The Nellie,
           a cruising yawl,
         swung to her anchor
             without a flutter
                   of the sails,
           and was at rest.

    The flood had made,
           the wind was nearly calm,
         and being
              bound down the river,
           the only thing for it
            was to come to and
                  wait for the turn
                       of the tide.

    The sea-reach
           of the Thames stretched
         before us
              like the beginning
                   of an interminable waterway.

    In the offing the sea
           and the sky
        were welded together
         without a joint,
           and in the luminous
              space the tanned
                   sails of the barges
                       drifting up with the tide
            seemed to stand
                   still in red clusters
                       of canvas sharply peaked,
         with gleams of varnished sprits.

    A haze
          rested on the low shores
         that ran
               out to sea
                   in vanishing flatness.

    The air
        was dark above Gravesend,
           and farther back still seemed
             condensed into a mournful gloom,
         brooding motionless over the biggest,
           and the greatest,
         town on earth.

    The Director of Companies
        was our captain
               and our host.

    We four affectionately
          watched his back as
         he stood in the bows
               looking to seaward.

    On the whole river
        there was nothing
         that looked half so nautical.

    He resembled a pilot,
           which to a seaman
            is trustworthiness personified.

    It was difficult
          to realize his work
        was not out
              there in the luminous estuary,
           but behind him,
         within the brooding gloom.

    Between us there was,
           as I
              have already said somewhere,
         the bond of the sea.

    Besides holding our hearts
           together through long periods
               of separation,
           it had the effect
               of making us tolerant of
             each other's yarns
          --and even convictions.

    The Lawyer
          --the best
               of old fellows had,
           because of his many years
               and many virtues,
         the only cushion on deck,
           and was
              lying on the only rug.

    The Accountant
        had brought
               out already a box
                   of dominoes,
           and was toying
             architecturally with the bones.

    Marlow sat cross-legged right aft,
           leaning against the mizzen-mast.

    He had sunken cheeks,
           a yellow complexion,
         a straight back,
           an ascetic aspect,
         and,
           with his arms dropped,
         the palms of hands outwards,
           resembled an idol.

    The Director,
           satisfied the anchor
            had good hold,
         made his way aft
            and sat down amongst us.

    We exchanged a
           few words lazily.

    Afterwards there was silence
           on board the yacht.

    For some reason or other
         we did not begin
           that game of dominoes.

    We felt meditative,
           and fit for nothing
             but placid staring.

    The day
        was ending
               in a serenity of
              still and exquisite brilliance.

    The water shone pacifically;
        the sky,
           without a speck,
         was a benign immensity
               of unstained light;
        the very mist
               on the Essex marshes was
             like a gauzy
                   and radiant fabric,
           hung from the wooded
               rises inland,
         and draping the low
               shores in diaphanous folds.

    Only the gloom
           to the west,
         brooding over the upper reaches,
         became more somber every minute,
           as if
              angered by the approach
                   of the sun.

    And at last,
           in its curved
               and imperceptible fall,
         the sun sank low,
           and from glowing white
              changed to a dull red
             without rays and without heat,
         as if about
              to go out suddenly,
           stricken to death
               by the touch of
             that gloom brooding
                   over a crowd of men.

    Forthwith a change
        came over the waters,
           and the serenity
            became less brilliant
             but more profound.

    The old river
           in its broad reach
         rested unruffled
               at the decline of day,
           after ages of good service
              done to the race
             that peopled its banks,
         spread out
               in the tranquil dignity
                   of a waterway
              leading to the uttermost ends
                   of the earth.