual.  They became uneasy, went in and loaded their revolvers.  Kayerts said, "We must order Makola to tell them to go away before dark."

The strangers left in the afternoon, after eating a meal prepared for them by Mrs. Makola.  The immense woman was excited, and talked much with the visitors.  She rattled away shrilly, pointing here and pointing there at the forests and at the river.  Makola sat apart and watched.  At times he got up and whispered to his wife.  He accompanied the strangers across the ravine at the back of the station-ground, and returned shortly looking very thoughtful.  When questioned by the white men he was very strange, seemed not to understand, seemed to have forgotten French -- seemed to have forgotten how to speak altogether.  Kayerts and Carlier agreed that the nigger had had too much palm wine.

There was some talk about keeping a watch in turn, but in the evening everything seemed so quiet and peaceful that they retired as usual.  All night they were disturbed by a lot of drumming in the villages.  A deep, rapid roll near by would be bothered by another far off -- then all ceased.  Soon short appeals would rattle out here and there, then all mingle together, increase, become vigorous and sustained, would spread out over the forest, roll through the night, unbroken and ceaseless, near and far, as if the whole land had been one immense drum booming out steadily an appeal to heaven.  And through the deep and tremendous noise sudden yells that resembled snatches of songs from a madhouse darted shrill and high in discordant jets of sound which seemed to rush far above the earth and drive all peace from under the stars.

Carlier and Kayerts slept badly.  They both thought they had heard shots fired during the night -- but they could not agree as to the direction.  In the morning Makola was gone somewhere.  He returned about noon with one of yesterday's strangers, and eluded all Kayerts' attempts to close with him:  had become deaf apparently.  Kayerts wondered.  Carlier, who had been fishing off the bank, came back and remarked while he showed his catch, "The niggers seem to be in a deuce of a stir; I wonder what's up.  I saw about fifteen canoes cross the river during the two hours I was there fishing."  Kayerts, worried, said, "Isn't this Makola very quiet to-day?"  Carlier advised, "Keep all our men together in case of some trouble."



(To be concluded.)


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PART II.


(See [[media:An_Outpost_Of_Progress_3.pdf|PDF Version, Part 3]])

(See [[media:An_Outpost_Of_Progress_4.pdf|PDF Version, Part 4]])

There were ten station men who had been left by the Director.  Those fellows, having engaged themselves to the Company for six months (without having any idea of a month in particular and only a very faint notion of time in general), had been serving the cause of progress for upwards of two years.  Belonging to a tribe from a very distant part of this land of darkness and sorrow, they did not run away, naturally supposing that as wandering strangers they would be killed by the inhabitants of the country; in which they were right.  They lived in straw huts on the slope of a ravine overgrown with reedy grass, just behind the station buildings.  They were not happy, regretting the festive incantations, the sorceries, the human sacrifices of their own land; where they also had parents, brothers, sisters, admired chiefs, respected magicians, loved friends, and other ties supposed generally to be human.  Besides, the rice rations served out by the Company did not agree with them, being a food unknown to their land, and to which they could not get used.  Consequently they were unhealthy and miserable.  Had they been of any other tribe they would have made up their minds to die -- for nothing is easier to certain savages than suicide -- and so have escaped from the puzzling difficulties of existence.  But belonging, as they did, to a warlike tribe with filed teeth, they had more grit, and went on stupidly living through disease and sorrow.  They did very little work, and had lost their splendid physique.

Carlier and Kayerts doctored them assiduously without being able to bring them back into condition again.  They were mustered every morning and told off to different tasks -- grass-cutting, fence-building, tree-felling, &c., &c., which no power on earth could induce them to execute efficiently.  The two whites had practically very little control over them.

In the afternoon Makola came over to the big house and found Kayerts watching three heavy columns of smoke rising above the forests.  "What is that"? asked Kayerts.  "Some villages burn," answered Makola, who seemed to have regained his wits.  Then he said abruptly:  "We have got very little ivory; bad six months' trading.  Do you like get a little more ivory?"

"Yes," said Kayerts eagerly.  He thought of percentages, which were low.

"Those men who came yesterday are traders from Loanda who have got more ivory than they can carry home.  Shall I buy?  I know their camp."

"Certainly," said Kayerts.  "What are those traders?"

