He jumped into the smallest canoe, balancing himself clumsily, slipped the rattan painter, and gave an unnecessary and violent shove, which nearly sent him headlong overboard.

By the time he regained his balance the canoe had drifted some fifty yards down the river.

He knelt in the bottom of his little craft and fought the current with long sweeps of the paddle.
Almayer sat up in his hammock, grasping his feet and peering over the river with parted lips till he made out the shadowy form of man and canoe as they struggled past the jetty again.
"I thought you would go," he shouted.

"Won't you take the gun?
Hey ?" he yelled, straining his voice.

Then he fell back in his hammock and laughed to himself feebly till he fell asleep.