Plot
The first-person narrator has only just been given his first command, as captain a ship which, as the narrative opens, has just been towed down the Meinam river and anchored in the Bay of Siam. The next morning it is scheduled to sail south through the archipelago and into the Indian Ocean.
Not only is it the narrator’s first command but the rest of the crew have served together for at least 18 months and all know each other well. In other words, he feels like, and is treated as, the outsider, the stranger of the crew.
Overnight he appoints himself to the first watch and sends his officers off to bed. Before they go, the second mate remarks that the ship’s rigging they could see some distance away, as the sun set, belongs to the Liverpool ship Sephora carrying a cargo of coal. Then they go off to their cabins.
While quietly walking the decks, observing the vast calm flatness of the Bay, the narrator notices the rope ladder over the side hasn’t been taken up. It was last used by an officer on the tug who towed them down the river and took their last letters with him.
Now, looking down, the narrator sees what looks like a naked corpse bobbing in the sea alongside the ladder. When he says something the corpse moves and lifts his head. In a normal voice i.e. not hailing it, the narrator asks the man to come up which he does, then goes to get a spare sleeping suit to hide his nakedness. Two points: the stranger is now dressed identically as the captain, in the latter’s second sleeping suit, so that anyone coming across them would think he was seeing a figure and its reflection in a mirror. And so, from this point onwards the narrator describes him as his ‘double’.
Second thing is that, somehow, the captain both dresses him and invites him down into his cabin without waking anyone, without alerting his officers, without informing anyone. As the minutes tick by he realises what a strange thing this was to do, how difficult it will be to latterly tell anyone, and how the situation is forcing him into a secret collusion with the stranger.
The stranger openly tells his name, which is Leggatt. And explains that he has swum all the way from the Sephora, stopping off at a couple of the small islets in the Bay on the way. Why? Because he killed a fellow crew member, and proceeds to tell his story. This crewman was a particular type, well known and disliked at sea:
He was one of those creatures that are just simmering all the time with a silly sort of wickedness. Miserable devils that have no business to live at all. He wouldn’t do his duty and wouldn’t let anybody else do theirs.
The climax of their feud came when they were rigging a fore-sail as a last desperate expedient after many of the mainsails had been blown off in a terrible storm, and the cur made yet another remark, at which Leggatt hit and felled him, then grabbed his throat just as a big sea hit the ship and washed them across the deck. The sea took minutes to clear at which point the rest of the crew found the two still locked together, with Leggatt’s hand round the other’s neck who was quite dead.
There was a near riot, Leggatt was nearly lynched but locked in a cabin where he was kept prisoner for seven weeks. Only now as they docked in the Bay was the sailor who brought him his food slack enough to forget to lock the door. Leggatt ate the food then strolled out into the deck and, nobody spotting him, jumped overboard and swam. A strong swimmer he made it to the nearest islet before the crew had launched a boat, and hid when they came close to the islet. Once they gave up their search (it was a dark night) and rowed back to the ship, he set out swimming towards the lights of the narrator’s ship, and here he is.
Something in Leggatt’s story touches a chord in the narrator. He realises Leggatt was doing the best for his ship, in fact claims that his act of setting the reef sail saved his ship and the 20 crew aboard it, and yet if he’s handed over to the authorities he’ll be convicted and hanged.
This speaking of heart to heart reminds me of the less fortunate bond which develops between the evil Gentleman Brown and Jim in Lord Jim, when the former describes how just one mistake may damn a man, unwittingly reminding Jim of his great moral lapse. Something similar here…
Anyway, the narrator explains that he is almost as much a stranger on the ship as the swimmer, then they both realise they are exhausted. He helps the swimmer into his bed, pulls to its curtains, then falls asleep on the couch. Just like Jim, an almost unconscious act sees him committed and compromised.
Next morning begins his life of secrecy for the steward knocks and enters with his morning coffee making the captain panic lest the steward see the curtained bed. When the steward returns a little later the captain is red-faced and embarrassed. When he steps out on deck he sees the steward conferring with the first and second mate, and they stop talking when they spot him coming. In other words the senior crew already think that something’s up and this makes the captain evermore nervous and self conscious.
And, as is his way, Conrad rams the central idea home with multiple variations on the same words and phrases:
- It was, in the night, as though I had been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a sombre and immense mirror.
- It occurred to me that if [the second mate] were to put his head up the companion and catch sight of us, he would think he was seeing double.
- I was doubly vexed.
- I felt dual more than ever.