"Bad fellows," said Makola indifferently.  "They fight with people, and catch women and children.  They are bad men, and got guns.  There is a great disturbance in the country.  Do you want ivory?"

"Yes," said Kayerts.  Makola said nothing for a while.  Then:  "Those workmen of ours are no good at all," he muttered, looking round.  "Station in very bad order, sir.  Director will growl.  Better get a fine lot of ivory, then he say nothing."

"I can't help it; the men won't work," said Kayerts.  "When will you get that ivory?"

"Very soon," said Makola.  "Perhaps to-night.  You leave it to me, and keep indoors, sir.  I think you had better give some palm wine to our men to make a dance this evening.  Enjoy themselves.  Work better to-morrow.  There's plenty wine -- gone a little sour."

Kayerts said yes, and Makola, with his own hands, carried the big calabashes<ref>The calabash, or bottle gourd, can be harvested young for food or preserved, hollowed out, and dried to use as a storage container.  Dried calabashes are common utensils in West Africa ([[Works Cited |OED]]).</ref> to the door of his hut.  They stood there till the evening, and Mrs. Makola looked into every one.  The men got them at sunset.  When Kayerts and Carlier retired, a big bonfire was flared before the men's huts.  They could hear their shouts and drumming.  Some men from Gobila's village had joined the station hands, and the entertainment was a great success.

In the middle of the night, Carlier waking suddenly, heard a man shout loudly; then a shot was fired.  Only one.  Carlier ran out and met Kayerts on the verandah.  They were both startled.  As they went across the yard to call Makola, they saw shadows moving in the night.  One of them cried, "Don't shoot!  It's me, Price."  Then Makola appeared close to them.  "Go back, go back, please," he urged, "you spoil all."  "There are strange men about," said Carlier.  "Never mind; I know," said Makola.  Then he whispered, "All right.  Bring ivory.  Say nothing!  I know my business."  The two white men reluctantly went back to the house, but did not sleep.  They heard footsteps, whispers, some groans.  It seemed as if a lot of men came in, dumped heavy things on the ground, squabbled a long time, then went away.  They lay on their hard beds and thought:  "This Makola is invaluable."  In the morning Carlier came out, very sleepy, and pulled at the cord of the big bell.  The station hands mustered every morning to the sound of the bell.  That morning nobody came.  Kayerts turned out also yawning.  Across the yard they saw Makola come out of his hut, a tin basin of soapy water in his hand.  Makola, a civilised nigger, was very neat in his person.  He threw the soapsuds skillfully<ref>The original reads: “skilfully.”</ref> over a wretched little yellow cur he had, then turning his face to the agent's house, he shouted from the distance, "All the men gone last night!"

They heard him plainly, but in their surprise they both yelled out together:  "What!"  Then they stared at one another.  "We are in a proper fix now," growled Carlier.  "It's incredible!" muttered Kayerts.  "I will go to the huts and see," said Carlier, striding off.  Makola coming up found Kayerts standing alone.

"I can hardly believe it," said Kayerts tearfully.  "We took care of them as if they had been our children."

"They went with the coast people," said Makola after a moment of hesitation.

"What do I care with whom they went -- the ungrateful brutes!" exclaimed the other.  Then with sudden suspicion, and looking hard at Makola, he added:  "What do you know about it?"

Makola moved his shoulders, looking down on the ground.  "What do I know?  I think only.  Will you come and look at the ivory I've got there?  It is a fine lot.  You never saw such..."

He moved towards the store.  Kayerts followed him mechanically, thinking about the incredible desertion of the men.  On the ground before the door of the fetish lay six splendid tusks.

"What did you give for it?" asked Kayerts, after surveying the lot with satisfaction.

"No regular trade," said Makola.  "They brought the ivory and gave it to me.  I told them to take what they most wanted in the station.  It is a beautiful lot.  No station can show such tusks.  Those traders wanted carriers badly, and our men were no good here.  No trade, no entry in books; all correct."

Kayerts nearly burst with indignation.  "Why!" he shouted, "I believe you have sold our men for these tusks!"  Makola stood impassive and silent.  "I -- I -- will -- I," stuttered Kayerts, "You fiend!" he yelled out.

