"So after you realized the ship had hit something underwater, your captain ordered you to go and see if there was any damage?" asked one of the sea captains.

A month or so later, at the official inquiry, Jim was asked what had happened to the Patna. Trying to describe the experience honestly, he replied, "The ship went over whatever it was as easily as oil running over a stick."

The inquiry was held in the crowded police court of an Eastern port. Jim stood there, in front of them all, while many eyes looked at him out of dark, white, and red faces, like staring shadows. They saw a large, good-looking young man, with a straight back and unhappy eyes. The three judges, two of whom were sea captains, sat together under a large window. They asked Jim clear questions, which he answered truthfully. Outside, the sun was beating down, and the air was heavy in the courtroom. Jim's voice seemed very loud to him; it was the only sound in the world. The painful questions they asked him appeared to come from inside him, like the questioning of his conscience.

"Yes," said Jim. "I discovered a big hole in the metal wall of the ship, below the water. I didn't think of danger just then. I was surprised, because it had happened so quickly. I was on my way back to tell the captain, when I met the second engineer. He had broken his left arm when he was thrown forward earlier. When I told him about the damage, he cried, 'My God! The whole ship will be full of water in a minute!' He pushed me away with his right arm and ran up on to the bridge, shouting as he went. I followed him, and was in time to see the captain hit him. The captain ordered him to keep quiet and go and stop the engines."

Jim hoped that if he described everything exactly, and gave all the facts, the people in the courtroom would understand the full horror of it. Every small detail of what had happened was important. Fortunately he remembered it all very clearly. There was something else as well, something unseen and evil, that had helped to cause the disaster. He wished to make that clear. He wanted to go on talking, to find out the truth. But although he spoke calmly and carefully, he felt like a trapped animal, desperately searching for a way out.

The questioning continued. Jim was beginning to feel very tired. His mouth was tastelessly dry, and his head felt hot, while the rest of his body was cold. While he waited for the next question, his eyes rested on a white man sitting by himself. He had a worn, clouded face, with clear, quiet eyes. Jim answered another question, and wanted to cry out, "Is it worth going on? Is it really worth it?" He met the eyes of the white man, who was looking at him differently from all the others in the courtroom. It was an honest, intelligent look. Telling the truth was not enough, thought Jim; words were no good to him any longer. And that man appeared to understand his hopeless difficulty.

That stranger with the clear, quiet eyes was Marlow. And later on, in distant parts of the world, Marlow often remembered Jim, and talked about him. It was usually after dinner in a friend's house, when men sat comfortably in their armchairs on the veranda and smoked their cigars, that Marlow was asked to talk. In the darkness, as he sat surrounded by sweet-smelling flowers and a group of listening men, every detail of that fresh young face and straight figure came back to Marlow. He could almost imagine himself back in the past, and he often began with a warning to his listeners.

My friends, It's easy enough to talk about young Jim, but don't be too quick to judge him. A good dinner, an excellent cigar, and a beautiful evening of freshness and starlight like this make us forget how difficult life can be. We all try to do what is right, but the best of us can take the wrong route occasionally. Yes, I was at the official inquiry, and saw Jim there, but I had seen him before.

The first news we had of the Patna was a mysterious message from Aden, that a damaged ship full of pilgrims had been found without its officers, in the Indian Ocean. The whole waterfront -- boatmen, natives, officials, clerks -- talked of nothing else for two weeks. Then, one fine morning, I was standing near the port office, when I saw four men walking towards me, and suddenly realized that they must be the missing officers from the Patna. I recognized the captain, a fat, ugly German, who was well known in all the Eastern ports as a an irresponsible and dishonest seaman. Behind him was the chief engineer, a tall, thin man, and the second engineer, with a broken arm. The fourth was a young man with fair hair and square shoulders, who stood with his hands in his pockets, turning his back on the others. This was my first view of Jim, and I was strangely interested in him, because he looked so clean-faced, so strong, so brave. I felt almost angry. If a man who looks like that can go wrong, I thought, who can you trust?

I looked over at the young man again, wanting to see him angry, unhappy, ashamed. But he looked completely unworried, and I couldn't understand it. I liked the look of him; he appeared to be that good, honest kind of man who is not interested in ideas, but who does his work well and lives his life bravely to the end. I've had my own ship for a long time now, and I've trained enough young sailors in my time to be able to judge whether you can trust a man or not. It worried me that perhaps I had made a mistake with Jim. Was there something missing in his character? What had made him act like that?

