Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART SECOND: THE ISABELS 8. CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

Then all was still--as still as when you wake up in your bed in a
dark room from a bizarre and agitated dream. The lighter rocked
slightly; the rain was still falling. Two groping hands took hold
of his bruised sides from behind, and the Capataz's voice
whispered, in his ear, "Silence, for your life! Silence! The
steamer has stopped."

Decoud listened. The gulf was dumb. He felt the water nearly up
to his knees. "Are we sinking?" he asked in a faint breath.

"I don't know," Nostromo breathed back to him. "Senor, make not
the slightest sound."

Hirsch, when ordered forward by Nostromo, had not returned into
his first hiding-place. He had fallen near the mast, and had no
strength to rise; moreover, he feared to move. He had given
himself up for dead, but not on any rational grounds. It was
simply a cruel and terrifying feeling. Whenever he tried to think
what would become of him his teeth would start chattering
violently. He was too absorbed in the utter misery of his fear to
take notice of anything.

Though he was stifling under the lighter's sail which Nostromo
had unwittingly lowered on top of him, he did not even dare to
put out his head till the very moment of the steamer striking.
Then, indeed, he leaped right out, spurred on to new miracles of
bodily vigour by this new shape of danger. The inrush of water
when the lighter heeled over unsealed his lips. His shriek,
"Save me!" was the first distinct warning of the collision for
the people on board the steamer. Next moment the wire shroud
parted, and the released anchor swept over the lighter's
forecastle. It came against the breast of Senor Hirsch, who
simply seized hold of it, without in the least knowing what it
was, but curling his arms and legs upon the part above the fluke
with an invincible, unreasonable tenacity. The lighter yawed off
wide, and the steamer, moving on, carried him away, clinging
hard, and shouting for help. It was some time, however, after the
steamer had stopped that his position was discovered. His
sustained yelping for help seemed to come from somebody swimming
in the water. At last a couple of men went over the bows and
hauled him on board. He was carried straight off to Sotillo on
the bridge. His examination confirmed the impression that some
craft had been run over and sunk, but it was impracticable on
such a dark night to look for the positive proof of floating
wreckage. Sotillo was more anxious than ever now to enter the
harbour without loss of time; the idea that he had destroyed the
principal object of his expedition was too intolerable to be
accepted. This feeling made the story he had heard appear the
more incredible. Senor Hirsch, after being beaten a little for
telling lies, was thrust into the chartroom. But he was beaten
only a little. His tale had taken the heart out of Sotillo's
Staff, though they all repeated round their chief, "Impossible!
impossible!" with the exception of the old major, who triumphed
gloomily.