known firm of London ship-brokers which had chartered the ship to

the, I will not say short-lived, but ephemeral Franco-Canadian
Transport Company. A death leaves something behind, but there

was never anything tangible left from the F.C.T.C. It flourished
no longer than roses live, and unlike the roses it blossomed in

the dead of winter, emitted a sort of faint perfume of adventure
and died before spring set in. But indubitably it was a company,

it had even a house-flag, all white with the letters F.C.T.C.
artfully tangled up in a complicated monogram. We flew it at our

main-mast head, and now I have come to the conclusion that it was
the only flag of its kind in existence. All the same we on

board, for many days, had the impression of being a unit of a
large fleet with fortnightly departures for Montreal and Quebec

as advertised in pamphlets and prospectuses which came aboard in
a large package in Victoria Dock, London, just before we started

for Rouen, France. And in the shadowy life of the F.C.T.C. lies
the secret of that, my last employment in my calling, which in a

remote sense interrupted the rhythmical development of Nina
Almayer's story.

The then secretary of the London Shipmasters' Society, with its
modest rooms in Fenchurch Street, was a man of indefatigable

activity and the greatest devotion to his task. He is
responsible for what was my last association with a ship. I call

it that because it can hardly be called a sea-going experience.
Dear Captain Froud--it is impossible not to pay him the tribute

of affectionatefamiliarity at this distance of years--had very
sound views as to the advancement of knowledge and status for the

whole body of the officers of the mercantile marine. He
organised for us courses of professional lectures, St. John

ambulance classes, corresponded industriously with public bodies
and members of Parliament on subjects touching the interests of

the service; and as to the oncoming of some inquiry or commission
relating to matters of the sea and to the work of seamen, it was

a perfect godsend to his need of exerting himself on our
corporate behalf. Together with this high sense of his official

duties he had in him a vein of personal kindness, a strong
disposition to do what good he could to the individual members of

that craft of which in his time he had been a very excellent
master. And what greater kindness can one do to a seaman than to

put him in the way of employment? Captain Froud did not see why
the Shipmasters' Society, besides its general guardianship of our

interests, should not be unofficially an employmentagency of the
very highest class.

"I am trying to persuade all our great ship-owning firms to come
to us for their men. There is nothing of a trade-union spirit

about our society, and I really don't see why they should not,"
he said once to me. "I am always telling the captains, too, that

all things being equal they ought to give preference to the
members of the society. In my position I can generally find for

them what they want amongst our members or our associate
members."

In my wanderings about London from West to East and back again (I
was very idle then) the two little rooms in Fenchurch Street were

a sort of resting-place where my spirit, hankering after the sea,
could feel itself nearer to the ships, the men, and the life of

its choice--nearer there than on any other spot of the solid
earth. This resting-place used to be, at about five o'clock in

the afternoon, full of men and tobacco smoke, but Captain Froud
had the smaller room to himself and there he granted private

interviews, whose principalmotive was to render service. Thus,
one murky November afternoon he beckoned me in with a crooked

finger and that peculiar glance above his spectacles which is
perhaps my strongest physicalrecollection of the man.

"I have had in here a shipmaster, this morning," he said, getting
back to his desk and motioning me to a chair, "who is in want of

an officer. It's for a steamship. You know, nothing pleases me
more than to be asked, but unfortunately I do not quite see my

way. . ."
As the outer room was full of men I cast a wondering glance at

the closed door but he shook his head.
"Oh, yes, I should be only too glad to get that berth for one of

them. But the fact of the matter is, the captain of that ship
wants an officer who can speak French fluently, and that's not so

easy to find. I do not know anybody myself but you. It's a
second officer's berth and, of course, you would not care. . .

would you now? I know that it isn't what you are looking for."
It was not. I had given myself up to the idleness of a haunted

man who looks for nothing but words wherein to capture his
visions. But I admit that outwardly I resembled sufficiently a

man who could make a second officer for a steamer chartered by a
French company. I showed no sign of being haunted by the fate of

Nina and by the murmurs of tropical forests; and even my intimate
intercourse with Almayer (a person of weak character) had not put

a visible mark upon my features. For many years he and the world
of his story had been the companions of my imagination without, I

hope, impairing my ability to deal with the realities of sea
life. I had had the man and his surroundings with me ever since

my return from the eastern waters, some four years before the day
of which I speak.

It was in the front sitting-room of furnished apartments in a
Pimlico square that they first began to live again with a

vividness and poignancy quite foreign to our former real
intercourse. I had been treating myself to a long stay on shore,

and in the necessity of occupying my mornings, Almayer (that old
acquaintance) came nobly to the rescue. Before long, as was only

proper, his wife and daughter joined him round my table and then
the rest of that Pantai band came full of words and gestures.

Unknown to my respectablelandlady, it was my practice directly
after my breakfast to hold animated receptions of Malays, Arabs

and half-castes. They did not clamour aloud for my attention.
They came with a silent and irresistible appeal--and the appeal,

I affirm here, was not to my self-love or my vanity. It seems
now to have had a moral character, for why should the memory of

these beings, seen in their obscure sun-bathed existence, demand
to express itself in the shape of a novel, except on the ground

of that mysteriousfellowship which unites in a community of
hopes and fears all the dwellers on this earth?

I did not receive my visitors with boisterousrapture as the
bearers of any gifts of profit or fame. There was no vision of a

printed book before me as I sat writing at that table, situated
in a decayed part of Belgravia. After all these years, each

leaving its evidence of slowly blackened pages, I can honestly
say that it is a sentiment akin to piety which prompted me to

render in words assembled with conscientious care the memory of
things far distant and of men who had lived.

But, coming back to Captain Froud and his fixed idea of never
disappointing ship-owners or ship-captains, it was not likely

that I should fail him in his ambition--to satisfy at a few
hours' notice the unusual demand for a French-speaking officer.

He explained to me that the ship was chartered by a French
company intending to establish a regular monthly line of sailings

from Rouen, for the transport of French emigrants to Canada.
But, frankly, this sort of thing did not interest me very much.

I said gravely that if it were really a matter of keeping up the
reputation of the Shipmasters' Society, I would consider it. But

the consideration was just for form's sake. The next day I
interviewed the Captain, and I believe we were impressed

favourably with each other. He explained that his chief mate was
an excellent man in every respect and that he could not think of

dismissing him so as to give me the higher position; but that if
I consented to come as second officer I would be given certain

special advantages--and so on.
I told him that if I came at all the rank really did not matter.

"I am sure," he insisted, "you will get on first rate with Mr.
Paramor."

I promised faithfully to stay for two trips at least, and it was
in those circumstances that what was to be my last connection