Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard
The prospect of finding himself in the water and swimming, overwhelmed by ignorance and darkness, probably in a circle, till he sank from exhaustion, was revolting. The barren and cruel futility of such an end intimidated his affectation of careless pessimism. In comparison to it, the chance of being left floating in a boat exposed to thirst, hunger, discovery, imprisonment, execution, presented itself with an aspect of amenity worth securing even at the cost of some self-contempt. He did not accept Nostromo's proposal that he should get into the boat at once. "Something sudden may overwhelm us, señor," the capataz remarked, promising faithfully at the same time to let go the painter at the moment when the necessity became manifest.
But Decoud assured him lightly that he did not mean to take to the boat till the very last moment, and that then he meant the capataz to come along, too. The darkness of the gulf was no longer for him the end of all things. It was part of a living world, since, pervading it, failure and death could be felt at your elbow. And at the same time it was a shelter. He exulted in its impenetrable obscurity. "Like a wall—like a wall," he muttered to himself.
The only thing which checked his confidence was the thought of Señor Hirsch. Not to have bound and gagged him seemed to Decoud now the height of improvident folly. As long as the miserable creature had the power to raise a yell, he was a constant danger. His abject terror was mute now, but there was no saying from what cause it might suddenly find vent in shrieks.
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