Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard
he was beaten only a little. His tale had taken the heart out of Sotilio's staff, though they all repeated round their chief, "Impossible! impossible!" with the exception of the old major, who triumphed gloomily. " I told you, I told you," he mumbled, "I could smell some treachery, some diablerie, a league off."
Meantime, the steamer had kept on her way towards Sulaco, where only the truth of that matter could be ascertained. Decoud and Nostromo heard the loud churning of her propeller diminish and die out; and then, with no useless words, busied themselves in making for the Isabels. The last shower had brought with it a gentle but steady breeze. The danger was not over yet, and there was no time for talk. The lighter was leaking like a sieve. They splashed in the water at every step. The capataz put into Decoud's hands the handle of the pump, which was fitted at the side aft, and at once, without question or remark, Decoud began to pump, in utter forgetfulness of every desire but that of keeping the treasure afloat. Nostromo hoisted the sail, flew back to the tiller, pulled at the sheet like mad. The short flare of a match (they had been kept dry in a tight tin box, though the man himself was completely wet) the vivid flare of a match disclosed to the toiling Decoud the eagerness of his face, bent low over the box of the compass, and the attentive stare of his eyes. He knew now where he was, and he hoped to run the sinking lighter ashore in the shallow cove where the high, cliff-like end of the great Isabel is divided in two equal parts by a deep and overgrown ravine.
Decoud pumped without intermission. Nostromo
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