from Stories of Ourselves Remember to support your ideas with details from the writing. Either 21 Read this passage from The Open Boat (by Stephen Crane), and then answer the question that follows it: The correspondent remained in the grip of this strange new enemy – a current. The shore, with its white slope of sand and its green bluff topped with little silent cottages, was spread like a picture before him. It was very near to him then, but he was impressed as one who, in a gallery, looks at a scene from Brittany or Algiers. 5 He thought: 'I am going to drown? Can it be possible? Can it be possible? Can it be possible?' Perhaps an individual must consider his own death to be the final phenomenon of nature. But later a wave perhaps whirled him out of this small deadly current, for he found suddenly that he could again make progress toward the 10 shore. Later still, he was aware that the captain, clinging with one hand to the keel of the dinghy, had his face turned away from the shore and toward him, and was calling his name. 'Come to the boat! Come to the boat!' In his struggle to reach the captain and the boat, he reflected that when one gets properly wearied, drowning must really be a comfortable 15 arrangement, a cessation of hostilities accompanied by a large degree of relief, and he was glad of it, for the main thing in his mind for some moments had been horror of the temporary agony. He did not wish to be hurt. Presently he saw a man running along the shore. He was undressing 20 with most remarkable speed. Coat, trousers, shirt, everything flew magically off him. 'Come to the boat,' called the captain. 'All right, captain.' As the correspondent paddled, he saw the captain let himself down to bottom and leave the boat. Then the correspondent 25 performed his one little marvel of the voyage. A large wave caught him and flung him with ease and supreme speed completely over the boat and far beyond it. It struck him even then as an event in gymnastics, and a true miracle of the sea. An overturned boat in the surf is not a plaything to a swimming man. 30 The correspondent arrived in water that reached only to his waist, but his condition did not enable him to stand for more than a moment. Each wave knocked him into a heap, and the under-tow pulled at him. Then he saw the man who had been running and undressing, and undressing and running, come bounding into the water. He dragged ashore 35 the cook, and then waded towards the captain, but the captain waved him away, and sent him to the correspondent. He was naked, naked as a tree in winter, but a halo was about his head, and he shone like a saint. He gave a strong pull, and a long drag, and a bully heave at the correspondent's hand. The correspondent, schooled in the minor formulæ, said: 'Thanks, old man.' But suddenly the man cried: 'What's that?' He pointed a swift finger. The correspondent said: 'Go.' 40 In the shallows, face downward, lay the oiler. His forehead touched sand that was periodically, between each wave, clear of the sea. The correspondent did not know all that transpired afterward. When he achieved safe ground he fell, striking the sand with each particular part 45 of his body. It was as if he had dropped from a roof, but the thud was grateful to him. It seems that instantly the beach was populated with men with blankets, clothes, and flasks, and women with coffee pots and all the remedies sacred to their minds. The welcome of the land to the men 50 from the sea was warm and generous, but a still and dripping shape was carried slowly up the beach; and the land's welcome for it could only be the different and sinister hospitality of the grave. When it came night, the white waves paced to and fro in the moonlight, and the wind brought the sound of the great sea's voice to the men on the 55 shore, and they felt that they could then be interpreters.