He was not afraid of the natives; they would
not stir till Mr. Kurtz gave the word. His ascendancy was extraordinary.
The camps of these people surrounded the place, and the chiefs came
every day to see him. They would crawl. . . . 'I don't want to know
anything of the ceremonies used when approaching Mr. Kurtz,' I shouted.
Curious, this feeling that came over me that such details would be more
intolerable than those heads drying on the stakes under Mr. Kurtz's
windows. After all, that was only a savage sight, while I seemed at
one bound to have been transported into some lightless region of subtle
horrors, where pure, uncomplicated savagery was a positive relief, being
something that had a right to exist--obviously--in the sunshine. The
young man looked at me with surprise. I suppose it did not occur to
him that Mr. Kurtz was no idol of mine. He forgot I hadn't heard any of
these splendid monologues on, what was it? on love, justice, conduct
of life--or what not. If it had come to crawling before Mr. Kurtz, he
crawled as much as the veriest savage of them all. I had no idea of the
conditions, he said: these heads were the heads of rebels. I shocked him
excessively by laughing. Rebels! What would be the next definition I
was to hear? There had been enemies, criminals, workers--and these
were rebels.
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