feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Lord Jim/section_22_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Lord Jim.chapter 23
feat_summary_id: chapter 23
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 23", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820051943/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmLordJim32.asp", "summary": "Jim is very impressed with Stein and stays with him until the next morning. He is even more excited about the opportunity than before; he feels certain that Patusan offers him the chance he has been waiting for. Jim has in his pocket a letter for Cornelius and around his neck the silver ring for Doramin, which will ensure Jim's own protection Since Jim is to sail in about two hours, Marlow helps him pack and get ready. He gives Jim a revolver and a box of cartridges to take to Patusan. When Jim sets off for his boat, Marlow hurries after him and goes on board with his friend. The ships' captain is crazy. He refuses to take Jim up the river in Patusan for he feels the island is too dangerous, \"a cage of beasts\" who are ravenous; instead, he will drop his charge at the mouth of the river, and he must make his own way from there. In reaction, Jim can only smile; the adventure challenges him. Marlow advises Jim to look the island over and then decide whether he wants to come back. Jim is of the opinion that he will never return to England, for he is through with \"civilized\" life. He has been dreaming and waiting for an opportunity like Patusan offers. In such an alien place, his past should never haunt him again. When it is time for the ship to depart, both Jim and Marlow are clearly emotional; there is a \"moment of real and profound intimacy\" between the two. They hide it by shaking hands. Then Marlow calls his friend \"dear boy\" and wishes him well. As the ship leaves, the young sailor calls back to Marlow, who is now on shore; the romantic Jim shouts, \"You shall hear of me.\"", "analysis": "Notes The chapter gives Jim the chance to realize his dream of leaving his past behind. In remote Patusan, no one will know about the Patna. The mystery and strangeness of the island appeal to Jim's romantic side; he is eager to \"jump into the unknown\"  and is certain he will prove himself worthy of any challenge. As his ship pulls out, Jim shouts to Marlow that \"you shall hear of me.\" He obviously plans to make a name for himself in Patusan. It is important to note that Conrad gives many negative hints about Patusan. Marlow cannot understand why Jim is so overjoyed about going to the remote, alien island. Marlow, who is much more practical than the romantic Jim, gives him a gun and cartridges for his protection. The captain of Jim's ship presents a really negative picture of the island. He refuses to take his passenger upriver in Patusan, for he says it is much too dangerous. Jim will be dropped at the river's mouth to make his own way inland. The captain tells Marlow that Jim is as much a dead man."}
text: 
  'He did not return till next morning. He had been kept to dinner and for
  the night. There never had been such a wonderful man as Mr. Stein. He
  had in his pocket a letter for Cornelius ("the Johnnie who's going to
  get the sack," he explained, with a momentary drop in his elation), and
  he exhibited with glee a silver ring, such as natives use, worn down
  very thin and showing faint traces of chasing.
  
  'This was his introduction to an old chap called Doramin--one of the
  principal men out there--a big pot--who had been Mr. Stein's friend in
  that country where he had all these adventures. Mr. Stein called him
  "war-comrade." War-comrade was good. Wasn't it? And didn't Mr. Stein
  speak English wonderfully well? Said he had learned it in Celebes--of
  all places! That was awfully funny. Was it not? He did speak with an
  accent--a twang--did I notice? That chap Doramin had given him the ring.
  They had exchanged presents when they parted for the last time. Sort of
  promising eternal friendship. He called it fine--did I not? They had
  to make a dash for dear life out of the country when that
  Mohammed--Mohammed--What's-his-name had been killed. I knew the story,
  of course. Seemed a beastly shame, didn't it? . . .
  
  'He ran on like this, forgetting his plate, with a knife and fork in
  hand (he had found me at tiffin), slightly flushed, and with his eyes
  darkened many shades, which was with him a sign of excitement. The ring
  was a sort of credential--("It's like something you read of in books,"
  he threw in appreciatively)--and Doramin would do his best for him. Mr.
  Stein had been the means of saving that chap's life on some occasion;
  purely by accident, Mr. Stein had said, but he--Jim--had his own opinion
  about that. Mr. Stein was just the man to look out for such accidents.
  No matter. Accident or purpose, this would serve his turn immensely.
  Hoped to goodness the jolly old beggar had not gone off the hooks
  meantime. Mr. Stein could not tell. There had been no news for more
  than a year; they were kicking up no end of an all-fired row amongst
  themselves, and the river was closed. Jolly awkward, this; but, no fear;
  he would manage to find a crack to get in.
  