"I did the best for you and the Company," said Makola imperturbably.  "Why you shout so much?  Look at this tusk."

"I dismiss you!  I will report you -- I won't look at the tusk.  I forbid you to touch them.  I order you to throw them into the river.  You -- you!"

"You are very red, Mr. Kayerts.  If you are so irritable in the sun, you will get fever and die -- like the first chief!" pronounced Makola impressively.

They stood still, contemplating one another with intense eyes, as if they had been looking with effort across immense distances.  Kayerts shivered.  Makola had meant no more than he said, but his words seemed to Kayerts full of ominous menace!  He turned sharply and went away to the house.  Makola retired into the bosom of his family; and the tusks, left lying before the store, looked very large and valuable in the sunshine.

Carlier came back on the verandah.  "They're all gone, hey?" asked Kayerts from the far end of the common room in a muffled voice.  "You did not find anybody?"

"Oh, yes," said Carlier, "I found one of Gobila's people lying dead before the huts -- shot through the body.  We've heard that shot last night."

Kayerts came out quickly.  He found his companion staring grimly over the yard at the tusks, away by the store.  They both sat in silence for a while.  Then Kayerts related his conversation with Makola.  Carlier said nothing.  At the midday meal they ate very little.  They hardly exchanged a word that day.  A great silence seemed to lie heavily over the station and press on their lips.  Makola did not open the store; he spent the day playing with his children.  He lay full-length on a mat outside the door, and the youngsters sat on his chest and clambered all over him.  It was a touching picture.  Mrs. Makola was busy cooking all day as usual.  The white men made a somewhat better meal in the evening.  Afterwards, Carlier smoking his pipe strolled over to the store; he stood for a long time over the tusks, touched one or two with his foot, even tried to lift the largest one by its small end.  He came back to his chief, who had not stirred from the verandah, threw himself in the chair and said --

"I can see it!  They were pounced upon while they slept heavily after drinking all that palm wine you've allowed Makola to give them.  A put-up job!  See?  The worst is, some of Gobila's people were there, and got carried off too, no doubt.  The least drunk woke up, and got shot for his sobriety.  This is a funny country.  What will you do now?"

"We can't touch it, of course," said Kayerts.

"Of course not," assented Carlier.

"Slavery is an awful thing," stammered out Kayerts in an unsteady voice.

"Frightful -- the sufferings," grunted Carlier, with conviction.

They believed their words.  Everybody shows a respectful deference to certain sounds that he and his fellows can make.  But about feelings people really know nothing.  We talk with indignation or enthusiasm; we talk about oppression, cruelty, crime, devotion, self-sacrifice, virtue -- and we know nothing real beyond the words.  Nobody knows what suffering or sacrifice mean -- except, perhaps the victims of the mysterious purpose of these illusions.

Next morning they saw Makola very busy setting up in the yard the big scales used for weighing ivory.  By and by Carlier said:  "What's that filthy scoundrel up to?" and lounged out into the yard.  Kayerts followed.  They stood watching.  Makola took no notice.  When the balance was swung true, he tried to lift a tusk into the scale.  It was too heavy.  He looked up helplessly without a word, and for a minute they stood round that balance as mute and still as three statues.  Suddenly Carlier said:  "Catch hold of the other end, Makola -- you beast!" and together they swung the tusk up.  Kayerts trembled in every limb.  He muttered, "I say!  O!  I say!" and putting his hand in his pocket found there a dirty bit of paper and the stump of a pencil.  He turned his back on the others, as if about to do something tricky, and noted stealthily the weights which Carlier shouted out to him with unnecessary loudness.  When all was over Makola whispered to himself:  "The sun's very strong here for the tusks."  Carlier said to Kayerts in a careless tone:  "I say, chief, I might just as well give him a lift with this lot into the store."

As they were going back to the house Kayerts observed with a sigh:  "It had to be done."  And Carlier said:  "It's deplorable, but, the men being Company's men the ivory is Company's ivory.  We must look after it."  "I will report to the Director, of course," said Kayerts.  "Of course; let him decide," approved Carlier.

