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NOSTROMO

A Tale of the Seaboard

By
Joseph Conrad

"So foul a sky clean not without a storm"

— Shakespeare

New York and London

Harper & Brothers Publishers

BOOKS BY
JOSEPH CONRAD

NOSTROMO. Post 8vo
THE MIRROR OF THE SEA. Post 8vo
THE SECRET AGENT. Post 8vo
UNDER WESTERN EYES. Post 8vo
A PERSONAL RECORD. Crown 8vo

HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK

(ot)

1 109

1-0

John Galsworthy

Contents

.
PART FIRST

MMM

THB SILVER OP Tint MINE ........ J

PART SECOND

THE ISABELS

PART THIRD
THE LIGHT-HOUSE ........... 339

PART I
The Silver of the Mine

Nostromo: A Tale of the
Seaboard

IN the time of Spanish rule, and for many years
afterwards, the town of Sulaco — the luxuriant
beauty of the orange gardens bears witness to its
antiquity — had never been commercially anything
more important than a coasting port with a fairly
large local trade in ox-hides and indigo. The clumsy,
deep-sea galleons of the conquerors, that, needing a
brisk gale to move at all, would lie becalmed, where
your modern ship, built on clipper lines, forges ahead
by the mere flapping of her sails, had been barred out
of Sulaco by the prevailing calms of its vast gulf.
Some harbors of the earth are made difficult of access
by the treachery of sunken rocks and the tempests
of their shores. Sulaco had found an inviolable
sanctuary from the temptations of a trading world in
the solemn hush of the deep Golfo Placido as if within
an enormous semicircular and unroofed temple open
to the ocean, with its walls of lofty mountains hung
with the mourning draperies of cloud.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

On one side of this broad curve in the straight sea-
board of the republic of Costaguana, the last spur of
the coast range forms an insignificant cape whose
name is Punta Mala. From the middle of the gulf
the point of the land itself is not visible at all; but
the shoulder of a steep hill at the back can be made
out faintly like a shadow on the sky.

On the other side, what seems to be an isolated
patch of blue mist floats lightly on the glare of the
horizon. This is the peninsula of Azuera, a wild chaos
of sharp rocks and stony levels cut about by vertical
ravines. It lies far out to sea like a rough head of
stone stretched from a green-clad coast at the end of
a slender neck of sand covered with thickets of thorny
scrub. Utterly waterless, for the rainfall runs off at
once on all sides into the sea, it has not soil enough,
it is said, to grow a single blade of grass — as if it were
blighted by a curse. The poor, associating by an ob-
scure instinct of consolation the ideas of evil and
wealth, will tell you that it is deadly because of its
forbidden treasures. The common folk of the neigh-
borhood, peons of the estancias, vaqueros of the sea-
board plains, tame Indians coming miles to market
with a bundle of sugar-cane or a basket of maize worth
about threepence, are well aware that heaps of shin-
ing gold lie in the gloom of the deep precipices cleav-
ing the stony levels of Azuera. Tradition has it that
many adventurers of olden time had perished in the
search. The story goes also that within men's memory
two wandering sailors — Americanos, perhaps, but
gringos of some sort for certain — talked over a gam-
bling, good-for-nothing mozo, and the three stole a

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

donkey to carry for them a bundle of dry sticks, a
watcT -skin, and provisions enough to last a few days.
Thus accompanied, and with revolvers at their belts,
they had started to chop their way with machetes
through the thorny scrub on the neck of the peninsula.

On the second evening an upright spiral of smoke
(it could only have been from their camp-fire) was
seen for the first time within memory of man standing
up faintly upon the sky above a razor-backed ridge on
the stony head. The crew of a coasting schooner, ly-
ing becalmed three miles off the shore, stared at it with
amazement till dark. A negro fisherman, living in a
lonely hut in a little bay near by, had seen the start
and was on the lookout for some sign. He called to
his wife just as the sun was about to set. They had
watched the strange portent with envy, incredulity,
and awe.

The impious adventurers gave no other sign. The
sailors, the Indian, and the stolen burro were never
seen again. As to the mozo, a Sulaco man — his wife
paid for some masses, and the poor four-footed beast,
being without sin, had been probably permitted to
die; but the two gringos, spectral and alive, are believed
to be dwelling to this day among the rocks, under the
fatal spell of their success. Their souls cannot tear
themselves away from their bodies mounting guard
over the discovered treasure. They are now rich and
hungry and thirsty — a strange theory of tenacious
gringo ghosts suffering in their starved and parched
flesh of defiant heretics, where a Christian would have
renounced and been released.

These, then, are the legendary inhabitants of Azuera,

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

guarding its forbidden wealth; and the shadow on the
sky on one side, with the round patch of blue haze
blurring the bright skirt of the horizon on the other,
mark the two outermost points of the bend which
bears the name of Golfo Placido, because never a
strong wind had been known to blow upon its waters.

On crossing the imaginary line drawn from Punta
Mala to Azuera the ships from Europe bound to Sulaco
lose at once the strong breezes of the ocean. They be-
come the prey of capricious airs that play with them
for thirty hours at a stretch sometimes. Before them
the head of the calm gulf is filled on most days of the
year by a great body of motionless and opaque clouds.
On the rare clear mornings another shadow is cast
upon the sweep of the gulf. The dawn breaks high
behind the towering and serrated wall of the Cordillera,
a clear-cut vision of dark peaks rearing their steep
slopes on a lofty pedestal of forests rising from the very
edge of the shore. Among them the white head of
Higuerota rises majestically upon the blue. Bare
clusters of enormous rocks sprinkle with tiny black
dots the smooth dome of snow.

Then, as the mid-day sun withdraws from the gulf
the shadow of the mountains, the clouds begin to roll
out of the lower valleys. They swathe in sombre tat-
ters the naked crags of precipices above the wooded
slopes, hide the peaks, smoke in stormy trails across
the snows of Higuerota. The Cordillera is gone from
you as if it had dissolved itself into great piles of gray
and black vapors that travel out slowly to seaward
and vanish into thin air all along the front before the
blazing heat of the day. The wasting edge of the

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

: 1-bank always strives for, but seldom wins, the
mil Idle of the gulf. The sun — as the sailors say — is
eating it up. Unless perchance a sombre thunder-
1 breaks away from the main body to career all
over the gulf till it escapes into the offing beyond
Azuera, where it bursts suddenly into flame and crashes
like a sinister pirate-ship of the air, hove-to above the
horizon, engaging the sea.

At night the body of clouds advancing higher up
the sky smothers the whole quiet gulf below with an
impenetrable darkness, in which the sound of the fall-
ing showers can be heard beginning and ceasing
abruptly — now here, now there. Indeed, these cloudy
nights are proverbial with the seamen along the whole
west coast of a great continent. Sky, land, and sea
disappear together out of the world when the Placido —
as the saying is — goes to sleep under its black poncho.
The few stars left below the seaward frown of the
vault shine feebly as into the mouth of a black cavern.
In its vastness your ship floats unseen under your feet,
her sails flutter invisible above your head. The eye
of God Himself — they add with grim profanity — could
not find out what work a man's hand is doing in there;
and you would be free to call the devil to your aid with
impunity if even his malice were not defeated by such
a blind darkness.

The shores on the gulf are steep-to all round ; these
uninhabited islets basking in the sunshine just outside
the cloud veil, and opposite the entrance to the harbor
of Sulaco, bear the name of "The Isabels."

There is the Great Isabel; the Little Isabel, which is
round; and Hermosa, which is the smallest.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

That last is no more than a foot high, and about
seven paces across, a mere flat top of a gray rock
which smokes like a hot cinder after a shower, and
where no man would care to venture a naked sole be-
fore sunset. On the Little Isabel an old ragged palm,
with a thick bulging trunk rough with spines, a very
witch among palm - trees, rustles a dismal bunch of
dead leaves above the coarse sand. The Great Isabel
has a spring of fresh water issuing from the over-
grown side of a ravine. Resembling an emerald green
wedge of land a mile long, and laid flat upon the sea,
it bears two forest trees standing close together, with
a wide spread of shade at the foot of their smooth
trunks. A ravine extending the whole length of the
island is ful.' of bushes, and presenting a deep tangled
cleft on the high side spreads itself out on the other
into a shallow depression abutting on a small strip of
sandy shore.

From that low end of the Great Isabel the eye
plunges through an opening two miles away, as abrupt
as if chopped with an axe out of the regular sweep of
the coast, right into the harbor of Sulaco. It is an
oblong, lake-like piece of water. On one side the
short wooded spurs and valleys of the Cordillera come
down at right angles to the very strand ; on the other
the open view of the great Sulaco plain passes into the
opal mystery of great distances overhung by dry haze.
The town of Sulaco itself — tops of walls, a great cupola,
gleams of white miradors in a vast grove of orange-
trees — lies between the mountains and the plain, at
some little distance from its harbor and out of the
direct line of sight from the sea. .

THE only sign of commercial activity within the
harbor, visible from the beach of the Great Isabel,
is the square blunt end of the wooden jetty which the
Oceanic Steam Navigation Company (the O.S.N. of
familiar speech) had thrown over the shallow part of
the bay soon after they had resolved to make of
Sulaco one of their ports of call for the republic of
Costaguana. The state possesses several harbors on
its long seaboard, but except Cayta, an important
place, all are either small and inconvenient inlets in
an iron-bound coast — like Esmeralda, for instance,
sixty miles to the south — or else mere open roadsteads
exposed to the winds and fretted by the surf.

Perhaps the very atmospheric conditions which had
kept away the merchant fleets of by-gone ages induced
the O.S.N. Company to violate the sanctuary of peace
sheltering the calm existence ot Sulaco. The variable
airs sporting lightly with the vast semicircle of waters
within the head of Azuera could not baffle the steam
power of their excellent fleet. Year after year the
black hulls of their ships had gone up and down the
coast, in and out, past Azuera, past the Isabels, past
Punta Mala — disregarding everything but the tyranny
of time. Their names, the names of all mythology,
became the household words of a coast that had never
been ruled by the gods of Olympus. The Juno was

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

known only for her comfortable cabins amidships, the
Saturn for the geniality of her captain and the painted
and gilt luxuriousness of her saloon, whereas the Gany-
mede was fitted out mainly for cattle transport, and to
be avoided by coastwise passengers. The humblest
Indian in the obscurest village on the coast was famil-
iar with the Cerberus, a little black puffer without
charm or living accommodation to speak of, whose
mission was to creep inshore along the wooded beaches
close to mighty ugly rocks, stopping obligingly before
every cluster of huts to collect produce, down to three-
pound parcels of india-rubber bound in a wrapper of
dry grass.

And as they seldom failed to account for the small-
est package, rarely lost a bullock, and had never
drowned a single passenger, the name of the O.S.N.
stood very high for trustworthiness. People declared
that under the Company's care their lives and property
were safer on the water than in their own houses on
shore.

The O.S.N.'s superintendent in Sulaco for the whole
Costaguana section of the service was very proud of
his Company's standing. He resumed it in a saying
which was very often on his lips, "We never make
mistakes." To the Company's officers it took the form
of a severe injunction, "We must make no mistakes.
I '11 have no mistakes here, no matter what Smith may
do at his end."

Smith, on whom he had never set eyes in his life,
was the other superintendent of the service, quartered
some fifteen hundred miles away from Sulaco. " Don't
talk to me of your Smith."

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Then, calming down suddenly, he would dismiss the
subject with studied negligence.

"Smith knows no more of this continent than a
baby."

"Our excellent Seflor Mitchell" for the business and
official world of Sulaco; " Fussy Joe" for the command-
ers of the Company's ships, Captain Joseph Mitchell,
prided himself on his profound knowledge of men and
things in the country — cosas de Costaguana. Among
these last he accounted as most unfavorable to the
orderly working of his Company the frequent changes
of government brought about by revolutions of the
military type.

The political atmosphere of the republic was gener-
allv storm yjn these days. The fugitive patriots of the
defeated party had the knack of turning up again on
the coast with half a steamer's load of small arms and
ammunition. Such resourcefulness Captain Mitchell
considered as perfectly wonderful, in view of their utter
destitution at the time of flight. He had observed
th:it "they never seemed to have enough change about
them to pay for their passage-ticket out of the country."
And he could speak with knowledge; for on a memo-
rable occasion he had been called upon to save the
life of a dictator, together with the lives of a few
Sulaco officials — the political chief, the director of
the customs, and the head of police — belonging to an
overturned government. Poor Seflor Ribiera (such
was the dictator's name) had come pelting eighty
miles over mountain - tracks after the lost battle of
Socorro, in the hope of out-distancing the fatal news
— which, of course, he could not manage to do on a

a I i

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

lame mule. The animal, moreover, expired under him
at the end of the Alameda, where the military band
plays sometimes in the evenings between the revolu-
tions. "Sir," Captain Mitchell would pursue with
portentous gravity, "the ill-timed end of that mule
attracted attention to the unfortunate rider. His feat-
ures were recognized by several deserters from the
Dictatorial army among the rascally mob already en-
gaged in smashing the windows of the Intendencia."

Early on the morning of that day the local authori-
ties of Sulaco had fled for refuge to the O.S.N. Com-
pany's offices, a strong building near the shore end of
the jetty, leaving the town to the mercies of a revolu-
tionary rabble; and as the Dictator was execrated by
the populace on account of the severe recruitment law
his necessities had compelled him to enforce during
the struggle, he stood a good chance of being torn to
pieces. Providentially, Nostromo — invaluable fellow
— with some Italian workmen, imported to work upon
the National Central Railway, was at hand, and man-
aged to snatch him away, for the time, at least. Ul-
timately, Captain Mitchell succeeded in taking every-
body off in his own gig to one of the Company's
steamers — it was the Minerva — just then, as luck
would have it, entering the harbor.

