The lighter was hardly distinguishable from the black water upon
which she floated.
"What do you think has become of Hirsch?" he shouted.
"Knocked overboard and drowned," cried Nostromo's voice confidently out
of the black wastes of sky and sea around the islet. "Keep close in the
ravine, senor. I shall try to come out to you in a night or two."
A slight swishing rustle showed that Nostromo was setting the sail. It
filled all at once with a sound as of a single loud drum-tap. Decoud
went back to the ravine. Nostromo, at the tiller, looked back from time
to time at the vanishing mass of the Great Isabel, which, little by
little, merged into the uniform texture of the night. At last, when
he turned his head again, he saw nothing but a smooth darkness, like a
solid wall.
Then he, too, experienced that feeling of solitude which had weighed
heavily on Decoud after the lighter had slipped off the shore. But while
the man on the island was oppressed by a bizarre sense of unreality
affecting the very ground upon which he walked, the mind of the Capataz
of the Cargadores turned alertly to the problem of future conduct.
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