At midday they made a hearty meal.  Kayerts sighed from time to time.  Whenever they mentioned Makola's name they always added to it an opprobrious epithet.  It eased their conscience.  Makola gave himself a half-holiday, and bathed his children in the river.  No one from Gobila's villages came near the station that day.  No one came the next day, and the next, nor for a whole week.  Gobila's people might have been dead and buried for any sign of life they gave.  But they were only mourning for those they had lost by the witchcraft of white men, who had brought wicked people into their country.  The wicked people were gone, but fear remained.  Fear always remains.  A man can destroy everything within himself, love and hate and belief, and even doubt; but as long as he clings to life he cannot destroy fear:  the fear, subtle, indestructible, and terrible, that pervades his being; that tinges his thoughts; that lurks in his heart; that watches on his lips the struggle of his last breath.  In his fear, the mild old Gobila offered extra human sacrifices to all the Evil Spirits that had taken possession of his white friends.  His heart was heavy.  Some warriors spoke about burning and killing, but the cautious old savage dissuaded them.  Who could foresee the woe those mysterious creatures, if irritated, might bring?  They should be left alone.  Perhaps in time they would disappear into the earth as the first one had disappeared.  His people must keep away from them, and hope for the best.

Kayerts and Carlier did not disappear, but remained above on this earth, that, somehow, they fancied had become bigger and very empty.  It was not the absolute and dumb solitude of the post that impressed them so much as an inarticulate feeling that something from within them was gone, something that worked for their safety, and had kept the wilderness from interfering with their hearts.  The images of home; the memory of people like them, of men that thought and felt as they used to think and feel, receded into distances made indistinct by the glare of unclouded sunshine.  And out of the great silence of the surrounding wilderness, its very hopelessness and savagery seemed to approach them nearer, to draw them gently, to look upon them, to envelop them with a solicitude irresistible, familiar, and disgusting.

Days lengthened into weeks, then into months.  Gobila's people drummed and yelled to every new moon, as of yore, but kept away from the station.  Makola and Carlier tried once in a canoe to open communications, but were received with a shower of arrows, and had to fly back to the station for dear life.  That attempt set the country up and down the river into an uproar that could be very distinctly heard for days.  The steamer was late.  At first they spoke of delay jauntily, then anxiously, then gloomily.  The matter was becoming serious.  Stores were running short.  Carlier cast his lines off the bank, but the river was low, and the fish kept out in the stream.  They dared not stroll away from the station to shoot.  Moreover, there was no game in the impenetrable forest.  Once Carlier shot a hippo in the river.  They had no boat to secure it, and it sank.  When it floated up it drifted away, and Gobila's people secured the carcass.  It was the occasion for a national holiday, but Carlier had a fit of rage over it, and talked about the necessity of exterminating all the niggers before the country could be habitable.  Kayerts mooned about silently; spent hours looking at the portrait of his Melie.  It represented a little girl with long tresses and a rather sour face.  His legs were much swollen, and he could hardly walk.  Carlier, undermined by fever, could not swagger any more, but kept tottering about, still with a devil-may-care air, as became a man who remembered his crack regiment.  He had become hoarse, sarcastic, and inclined to say unpleasant things.  He called it "being frank with you."  They had long ago reckoned their percentages on trade, including in them that last deal of "this infamous Makola."  They had also concluded not to say anything about it.  Kayerts hesitated at first -- was afraid of the Director.

"He has seen worse things done on the quiet,"<ref>Carlier is probably right – the Congo Free State’s reign in the Congo River Basin area was characterized by brutality and cruelty towards the native people (Gascoigne).</ref> maintained Carlier, with a hoarse laugh.  "Trust him!  He won't thank you if you blab.  He is no better than you or me.  Who will talk if we hold our tongues?  There is nobody here."

That was the root of the trouble!  There was nobody there and being left there alone with their weakness, they became daily more like a pair of accomplices than like a couple of devoted friends.  They had heard nothing from home for eight months.  Every morning they said, "To-morrow we shall see the steamer."  But one of the Company's steamers had been wrecked, and the Director was busy with the other, relieving very distant and important stations on the main river.  He thought that the useless station, and the useless men, would wait.  Meantime Kayerts and Carlier lived on rice boiled without salt, and cursed the Company, all Africa, and the day they were born.  One must have lived on such diet to discover what ghastly trouble the necessity of swallowing one's food may become.  There was literally nothing else in the station but rice and coffee; they drank the coffee without sugar.  The last fifteen lumps Kayerts had solemnly locked away in his box, together with a half-bottle of Cognac, "in case of sickness," he explained.  Carlier approved.  "When one is sick," he said, "any little extra like that is cheering."