He had to lower these gentlemen at the end of a
rope out of a hole in the wall at the back, while the
mob which, pouring out of the town, had spread itself
all along the shore, howled and foamed at the foot of
the building in front. He had to hurry them then the
whole length of the jetty ; it had been a desperate dash,
neck or nothing — and again it was Nostromo, a fellow

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

in :t thousand, who, at the head, this time, of the
j'.my's body of lightermen, held the jetty against
the rushes of the rabble, thus giving the fugitives time
> ach the gig lying ready for them at the other end
with the Company's flag at the stern. Sticks, stones.
slmts Hew; knives too were thrown. Captain Mitchell
exhibited willingly a long cicatrice of a cut over his
left ear and temple, made by a razor-blade fastened to
a stick — a weapon, he explained, very much in favor
with the "worst kind of nigger out here."

Captain Mitchell was a thick, elderly man, wearing
high, pointed collars and short side-whiskers, partial
to white waistcoats, and really very communicative
under his air of pompous reserve.

"These gentlemen," he would say, staring with great
solemnity, "had to run like rabbits, sir. I ran like a
rabbit myself. Certain forms of death are — er — dis-
tasteful to a — a — er — respectable man. They would
have pounded me to death, too. A crazy mob, sir,
does not discriminate. Under Providence we owed our
preservation to my capataz de cargadores, as they
called him in the town, a man who, when I discovered
his value, sir, was just the bos'n of an Italian ship, a
big Genoese ship, one of the few European ships that
ever came to Sulaco with a general cargo before the
building of the National Central. He left her on ac-
count of some very respectable friends he made here,
his own countrymen, but also, I suppose, to better
himself. Sir, I am a pretty good judge of character.
I engaged him to be the captain of our lightermen and
caretaker of our jetty. That's all that he was. But
without him Sefior Ribiera would have been a dead

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

man. This Nostromo, sir, a man absolutely above
reproach, became the terror of all the thieves in the
town. We were infested — infested, overrun, sir — here
at that time by ladrones and matreros, thieves and
murderers from the whole province. On this occasion
they had been flocking into Sulaco for a week past.
They had scented the end, sir. Fifty per cent, of that
murdering mob were professional bandits from the
Campo, sir, but there wasn't one that hadn't heard of
Nostromo. As to the town leperos, sir, the sight of
his black whiskers and white teeth was enough for
them. They quailed before him, sir. That's what
the force of character will do for you."

It could very well be said that it was Nostromo alone
who saved the lives of these gentlemen. Captain Mit-
chell, on his part, never left them till he had seen them
collapse, panting, terrified and exasperated, but safe,
on the luxuriant velvet sofas in the first-class saloon
of the Minerva. To the very last he had been careful
to address the ex-dictator as "Your Excellency."

"Sir, I could do no other. The man was down —
ghastly, livid, one mass of scratches."

The Minerva never let go her anchor that call. The
superintendent ordered her out of the harbor at once.
No cargo could be landed, of course, and the passen-
gers for Sulaco naturally refused to go ashore. They
could hear the firing and see plainly the fight going
on at the edge of the water. The repulsed mob de-
voted its energies to an attack upon the custom-house,
a dreary, unfinished-looking structure with many win-
dows, two hundred yards away from the O.S.N. offices,
and the only other building near the harbor. Captain

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

Mitchell, after directing the commander of the Minerva
t<> lainl "these gentlemen" in the first port of call out-
side of Costaguana, went back in his gig to see what
could be done for the protection of the Company's
property. That and the property of the railway were
•rved by the European residents; that is, by Cap-
tain Mitchell himself and the staff of engineers building
the road, aided by the Italian and Basque workmen
who rallied faithfully round their English chiefs. The
Company's lightermen, too, natives of the republic,
behaved very well under their capataz. An outcast
lot of very mixed blood, mainly negroes, everlastingly
at feud with the other customers of low grog-shops in
the town, they embraced with delight this opportunity
to settle their personal scores under such favora"ble
auspices. There was not one of them that had not,
at some time or other, looked with terror at Nostromo's
revolver poked very close at his face, or been other-
wise daunted by Nostromo's resolution. He was
"much of a man," their capataz was, they said, too
scornful in his temper ever to utter abuse, a tireless
taskmaster, and the more to be feared because of his
aloofness. And, behold! there he was that day, at
their head, condescending to make jocular remarks to
this man or the other.

Such leadership was inspiriting, and in truth all the
harm the mob managed to achieve was to set fire to
one — only one — stack of railway-sleepers, which, being
creosoted, burned well. The main attack on the rail-
way yards, on the O.S.N. offices, and especially on the
custom-house, whose strong-room, it was well known,
contained a large treasure in silver ingots, failed com-

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

pletely. Even the little hotel kept by old Giorgio,
standing alone half-way between the harbor and the
town, escaped looting and destruction, not by a mir-
acle, but because with safes in view they had neglected
it at first, and afterwards found no leisure to stop.
Nostromo, with his cargadores, was pressing them too
hard then.

Ill

IT might have been said that there he was only pro-
tecting his own. From the first he had been ad-
mitted to live in the intimacy of the family of the
hotel - keeper, who was a countryman of his. Old
Giorgio Viola, a Genoese with a shaggy, white, leonine
head — often called simply "the Garibaldino" (as
Mohammedans are called after their prophet) — was,
to use Captain Mitchell's own words, the "respectable
married friend" by whose advice Nostromo had left
his ship to try for a run of shore luck in Costaguana.

The old man, full of scorn for the populace, as your
austere republican so often is, had disregarded the
preliminary sounds of trouble. He went on that day
as usual pottering about the "casa" in his slippers,
muttering angrily to himself his contempt of the non-
political nature of the riot, and shrugging his shoul^
ders. In the end he was taken unawares by the out-
rush of the rabble. It was too late then to remove his
family, and, indeed, where could he have run to with
the portly Signora Teresa and two little girls on that
great plain. So, barricading every opening, the old
man sat down sternly in the middle of the darkened
cafd with an old gun on his knees. His wife sat on an-
other chair by his side, muttering pious invocations to
all the saints of the calendar.

The old republican did not believe in saints, or in
'7

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

prayers, or in what he called "priests' religion." Lib-
erty and Garibaldi were his divinities; but he tolerated
superstition in women, preserving in these matters a
lofty and silent attitude.

His two girls, the eldest fourteen and the other two
years younger, crouched on the sanded floor, on each
side of the Signora Teresa, with their heads on their
mother's lap, both scared, but each in her own way,
the dark-haired Linda indignant and angry, the fair
Giselle, the younger", bewildered and resigned. The
patrona removed her arms, which embraced her
daughters, for a moment to cross and wring her hands
hurriedly. She moaned a little louder.'

"Oh! Gian' Battista, why art thou not here? Oh!
why art thou not here?"

She was not then invoking the saint himself, but
calling upon Nostromo, whose patron he was. And
Giorgio, motionless on the chair by her side, would
be provoked by these reproachful and distracted ap-
peals.

"Peace, woman! Where's the sense of it? There's
.his duty," he murmured in the dark; and she would
retort, panting:

"Eh! I have no patience. Duty! What of the
woman who has been like a mother to him? I bent
my knee to him this morning; don't you go out, Gian'
Battista — stop in the house, Battistino — look at those
two little innocent children!"

Mrs. Viola was an Italian, too, a native of Spezzia,
an<l though considerably younger than her husband,
already middle-aged. She had a handsome face, whose
complexion had turned yellow because the climate of

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Sulaco did not suit her at all. Her voice was a rich
contralto. When, with her arms folded tight under
her ample bosom, she scolded the squat, thick-legged
China girls handling linen, plucking fowls, pounding
corn in wooden mortars among the mud out-buildings
at the back of the house, she could bring out such an
impassioned, vibrating, sepulchral note that the chain-
ed watch-dog bolted into his kennel with a great rattle.
Luis, a cinnamon-colored mulatto with a sprouting
mustache and thick, dark lips, would stop sweeping
the cafe" with a broom of palm leaves to let a gentle
shudder run down his spine. His languishing almond
eyes would remain closed for a long time.

This was the staff of the Casa Viola, but all these
people had fled early that morning at the first sounds
of the riot, preferring to hide on the plain rather than
trust themselves in the house: a preference for which
they were in no way to blame, since, whether true or
not, it was generally believed in the town that the
Garibaldino had some money buried under the clay floor
of the kitchen. The dog, an irritable, shaggy brute,
barked violently and whined plaintively in turns at
the back, running in and out of his kennel as rage or
fear prompted him.

Bursts of great shouting rose and died away, like
wild gusts of wind on the plain round the barricaded
house; the fitful gfippjng of shots grew louder above
the yelling. Sometimes there were intervals of un-
accountable stillness outside, and nothing could have
been more gayly peaceful than the narrow bright lines
of sunlight from the cracks in the shutters, ruled
straight across the cafe" over the disarranged chairs and

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

tables to the wall opposite. Old Giorgio had chosen
that bare, whitewashed room for a retreat. It had
only one window, and its only door swung out upon
the track of thick dust fenced by aloe hedges between
the harbor and the town, where clumsy carts used to
creak along behind slow yokes of oxen guided by boys
on horseback.

In a pause of stillness Giorgio cocked his gun. The
ominous sound wrung a low moan from the rigid fig-
ure of the woman sitting by his side. A sudden out-
break of defiant yelling quite near the house sank all
at once to a confused murmur of growls. Somebody
ran along; the loud catching of his breath was heard
for an instant passing the door; there were hoarse
mutters and footsteps near the wall ; a shoulder rubbed
against the shutter, effacing the bright lines of sun-
shine pencilled across the whole breadth of the room.
Signora Teresa's arms thrown about the kneeling forms
of her daughters embraced them closer with a con-
vulsive pressure.

The mob, driven away from the custom-house, had
broken up into several bands, retreating across the
plain in the direction of the town. The subdued
crash of the irregular volleys fired in the distance was
answered by faint yells far away. In the intervals
the single shots rang feebly, and the low, long, white
building blinded in every window seemed to be the
centre of a turmoil widening in a great circle about its
closed-up silence. But the cautious movements and
whispers of a routed party seeking a momentary shel-
ter behind the wall made the darkness of the room,
striped by threads of quiet sunlight, alight with evil,

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

stealthy sounds. The Violas had them in their ears
as though invisible ghosts hovering about their chairs
ha«l consulted in mutters as to the advisability of set-
ting fire to this foreigner's casa.

It was trying to the nerves. Old Viola had risen
slowly, gun in hand, irresolute, for he did not see how
he could prevent them. Already voices could be
heard talking at the back. Signora Teresa was beside
herself with terror.

"Ah! the traitor! the traitor!" she mumbled, almost
inaudibly. "Now we are going to be burned; and I
bent my knee to him. No! he must run at the heels
of his English."

She seemed to think that Nostromo's mere presence
in the house would have made it perfectly safe. So
far, she too was under the spell of that reputation the
capataz de cargadores had made for himself by the
water-side, along the railway-line, with the English and
with the populace of Sulaco. To his face, and even
against her husband, she invariably affected to laugh
it to scorn, sometimes good-naturedly, more often with
a curious bitterness. But then women are unreason-
able in their opinions, as Giorgio used to remark calmly
on fitting occasions. On this occasion, with his gun
held at ready before him, he stooped down to his wife's
head, and, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the barri-
caded door, he breathed out into her ear that Nostromo
would have been powerless to help. What could two
men shut up in a house do against twenty or more
bent upon setting fire to the roof? Gian' Battista was
thinking of the casa all the time, he was sure.

" He think of the casa ? He ?" gasped Signora Viola,

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

crazily. She struck her breast with her open hands.
" I know him. He thinks of nobody but himselL"

A discharge of fire-arms near by made her throw her
head back and close her eyes. Old Giorgio set his
teeth hard under his white mustache, and his eyes
began to roll fiercely. Several bullets struck the end
of the wall together; pieces of plaster could be heard
falling outside; a voice screamed "Here they come!"
and after a moment of uneasy silence there was a rush
of running feet along the front.

Then the tension of old Giorgio's attitude relaxed,
and a smile of contemptuous relief came upon his lips
of an old fighter with a leonine face. These were not
a people striving for justice, but thieves. Even to
defend his life against them was a sort of degradation
for a man who had been one of Garibaldi's immortal
thousand in the conquest of Sicily. He had an im-
mense scorn for this outbreak of scoundrels and leperos,
who did not know the meaning of the word "liberty."

He grounded his old gun, and, turning his head,
glanced at the colored lithograph of Garibaldi in a
black frame on the white wall ; a thread of strong sun-
shine cut it perpendicularly. His eyes, accustomed
to the luminous twilight, made out the high coloring
of the face, the red of the shirt, the outlines of the
square shoulders, the black patch of the Bersagliere
hat with cocks' feathers curling over the crown. An
immortal hero! This was your liberty; it gave you
not only life, but immortality as well!

For that one man his fanaticism had suffered in
diminution. In the moment of relief from the appre-
hension of the greatest danger, perhaps, his family had

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

been exposed t<> in all their wanderings, he had turned
to the pu-ture of his old chief, first and only, then laid
his hand on his wife's shoulder.

