His white torso, naked like a stripped athlete's, glimmered, ghostly, in the deep shadows of the deck.
Unnoticed he got out of the ship over the knight-heads, ran along the back rope, and seizing the dolphin-striker firmly with both hands, lowered himself into the sea without a splash.
He swam away, noiseless like a fish, and then struck boldly for the land, sustained, embraced, by the tepid water.

The gentle, voluptuous heave of its breast swung him up and down slightly; sometimes a wavelet murmured in his ears; from time to time, lowering his feet, he felt for the bottom on a shallow patch to rest and correct his direction.

He landed at the lower end of the bungalow garden, into the dead stillness of the island.
There were no lights.

The plantation seemed to sleep, as profoundly as the schooner.

On the path a small shell cracked under his naked heel.
The faithful half-caste foreman going his rounds cocked his ears at the sharp sound.