They waited.  Rank grass began to sprout over the courtyard.  The bell never rang now.  Days passed, silent, exasperating, and slow.  When the two men spoke, they snarled; and their silences were bitter, as if tinged by the bitterness of their thoughts.

One day after a lunch of boiled rice, Carlier put down his cup untasted, and said, "Hang it all!  Let's have a decent cup of coffee for once.  Bring out that sugar, Kayerts!"

"For the sick," muttered Kayerts, without looking up.

"For the sick," mocked Carlier.  "Bosh!<ref>Absurd or foolish talk, nonsense ([[Works Cited |OED]]).</ref>  Well!  I am sick."

"You are no more sick than I am, and I go without," said Kayerts in a peaceful tone.

"Come!  out with that sugar, you stingy old slave-dealer."

Kayerts looked up quickly.  Carlier was smiling with marked insolence.  And suddenly it seemed to Kayerts that he had never seen that man before.  Who was he?  He knew nothing about him.  What was he capable of?  There was a surprising flash of violent emotion within him, as if in the presence of something undreamt-of, dangerous, and final.  But he managed to pronounce with composure--

"That joke is in very bad taste.  Don't repeat it."

"Joke!" said Carlier, hitching himself forward on his seat.  "I am hungry!  I am sick!  I don't joke!  I hate hypocrites.  You are a hypocrite.  You are a slave-dealer.  I am a slave-dealer.  There's nothing but slave-dealers in this cursed country!  I mean to have sugar in my coffee to-day, anyhow!"

"I forbid you to speak to me in that way," said Kayerts with a fair show of resolution.

"You! -- What?" shouted Carlier, jumping up.

Kayerts stood up also.  "I am your chief," he began, trying to master the shakiness of his voice.

"What?" yelled the other.  "Who's chief?  There's no chief here.  There's nothing here:  there's nothing but you and I.  Fetch the sugar -- you pot-bellied ass."

"Hold your tongue.  Go out of this room," screamed Kayerts.  "I dismiss you -- you scoundrel!"

Carlier swung a stool.  All at once he looked dangerously in earnest.  "You flabby, good-for-nothing civilian -- take that!" he howled.

Kayerts dropped under the table, and the stool struck the grass inner wall of the room.  Then, as Carlier was trying to upset the table, Kayerts in desperation made a blind rush, head low, like a cornered pig would do, and overturning his friend, bolted along the verandah, and into his room.  He locked the door, snatched his revolver, and stood panting.  In less than a minute Carlier was kicking at the door furiously, howling, "If you don't bring out that sugar, I will shoot you at sight, like a dog.  Now then -- one -- two -- three.  You won't?  I will show you who's the master."

Kayerts thought the door would fall in, and scrambled through the square hole that served for a window in his room.  There was then the whole breadth of the house between them.  But the other was apparently not strong enough to break in the door, and Kayerts heard him running round.  Then he also began to run laboriously on his swollen legs.  He ran as quickly as he could, grasping the revolver, and unable yet to understand what was happening to him.  He saw in succession Makola's house, the store, the river, the ravine and the low bushes; and he saw all those things again as he ran for the second time round the house.  Then again they flashed past him.  That morning he could not have walked a yard without a groan.

And now he ran.  He ran fast enough to keep out of sight of the other man.

Then as, weak and desperate, he thought, "Before I finish the next round I shall die," he heard the other man stumble heavily, then stop.  He stopped also.  He had the back and Carlier the front of the house, as before.  He heard him drop into a chair cursing, and suddenly his own legs gave way, and he slid down into a sitting posture with his back to the wall.  His mouth was as dry as a cinder, and his face was wet with perspiration -- and tears.  What was it all about?  He thought it must be a horrible illusion; he thought he was dreaming; he thought he was going mad!  After a while he collected his senses.  What did they quarrel about?  That sugar -- how absurd!  He would give it to him -- didn't want it himself.  And he began scrambling to his feet with a sudden feeling of security.  But before he had fairly stood upright, a common-sense reflection occurred to him and drove him back into despair.  He thought:  If I give way now to that brute of a soldier, he will begin this horror again to-morrow -- and the day after -- every day -- raise other pretensions, trample on me, torture me, make me his slave -- and I will be lost!  Lost!  The steamer may not come for days -- may never come.  He shook so that he had to sit down on the floor again.  He shivered forlornly.  He felt he could not, would not move any more.  He was completely distracted by the sudden perception that the position was without issue -- that death and life had in a moment become equally difficult and terrible.