The children kneeling on the floor had not moved.
Signora Teresa opened her eyes a little, as though he
4iad awakenod her from a very deep and dreamless
slumber. Before he had time in his deliberate way to
say a reassuring word she jumped up, with the children
clinging to her, one on each side, gasped for breath
and let out a hoarse shriek.

It was simultaneous with the bang of a violent blow
struck on the outside of the shutter. They could hear
suddenly the snorting of a horse, the restive tramping
of hoofs on the narrow, hard path in front of the house,
the toe of a boot struck at the shutter again; a spur
jingled at every blow, and an excited voice shouted,
"Hola! hola, in there!"

AAj the morning Nostromo had kept his eye from
afar on the Casa Viola, even in the thick of the
hottest scrimmage near the custom-house. "If I see
smoke rising over there," he thought to himself, "they
are lost." Directly the mob had broken he pressed
with a small band of Italian workmen in that direc-
tion, which, indeed, was the shortest line towards the
town. That part of the rabble he was pursuing seem-
ed to think of making a stand under the house; a vol-
ley fired by his followers from behind an aloe hedge
made the rascals fly. In a gap chopped out for the
rails of the harbor branch line Nostromo appeared,
mounted on his silver-gray mare. He shouted, sent
after them one shot from his revolver, and he had
galloped up to the cafe" window. He had an idea that
old Giorgio would choose that part of the house for a
refuge.

His voice had penetrated to them, sounding breath-
lessly hurried, "Hola! Vecchio! Oh, Vecchio! Is it
all well with you in there?"

"You see — " murmured old Viola to his wife.

Signora Teresa was silent now. Outside Nostromo
laughed.

" I can hear the padrona is not dead."

"You have done your best to kill me with fear,"
24

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

cried Signora Teresa. She wanted to say something
more, but her voice failed her.

Linda raised her eyes to her face for a moment, but
old Giorgio shouted apologetically:

"She is a little upset."

Outside Nostromo shouted back with another laugh:

"She cannot upset me."

Signora Teresa found her voice.

"It is what I say. You have no heart — and you
have no conscience, Gian* Battista — "

They heard him wheel his horse away from the shut-
ters. The party he led were babbling excitedly in
Italian and Spanish, inciting one another to the pur-
suit. He put himself at their head, crying, " Avanti!"

"He has not stopped very long with us. There is
no praise from strangers to be got here," Signora
Teresa said, tragically. "Avanti! Yes! That is all
he cares for. To be first somewhere — somehow — to
be first with these English. They will be showing him
to everybody. 'This is our Nostromo!"1 She laugh-
ed ominously. " What a name! What is that ? Nos-
tromo? He would take a name that is properly no
word from them."

Meantime, Giorgio, with tranquil movements, had
been unfastening the door; the flood of light fell on
Signora Teresa, with her two girls gathered to her
side, a picturesque woman in a pose of maternal ex-
altation. Behind her the wall was dazzlingly white,
and the crude colors of the Garibaldi lithograph glowed
in the sunshine.

Old Viola, at the door, moved his arm upward as if
referring all his quick, fleeting thoughts to the picture

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

of his old chief on the wall. Even when he was cook-
ing for the "Signori Inglesi" — the engineers (he was
a famous cook, though the kitchen was a dark place),
he was, as it were, under the eye of the great man
who had led him in a glorious struggle where, under
the walls of Gaeta, tyranny would have expired for
ever had it not been for that accursed Piedmontese
race of kings and ministers. When sometimes a fry-
ing-pan caught fire during a delicate operation with
some shredded onions, and the old man was seen back-
ing out of the doorway, swearing and coughing vio-
lently in an acrid cloud of smoke, the name of Cavour
— the arch intriguer, sold to kings and tyrants — could
be heard involved in imprecations against the China
girls, cooking in general, and the brute of a country
where he was reduced to live for the love of liberty
that traitor had strangled.

Then Signora Teresa, all in black, issuing from an-
other door, advanced, portly and anxious, inclining
her fine black-browed head, opening her arms and cry-
ing in a profound tone:

"Giorgio! thou passionate man! Misericordia Divi-
na! In the sun like this! He will make himself ill."

At her feet the hens made off in all directions, with
immense strides; if there were any engineers from up
the line staying in Sulaco, a young English face or
two would appear at the billiard-room occupying one
end of the house; but at the other end, in the cafe",
Luis, the mulatto, took good care not to show himself.
The Indian girls, with hair like flowing black manes,
and dressed only in a shift and short petticoat, stared
dully from under the square-cut fringes on their fore-

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

hearls; the noisy frizzling of fat had stopped, the
fumes floated upward in sunshine, a strong smell of
burned onions hung In the drowsy heat, enveloping the
house; and the eye lost itself in a vast flat expanse of
grass to the west, as if the plain between the Sierra
overtopping Sulaco and the coast range away there
towards Esmeralda had been as big as half the
world.

Signora Teresa, after an impressive pause, remon-
strated :

"Eh, Giorgio! Leave Cavour alone and take care
of yourself, now we are lost in this country all alone
with two children, because you cannot live under a
king."

And while she looked at him she would sometimes
put her hand hastily to her side with a short twitch of
her fine lips and a knitting of her black, straight eye-
brows like a flicker of angry pain or an angry thought
on her handsome, regular features.

It was pain; she suppressed the twinge. It had
come to IKT first a few years after they had left Italy
to emigrate to America and settle at last in Sulaco after
wandering from town to town, trying shopkeeping in
a small way here and there; and once an organized
-prise of fishing — in Maldonado — for Giorgio, like
the great Garibaldi, had been a sailor in his time*.

Sometimes she had no patience with pain. For
years its gnawing had been part of the landscape em-
bracing the glitter of the harbor under the wooded
spurs of the range; and the sunshine itself was heavy
and dull — heavy with pain — not like sunshine of her
girlhood, in which middle-aged Giorgio had woed her
a '7

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

gravely and passionately on the shores of the gulf of
Spezzia.

"You go in at once, Giorgio," she directed. "One
would think you do not wish to have any pity on me —
with four Signori Inglesi staying in the house."

"Va bene, va bene," Giorgio would mutter.

He obeyed. The Signori Inglesi would require their
mid-day meal presently. He had been one of the
immortal and invincible band of liberators who had
made the mercenaries of tyranny fly like chaff before
a hurricane, "un uragano terribile." But that was
before he was married and had children; and before
tyranny had reared its head again among the traitors
who had imprisoned Garibaldi, his hero.

There were three doors in the front of the house,
and each afternoon the Garibaldino could be seen at
one or another of them with his big bush of white hair,
his arms folded, his legs crossed, leaning back his leo-
nine head against the lintel, and looking up the wooded
slopes of the foot-hills at the snowy dome of Higuerota.
The front of his house threw off a black long rectangle
of shade, broadening slowly over the soft ox-cart
track. Through the gaps, chopped out in the oleander
hedges, the harbor branch railway, laid out tempo-
rarily on the level of the plain, curved away its shining
parallel ribbons in a belt of scorched and withered
grass within sixty yards of the end of the house. In
the evening the empty material trains of flat-cars
circled round the dark-green grove of Sulaco, and ran,
undulating slightly with white jets of steam, over
the plain towards the Casa Viola, on their way to the
railway-yards by the harbor. The Italian drivers

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

saluted him from the foot-plate with raised hand, while
the negro brakesmen sat carelessly on the brakes,
looking straight forward, with the rims of their big
hats flapping in the wind. In return Giorgio would
give a slight sideways jerk of the head, without un-
folding his arms.

On this memorable day of the riot his arms were
not folded on his chest. His hand grasped the barrel
of the gun grounded on the threshold ; he did not look
up once at the white dome of Higuerota, whose cool
purity seemed to hold itself aloof from a hot earth.
His eyes examined the plain curiously. Tall trails of
dust subsided here and there. In a speckless sky the
sun hung clear and blinding. Knots of men ran head-
long; others made a stand; and the irregular rattle of
fire-arms came rippling to his ears in the fiery, still air.
Single figures on foot raced desperately. Horsemen
galloped towards each other, wheeled round together,
separated at speed. Giorgio saw one fall, rider and
horse disappearing as if they had galloped into a
chasm, and the movements of the animated scene were
like the peripeties of a violent game played upon the
plain by dwarfs mounted and on foot, yelling with
tiny throats, under the mountain that seemed a co-
lossal embodiment of silence. Never before had Gior-
gio seen this bit of plain so full of active life; his gaze
could not take in all its details at once; he shaded his
eyes with his hand, till suddenly the thundering of
many hoofs near by startled him.

A troop of horses had broken out of the fenced pad-
dock of the railway company. They came on like a
whirlwind, and dashed over the line, snorting, kicking.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

squealing in a compact piebald tossing mob of bay,
brown, gray backs, eyes staring, necks extended, nos-
trils red, long tails streaming. As soon as they had
leaped upon the road the thick dust flew upward at
once from under their hoofs, and within six yards of
Giorgio only a brown cloud with vague forms of necks
and cruppers rolled by, making the soil tremble on its
passage.

Viola coughed, turning his face away from the dust
and shaking his head slightly.

"There will be some horse-catching to be done be-
fore to-night," he muttered.

In the square of sunlight falling through the door
Signora Teresa, kneeling before the chair, had bowed
her head, heavy with a twisted mass of ebony hair
streaked with silver, into the palm of her hands. The
black lace shawl she used to drape about her face had
dropped to the ground by her side. The two girls had
got up, hand-in-hand, in short skirts, their loose hair
falling in disorder. The younger had thrown her arm
across her eyes, as if afraid to face the light. Linda,
with her hand on the other's shoulder, stared fear-
lessly. Viola looked at his children.

The sun brought out the deep lines on his face,
and, energetic in expression, it had the immobility
of a carving. It was impossible to discover what
he thought. Bushy gray eyebrows shaded his dark
glance.

"Well! And do you not pray like your mother?"

Linda pouted, advancing her red lips, which were
almost too red; but she had admirable eyes, brown,
with a sparkle of gold in the irises, full of intelligence

Nostroino : A Tale of the Seaboard

and meaning, and so clear that they seemed to throw
a glow upon her thin, colorless face. There were
bronze glints in the sombre clusters of her hair, and
the eyelashes, long and coal black, made her com-
plexion appear still more pale.

" Mother is going to offer up a lot of candles in the
church. She always does when Nostromo has been
away fighting. I shall have some to carry up to the
chapel of the Madonna in the cathedral."

She said all this quickly, with great assurance, in
an animated, penetrating voice. Then, giving her
sister's shoulder a slight shake, she added:

"And she will be made to carry one, too!"

"Why made?" inquired Giorgio, gravely. "Does
she not want to?"

"She is timid," said Linda, with a little burst of
laughter. " People notice her fair hair as she goes
ailing with us. They call out after her, 'Look at the
Rubia! Look at the Rubiacita!' They call out in
the streets. She is timid."

"And you? You are not timid — eh?" the father
pronounced, slowly.

She tossed back all her dark hair.

" Nobody calls out after me."

Old Giorgio contemplated his children thoughtfully.
There was two years difference between them. They
had been born to him late, years after the boy had
died. Had he lived he would have been nearly as old
as £jian' Battista — he whom the English called No»-
trotno; but as to his daughters, the severity of his
teni|>rr, his advancing age, his absorption in his mem-
ories, had prevented his taking much notice of them.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

He loved his children, but girls belong to the mother
more, and much of his affection had been expended
in the worship and service of liberty.

When quite a youth he had deserted from a ship
trading to La Plata to enlist in the navy of Monte-
video, then under the command of Garibaldi. After-
wards, in the Italian legion of the republic, struggling
against the encroaching tyranny of Rosas, he had
taken part, on great plains, on the banks of immense
rivers, in the fiercest fighting perhaps the world had
ever known. He had lived among men who had de-
claimed about liberty, suffered for liberty, died for
liberty, with a desperate exaltation, and with their
eyes turned towards an oppressed Italy. His own
enthusiasm had been fed on scenes of carnage, on the
examples of lofty devotion, on the din of armed strug-
gle, on the inflamed language of proclamations. He
had never parted from the chief of his choice — the
fiery apostle of independence — keeping by his side in
America and in Italy till after the fatal day of Aspro-
monte, when the treachery of kings, emperors, and
ministers had been revealed to the world in the wound
and imprisonment of his hero — a catastrophe that had
instilled into him a gloomy doubt of ever being able
to understand the ways of Divine justice.

He did not deny it, however. It required patience,
he would say. Though he disliked priests, and would
not put his foot inside a church for anything, he be-
lieved in God. Were not the proclamations against
tyrants addressed to the peoples in the name of God
and liberty? "God for men — religions for women,"
he muttered sometimes. In Sicily, an Englishman

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

who had turned up in Palermo after its evacuation
by the army of the king, had given him a Bible in
Italian — the publication of the British and Foreign
Bible Society, bound in a dark leather cover. In
periods of political adversity, in the pauses of silence
when the revolutionists issued no proclamations, Gior-
gio earned his living with the first work that came to
hand — as sailor, as dock - laborer on the quays of
Genoa, once as a hand on a farm in the hills above
Spezzia — and in his spare time he studied the thick
volume. He carried it with him into battles. Now
it was his only reading, and in order not to be deprived
of it (the print was small) he had consented to accept
the present of a pair of silver-mounted spectacles from
Seflora Emilia Gould, the wife of the Englishman who
managed the silver-mine in the mountains three leagues
from the town. She was the only Englishwoman in
Sulaco.

