Ifirmlybelievethewatercamethroughthewood。Firstitbegantoooze，thentotrickle。Itwasliketryingtocarrymoistsugarinathinpaperbag。Soonweweretakinginwaterasthoughwehadopenedadoorinherbottom。
Onceitbegan，thethingwentaheadbeyondallfighting。Foradayorsowedidourbest，andIcanstillrememberinmylimbsandbackthepumping——thefatigueinmyarmsandthememoryofaclearlittledribbleofwaterthatjerkedasonepumped，andofknockingoffandthebeingawakenedtogoonagain，andoffatiguepilingupuponfatigue。Atlastweceasedtothinkofanythingbutpumping；onebecameathingoftormentenchanted，doomedtopumpforever。IstillrememberitaspurereliefwhenatlastPollackcametomepipeinmouth。
“Thecaptainsaysthedamnedthing’sgoingdownrightnow；’heremarked，chewinghismouthpiece。“Eh？”
“Goodidea！”Isaid。“Onecan’tgoonpumpingforever。”
Andwithouthurryoralacrity，sullenlyandwearilywegotintotheboatsandpulledawayfromtheMaudMaryuntilwewereclearofher，andthenwestayedrestingonouroars，motionlessuponaglassysea，waitingforhertosink。Wewereallsilent，eventhecaptainwassilentuntilshewentdown。Andthenhespokequitemildlyinanundertone。