All at once he heard the other push his chair back; and he leaped to his feet with extreme facility.  He listened and got confused -- must run again -- right or left?  He heard footsteps.  He darted to the left, grasping the revolver, and it seemed to him, that very same instant, they came into a violent collision.  Both shouted with surprise.  A tremendous explosion took place between them; a roar of red fire, thick smoke; and Kayerts, deafened and blinded, rushed back thinking:  I am hit -- it's all over.  He expected the other to come round -- to gloat over his agony.  He caught hold of an upright of the roof -- "All over!"  Then he heard a crashing fall on the other side of the house, as if somebody had tumbled headlong over a chair -- then silence.  Nothing more happened.  He did not die.  Only his shoulder felt as if it had been badly wrenched, and he had lost his revolver.  He was disarmed and helpless!  He waited for his fate.  The other man made no sound.  It was a stratagem.  He was stalking him, now!  Along what side?  Perhaps he was taking aim this very minute!

After a few moments of an agony frightful and absurd, he decided to go and meet his doom.  He was prepared for every surrender.  He turned the corner, steadying himself with one hand on the wall; made a few paces, and nearly fainted.  He had seen on the floor, protruding past the other corner, a pair of turned-up feet.  A pair of white naked feet in red slippers.  He felt deadly sick, and stood for a time in profound darkness.  Then Makola appeared before him, saying quietly:  "Come along, Mr. Kayerts.  He is dead."  He burst into tears of gratitude; a loud, sobbing fit of crying.  After a time he found himself sitting in a chair and looking at Carlier, who lay stretched on his back.  Makola was kneeling over the body.

"Is this your revolver?" asked Makola, getting up.

"Yes," said Kayerts; then he added quickly, "He ran after me to shoot me -- you saw!"

"Yes, I saw," said Makola.  "There is only one revolver; where's his?"

"Don't know," whispered Kayerts in a voice that had become suddenly very faint.

"I will go and look for it," said the other gently.  He made the round along the verandah, while Kayerts sat still and looked at the corpse.  Makola came back empty-handed, stood in deep thought, then stepped quietly into the dead man's room, and came out directly with a revolver, which he held up before Kayerts.  Kayerts shut his eyes.  Everything was going round.  He found life more terrible and difficult than death.  He had shot an unarmed man.

After meditating for a while Makola said softly, pointing at the dead man who lay there with half his face blown away --

"He died of fever."  Kayerts looked at him with stony eyes.  "Yes," repeated Makola, thoughtfully, stepping over the corpse.  "I think he died of fever.  Bury him to-morrow."

And then he went away slowly to his expectant wife, leaving the two white men alone on the verandah.

Night came, and Kayerts sat unmoving on his chair.  He sat quiet as if he had taken a dose of opium.  The violence of the emotions he had passed through produced a feeling of exhausted serenity.  He had plumbed in one short afternoon the depths of horror and despair, and now found repose in the conviction that life had no more secrets for him:  neither had death!  He sat by the corpse thinking; thinking very actively, thinking very new thoughts.  He seemed to have broken loose from himself altogether.  His old thoughts, convictions, likes and dislikes, things he respected and things he abhorred, appeared in their true light at last!  Appeared contemptible and childish, false and ridiculous.  He reveled in his new wisdom while he sat by the man he had killed.  He argued with himself about all things under heaven with that kind of wrong-headed lucidity which may be observed in some lunatics.  Incidentally he reflected that the fellow dead there had been a noxious beast anyway; that men died every day in thousands; perhaps in hundreds of thousands -- who could tell? -- and that in the number, that one death could not possibly make any difference; couldn't have any importance, at least to a thinking creature.  He, Kayerts, was a thinking creature.  He had been all his life, till that moment, a believer in a lot of nonsense like the rest of mankind -- who are fools; but now he thought!  He knew!  He was at peace; he was familiar with the highest wisdom!  Then he tried to imagine himself dead, and Carlier sitting in his chair watching him; and his attempt met with such unexpected success, that in a very few moments he became not at all sure who was dead and who was alive.  This extraordinary achievement of his fancy startled him, however, and by a clever and timely effort of mind he saved himself just in time from becoming Carlier.  His heart thumped, and he felt hot all over at the thought of that danger.  Carlier!  What a beastly thing!  To compose his now disturbed nerves -- and no wonder! -- he tried to whistle a little.  Then, suddenly, he fell asleep, or thought he had slept; but at any rate there was a fog, and somebody had whistled in the fog.