Giorgio Viola had a great consideration for the Eng-
lish. This feeling, born on the battle-fields of Uru-
guay, was forty years old at the very least. Several
of them had poured their blood for the cause of free-
dom in America, and the first he had ever known he
remembered by the name of Samuel; he commanded
a negro company under Garibaldi, during the famous
siege of the Montevideo, and died heroically with his
negroes at the fording of the Boyana. He, Giorgio,
had reached the rank of ensign — alferez — and cooked
for the general. Later on, in Italy, he, with the rank
of lieutenant, rode with the staff and still cooked for
the general. He had cooked for him in Lombardy
through the whole campaign; on the march to Rome

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

he had lassoed his beef in the Campagna after the
American manner; he had been wounded in the de-
fence of the Roman Republic; he was one of the four
fugitives who, with the general, carried out of the
woods the inanimate body of the general's wife into
the farm-house where she died, exhausted by the hard-
ships of that terrible retreat. He had survived that
disastrous time to attend his general in Palermo when
the Neapolitan shells from the castle crashed upon the
town. He had cooked for him on the field of Volturno
after fighting all day. And everywhere he had seen
Englishmen in the front rank of the army of freedom.
He respected their nation because they loved Gari-
baldi. Their very countesses and princesses had kiss-
ed the general's hands in London, it was said. He
could well believe it; for the nation was noble, and the
man was a saint. It was enough to look once at his
face to see the divine force of faith in him and his
great pity for all that was poor, suffering, and op-
pressed in this world.

The spirit of self-forgetfulness, the simple devotion
to a vast humanitarian idea which inspired the thought
and stress of that revolutionary time, had left its
mark upon Giorgio in a sort of austere contempt for
all personal advantage. This man, whom the lowest
class in Sulaco suspected of having a buried hoard in
his kitchen, had all his life despised money. The
leaders of his youth had lived poor, had died poor.
It had been a habit of his mind to disregard to-mor-
row. It was engendered partly by an existence of
excitement, adventure, and wild warfare. But mostly
it was a matter of principle. It did not resemble the

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

carelessness of a condottiere, it was a puritanism of
conduct born of stern enthusiasm, like the puritanism
of religion.

This stern devotion to a cause had cast a gloom
upon Giorgio's old age. It cast a gloom because the
cause seemed lost. Too many kings and emperors
flourished yet in the world which God had meant for
the people. He was sad because of his simplicity.
Though always ready to help his countrymen, and
greatly respected by the Italian emigrants wherever
he lived (in his exile he called it), he could not conceal
from himself that they cared nothing for the wrongs
of down-trodden nations. They listened to his tales of
war readily, but seemed to ask themselves what he
had got out of it after all. There was nothing that
they could see. " We wanted nothing, we suffered
for the love of all humanity!" he cried out furiously
sometimes, and the powerful voice, the blazing eyes,
the shaking of the white mane, the brown, sinewy
hand pointing upward as if to call Heaven to witness,
impressed his hearers. After the old man had broken
off abruptly with a jerk of the head and a movement
of the arm, meaning clearly, " But what's the good of
talking to you?" they nudged each other. There was
in old Giorgio an energy of feeling, a personal quality
of conviction, something they called "terribilita."
"An old lion," they used to say of him. Some slight
incident, a chance word, would set him off talking on
the beach to the Italian fishermen of Maldonado, in
the little shop he kept afterwards (in Valparaiso), to
his countrymen customers; of an evening, suddenly,
in the cafe" at one end of the Casa Viola (the other was

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

reserved for the English engineers); to the select
clientele of engine-drivers and foremen of the railway
shops.

With their handsome, bronzed, lean faces, shiny
black ringlets, glistening eyes, broad-chested, bearded,
sometimes a tiny gold ring in the lobe of the ear, the
aristocracy of the railway - works listened to him,
turning away from their cards or dominos. Here and
there a fair-haired Basque studied his hand meantime,
waiting without protest. No native of Castaguana
intruded there. This was the Italian stronghold.
Even the Sulaco policemen on a night patrol let their
horses pace softly by, bending low in the saddle to
glance through the window at the heads in a fog of
smoke; and the drone of old Giorgio 's declamatory
narrative seemed to sink behind them into the plain.
Only now and then the assistant of the chief of police,
some broad-faced, brown little gentleman, with a great
deal of Indian in him, would put in an appearance.
Leaving his man outside with the horses, he advanced
with a confident, sly smile and without a word up
to the long trestle - table. He pointed to one of the
bottles on the shelf; Giorgio, thrusting his pipe into
his mouth abruptly, served him in person. Nothing
would be heard but the slight jingle of the spurs. His
glass emptied, he would take a leisurely, scrutinizing
look all round the room, go out, and ride away slow-
ly, circling towards the town.

IN this way only was the power of the local authori-
ties vindicated among the great body of strong-
limbed foreigners who dug the earth, blasted the rocks,
drove the engines for the "progressive and patriotic
undertaking." In these very words eighteen months
before the Excellentissimo Seflor don Vincente Ri-
biera, the dictator of Costaguana, had described the
National Central Railway in his great speech at the
turning of the first sod.

He had come on purpose to Sulaco, and there was
a one -o'clock dinner-party, a convite offered by the
O.S.N. Company on board the Juno after the function
on shore. Captain Mitchell had himself steered the
cargo lighter, all draped with flags, which, in tow of
the Juno's steam-launch, took the Excellentisimo from
the jetty to the ship. Everybody of note in Sulaco
had been invited — the one or two foreign merchants,
all the representatives of the old Spanish families then
in town, the great owners of estates on the plain,
grave, courteous, simple men, caballeros of pure de-
scent, with small hands and feet, conservative, hos-
pitable, and kind. The Occidental province was their
stronghold; their Blanco party had triumphed now;
it was their President-Dictator, a Blanco of the Blan-
cos, who sat smiling urbanely between the representa-
tives of two friendly foreign powers. They had come

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

with him from Sta. Marta to countenance by their
presence the enterprise in which the capital of their
countries was engaged.

The only lady of that company was Mrs. Gould, the
wife of Don Carlos, the administrator of the San Tome
silver-mine. The ladies of Sulaco were not advanced
enough to take part in public life to that extent.
They had come out strongly at the great ball at the
Intendencia the evening before, but Mrs. Gould alone
had appeared, a bright spot in the group of black coats
behind the President-Dictator, on the crimson cloth-
covered stage erected under a shady tree on the shore
of the harbor, where the ceremony of turning the first
sod had taken place. She had come off in the cargo
lighter, full of notabilities, sitting under the nutter of
gay flags, in the place of honor by the side of Captain
Mitchell, who steered, and her clear dress gave the
only truly festive note to the sombre gathering in the
long, gorgeous saloon of the Juno.

The head of the chairman of the railway board
(from London), handsome and pale in a silvery mist
of white hair and clipped beard, hovered near her
shoulder, attentive, smiling and fatigued. The jour-
ney from London to Sta. Marta in mail-boats and the
special carriages of the Sta. Marta coast-line (the only
railway existing so far) had been tolerable — even
pleasant — quite tolerable. But the trip over the
mountains to Sulaco was another sort of experience,
in an old diligencia over impassable roads skirting
awful precipices.

"We have been upset twice in one day on the brink
of very deep ravines," he was telling Mrs. Gould in an

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

undertone. "And when we arrived here at last I
don't know what we should have done without your
hospitality. What an out-of-the-way place Sulaco
is! — and for a harbor, too! Astonishing!"

" Ah, but we are very proud of it. It used to be his-
torically important. The highest ecclesiastical court
for two viceroy alties sat here in the olden time," she
instructed him with animation.

' I am impressed. I didn't mean to be disparaging.
You seem very patriotic."

"The place is lovable, if only by its situation. Per-
haps you don't know what an old resident I am."

" How old, I wonder," he murmured, looking at
her with a slight smile. Mrs. Gould's appearance
was made youthful by the mobile intelligence of her
face. "We can't give you your ecclesiastical court
back again; but you shall have more steamers, a rail-
way, a telegraph-cable — a future in the great world
whii-h is worth infinitely more than any amount of
ecclesiastical past. You shall be brought in touch
with something greater than two viceroyalties. But
I had no notion that a place on a sea-coast could re-
main so isolated from the world. If it had been a
thousand miles inland now — most remarkable! Has
anything ever happened here t<>r a hundred years l>c-

v—Whitertie talked in a slow, humorous tone, she kept
her little smile. Abounding ironically in his sense,
she assured him that certainly not — nothing ever
happened in Sulaco. Ry-cti ^he revnflyfrjpna, nf

.
there b,ad been two in her time, hft^ n»gfw**^ *h*^

"repose of the_j>]ace! Their course ran in the more

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

populous southern parts of the republic, and in the
great valley of Sta. Marta, which was like one great
battle-field of the parties, with the possession of the
capital for a prize and an outlet to another ocean.
They were more advanced over there. Here in Sulaco
they heard only the echoes of these great questions,
and, of course, their official world changed each time,
coming to them over their rampart of mountains
which he himself had traversed in an old diligencia,
with such a risk to life and limb.

The chairman of the railway had been enjoying her
hospitality for several days, and he was really grate-
ful for it. It was only since he had left Sta. Marta
,that he had utterly lost touch with the feeling of
lEuropean life in the background of his exotic sur-
roundings. In the capital he had been the guest of
the legation, and had been kept busy negotiating
with the members of Don Vincente's government —
cultured men, men to whom the conditions of civil-
ized business were not unknown.

What concerned him most at the time was the ac-
quisition of land for the railway. In the Sta. Marta
Valley, where there was already one line in existence,
the people were tractable, and it was only a matter
of price. A commission had been nominated to fix
the values, and the difficulty resolved itself into the
judicious influencing of the commissioners. But in
Sulaco — the Occidental province for whose very de-
velopmenr i the railway ^Qg~intended — there had been
trouble. It had been lying for ages ensconced be-
hind its natural barriers, repelling modern enterprise
by the precipices of its mountain range, by its shallop

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

harbor opening into the everlasting calms of a gulf
full of clouds, by the benighted state of mind of the
owners of its fertile territory — all these aristocratic old
Spanish farming all those Don Ambrosios this and
Don Fernandos that, who seemed actually to dislike
and distrust the coming of the railway over their
lands, ft had happened that some of the surveying
"patties scattered all over the province had been warn-
ed off with threats of violence. In other cases out-
rageous pretensions as to price had been raised. But
the man of railways prided himself on being equal to
every emergency. Since he was met by the inimical
sentiment of blind conservatism in Sulaco he would
meet it by sentiment, too, before taking his stand on
his right alone. The government was bound to carry
out its part of the contract with the board of the new
railway company, even if it had to use force for the
purpose. But he desired nothing less than an armed
disturbance in the smooth working of his plans. They
were much too vast and far-reaching and too prom-
ising to leave a stone unturned ; and so he imagined to
get the President-Dictator over there on a tour of
ceremonies and speeches, culminating in a great func-
tion at the turning of the first sod by the harbor shore.
After all he was their own creature — that Don Vin-
cente. He was the embodied triumph of the best
elements in the state. These were facts, and, unless
facts meant nothing, Sir John argued to himself, such
a man's influence must be real, and his personal action
would produce the conciliatory effect he required. He
had succeeded in arranging the trip with the help of
a very clever advocate, who was known in Sta. Mart a

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

as the agent of the Gould silver-mine, the biggest thing
in Sulaco, and even in the whole republic. It was
indeed a fabulously rich mine. Its so-called agent,
evidently a man of culture and ability, seemed, with-
out official position, to possess an extraordinary in-
fluence in the highest government spheres. He was
able to assure Sir John that the President-Dictator
would make the journey. He regretted, however, in
the course of the same conversation, that General
Montero insisted upon going too.

General Montero, whom the beginning of the strug-
gle had found an obscure army captain employed on
the wild eastern frontier of the state, had thrown in
his lot with the Ribiera party at a moment when
special circumstances had given that small adhesion a
fortuitous importance. The fortunes of war served
him marvellously, and the victory of Rio Seco (after
a day of desperate fighting) put a seal to his success.
At the end he emerged General, Minister of War, and
the military head of the Blanco party, although there
was nothing aristocratic in his descent. Indeed, it
was said that he and his brother, orphans, had been
brought up by the munificence of a famous European
traveller, in whose service their father had lost his
life. Another story was that their father had been
nothing but a charcoal-burner in the woods, and their
mother a baptized Indian woman from the far in-
terior.

However that might be, the Costaguana press was
in the habit of styling Montero's forest march from
his commandancia to join the Blanco forces at the
beginning of the troubles the "most heroic military

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

exploit of modern times." About the same time, too,
his brother had turned up from Europe, where he had
gone apparently as secretary to a consul. Having,
however, collected a small band of outlaws, he showed
some talent as guerilla chief, and had been rewarded
at the pacification by the post of military command-
ant of the capital.

The Minister of War, then, accompanied the dicta-
tor. The board of the O.S.N. Company, working hand-
in-hand with the railway people for the good of the
republic, had on this important occasion instructed
Captain Mitchell to put the mail-boat Juno at the
disposal of the distinguished party. Don Vincente,
journeying south from Sta. Marta, had embarked at
Cayta, the principal port of Costaguana, and came
to Sulaco by sea. But the chairman of the railway
company had courageously crossed the mountains in
a ramshackle diligencia, mainly for the purpose of
meeting his engineer-in-chief engaged in the final sur-
vey of the road.