  'He impressed, almost frightened, me with his elated rattle. He was
  voluble like a youngster on the eve of a long holiday with a prospect of
  delightful scrapes, and such an attitude of mind in a grown man and in
  this connection had in it something phenomenal, a little mad, dangerous,
  unsafe. I was on the point of entreating him to take things seriously
  when he dropped his knife and fork (he had begun eating, or rather
  swallowing food, as it were, unconsciously), and began a search all
  round his plate. The ring! The ring! Where the devil . . . Ah! Here it
  was . . . He closed his big hand on it, and tried all his pockets one
  after another. Jove! wouldn't do to lose the thing. He meditated gravely
  over his fist. Had it? Would hang the bally affair round his neck! And
  he proceeded to do this immediately, producing a string (which looked
  like a bit of a cotton shoe-lace) for the purpose. There! That would do
  the trick! It would be the deuce if . . . He seemed to catch sight of my
  face for the first time, and it steadied him a little. I probably didn't
  realise, he said with a naive gravity, how much importance he attached
  to that token. It meant a friend; and it is a good thing to have a
  friend. He knew something about that. He nodded at me expressively, but
  before my disclaiming gesture he leaned his head on his hand and for
  a while sat silent, playing thoughtfully with the bread-crumbs on the
  cloth . . . "Slam the door--that was jolly well put," he cried, and
  jumping up, began to pace the room, reminding me by the set of the
  shoulders, the turn of his head, the headlong and uneven stride, of
  that night when he had paced thus, confessing, explaining--what you
  will--but, in the last instance, living--living before me, under his
  own little cloud, with all his unconscious subtlety which could draw
  consolation from the very source of sorrow. It was the same mood, the
  same and different, like a fickle companion that to-day guiding you
  on the true path, with the same eyes, the same step, the same impulse,
  to-morrow will lead you hopelessly astray. His tread was assured, his
  straying, darkened eyes seemed to search the room for something. One of
  his footfalls somehow sounded louder than the other--the fault of his
  boots probably--and gave a curious impression of an invisible halt in
  his gait. One of his hands was rammed deep into his trousers' pocket,
  the other waved suddenly above his head. "Slam the door!" he shouted.
  "I've been waiting for that. I'll show yet . . . I'll . . . I'm ready
  for any confounded thing . . . I've been dreaming of it . . . Jove! Get
  out of this. Jove! This is luck at last . . . You wait. I'll . . ."
  
  'He tossed his head fearlessly, and I confess that for the first and
  last time in our acquaintance I perceived myself unexpectedly to be
  thoroughly sick of him. Why these vapourings? He was stumping about
  the room flourishing his arm absurdly, and now and then feeling on
  his breast for the ring under his clothes. Where was the sense of such
  exaltation in a man appointed to be a trading-clerk, and in a place
  where there was no trade--at that? Why hurl defiance at the universe?
  This was not a proper frame of mind to approach any undertaking; an
  improper frame of mind not only for him, I said, but for any man. He
  stood still over me. Did I think so? he asked, by no means subdued, and
  with a smile in which I seemed to detect suddenly something insolent.
  But then I am twenty years his senior. Youth is insolent; it is its
  right--its necessity; it has got to assert itself, and all assertion in
  this world of doubts is a defiance, is an insolence. He went off into a
  far corner, and coming back, he, figuratively speaking, turned to rend
  me. I spoke like that because I--even I, who had been no end kind
  to him--even I remembered--remembered--against him--what--what had
  happened. And what about others--the--the--world? Where's the wonder he
  wanted to get out, meant to get out, meant to stay out--by heavens! And
  I talked about proper frames of mind!
  
  '"It is not I or the world who remember," I shouted. "It is you--you,
  who remember."
  
  'He did not flinch, and went on with heat, "Forget everything,
  everybody, everybody." . . . His voice fell. . . "But you," he added.
  
  '"Yes--me too--if it would help," I said, also in a low tone. After this
  we remained silent and languid for a time as if exhausted. Then he began
  again, composedly, and told me that Mr. Stein had instructed him to wait
  for a month or so, to see whether it was possible for him to remain,
  before he began building a new house for himself, so as to avoid
  "vain expense." He did make use of funny expressions--Stein did. "Vain
  expense" was good. . . . Remain? Why! of course. He would hang on. Let
  him only get in--that's all; he would answer for it he would remain.
  Never get out. It was easy enough to remain.
  
  '"Don't be foolhardy," I said, rendered uneasy by his threatening tone.
  "If you only live long enough you will want to come back."
  
  '"Come back to what?" he asked absently, with his eyes fixed upon the
  face of a clock on the wall.
  
  'I was silent for a while. "Is it to be never, then?" I said. "Never,"
  he repeated dreamily without looking at me, and then flew into sudden
  activity. "Jove! Two o'clock, and I sail at four!"
  