He stood up.  The day had come, and a fog had descended upon the land:  the fog penetrating, enveloping, and silent; the morning fog of tropical lands; the fog that clings and kills; the fog white and deadly, immaculate and poisonous.  He stood still, saw the body, and threw his arms up with a cry like that of a man who, waking from a trance, finds himself immured for ever in a tomb.

"Help! . . . My God!"

A shriek inhuman, vibrating and sudden, pierced like a sharp dart the white shroud of that land of sorrow.  Three short, impatient screeches followed, and then, for a time, the fog-wreaths rolled on, undisturbed, though a formidable silence.  Then many more shrieks, rapid and piercing, like the yells of some exasperated and ruthless creature, rent the air.  Progress was calling to Kayerts from the river.  Progress and civilisation and all the virtues.  Society was calling to its accomplished child to come, to be taken care of, to be instructed, to be judged, to be condemned; it called him to return to the rubbish-heap from which he had wandered away, so that justice could be done.

Kayerts heard and understood.  He stumbled out of the verandah, leaving the other man quite alone for the first time since they had been thrown there together.  He groped his way through the fog, calling in ignorance upon the invisible heaven to undo its work.  Makola flitted by in the mist, shouting as he ran --

"Steamer!  Steamer!  They can't see.  They whistle for the station.  I go ring the bell.  Go down to the landing, sir.  I ring."

He disappeared.  Kayerts stood still.  He looked upwards; the fog rolled low over his head.  He looked round like a man who had lost his way; and he saw a dark smudge; a cross-shaped stain, upon the shifting purity of the mist.  As he began to stumble towards it, the station bell rang in a tumultuous peal, its answer to the impatient clamour of the steamer.  

The Managing Director of the Great Civilising Company (since we know that civilisation follows trade) landed first, and incontinently lost sight of the steamer.  The fog down by the river was exceedingly dense; above, at the station, the bell rang unceasing and brazen.

The Director shouted loudly to the steamer.

"There is nobody down to meet us; there may be something wrong, though they are ringing.  You had better come, too!"

And he began to toil up the steep bank.  The captain and the engine-driver of the boat followed behind.  As they scrambled up, the fog thinned, and they could see their Director a good way ahead.  Suddenly they saw him start forward, calling to them over his shoulder: -- "Run!  Run to the house!  I've found one of them.  Run, look for the other!"

He had found one of them!  And even he, the man of varied and startling experience, was somewhat discomposed by the manner of this finding.  He stood and fumbled in his pockets (for a knife) while he faced Kayerts, who was hanging by a leather strap from the cross.  He had evidently climbed the grave, which was high and narrow, and after tying the end of the strap to his arm, had swung himself off.  His feet were only a couple of inches above the ground; his arms hung stiffly down; he seemed to be standing rigidly at attention, but with one purple cheek playfully posed on the shoulder.  And, irreverently, he was putting out a swollen tongue at his Managing Director.

			JOSEPH CONRAD.

== Notes ==
<references/>   <!-- This tells the Wiki where to put the footnotes. -->


Edited by: [[Gillis, Benjamin: section 1, Winter 2009]]


From: [[Volume 6, Issue 18 (Cosmopolis)]] and [[Volume 7, Issue 19 (Cosmopolis)]] <!-- This links back to the Volume/Issue page -->

[[category:Short Fiction Titles|Outpost of Progress, An]] <!-- Adds the Story to Short Fiction Titles index -->
[[category:Joseph Conrad|An Outpost of Progress]] <!-- Links the title to the Author page -->