For all the indifference of a man of affairs to nature,
whose hostility can be always overcome by the re-
sources of finance, he could not help being impressed
by his surroundings during his halt at the surveying-
camp established at the highest point his railway was
to reach. He spent the night there, arriving just too
late to see the last dying glow of sunlight upon the
snowy flank of Higuerota. Pillared masses of black
basalt framed like an open portal a portion of the
white field lying aslant against the west. In the trans-
parent air of the high altitudes everything seemed very
near, steeped in a clear stillness as in an imponderable
4 43

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

liquid ; and with his ear ready to catch the first sound
of the expected diligencia the engineer-in-chief, at the
door of a hut of rough stones, had contemplated the
changing hues on the enormous side of the mountain,
thinking that in this sight, as in a piece of inspired
music, there could be found together the utmost deli-
cacy of shaded expression and a stupendous magnifi-
cence of effect.

Sir John arrived too late to hear the magnificent
and inaudible strain sung by the sunset among the
high peaks of the Sierra. It had sung itself out into
the breathless pause of deep dusk before, climbing
down the fore-wheel of the diligencia with stiff limbs,
he shook hands with the engineer.

They gave him his dinner in a stone hut like a cubical
bowlder, with no door or windows in its two openings;
a bright fire of sticks (brought on mule-back from the
first valley below) burning outside, sent in a wavering
glare; and two candles in tin candlesticks — lighted, it
was explained to him, in his honor — stood on a sort
of rough camp-table at which he sat on the right hand
of the chief. He knew how to be amiable; and the
young men of the engineering staff, for whom the sur-
veying of the railway-track had the glamour of the first
steps on the path of life, sat there too, listening modest-
ly, with their smooth faces tanned by the weather, and
very pleased to witness so much affability in so great
a man.

Afterwards, late at night, pacing to and fro outside,
he had a long talk with his chief engineer. He knew
him well of old. This was not the first undertaking
jn which their gifts, as elementally different as fire and

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

water, had worked in conjunction. From the contact
of these two personalities, who had not the same vision
of the world, there was generated a power for the
world's service; a subtle force that could set in motion
mighty machines, men's muscles, and awaken also in
human breasts an unbounded devotion to the task.
Of the young fellows at the table, to whom the survey
of the track was like the tracing of the path of life,
more than one wo"l»| 1** rnll^H tr> m™>t r1*»ath i*>forf»
the ^ .-<>rk was done. Hut the work would be done:
the force would be almost as strong as a faith. Not
quite, however. In the silence of the sleeping camp
upon the moonlit plateau forming the top of the pass
like the floor of a vast arena surrounded by the basalt
walls of precipices, two strolling figures in thick ulsters
stood still, and the voice of the engineer pronounced
distinctly the words —

" We can't in- > vejnjojjfitaiflgj^' O—

Sir^folinTraisIng his head to follow the pointing gest-
ure, felt the full force of the words. The white Hi-
guerota soared out of the shadows of rock and earth
like a frozen bubble under the moon. All was still,
till near by, behind the wall of a corral for the camp
animals, built roughly of loose stones in the form of
a circle, a pack-mule stamped his forefoot and blew
heavily twice.

The engineer-in-chief had used the phrase in answer
to the chairman's tentative suggestion that the tracing
of the line could, perhaps, be altered in deference to the
prejudices of the Sulaco land-owners. The chief en-
gineer believed that the obstinacy of men was the
obstacle^. Moreover, to combat that they had
45

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

the great influence of Charles Gould, whereas tunnelling
under Higuerota would have been a colossal under-
taking.

"Ah, yes! Gould. What sort of a man is he ?"

Sir John had heard much of Charles Gould in Sta.
Marta, and wanted to know more. The engineer-in-
chief assured him that the administrator of the San
Tome" silver-mine had an immense influence over all
these Spanish Dons. He had also one of the best
houses in Sulaco, and the Goulds' hospitality was be-
yond all praise.

"They received me as if they had known me for
years," he said. "The little lady is kindness personi-
fied. I stayed with them for a month. He helped me
to organize the surveying parties. His practical
ownership of the San Tome silver-mine gives him a
special position. He seems to have the ear of every
provincial authority apparently, and, as I said, he can
wind all the hidalgos of the province round his little
finger. If you follow his advice the difficulties will
fall away, because he wants the railway. Of course,
you must be careful in what you say. He's English,
and, besides, he must be immensely wealthy. The
Holroyd house is in with him in that mine, so you may
imagine — "

He interrupted himself as, from before one of the
little fires burning outside the low wall of the corral,
arose the figure of a man wrapped in a poncho up to
the neck. The saddle which he had been using for a
pillow made a dark patch on the ground against the
red glow of embers.

"I shall see Holroyd himself on my way back
46

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

through the States," said Sir John. " I've ascertained
that he, too, wants the railway."

The man who, perhaps disturbed by the proximity
of the voices, had arisen from the ground, struck a
mutch to light a cigarette. The flame showed a
bronzed, black-whiskered face, a pair of eyes gazing
straight; then, rearranging his wrappings, he sank full
length and laid his head again on the saddle.

"That's our camp-master, whom I must send back
to Sulaco now we are going to carry our survey into
the Sta. Marta Valley," said the engineer. "A most
useful fellow, lent me by Captain Mitchell of the O.S.N.
Company. It was very good of Mitchell. Charles
Gould told me I couldn't do better than take advan-
tage of the offer. He seems to know how to rule all
these muleteers and peons. We had not the slightest
trouble with our people. He shall escort your dili-
gencia right into Sulaco with some of our railway peons.
The road is bad. To have him at hand may save you
an upset or two. He promised me to take care of
your person all the way down as if you were his father."

This camp-master was the Italian sailor whom all
the Europeans in Sulaco, following Captain Mitchell's
mispronunciation, were in the habit of calling Nps-
_£rpmo. And indeed, taciturn and ready, he did take
excellent care of his charge at the bad parts of the
road, as Sir John himself acknowledged to Mrs. Gould
afterwards.

A^ that time Nostromo had been already long
enough in the country to raise to the highest
pitch Captain Mitchell's opinion of the extraordinary
value of his discovery. Clearly he was one of those
invaluable subordinates whom to possess is a legiti-
mate cause of boasting. Captain Mitchell plumed
himself upon his eye for men — but he was not selfish
— and in the innocence of his pride was already de-
veloping that mania for "lending you my capataz de
cargadores" which was to bring Nostromo into per-
sonal contact, sooner or later, with every European in
Sulaco, as a sort of universal factotum — a prodigy of
efficiency in his own sphere of life.

"The fellow is devoted to me, body and soul!"
Captain Mitchell was given to affirm; and though no-
body, perhaps, could have explained why it should
be so, it was impossible on a survey of their relation
to throw doubt on that statement, unless, indeed, one
were a bitter, eccentric character like Dr. Monygham —
for instance — whose short, hopeless laugh expressed
somehow an immense mistrust of mankind. Not that
Dr. Monygham was a prodigal either of laughter or of
words. He was bitterly taciturn when at his best. At
his worst people feared the open scornfulness of his
tongue. Only Mrs. Gould could keep his unbelief in
men's motives within due bounds; but even to her (on

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

an occasion not connected with Nostromo, and in a
tone which for him was gentle), even to her, he had
said once, " Really, it is most unreasonable to demand
that a man should think of other people so much bet-
ter than he is able to think of himself."

And Mrs. Gould had hastened to drop the subject.
There were strange rumors of the English doctor. Years
ago, in the time of Guzman Bento, he had been mixed
up, it was whispered, in a conspiracy which was be-
trayed, and, as people expressed it, drowned in blood.
His hair had turned gray, his hairless, seamed face
was of a brick-dust color; the large check pattern of
his flannel shirt and his old stained Panama hat were
an established defiance to the conventionalities of
Sulaco. Had it not been for the immaculate cleanli-
ness of his apparel he might have been taken for one
of those shiftless Europeans that are a moral eyesore
to the respectability of a foreign colony in almost every
exotic part in the world. The young ladies of Sulaco,
adorning with clusters of pretty faces the balconies
along the Street of the Constitution, when they saw
him pass, with his limping gait and bowed head, a
short linen jacket drawn on carelessly over the flannel
check shirt, would remark to each other, " Here is the
sefior doctor going to call on Dona Emilia. He has
got his little coat on." The inference was true. Its
deeper meaning was hidden from their simple intelli-
gence. Moreover, they expended no store of thought
on the doctor. He was old, ugly, learned — and a little
"loco" — mad, if not a bit of a sorcerer, as the com-
mon people suspected him of being. The little white
jacket was in reality a concession to Mrs. Gould's hu-

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

manizing influence. The doctor, with his habit of •
sceptical, bitter speech, had no other means of show-
ing his profound respect for the character of the wom-
an who was known in the country as the English
senora. He presented this tribute very seriously in-
deed; it was no trifle for a man of his habits. Mrs.
Gould felt that, too, perfectly. She would never have
thought of imposing upon him this marked show of
deference.

She kept her old Spanish house (one of the finest
specimens in Sulaco) open for the dispensation of the
small graces of existence. She dispensed them with
simplicity and charm because she was guided by an
alert perception of values. She was highly gifted in
the art of human intercourse, which consists in deli-
cate shades of self-forgetfulness and in the sugges-
tion of universal comprehension. Charles Gould (the
Gould family, established in Costaguana for three
generations, always went to England for their educa-
tion and for their wives) imagined that he had fallen
in love with a girl's sound common -sense like any
other man, but these were not exactly the reasons
why, for instance, the whole surveying camp, from
the youngest of the young men to their mature chief,
should have found occasion to allude to Mrs. Gould's
house so frequently among the high peaks of the Sierra.
She would have protested that she had done nothing
for them, with a low laugh and a surprised widening
of her gray eyes, had anybody told her how convinc-
ingly she was remembered on the edge of the snow-
line above Sulaco. But directly, with a little capable
air of setting her wits to work, she would have found

i I Nostroino : A Tale of the Seaboard

an explanation. "Of course, it was such a surprise
for these boys to find any sort of welcome here. And
I suppose they are home-sick. I suppose everybody
must be always just a little home-sick."

She was always sorry for home-sick people.

Born in the country, as his father before him, spare
and tall, with a flaming mustache, a neat chin, clear
blue eyes, auburn hair, and a thin, fresh, red face,
Charles Gould looked like a new arrival from over the
sea. His grandfather had fought in the cause of in-
dependence under Bolivar, in that famous English
legion which on the battle-field of Carabobo had been
saluted by the great Liberator as saviors of his coun-
try. One of Charles Gould's uncles had been the
elected President of that very province of Sulaco (then
called a state) in the days of Federation, and after-
wards had been put up against the wall of a church
and shot by the order of the barbarous Unionist gen-
eral, Guzman Bento. It was the same Guzman Bento
who, becoming later on Perpetual President, famed for
his ruthless and cruel tyranny, reached his apotheosis
in the popular legend of a sanguinary land-haunting
spectre whose body had been carried off by the devil
in person from the brick mausoleum in the nave of
the Church of Assumption in Sta. Marta. Thus, at
least, the priests explained its disappearance to the
barefooted multitude that streamed in, awe-struck, to
gaze at the hole in the side of the ugly box of bricks
before the great altar.

Guzman Bento, of cruel memory, had put to death
great numbers of prople besides Charles Gould's uncle;
but with a relative martyred in the cause of aristocracy.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

the Sulaco oligarchs (this was the phraseology of
Guzman Bento's time; now they were called Blancos,
and had given up the federal idea), which meant the
families of pure Spanish descent, considered Charles
as one of themselves. With such a family record, no
one could be more of a Costaguanero than Don Carlos
Gould; but his aspect was so characteristic that in
the talk of common people he was just the Inglez — the
Englishman of Sulaco. He looked more English than
a casual tourist, a sort of heretic pilgrim, however,
quite unknown in Sulaco. He looked more English
than the last-arrived batch of young railway-engineers,
than anybody out of the hunting-field pictures in the
numbers of Punch reaching his wife's drawing-room
two months or so after date. It astonished you to
hear him talk Spanish (Castilian, as the natives say)
or the Indian dialect of the country - people so natu-
rally. His accent had never been English; but there
was something so indelible in all these ancestral Goulds
— liberators, explorers, coffee-planters, merchants, rev-
olutionists— of Costaguana, that he, the only repre-
sentative of the third generation in a continent pos-
sessing its own style of horsemanship, went on looking
thoroughly English even on horseback. This is not
said of him in the mocking spirit of the Llaneros —
men of the great plains — who think that no one in th&
world knows how to sit a horse but themselves. Don
Ca'rlos Gould, to use the suitably lofty phrase, rode
like a centaur. Riding for him was not a special form
of exercise ; it was a natural faculty, as walking straight
is to all men sound of mind and limb; but, all the same,
when cantering beside the rutty ox-cart track to the

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

mine he looked in his English clothes and with his
imported saddlery as though he had come this moment
to Costaguana at his easy swift pasotrote, straight out
of some green meadow at the other side of the world.

His way would lie along the old Spanish road — the
Camino Real of popular speech — the only remaining
vestige of a fact and name left by that royalty old
Giorgio Viola hated, and whose very shadow had de-
parted from the land; for the big equestrian statue of
Charles IV. at the entrance to the Alameda, towering
white against the trees, was only known to the folk
from the country and to the beggars of the town that
slept on the steps around the pedestal as the Horse of
Stone. The other Carlos, turning off to the left with
a rapid clatter of hoofs on the disjointed pavement —
Don Carlos Gould in his English clothes, looked ^s in-
congruous, but much more at home, than the kingly
cavalier reining in his steed on the pedestal above the
sleeping leperos, with his marble arm raised towards
the heavy rim of a plumed hat.

