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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard the tiller swing about, squatted down and busied himself in loosening the plug. With that out she would fill very quickly, and every lighter carried a little iron ballast—enough to make her go down when full of water. When he stood up again, the noisy wash about the Hermosa sounded far away, almost inaudible; and already he could make out the shape of land about the harbor entrance. This was a desperate affair, and he was a good swimmer. A mile was nothing to him, and he knew of an easy place for landing just below the earthworks of the old abandoned fort. It occurred to him with a peculiar fascination that this fort was a good place in which to sleep the day through after so many sleepless nights.

With one blow of the tiller he unshipped for the purpose he knocked the plug out, but did not take the trouble to lower the sail. He felt the water welling up heavily about his legs before he leaped onto the taffrail. There, upright and motionless, in his shirt at and trousers only, he stood waiting. When he felt her settle, he sprang far away with a mighty plash.

At once he turned his head. The gloomy, clouded dawn from behind the mountains showed him on the smooth waters the upper corner of the sail, a dark, wet triangle of canvas waving slightly to and fro. He saw it vanish, as if jerked under, and then struck out for the shore.