  'It was true. A brigantine of Stein's was leaving for the westward that
  afternoon, and he had been instructed to take his passage in her, only
  no orders to delay the sailing had been given. I suppose Stein forgot.
  He made a rush to get his things while I went aboard my ship, where
  he promised to call on his way to the outer roadstead. He turned up
  accordingly in a great hurry and with a small leather valise in his
  hand. This wouldn't do, and I offered him an old tin trunk of mine
  supposed to be water-tight, or at least damp-tight. He effected the
  transfer by the simple process of shooting out the contents of his
  valise as you would empty a sack of wheat. I saw three books in the
  tumble; two small, in dark covers, and a thick green-and-gold volume--a
  half-crown complete Shakespeare. "You read this?" I asked. "Yes. Best
  thing to cheer up a fellow," he said hastily. I was struck by this
  appreciation, but there was no time for Shakespearian talk. A
  heavy revolver and two small boxes of cartridges were lying on the
  cuddy-table. "Pray take this," I said. "It may help you to remain."
  No sooner were these words out of my mouth than I perceived what grim
  meaning they could bear. "May help you to get in," I corrected myself
  remorsefully. He however was not troubled by obscure meanings; he
  thanked me effusively and bolted out, calling Good-bye over his
  shoulder. I heard his voice through the ship's side urging his boatmen
  to give way, and looking out of the stern-port I saw the boat rounding
  under the counter. He sat in her leaning forward, exciting his men with
  voice and gestures; and as he had kept the revolver in his hand and
  seemed to be presenting it at their heads, I shall never forget the
  scared faces of the four Javanese, and the frantic swing of their stroke
  which snatched that vision from under my eyes. Then turning away, the
  first thing I saw were the two boxes of cartridges on the cuddy-table.
  He had forgotten to take them.
  
  'I ordered my gig manned at once; but Jim's rowers, under the impression
  that their lives hung on a thread while they had that madman in the
  boat, made such excellent time that before I had traversed half the
  distance between the two vessels I caught sight of him clambering over
  the rail, and of his box being passed up. All the brigantine's canvas
  was loose, her mainsail was set, and the windlass was just beginning to
  clink as I stepped upon her deck: her master, a dapper little half-caste
  of forty or so, in a blue flannel suit, with lively eyes, his round
  face the colour of lemon-peel, and with a thin little black moustache
  drooping on each side of his thick, dark lips, came forward smirking. He
  turned out, notwithstanding his self-satisfied and cheery exterior, to
  be of a careworn temperament. In answer to a remark of mine (while Jim
  had gone below for a moment) he said, "Oh yes. Patusan." He was going to
  carry the gentleman to the mouth of the river, but would "never ascend."
  His flowing English seemed to be derived from a dictionary compiled by
  a lunatic. Had Mr. Stein desired him to "ascend," he would have
  "reverentially"--(I think he wanted to say respectfully--but devil only
  knows)--"reverentially made objects for the safety of properties."
  If disregarded, he would have presented "resignation to quit." Twelve
  months ago he had made his last voyage there, and though Mr. Cornelius
  "propitiated many offertories" to Mr. Rajah Allang and the "principal
  populations," on conditions which made the trade "a snare and ashes
  in the mouth," yet his ship had been fired upon from the woods by
  "irresponsive parties" all the way down the river; which causing his
  crew "from exposure to limb to remain silent in hidings," the brigantine
  was nearly stranded on a sandbank at the bar, where she "would have
  been perishable beyond the act of man." The angry disgust at the
  recollection, the pride of his fluency, to which he turned an attentive
  ear, struggled for the possession of his broad simple face. He scowled
  and beamed at me, and watched with satisfaction the undeniable effect
  of his phraseology. Dark frowns ran swiftly over the placid sea, and
  the brigantine, with her fore-topsail to the mast and her main-boom
  amidships, seemed bewildered amongst the cat's-paws. He told me further,
  gnashing his teeth, that the Rajah was a "laughable hyaena" (can't
  imagine how he got hold of hyaenas); while somebody else was many
  times falser than the "weapons of a crocodile." Keeping one eye on the
  movements of his crew forward, he let loose his volubility--comparing
  the place to a "cage of beasts made ravenous by long impenitence." I
  fancy he meant impunity. He had no intention, he cried, to "exhibit
  himself to be made attached purposefully to robbery." The long-drawn
  wails, giving the time for the pull of the men catting the anchor,
  came to an end, and he lowered his voice. "Plenty too much enough of
  Patusan," he concluded, with energy.
  
  'I heard afterwards he had been so indiscreet as to get himself tied up
  by the neck with a rattan halter to a post planted in the middle of a
  mud-hole before the Rajah's house. He spent the best part of a day and a
  whole night in that unwholesome situation, but there is every reason
  to believe the thing had been meant as a sort of joke. He brooded for
  a while over that horrid memory, I suppose, and then addressed in a
  quarrelsome tone the man coming aft to the helm. When he turned to me
  again it was to speak judicially, without passion. He would take the
  gentleman to the mouth of the river at Batu Kring (Patusan town "being
  situated internally," he remarked, "thirty miles"). But in his eyes,
  he continued--a tone of bored, weary conviction replacing his previous
  voluble delivery--the gentleman was already "in the similitude of a
  corpse." "What? What do you say?" I asked. He assumed a startlingly
  ferocious demeanour, and imitated to perfection the act of stabbing from
  behind. "Already like the body of one deported," he explained, with the
  insufferably conceited air of his kind after what they imagine a display
  of cleverness. Behind him I perceived Jim smiling silently at me, and
  with a raised hand checking the exclamation on my lips.
  