The weather-stained effigy of the mounted king, with
its vague suggestion of a saluting gesture, seemed to
present an inscrutable breast to the political changes
which had robbed it of its very name; but neither did
the other horseman, well known to the people, keen
and alive on his well-shaped, slate-colored beast with
a white eye, wear his heart on the sleeve of his Eng-
lish coat. His mind preserved its steady poise as if
sheltered in the passionless stability of private and
public decencies at home in Europe. He accepted
with a like calm the shocking manner in which the
Sulaco ladies smothered their faces with pearl-powder

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

till they looked like white plaster casts with beautiful
living eyes, the peculiar gossip of the town, and the
continuous political changes, the constant saving of
the country, which to his wife seemed a puerile and
blood-thirsty game of murder and rapine played with
terrible earnestness by depraved children. In the
early days of her Costaguana life, the little lady used
to clinch her hands with exasperation at not being
able to take the public affairs of the country as se-
riously as the incidental atrocity of methods deserved.
She saw in them a comedy of naive pretences, but
hardly anything genuine except her own appalled in-
dignation. Charles, very quiet and twisting his long
mustaches, would decline to discuss them at all.
Once, however, he observed to her very gently:

" My dear, you seem to forget that I was born here."
These few words made her pause as if they had been
a sudden revelation. Perhaps the mere fact of being
born in the country did make a difference. She had
a great confidence in her husband ; it had always been
very great. He had struck her imagination from the
first by his unsentimentalism, by that very quietude
of mind which she had erected in her thought for a sign
of perfect competency in the business of living. Don
Jose" Avellanos, their neighbor across the street, a
statesman, a poet, a man of culture, who had repre-
sented his country at several European courts (and
had suffered untold indignities as a state prisoner in
the time of the tyrant Guzman Bento), used to de-
clare in Dona Emilia's drawing-room that Carlos had
all the English qualities of character with a truly pa-
triotic heart.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Mrs. Gould, raising her eyes to her husband's thin,

ind-tan face, could not detect the slightest quiver
of a feature at what he must have heard said of his
patriotism. Perhaps he had just dismounted on his
return from the mine; he was English enough to dis-

•d the hottest hours of the day. Basilio, in a
livery of white linen and a red sash, had squatted for
a moment behind his heels to unstrap the heavy, blunt
spurs in the patio; and then the Seflor Administrador
would go up the staircase into the gallery. Rows of
plants in pots, ranged on the balustrade between the
pilasters of the arches, screened the corrcdor with their
leaves and flowers from the quadrangle below, whose
paved space is the true hearth-stone of a South Ameri-
can house, where the quiet hours of domestic life are
marked by the shifting of light and shadow on the

stones.

nor Avellanos was in the habit of crossing the
patio at five o'clock almost every day. Don Jose"
chose to come over at tea-time because the English rite
at Dofla Emilia's house reminded him of the time
when he lived in London as Minister Plenipotentiary
to the Court of St. James. He did not like tea; and,
usually, rocking his American chair, his neat little shiny
boots crossed on the foot-rest, he would talk on and on
with a sort of complacent virtuosity wonderful in a
man of his age, while he held the cup in his hands for a
long time. His close-cropped head was perfectly white ;

•yes coal-black.
On seeing Charles Gould step into the sala he would

provisionally and go on to the end of the oratorial
period. Only then he would say:

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"Carlos, my friend, you have ridden from San Tome*
in the heat of the day. Always the true English ac-
tivity. No? What?"

He drank up all the tea at once in one draught.
This performance was invariably followed by a slight
shudder and a low, involuntary "br-r-r-r," which was
not covered by the hasty exclamation, "Excellent!"

Then giving up the empty cup into his young friend's
hand, extended with a smile, he continued to expatiate
upon the patriotic nature of the San Tome" mine for
the simple pleasure of talking fluently, it seemed, while
his reclining body jerked backward and forward in
a rocking-chair of the sort exported from the United
States. The ceiling of the largest drawing-room of
the Casa Gould extended its white level far above his
head. The loftiness dwarfed the mixture of heavy,
straight-backed Spanish chairs of brown wood with
leathern seats, and European furniture, low, and cush-
ioned all over, like squat little monsters gorged to
bursting with steel springs and horse-hair. There
were knick-knacks on little tables, mirrors let into the
wall above marble consoles, square spaces of carpet
under the two groups of arm-chairs, each presided over
by a deep sofa; smaller rugs scattered all over the
floor of red tiles; three windows from ceiling down to
the ground, opening on a balcony, and flanked by the
perpendicular folds of the dark hangings. The state-
liness of ancient days lingered beween the four high,
smooth walls, tinted a delicate primrose - color ; and
Mrs. Gould, with her little head and shining coils of
hair, sitting in a cloud of muslin and lace before a
slender mahogany table, resembled a fairy posed light-

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

ly before dainty philters dispensed out of vessels of
silver and porcelain.

Mrs. Gould knew the history of the San Tome" mine.
Worked in the early days mostly by means of lashes on
the backs of slaves, its yield had been paid for in its
own weight of human bones. Whole tribes of Indians
had jiorislu-il in tin- (.ixi'l«>itati<>n ; and then the ii:mr
was abandoned, since with this primitive method it
had ceased to make a profitable return no matter how
many corpses were thrown into its maw. Then it
became forgotten. It was rediscovered after the war
of independence. An English company obtained the
right to work it, and found so rich a vein that neither
the exactions of successive governments nor the
periodical raids of recruiting officers upon the popula-
tion of paid miners they had created could discourage
their perseverance. But in the end, during the long
turmoil of pronunciamentos that followed the death of
the famous Guzman Ben to, the native jniners, incited
to revolt by the emissaries sent out from itie capital,
had risen upon their English chiefs andjnurdered them
to a man. The decree Of Confiscation which appc
immediately afterwards in the Diario Official, pub-
lished in Sta. Marta, began with the words: "Justly
incensed at thegrinding oppression

ruEte<i by sordjdjjgotives^of gain rathjr_than hy

untry^wnere they come impoverished to seek
their fortunes, the mining population pf__San Tome",
etc. ..." and ended with the declaration: "The chief of
the state has resolved to exercise to the full his power of
clemency. The mine, which by^very

human, and divine, reverts now to the government ai

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

national property, shall remain closed till the sword
drawn for the sacred defence of liberal principles has
accomplished its mission of securing the happiness of
our beloved country."

And for many years this was the last of the San
Tome* mine. What advantage that government had
expected from the spoliation it is impossible to tell
now. Costaguana was made with difficulty to pay a
beggarly money compensation to the families of the
victims, and then the matter dropped out of diplo-
matic despatches. But afterwards another govern-
ment bethought itself of that valuable asset. It was an
ordinary Costaguana government — the fourth in six
years — but it judged of its opportunities sanely. It
remembered the San Tome" mine with a secret con-
viction of its worthlessness in their own hands, but
with an ingenious insight into the various uses a silver-
mine can be put to, apart from the sordid process of
extracting the metal from under the ground. The
father of Charles Gould, for a long time one of the
most wealthy merchants of Costaguana, had already
lost a considerable part of his fortune in forced loans
to the successive governments. He was a man of
calm judgment, who never dreamed of pressing his
claims; and when, suddenly, the perpetual concession
of the San Tome* mine was offered to him in full settle-
ment, his alarm became extreme. He was versed in
the ways of governments. Indeed, the intention of
this affair, though no doubt deeply meditated in the
closet, lay open on the surface of the document pre-
sented urgently for his signature. The third and most
important clause stipulated that the concession-holder

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

should pay at once to the government five years'
ties on the estimated output of the mine.

Mr. Gould, senior, defended himself from this fatal
favor with many arguments and entreaties, but with-
out success. He knew nothing of mining; he had no
means to put his concession on the European market;
the mine as a working concern did not exist. The
buildings had been burned down, the mining plant
had been destroyed, the mining population had disap-
peared from the neighborhood years and years ago;
the very road had vanished under a flood of tropical
vegetation as effectually as if swallowed by the sea;
and the main gallery had fallen in within a hundred
yards from the entrance. It was no longer an aban-
doned mine; it was a wild, inaccessible and rocky
gorge of the Sierra, where vestiges of charred timber,
some heaps of smashed bricks, and a few shapeless
pieces of rusty iron could have been found under the
matted mass of thorny creepers covering the ground.
Mr. Gould, senior, did not desire the perpetual pos-
session of that desolate locality; in fact, the mere
vision of it arising before his mind in the still watches
of the night had the power to exasperate him into
hours of hot and agitated insomnia.

It so happened, however, that the Finance Minister
of the time was a man to whom, in years gone by,
Mr. Gould had, unfortunately, declined to grant some
small pecuniary assistance, basing his refusal on the
ground that the applicant was a notorious gambler and
cheat, besides being more than half suspected of a
robbery with violence on a wealthy ranchero in a re-
mote country district, where he was actually exercis-
i 59

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ing the function of a judge. Now, after reaching his
exalted position, that politician had proclaimed his
intention to repay evil with good to Senor Gould — the
poor man. He affirmed and reaffirmed this resolution
in the drawing-rooms of Sta. Marta, in a soft and im-
placable voice, and with such malicious glances that
Mr. Gould's best friends advised him earnestly to at-
tempt no bribery to get the matter dropped. It would
have been useless. Indeed, it would not have been a
very safe proceeding. Such was also the opinion of a
stout, loud-voiced lady of French extraction, the
daughter, she said, of an officer of high rank (officier
sup£rieur de I'arm^e), who was accommodated with
lodgings within the walls of a secularized convent next
door to the Ministry of Finance. That florid person,
when approached on behalf of Mr. Gould in a proper
manner and with a suitable present, shook her head
despondently. She was good-natured, and her de-
spondency was genuine. She imagined she could not
take money in consideration of something she could
not accomplish. The friend of Mr. Gould charged
with the delicate mission used to say afterwards that
she was the only honest person closely or remotely
connected with the government he had ever met.
"No go," she had said, with a cavalier, husky intona-
tion which was natural to her, and using turns of ex-
pression more suitable to a child of parents unknown
than to the orphaned daughter of a general officer.
"No; it's no go. Pas moyen, mon garfon. C'est
dommage, tout de m8me. Ah! zut! Je ne vole pas
mon monde. Je ne suis pas ministre — moi ! Vous
pouvez emporter votre petit sac."

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

For a moment, biting her carmine lip, she deplored
inwanlly the tyranny of the rigid principles governing
the sale of her influence in high places. Then, signifi-
cantly, and with a touch of impatience, "Allcz," she
added, "et dites bicn d votre bonhomme — cntcndez-vousf
— qu'il faut avaler la pilule."

After such a warning there was nothing for it but to
sign and pay. Mr. Gould had swallowed the pill, and
it was as though it had been compounded of some
subtle poison that acted directly on his brain. He
became at once mine-ridden, and as he was well read
in light literature it took to his mind the form of the
Old Man of the Sea fastened upon his shoulders. He
also began to dream of vampires. Mr. Gould .exag-
gerated to himself the disadvantages of his new posi-
tion, because he viewed it emotionally. His position
in Costaguana was no worse than before. But man
is a desperately conservative creature, and the ex-
travagant novelty of this outrage upon his purse dis-
1 his sensibilities. Everybody around him was
being robbed by the grotesque and murderous bands
that played their game of governments and revolutions
after the death of Guzman Bento. His experience
had taught him that, however short the plunder might
fall of their legitimate expectations, no gang in pos-
session of the Presidential palace would be so incom-
petent as to suffer itself to be baffled by the warn of
a pretext. The first casual colonel of the barefooted
army of scarecrows that came along was able to ex-
pose with force and precision to any mere civilian his
titles to a sum of ten thousand dollars; the while his
hope would be immutably fixed upon a gratuity, at

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

any rate, of no less than a thousand. Mr. Gould
knew that very well, and, armed with resignation, had
waited for better times. But to be robbed under the
forms of legality and business was intolerable to his
imagination. Mr. Gould, the father, had one fault in
his sagacious and honorable character — he attached
too much importance to form. It is a failing common
! to mankind, whose views are tinged by prejudices.
There was for him in that affair a malignancy of per-
verted justice which, by means of a moral shock, at-
tacked his vigorous physique. "It will end by killing
me," he used to affirm many times a day. And, in
fact, since that time he began to suffer from fever,
from liver pains, and mostly from a worrying inability
to think of anything else. The Finance Minister could
have formed no conception of the profound subtlety
of his revenge. Even Mr. Gould's letters to his four-
teen-year-old boy Charles, then away in England for
his education, came at last to talk of practically noth-
ing but the mine. He groaned over the injustice, the
persecution, the outrage of that mine; he occupied
whole pages in the exposition of the fatal consequences
attaching to the possession of that mine from every
point of view, with every dismal inference, with words
of horror at the apparently eternal character of that
curse. For the Concession had been granted to him
and his descendants forever. He implored his son
never to return to Costaguana, never to claim any
part of his inheritance there, because it was tainted
by the infamous Concession; never to touch it, never
to approach it, to forget that America existed, and
pursue a mercantile career in Europe. And each letter

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ended with Litter sflf-repro;idies lor having sta\ ri too
long in t rn of thieves, intriguers, &nd brigand

To be told repeatedly that one's future is blighted
because of the possession of a silver-mine is not, at the
age of fourteen, a matter of prime importance as to
its main statement; but in its form it is calculated to
excite a certain amount of wonder and attention. In
course of time the boy, at first only puzzled by the
angry jeremiads, but rather sorry for his dad, began
to turn the matter over in his mind in such moments
as he could spare from play and study. In about a
year he had evolved from the lecture of the letters a
definite conviction that there was a silver-mine in the
Sulaco province of the republic of Costaguana, where
poor Uncle Harry had been shot by soldiers a great
many years before. There was also connected closely
with that mine a thing called the "iniquitous Gould
Concession," apparently written on a paper which his
father desired ardently to "tear and fling into the
faces" of presidents, members of judicature, and min-
isters of state. And this desire persisted, though the
names of these people, i;(- notion!, seldom remained
the same for a whole year together. This desire (since
the thing was iniquitous) seemed quite natural to the
boy, though why the affair was iniquitous he did not
know. Afterwards, with advancing wisdom, he man-
aged to clear the plain truth of the business from the
fantastic intraskms of the Old Man of the Sea, vam-
pires, and ghoul^, which had lent to his father's cor-
respondefice the/flavor of a grewsome Arabian Night's
tale. In th§x^nd, the growing youth attained to as
close an intimacy with the San Tome" mine as the old

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

man who wrote these plaintive and enraged letters on
the other side of the sea. He had been made several
times already to pay heavy fines for neglecting to
work the mine, he reported, besides other sums ex-
tracted from him on account of future royalties, on
the ground that a man with such a valuable concession
in his pocket could not refuse his financial assistance
to the government of the republic. The last of his
fortune was passing away from him against worthless
receipts, he wrote, in a rage, while he was being pointed
out as an individual who had known how to secure enor-
mous advantages from the necessities of his country.
And the young man in Europe grew more and more
interested in that thing which could provoke such a
tumult of words and passion.

