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didn’t stay to hear any more, but crawling away to the end
of the wharf, hid himself amongst a lot of empty casks.
After a while some people came along, talking, and with
glowing cigarettes. He did not stop to ask himself whether
they would be likely to do him any harm, but bolted in-
continently along the jetty, saw a lighter lying moored at
the end, and threw himself into it. In his desire to find cov-
er he crept right forward under the half-deck, and he had
remained there more dead than alive, suffering agonies of
hunger and thirst, and almost fainting with terror, when he
heard numerous footsteps and the voices of the Europeans
who came in a body escorting the wagonload of treasure,
pushed along the rails by a squad of Cargadores. He under-
stood perfectly what was being done from the talk, but did
not disclose his presence from the fear that he would not be
allowed to remain. His only idea at the time, overpower-
ing and masterful, was to get away from this terrible Sulaco.
And now he regretted it very much. He had heard Nostromo
talk to Decoud, and wished himself back on shore. He did
not desire to be involved in any desperate affair—in a situa-
tion where one could not run away. The involuntary groans
of his anguished spirit had betrayed him to the sharp ears
of the Capataz.
They had propped him up in a sitting posture against the
side of the lighter, and he went on with the moaning account
of his adventures till his voice broke, his head fell forward.
‘Water,’ he whispered, with difficulty. Decoud held one of
the cans to his lips. He revived after an extraordinarily short
time, and scrambled up to his feet wildly. Nostromo, in an

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