Captain Elliott was the chief port official in those days, and as soon as he realized the captain of the Patna had arrived, he sent for him. Elliott believed strongly in duty and responsibility, and didn't mind who he shouted at. Through the open windows of his office we all heard what he thought of the Patna's captain, and in a very few moments the fat man came running angrily out of Elliott's office. He saw me looking at him, and said, "That crazy Englishman in there called me a dog!" I smiled. "Dog" was the politest word that had reached me. "But I don't care!" he continued, his face purple with anger. "The Pacific is big, my friend. If you English take away my master's certificate, if you won't let me command a ship here, I'll go to -- to Apia, to Honolulu -- they know me there!" I could easily imagine what kind of people knew him there.

At the official inquiry, which took place a week later, and lasted three days, Jim was the only one who was questioned. The captain had escaped, and both the engineers were in hospital. The one with the broken arm had a bad fever, and the chief engineer had been drinking brandy for three days and could no longer talk sensibly. In my opinion, the only truth worth knowing was not how, but why, the officers had left the ship, and I realized the inquiry would not discover this. Judges are not paid to look into a man's soul, but only to see the results of his actions.

The two engineers were now standing in front of their captain, but he turned away from them and hurried over to a horse and trap. He climbed in, shouted impatiently at the driver, and before anyone could do anything to stop him, the horse and trap disappeared in a cloud of dust. Where did he go? To Apia, or Honolulu? Nobody ever saw him again.

One of the inquiry officials was Captain Brierly, known in all the Eastern ports as a brave officer and an excellent seaman. Young, healthy and successful, he seemed to be one of those lucky men who never make a mistake, and who therefore have a high opinion of themselves. We all thought nothing could touch him or his self-confidence. But we were wrong, because he killed himself a week after the inquiry. I think now that while the other two judges were questioning Jim, Brierly was holding his own silent inquiry, questioning himself. I think his conscience was accusing him of -- who knows what? It wasn't anything to do with money, or drink, or women. But at the end of it, he found himself guilty, and drowned himself, leaving letters for his chief mate and the ship's owners.

"We should put an end to this now," Brierly continued. "This kind of thing destroys people's confidence in us seamen. I'll give you some money, Marlow, and you talk to him. Tell him to leave. Give him another chance. People will forget about it very soon, and he can get on with his life. Of course I can't suggest this to him myself, but you could."

"He probably hasn't any money," I answered.

During the inquiry I had a conversation with him, which I remember especially well, because of his sudden death only a few days later. He spoke to me at the end of the first day.

"Don't you think it's stupid?" he asked me angrily. I looked at him in surprise. Brierly was normally very calm. "Why are we attacking that young man? Why should he eat all that dirt? Why doesn't he run away?"

And so I saw, just for a moment, the real Brierly. Naturally I refused to do what he wanted, because I didn't like the way he expected me to arrange Jim's escape, and because I thought it was brave of Jim to accept the blame. I certainly did not realize how important it was to Brierly, who was perhaps remembering some mistake in his own past.

"Did you speak to me?" asked Jim, very low. His face was darkening, and he looked violent.

"I won't let anyone call me names outside this court," he said. I could see that he was deeply angry, although he spoke so quietly.

At the end of the second day of the inquiry, I was talking to someone I knew, while leaving the courtroom. I noticed Jim's wide shoulders in front of us. My friend saw a yellow dog running between people's legs, and said with a laugh, "Look at that miserable dog!" I saw Jim turn round immediately. He stepped forward and stared at me. My friend reached the door and went out, and the crowd disappeared. Suddenly Jim and I were alone, where there had been hundreds of people a few moments earlier. The building was strangely silent.

"No," I said, watching him. "You've made a mistake."

"But I really don't know what you mean," I said, trying hard to remember what I had said or done.

Then, finally, I understood. "My God!" I said. "You don't think I called you a…"

"I'll soon show you I'm not a dog!" he cried, moving towards me.

I don't pretend I understood him, but I wanted to know more about him, so I invited him to dinner at the Malabar House Hotel, where I was staying.

I had to run fast to catch up with him, and started a breathless conversation. By now his self-control had returned, and he apologized. "You see," he explained, "there are so many staring people in court who probably think -- what I thought you said. In court I have to accept that, and I do, but outside it's different."

"But I'm sure… I heard someone say it," he replied.

Silently I showed him the corner of the building, where the dog was sitting in the shadows. At first he did not seem to understand, then he looked surprised, and then ashamed. The red of his fair, sunburnt skin deepened suddenly from his neck right up to his hair. I felt very sorry for him. He had opened his soul to me, and got nothing back. He turned and ran outside.