He thought of it every day ; but he thought of it
without bitterness. It might have been an unfortu-
nate affair for his poor dad, and the whole story threw
a queer light upon the social and political life of Cos-
taguana. The view he took of it was sympathetic to
his father, yet calm and reflective. His personal feel-
ings had not been outraged, and it is difficult to resent
with proper and durable indignation the physical or
mental anguish of another organism, even if that
other organism is one's own father. By the time he
was twenty Charles Gould had, in his turn, fallen under
the(spell\of the San Tome" mine. But it was another
form of"enchantment, more suitable to his youth, into
whose magic formula there entered hope, vigor, and
self-confidence, instead of weary indignation and de-
spair. Left after he was twenty to his own guidance
(except for the severe injunction not to return to

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Costaguana), he had pursued his studies in Belgium
and France with the idea of qualifying for a mining
engineer. But this scientific aspect of his labors re-
mained vague and imperfect in his mind. Mines had
acquired for him a dramatic interest. He studied their
peculiarities from a personal point of view, too, as one
would study the varied characters of men He visited
them as one goes with curiosity to call upon remark-
able persons. He visited mines in Germany, in Spain,
in Cornwall. Abandoned. .workings had for him strong
fascination. Their desolation appealed to him hj^
the sight of human^ misery, whose causes are varied
and profound" TM ey might have been worthless, but
also they might have been misunderstood. His future
wife was the first and perhaps the only person to de-
tect this secret mood which governed the profoundly
sensible, almost voiceless attitude of this man towards
the world of material things. And at once her delight
in him, lingering with half-open wings like those birds
that cannot rise easily from a flat level, found a pin-
nacle from which to soar up into the skies.

They had become acquainted in Italy, where the
future Mrs. Gould was staying with an old and pale
aunt who, years before, had married a middle-aged,
impoverished Italian marquis. She now mourned
that man, who had known how to give up his life to
the independence and unity of his country, who had
known how to be as enthusiastic in his generosity as
the youngest of those who fell for that very cause of
which old Giorgio Viola was a drifting relic, as a broken
spar is suffered to float away disregarded after a naval
victory. The Marchesa led a still, whispering exist-

•*£

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ence, nunlike in her black robes and a white band
over the forehead, in a corner of the first floor of an
ancient and ruinous palace, whose big, empty halls
down-stairs sheltered under their painted ceilings the
harvests, the fowls, and even the cattle, together with
the whole family of the tenant farmer.

The two young people had met in Lucca. After that
meeting Charles Gould visited no mines, though they
went together in a carriage, once, to see some marble
quarries, where the work resembled mining in so far
that it also was the tearing of the raw material of
treasure from the earth. Charles Gould did not open
his heart to her in any set speeches. IJe_simp_ly_went
on acting and thinking in her sight. This is the true
method of sincerity. One of his frequent remarks was,
" I think sometimes that poor father takes a wrong
view of that San Tome business." And they discussed
that opinion long and earnestly, as if they could in-
fluence a mind across half the globe ; but in reality they
discussed because the sentiment of love can enter into
any subject and live ardently in remote phrases. For
this natural reason these discussions were precious to
Mrs. Gould in her engaged state. Charles feared that
Mr. Gould, senior, was wasting his strength and mak-
ing himself ill by his efforts to get rid of the Concession.
"I fancy that this is not the kind of handling it re-
quires," he mused aloud, as if to himself. And when
she wondered frankly that a man of character should
devote his energies to plotting and intrigues, Charles
would remark, with a gentle concern that understood
her wonder, "You must not forget that he was born
there."

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

She would set her quick mind to work upon that,
and then make the inconsequent retort, which he ac-
cepted as perfectly sagacious, because, in fact, it was so:

"Well, and you? You were born there, too."

He knew his answer.

"That's different. I've been away ten years. Dad
never had such a long spell ; and it was more than thirty
years ago."

She was the first person to whom he opened his lips
after receiving the news of his father's death.

"It has killed him," he said.

He had walked straight out of town with the news,
straight out before him in the noonday sun on the
white road, and his feet had brought him face to face
with her in the hall of the ruined palazzo, a room
magnificent and naked, with here and there a long
strip of damask, black with damp and age, drooping
straight down on a bare panel of the wall. It was fur-
nished with exactly one gilt arm-chair with a broken
back, and an octagon columnar stand bearing a heavy
marble vase ornamented with sculptured masks and
garlands of flowers, and cracked from top to bottom.
Charles Gould was dusty with the white dust of the
road lying on his boots, on his shoulders, on his cap
with two peaks. Water dripped from under it all over
his face, and he grasped a thick oaken cudgel in his
bare right hand.

She went very pale under the roses of her big straw
hat, gloved, swinging a clear sunshade, caught just as
she was going out to meet him at the bottom of the
hill, where three poplars stand near the wall of a vine-
yard.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"It has killed him!" he repeated. "He ought to
have had many years yet. We are a long-lived fam-
fly."

She was too startled to say anything; he was con-
templating with a penetrating and motionless stare
the cracked marble urn as though he had resolved to
fix its shape forever in his memory. It was only
when, turning suddenly to her, he blurted out twice,
"I've come to you — I've come straight to you —
without being able to finish his phrase, that the great
pitifulness of that lonely and tormented death in Cos-
taguana came to her with the full force of its misery.
He caught hold of her hand, raised it to his lips, and
at that she dropped her parasol to pat him on the
cheek, murmured "Poor boy," and began to dry her
eyes under the downward curve of her hat-brim, very
small in her simple, white frock, almost like a lost
child crying in the degraded grandeur of the noble
hall, while he stood by her, again perfectly motionless
in the contemplation of the marble urn.

Afterwards they went out for a long walk, which was
silent till he exclaimed, suddenly:

"Yes. But if he had only grappled with it in a
proper way!"

And then they stopped. Everywhere there were
long shadows lying on the hills, on the roads, on the
enclosed fields of olive-trees; the shadows of poplars,
of wide chestnuts, of farm-buildings, of stone walls;
and in mid-air the sound of a bell, thin and alert, was
like the throbbing pulse of the sunset glow. Her
lips were slightly parted as though in surprise he
should not be looking at her with his usual expression.

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

usual expression was unconditionally approving
and attentive. He was in his talks with her the most
anxious and deferential of dictators, an attitude that
pleased her immensely. It affirmed her power with-
out detracting from his dignity. That slight girl, with
her little feet, little hands, little face attractively over-
weighted by great coils of hair; with a rather large
mouth, whose mere parting seemed to breathe upon
you the fragrance of frankness and generosity, had
the fastidious soul of an experienced woman. She
was, before all things and all flatteries, careful of her
pride in the object of her choice. But now he was
actually not looking at her at all; and his expression
was tense and irrational, as is natural in a man who
elects to stare at nothing past a young girl's head.

" Well, yes. It was iniquitous. They corrupted him
thoroughly, the poor old boy. Oh! why wouldn't he
let me go back to him? But now I shall know how
to grapple with this."

After pronouncing these words with immense as-
surance, he glanced down at her, and at once fell a prey
to distress, incertitude, and fear.

The only thing he wanted to know now, he said,
was whether she did love him enough — whether she
would have the courage to go with him so far away?
He put these questions to her in a voice that trembled
with anxiety — for he was a determined man.

She did. She would. And immediately the future
hostess of all the Europeans in Sulaco had the physical
experience of the earth falling away from under her.
It vanished completely, even to the very sound of the
bell. When her feet touched the ground again, the

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

bell was still ringing in the valley; she put her hands
up to her hair, breathing quickly, and glanced up and
down the stony lane. It was reassuringly empty.
Meantime, Charles, stepping with one foot into a dry
and dusty ditch, picked up the open parasol, which had
bounded away from them with a martial sound of
drum-taps. He handed it to her soberly, a little crest-
fallen.

They turned back, and after she had slipped her
hand on his arm, the first words he pronounced were:

" It's lucky that we shall be able to settle in a coast
town. You've heard its name. It is Sulaco. I am
so glad poor father did get that house. He bought a
big house there years ago, in order that there should
alwa)^s be a Casa Gould in the principal town of what
used to be called the Occidental province. I lived
there once, as a small boy, with my dear mother, for a
whole year, while poor father was away in the United
States on business. You shall be the new mistress of
the Casa Gould."

And later on, in the inhabited corner of the palazzo
above the vineyards, the marble hills, the pines and
olives of Lucca, he also said:

"The name of Gould has been always highly re-
spected in Sulaco. My uncle Harry was chief of the
state for some time, and has left a great name among
the first families. By this I mean the pure Creole
families, who take no part in the miserable farce of
governments. Uncle Harry was no adventurer. In
Costaguana we Goulds are no adventurers. He was
of the country, and he loved it, but he remained es-
sentially an Englishman in his ideas. He made use

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

of the political cry of his time. It was Federation.
But he was no politician. He simply stood up for
social order out of pure love for rational liberty and
from his hate of oppression. There was no nonsense
about him. He went to work in his own way because
it seemed right, just as I feel I must lay hold of that
mine."

In such words he talked to her because his memory
was very full of the country of his childhood, his
heart of his life with that girl, and his mind of the San
Tomd Concession. He added that he would have to
leave her for a few days to find an American, a man
from San Francisco, who was still somewhere in Eu-
rope. A few months before he had made his acquaint-
ance in an old historic German town, situated in a
mining district. The American had his womankind
with him, but seemed lonely while they were sketch-
ing all day longthe old doorways and the turreted
corners of the mediaeval houses. Charles Gould had
with him the inseparable companionship of the mine.
The other man was interested in mining enterprises,
knew something of Costaguana, and was no stranger
to the name of Gould. They had talked together with
some intimacy which was made possible by the differ-
ence of their ages. Charles wanted now to find that
capitalist of shrewd mind and accessible character.
His father's fortune in Costaguana, which he had sup-
posed to be still considerable, seemed to have melted
in the rascally crucible of revolutions. Apart from
some ten thousand pounds deposited in England, there
appeared to be nothing left except the house in Sulaco,
a vague right of forest exploitation in a remote and

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

savage district, and the San Tom6 Concession, which
had attended his poor father to the very brink of the
grave.

He explained those things. It was late when they
parted. She had never before given him such a fas-
cinating vision of herself. All the eagerness of youth
for a strange life, for great distances, for a future in
which there were an air of adventure, of combat — a
subtle thought of redress and conquest, had filled her
with an intense excitement, which she returned to the
giver with a more open and exquisite display of ten-
derness.

He left her to walk down the hill, and directly he
found himself alone he became sober. That irrepa-
rable change a death makes in the course of our daily
thoughts can be felt in a vague and poignant discom-
fort of mind. It hurt Charles Gould to feel that never
more, by no effort of will, would he be able to think
of his father in the same way he used to think of him
when the poor man was alive. His breathing image
was no longer in his power. This consideration, close-
ly affecting his own identity, filled his breast with a
mournful and angry desire for action. In this his
instinct was unerring. Action is consolatory. It is
the enemy of thought and the friend of flattering illu-
sions. Only in the conduct of our action can we find
the sense of mastery over the Fates. For his action,
the mine was obviously the only field. It was im-
perative sometimes to know how to disobey the sol-
emn wishes of the dead. He resolved firmly to make
his disobedience as thorough (by way of atonement)
as it well could be. The mine had been the cause of

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

an absurd moral disaster; its working must be made
a serious and moral success. He owed it to the dead
man's memory. Such were the — properly speaking —
emotions of Charles Gould. His thoughts ran upon the
means of raising a large amount of capital in San
Francisco or elsewhere; and incidentally there oc-
curred to him also the general reflection that the
counsel of the departed must be ever an unsound
guide. Not one of them could be aware beforehand
what enormous changes the death of any given in-
dividual may produce in the very aspect of the world.

