The derrick-head stopped. The kalashes lined the rail. The rope of the
halter hung perpendicular and motionless like a bell-pull in front of
Almayer. Everything was very still. I suggested amicably that he
should catch hold of the rope and mind what he was about. He extended a
provokingly casual and superior hand.

"Look out, then! Lower away!"

Almayer gathered in the rope intelligently enough, but when the pony's
hoofs touched the wharf he gave way all at once to a most foolish
optimism. Without pausing, without thinking, almost without looking, he
disengaged the hook suddenly from the sling, and the cargo-chain, after
hitting the pony's quarters, swung back against the ship's side with
a noisy, rattling slap. I suppose I must have blinked. I know I missed
something, because the next thing I saw was Almayer lying flat on his
back on the jetty. He was alone.

Astonishment deprived me of speech long enough to give Almayer time to
pick himself up in a leisurely and painful manner. The kalashes lining
the rail all had their mouths open. The mist flew in the light breeze,
and it had come over quite thick enough to hide the shore completely.

"How on earth did you manage to let him get away?" I asked, scandalized.

Almayer looked into the smarting palm of his right hand, but did not
answer my inquiry.

"Where do you think he will get to?" I cried. "Are there any fences
anywhere in this fog? Can he bolt into the forest? What's to be done