Now the captain’s cabin happens to be L-shaped with the door opening into the small part of the L where the captain has his desk and chair and receives visitors, with the longer part accessed by a door and called the state room, extending to the side of the door i.e. out of sight of anyone appearing in the doorway. So the man he starts referring to as ‘the secret sharer’ is able to hide over the next few days in the long part of the L.
Next day a dinghy arrives bearing the captain of the Sephora. The narrator invites him into his cabin and hears him out as the other captain, Captain Archbold tells the story of the murder on board his ship and the young man who got away. Obviously there is a huge irony in that the secret sharer is sitting quietly, hidden in the back of the long L, just a few yards away as the Sephora’s captain says all this.
(Incidentally, during this colloquy the narrator lets slip a very important fact, remarking that the other captain’s name was something like Archbold but at this distance of years I hardly am sure. Aha! So the narrator is setting this story down, in whatever manner he’s doing it (written text, telling it to someone) years after it occurred.)
Anyway the interview with the captain is edgy because he thinks the other suspects him of something. He thought about pretending surprise at everything the man said but decided this level of playacting would be beyond him and so settled for blasé acceptance. Although he does put on one deceit, which is to pretend he is hard of hearing, forcing the other captain to speak up, so that his secret sharer can hear everything.
Still the man has a funny mood about him. It’s only later that the narrator realises that he, the narrator, bears a passing resemblance (‘a mysterious similitude’) to Leggatt, and is of the same age, and so the Sephora‘s captain might have been disconcerted (another aspect of the double theme).
To allay what he feels are the man’s suspicions the narrator insists on very loudly showing him his bathroom and his stateroom, announcing it loudly enough to give the secret sharer time to hide. Now he’s riled, the narrator insists on giving the Sephora’s captain a guided tour of the entire ship, presenting it as a new young captain’s pride in his command, with the sub-text of making it abundantly clear that Leggatt isn’t aboard, before seeing the doubtful man over the side and into his dinghy. The captain hesitantly says he’ll probably report the man’s loss as suicide, jumping overboard and drowning etc.
But unfortunately the four crew who came aboard with the Sephora‘s captain had mingled with his crew and spread the news about the murder and the runaway murderer to all his hands. Now if he’s discovered there’ll be no talking his way out of it, and so the tension is ratcheted up to very intense. His second mate quizzes him about the story and the narrator is aware he is giving unsatisfactory answers even as he speaks, only making the man more suspicious.
He can’t wait to get below, away from his suspicious crew and realises that ‘on the whole I felt less torn in two when I was with him’ (p.202).
For the 24 hours since they anchored the ship has been becalmed but now a wind gets up and the narrator has to take command and start giving orders. Over the next four days he lives increasingly on tenterhooks, going through a ridiculous rigmarole whereby the secret sharer hides while the steward serves coffee and cleans the bathroom, then slips into the bathroom before the steward comes back to tidy up the stateroom.
On deck the narrator finds himself going to whisper something in the ear of the first mate, as if whispering to his secret self, causing the man to shy back. He catches the mate making the ‘mental’ sign, tapping his forehead to the chief engineer. The steward, subjected to the narrator’s apparently random whims and panics, becomes quite demoralised.
Slowly the narrator begins to wonder if he’s going out of his mind. On several occasions he discovers the sharer sitting so silently and still he wonders if he’s hallucinating him. And at moments like this the story seems to be channelling an Edgar Allen Poe tale of the macabre.
Eventually the sharer, in one of their whispered encounters in the cabin, declares he wants the narrator to steer his ship in among the islands off the coast of Cambodia. And this leads to the thrilling climax of the story when the narrator insists on taking the ship not only in among the islands, but perilously close to land in order to give Leggat, for whose survival he now feels entirely responsible, as good a chance as possible of swimming to land. With no wind she risks drifting ashore and comes so close to the vast dark shape of the legendary mountain Koh-ring towers over the ship and terrifies the crew, all of whom he’s ordered up on deck.
Only when he sees the hat he gave to the secret sharer floating in the water does he realise the Leggatt, as they’d arranged, had slipped out of the cabin, through the sail lofts and shimmied down a rope into the water, only then does the narrator order a change of course away from land, to the vast relief of the crew, and only then does he truly, for the first time, step into his command.
