Publisher's Synopsis
This could have occurred nowhere but in England, where men and seainterpenetrate, so to speak-the sea entering into the life of most men, and the menknowing something or everything about the sea, in the way of amusement, of travel, or of bread-winning.We were sitting round a mahogany table that reflected the bottle, the claret-glasses, and our faces as we leaned on our elbows. There was a director of companies, anaccountant, a lawyer, Marlow, and myself. The director had been a Conway boy, theaccountant had served four years at sea, the lawyer-a fine crusted Tory, HighChurchman, the best of old fellows, the soul of honour-had been chief officer in theP. & O. service in the good old days when mail-boats were square-rigged at least ontwo masts, and used to come down the China Sea before a fair monsoon with stun'-sails set alow and aloft. We all began life in the merchant service. Between the five ofus there was the strong bond of the sea, and also the fellowship of the craft, which noamount of enthusiasm for yachting, cruising, and so on can give, since one is only theamusement of life and the other is life itself.Marlow (at least I think that is how he spelt his name) told the story, or rather thechronicle, of a voyage: "Yes, I have seen a little of the Eastern seas; but what I remember best is my firstvoyage there. You fellows know there are those voyages that seem ordered for theillustration of life, that might stand for a symbol of existence. You fight, work, sweat, nearly kill yourself, sometimes do kill yourself, trying to accomplish something-andyou can't. Not from any fault of yours. You simply can do nothing, neither great norlittle-not a thing in the world-not even marry an old maid, or get a wretched 600-ton cargo of coal to its port of destination.