  'Then, while the half-caste, bursting with importance, shouted his
  orders, while the yards swung creaking and the heavy boom came surging
  over, Jim and I, alone as it were, to leeward of the mainsail, clasped
  each other's hands and exchanged the last hurried words. My heart was
  freed from that dull resentment which had existed side by side with
  interest in his fate. The absurd chatter of the half-caste had given
  more reality to the miserable dangers of his path than Stein's careful
  statements. On that occasion the sort of formality that had been always
  present in our intercourse vanished from our speech; I believe I
  called him "dear boy," and he tacked on the words "old man" to some
  half-uttered expression of gratitude, as though his risk set off against
  my years had made us more equal in age and in feeling. There was a
  moment of real and profound intimacy, unexpected and short-lived like a
  glimpse of some everlasting, of some saving truth. He exerted himself to
  soothe me as though he had been the more mature of the two. "All right,
  all right," he said, rapidly, and with feeling. "I promise to take care
  of myself. Yes; I won't take any risks. Not a single blessed risk. Of
  course not. I mean to hang out. Don't you worry. Jove! I feel as if
  nothing could touch me. Why! this is luck from the word Go. I wouldn't
  spoil such a magnificent chance!" . . . A magnificent chance! Well, it
  _was_ magnificent, but chances are what men make them, and how was I
  to know? As he had said, even I--even I remembered--his--his misfortune
  against him. It was true. And the best thing for him was to go.
  
  'My gig had dropped in the wake of the brigantine, and I saw him aft
  detached upon the light of the westering sun, raising his cap high above
  his head. I heard an indistinct shout, "You--shall--hear--of--me." Of
  me, or from me, I don't know which. I think it must have been of me. My
  eyes were too dazzled by the glitter of the sea below his feet to see
  him clearly; I am fated never to see him clearly; but I can assure you
  no man could have appeared less "in the similitude of a corpse," as that
  half-caste croaker had put it. I could see the little wretch's face,
  the shape and colour of a ripe pumpkin, poked out somewhere under Jim's
  elbow. He, too, raised his arm as if for a downward thrust. Absit omen!'
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter 23
target: Jim is very impressed with Stein and stays with him until the next morning. He is even more excited about the opportunity than before; he feels certain that Patusan offers him the chance he has been waiting for. Jim has in his pocket a letter for Cornelius and around his neck the silver ring for Doramin, which will ensure Jim's own protection Since Jim is to sail in about two hours, Marlow helps him pack and get ready. He gives Jim a revolver and a box of cartridges to take to Patusan. When Jim sets off for his boat, Marlow hurries after him and goes on board with his friend. The ships' captain is crazy. He refuses to take Jim up the river in Patusan for he feels the island is too dangerous, "a cage of beasts" who are ravenous; instead, he will drop his charge at the mouth of the river, and he must make his own way from there. In reaction, Jim can only smile; the adventure challenges him. Marlow advises Jim to look the island over and then decide whether he wants to come back. Jim is of the opinion that he will never return to England, for he is through with "civilized" life. He has been dreaming and waiting for an opportunity like Patusan offers. In such an alien place, his past should never haunt him again. When it is time for the ship to depart, both Jim and Marlow are clearly emotional; there is a "moment of real and profound intimacy" between the two. They hide it by shaking hands. Then Marlow calls his friend "dear boy" and wishes him well. As the ship leaves, the young sailor calls back to Marlow, who is now on shore; the romantic Jim shouts, "You shall hear of me."
feat_summary_analysis: Notes The chapter gives Jim the chance to realize his dream of leaving his past behind. In remote Patusan, no one will know about the Patna. The mystery and strangeness of the island appeal to Jim's romantic side; he is eager to "jump into the unknown"  and is certain he will prove himself worthy of any challenge. As his ship pulls out, Jim shouts to Marlow that "you shall hear of me." He obviously plans to make a name for himself in Patusan. It is important to note that Conrad gives many negative hints about Patusan. Marlow cannot understand why Jim is so overjoyed about going to the remote, alien island. Marlow, who is much more practical than the romantic Jim, gives him a gun and cartridges for his protection. The captain of Jim's ship presents a really negative picture of the island. He refuses to take his passenger upriver in Patusan, for he says it is much too dangerous. Jim will be dropped at the river's mouth to make his own way inland. The captain tells Marlow that Jim is as much a dead man.