the account of the Capataz's
impatience. Sometimes they paused, and then strained their ears to hear
the boat from Esmeralda. In this perfect quietness a steamer moving
would have been heard from far off. As to seeing anything it was out of
the question. They could not see each other. Even the lighter's sail,
which remained set, was invisible. Very often they rested.

"Caramba!" said Nostromo, suddenly, during one of those intervals when
they lolled idly against the heavy handles of the sweeps. "What is it?
Are you distressed, Don Martin?"

Decoud assured him that he was not distressed in the least. Nostromo
for a time kept perfectly still, and then in a whisper invited Martin to
come aft.

With his lips touching Decoud's ear he declared his belief that there
was somebody else besides themselves upon the lighter. Twice now he had
heard the sound of stifled sobbing.

"Senor," he whispered with awed wonder, "I am certain that there is
somebody weeping in this lighter."

Decoud had heard nothing. He expressed his incredulity. However, it was
easy to ascertain the truth of the matter.

"It is most amazing," muttered Nostromo. "Could anybody have concealed
himself on board while the lighter was lying alongside the wharf?"

"And you say it was like sobbing?" asked Decoud, lowering his voice,
too. "If he is weeping, whoever he is he cannot be very dangerous."

Clambering over the precious pile in the middle, they crouched low on
the foreside of the mast and groped under the half-deck. Right forward,
in the narrowest part, their hands came upon the limbs of a man, who
remained as silent as death. Too startled themselves to make a sound,
they dragged him aft by one arm and the collar of his coat. He was
limp--lifeless.

The light of the bit of candle fell upon a round, hook-nosed face with
black moustaches and little side-whiskers. He was extremely dirty. A
greasy growth of beard was sprouting on the shaven parts of the cheeks.
The thick lips were slightly parted, but the eyes remained closed.
Decoud, to his immense astonishment, recognized Senor Hirsch, the hide
merchant from Esmeralda. Nostromo, too, had recognized him. And they
gazed at each other across the body, lying with its naked feet higher
than its head, in an absurd pretence of sleep, faintness, or death.

CHAPTER EIGHT

For a moment, before this extraordinary find, they forgot their own
concerns and sensations. Senor Hirsch's sensations as he lay the