Conradian hyperbole
Conrad easily display what you could call a cosmic mentality by which I mean his descriptions easily become hyperbolic, invoking the world, the earth, all nature, the universe and so on. If you like this sort of thing it gives the stories a huge symbolic power. Those who don’t like it so much criticise it as overblown.
just within the bar, the tug steaming right into the land became lost to my sight, hull and funnel and masts, as though the impassive earth had swallowed her up without an effort, without a tremor.
with tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet, my hand resting lightly on my ship’s rail as if on the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one, the comfort of quiet communion with her was gone for good
‘It was a sea gone mad! I suppose the end of the world will be something like that.’ (p.203)
Then stillness again, with the great shadow gliding closer, towering higher, without a light, without a sound. Such a hush had fallen on the ship that she might have been a bark of the dead floating in slowly under the very gate of Erebus. (p.215)
A queer interpretation
Maybe it was intended to be, and in Conrad’s day was read as, a sort of macabre psychological study, almost verging in the horror genre, what with its claustrophobic doppelganger (recalling those late-Victorian doubles, Dorian Gray or Jekyll and Hyde, among many others).
In the modern age it’s hard not to read it as a gay story, a story about a gay man in a crushingly heteronormative world who has to keep his identity and/or lover secret from absolutely everyone, who lives a double life, who goes in terror of making the slightest slip which reveal his true character to the World of Men. And the burden of having to be one thing to all men out on deck, when all he wants to do is slip back into his cabin and the luxury of privacy.
At night I would smuggle him into my bed place, and we would whisper together… (p.205)
A sudden brisk shout, ‘Mainsail haul!’ broke the spell, and in the noisy cries and rush overhead of the men running away with the main brace we two, down in my cabin, came together in our usual position by the bed place… (p.208)
We remained side by side talking in our secret way – but sometimes silent or just exchanging a whispered word or two at long intervals… (p.209)
Our eyes met; several seconds elapsed, till, our glances still mingled, I extended my hand and turned the lamp out. (p.213)
Our hands met gropingly, lingered united in a steady, motionless clasp for a second… No word was breathed by either of us when they separated. (p.213)
A non-queer interpretation
The Secret Sharer is, apparently, Conrad’s most interpreted story. A simpler interpretation is that the narrator’s Freudian unconscious somehow emerges in physical form, or at least that’s his story. Of course nobody else on board ever sees him, so he may well not exist in the real world; he may well be more like the ghost the narrators describes him as.
The emergence of his unconscious into such a prominent role signals the narrator’s nervous anxiety on taking over his first command. The secrecy is symbolic of his attempts to get a grip on his irrational fear and anxiety. The other officers noticing his odd behaviour is just that because he does behave oddly and badly, to begin with.
On this reading it is the near shipwreck on one of the islands around Koh-ring which signals the narrator’s successful initiation, a rite of passage. Whatever actually happened that imperilled his ship, the event acquires a huge psychological importance because passing through it successfully allows him to suppress his unconscious fears, which had come to life in the shape of a ghostly doppelganger, back into his unconscious, to reintegrate conscious mind and unconscious terrors, the ego and the id, and thus emerge, blooded and seasoned, for the first time as the captain in command of himself and his ship.
The foreyards ran round with a great noise, amidst cheery cries. And now the frightful whiskers made themselves heard giving various orders. Already the ship was drawing ahead. And I was alone with her. Nothing! no one in the world should stand now between us, throwing a shadow on the way of silent knowledge and mute affection, the perfect communion of a seaman with his first command. (p.217)
The shadow (a term in Jungian psychology) has been rejected, overthrown, thrown overboard, leaving the captain with the self-knowledge he so sorely lacked at the start of the story (‘a stranger to myself”) and able to act in the world.
Notes
Leggatt says he comes from a parsonage in Norfolk, as did Jim in Lord Jim and the similarities don’t end there. Like Leggatt, Jim is involved in a scandal at sea, goes on the run (well, to escape his notoriety in distant ports) and is helped by a friendly captain (Marlow).
The Sephora is mentioned in an anecdote in Lord Jim, chapter 13, where it is said to have sunk after a collision, during which one particular crew member swam back to the ship to valiantly rescue a young woman paralysed with fear on the deck.
The L-shaped room becomes associated with L for Leggatt or, if the entire thing is a phantasy, does the L-shape suggest the name of his imagined double to the narrator’s troubled mind?
Credit
Written in 1909, The Secret Sharer by Joseph Conrad was first published in two parts in Harpers magazine in 1910. Page references are to the Oxford World’s Classics paperback edition of ‘Typhoon and Other Stories’, revised and republished in 2008.