The latest phase in the history of the mine Mrs.
Gould knew from personal experience. It was in
essence the history of her married life. The mantle
of the Gould's hereditary position in Sulaco had de-
scended amply upon her little person; but she would
not allow the peculiarities of the strange garment to
weigh down the vivacity of her character, which was
the sign of no mere mechanical sprightliness, but of
an eager intelligence. It must not be supposed that
Mrs. Gould's mind was masculine. A woman with a
masculine mind is not a being of superior efficiency;
she is simply a phenomenon of imperfect differentia-
tion— interestingly barren and without importance.
Dofla Emilia's intelligence being feminine led her to
achieve the conquest of Sulaco, simply by lighting the
way for her unselfishness and sympathy. She could
converse charmingly, but she was not talkative. The
wisdom of the heart having no concern with the erec-
tion or demolition of theories any more than with the
defence of prejudices, has no random words at its

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

command. The words it pronounces have the value
of acts of integrity, tolerance, and compassion. A
woman's true tenderness, like the true virility of man,
is expressed in action of a conquering kind. The
ladies of Sulaco adored Mrs. Gould. "They still look
upon me as something of a monster," Mrs. Gould had
said pleasantly to one of the three gentlemen from
San Francisco she had to entertain in her new Sulaco
house just about a year after her marriage.

They were her first visitors from abroad, and they
had come to look at the San Tomd mine. She jested
most agreeably, they thought; and Charles Gould, be-
sides knowing thoroughly what he was about, had
shown himself a real hustler. These facts caused them
to be well disposed towards his wife. An unmistakable
enthusiasm, pointed by a slight flavor of irony, made
her talk of the mine absolutely fascinating to her
visitors, and provoked them to grave and indulgent
smiles in which there was a good deal of deference.
Perhaps had they known how much she was inspired
by an idealistic view of success they would have been
amazed at the state of her mind as the Spanish-Ameri-
can ladies had been amazed at the tireless activity of
her body. She would — in her own words — have been
for them "something of a monster." However, the
Goulds were in essentials a reticent couple, and their
guests departed without the suspicion of any other pur-
pose but simple profit in the working of a silver-mine.
Mrs. Gould had out her own carriage, with two white
mules, to drive them down to the harbor, whence the
Ceres was to carry them off into the Olympus of pluto-
crats. Captain Mitchell had snatched at the occasion

stromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

of leave-taking to remark to Mrs. Gould, in a low, con-
fidential mutter, "This marks an epoch."

Mrs. Gould loved the patio of her Spanish house.
A broad flight of stone steps was overlooked silently
from a niche in the wall by a Madonna in blue robes
with the crowned child sitting on her arm. Subdued

os ascended in the early mornings from the paved
well of the quadrangle, with the stamping of horses
and mules led out in pairs to drink at the cistern. A
tangle of slender bamboo stems drooped its narrow,
bladelike leaves over the square pool of water, and the
fat coachman sat muffled up on the edge, holding
lazily the ends of halters in his hand. Barefooted ser-
vants passed to and fro, issuing from dark, low door-
ways below, two laundry girls with baskets of washed
linen, the baker with the tray of bread made for the
day, Leonarda — her own camerista — bearing high up,
swung from her hand raised above her raven black

1 a bunch of starched underskirts dazzlingly white
in the slant of sunshine. Then the old porter would
hobble in, sweeping the flag-stones, and the house was

:y for the day. All the lofty rooms on the three
sides of the quadrangle opened into each other and
into the corridor, with its wrought-iron railings and a
border of flowers, whence, like the lady of the mediaeval

!e, she could witness from above all the departures
and arrivals of the casa, to which the sonorous arched
gateway lent an air of stately importance.

She had watched her carriage roll away with the
three guests from the north. She smiled. Their three
arms went up simultaneously to their three hats. Cap-
tain Mitchell, the fourth, in attendance, had already

6 75

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

begun a pompous discourse. Then she lingered. She
lingered, approaching her face to the clusters of flow-
ers here and there as if to give time to her thoughts to
catch up with her slow footsteps along the straight
vista of the corridor.

A fringed Indian hammock from Aroa, gay with
colored feather-work, had been swung judiciously in a
corner that caught the early sun; for the mornings are
cool in Sulaco. The clusters of flor de noche bucna
blazed in great masses before the open glass doors of
the reception-rooms. A big green parrot, brilliant like
an emerald in a cage that flashed like gold, screamed
out ferociously, "Viva Costaguana!" then called twice
mellifluously, "Leonarda! Leonarda!" in imitation of
Mrs. Gould's voice, and suddenly took refuge in im-
mobility and silence. Mrs. Gould reached the end of
the gallery and put her head through the door of her
husband's room.

Charles Gould, with one foot on a low wooden stool,
was already strapping his spurs. He wanted to hurry
back to the mine. Mrs. Gould, without coming in,
glanced about the room. One tall, broad bookcase,
with glass doors, was full of books; but in the other,
without shelves, and lined with red baize, were ar-
ranged fire-arms: Winchester carbines, revolvers, a
couple of shot-guns, and even two pairs of double-
barrelled holster pistols. Between them, by itself,
upon a strip of scarlet velvet, hung an old cavalry
sabre, once the property of Don Enrique Gould, the
hero of the Occidental province, presented by Don
Jos£ Avellanos, the hereditary friend of the family.

Otherwise, the plastered white walls were completely
76

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

bare, except for a water-color sketch of the San Tome*
mountain — the work of Dofla Emilia herself. In the
middle of the red -tiled floor stood two long tables
littered with plans and papers, a few chairs, and a
glass show-case containing specimens of ore from the
mine. Mrs. Gould, looking at all these things in turn,
wondered aloud why the talk of these wealthy and
enterprising men discussing the prospects, the working,
and the safety of the mine rendered her so impatient
and uneasy, whereas she could talk of the mine by the
hour with her husband with unwearied interest and
satisfaction.

And dropping her eyelids expressively, she added:
"What do you feel about it, Charley?"
Then, surprised at her husband's silence, she raised
her eyes, opened wide, as pretty as pale flowers. He
had done with the spurs, and, twisting his mustache
with both hands, horizontally, he contemplated her
from the height of his long legs with a visible appre-
ciation of her outward appearance. The consciousness
of being thus contemplated pleased Mrs. Gould.
"They are considerable men," he said.
" I know. But have you listened to their conversa-
tion? They don't seem to have understood anything
they have seen here."

"They have seen the mine. They have understood
that to some purpose," Charles Gould interjected, in
defence of the visitors; and then his wife mentioned
the name of the most considerable of the three. He
was considerable in finance and in industry. His
name was familiar to many millions of people. He
was so considerable that he would never have travelled

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

so far away from the centre of his activity if the doc-
tors had not insisted, with veiled menaces, on his
taking a long holiday.

"Mr. Holroyd's sense of religion," Mrs. Gould pur-
sued, "was shocked and disgusted at the tawdriness
of the dressed-up saints in the cathedral — the worship,
he called it, of wood and tinsel. But it seemed to me
that he looked upon his own God as a sort of influential
partner, who gets his share of profits in the endow-
ment of churches. That's a sort of idolatry. He told
me he endowed churches every year, Charley."

"No end of them," said Mr. Gould, marvelling in-
wardly at the mobility of her physiognomy. "All over
the country. He's famous for that sort of munifi-
cence."

"Oh, he didn't boast," Mrs. Gould declared scrupu-
lously. "I believe he's really a good man, but so
stupid ! A poor Chulo who offers a little silver arm or
leg to thank his God for a cure is as rational and more
touching."

" He's at the head of immense silver and iron inter-
ests," Charles Gould observed.

"Ah, yes! The religion of silver and iron. He's a
very civil man, though he looked awfully solemn when
he first saw the Madonna on the staircase, who's only
wood and paint; but he said nothing to me. My dear
Charley, I heard those men talk among themselves.
Can it be that they really wish to become, for an im-
mense consideration, drawers of water and hewers of
wood to all the countries and nations of the earth?"

"A man must work to some end," Charles Gould
said, vaguely.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Mr 1, frowning, surveyed him from head to

foot. With his ri. ling-breeches, leather leggings (an
article of apparel never before seen in Costa^nana), a
Norfolk coat of gray flannel, and those great flaming
mustai-hes. lie suggested an officer of cavalry turned
gentleman farmer. This combination was gratifying
to Mrs. Gould's tastes. "How thin the poor boy is!"
she thought. "He overworks himself." But there
was no denying that his fine-drawn, keen, red face,
and his whole, long-limbed, lank person had an air of
breeding and distinction. And Mrs. Gould relented.

"I only wondered what you felt," she murmured,
gently.

During the last few days, as it happened, Charles
Gould had been kept too busy thinking twice before
he spoke to have paid much attention to the state of
his feelings. But theirs was a successful match, and
he had no difficulty in finding his answer.

"The best of my feelings are in your keeping, my
dear," he said, lightly; and there was so much truth
in that obscure phrase that he experienced towards
her at the moment a great increase of gratitude and
tenderness.

Mrs. Gould, however, did not seem to find this an-
swer in the least obscure. She brightened up deli-
cately; already he had changed his tone.

" But there are facts. The worth of the mine — as a
mine — is beyond doubt. It shall make us very wealthy.
The mere working of it is a matter of technical knowl-
edge, which I have — which ten thousand other men
in the world have. But its safety, its continued exist-
ence as an enterprise, giving a return to men — to

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

strangers, comparative strangers — who invest money
in it, is left altogether in my hands. I have inspired
confidence in a man of wealth and position. You
seem to think this perfectly natural — do you? Well,
I don't know. I don't know why I have; but it is a
fact. This fact makes everything possible, because
without it I would never have thought of disregarding
my father's wishes. I would never have disposed of
the Concession as a speculator disposes of a valuable
right to a company — for cash and shares, to grow rich
eventually if possible, but at any rate to put some
money at once in his pocket. No. Even if it had
been feasible — which I doubt — I would not have done
so. Poor father did not understand. He was afraid
I would hang on to the ruinous thing, waiting for just
some such chance, and waste my life miserably. That
was the true sense of his prohibition, which we have
deliberately set aside."

They were walking up and down the corridor. Her
head just reached to his shoulder. His arm, extended
downwards, was about her waist. His spurs jingled
slightly.

"He had not seen me for ten years. He did not
know me. He parted from me for my sake, and he
would never let me come back. He was always
talking in his letters of leaving Costaguana, of
abandoning everything and making his escape. But
he was too valuable a prey. They would have
thrown him into one of their prisons at the first sus-
picion."

- His spurred feet clinked slowly. He was bending
over his wife as they walked. The big parrot, turning

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

askew, followed their pacing figures with a
round, unblinking eye.

" He was a lonely man. Ever since I was ten years
oKl he used to talk to me as if I had been grown up.
When I was in Europe he wrote to me every month.
Ten, twelve pages every month of my life for ten
rs. And, after all, he did not know me! Just
think of it — ten whole years away; the years I was
growing up into a man! He could not know me. Do
you think he could?"

Mrs. Gould shook her head negatively; which was
just what her husband had expected from the strength
of the argument. But she shook her head negatively
only because she thought that no one could know her
Charles — really know him for what he was, but her-
self. The thing was obvious. It could be felt. It
required no argument. And poor Mr. Gould, senior,
who had died too soon to ever hear of their engage-
ment, remained too shadowy a figure for her to be cred-
ited with knowledge of any sort whatever.

" No, he did not understand. In my view this mine
could never have been a thing to sell. Never! After
all his misery I simply could not have touched it for
money alone," Charles Gould pursued ; and she pressed
her head to his shoulder approvingly.

These two young people remembered the life which
•d ended wretchedly just when their own lives had
come together in that splendor of hopeful love, which
to the most sensible minds appears like a triumph of
good over all the evils of the earth. A vague idea of
rehabilitation had entered the plan of their life. That
it was so vague as to elude the support of argument

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

made it only the stronger. It had presented itself to
them at the instant when the woman's instinct of devo-
tion and the man's instinct of activity receive from the
strongest of illusions their most powerful impulse.
The very prohibition imposed the necessity of success.
It was as if they had been morally bound to make good
their vigorous view of life against the unnatural error
of weariness and despair. If the idea of wealth was
present to them it was only so far as it was bound
with that other success. Mrs. Gould, an orphan from
early childhood and without fortune, brought up in
an atmosphere of intellectual interests, had never con-
sidered the aspects of great wealth. They were too
remote, and she had not learned that they were de-
sirable. On the other hand, she had not known any-
thing of absolute want. Even the very poverty of her
aunt, the Marchesa, had nothing intolerable to a re-
fined mind; it seemed in accord with a great grief; it
had the austerity of a sacrifice offered to a noble ideal.
Thus even the most legitimate touch of materialism
was wanting in Mrs. Gould's character. The dead man
of whom she thought with tenderness (because he was
Charley's father) and with some impatience (because he
had been weak), must be put completely in the wrong.
Nothing else would do to keep their prosperity with-
out a stain on its only real, on its immaterial side!

Charles Gould, on his part, had been obliged to keep
the idea of wealth well to the fore; but he brought it
forward as a means, not as an end. Unless the mine
was good business it could not be touched. He had
to insist on that aspect of the enterprise. It was his
lever to move men who had capital. And Charles

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Gould believed in the mine. He knew everything that
could be known of it. His faith in the mine was con-
tagious, though it was not served by a great eloquence;
but business men are frequently as sanguine and im-
aginative as lovers. They are affected by a personal-
auch oftener than people would suppose; and
Charles Gould, in his unshaken assurance, was abso-
lutely convincing. Besides, it was a matter of com-
mon knowledge to the men to whom he addressed
himself that mining in Costaguana was a game that
could be made considerably more than worth the can-
dle. The men of affairs knew that very well. The
real difficulty in touching it was elsewhere. Against
that there was an implication of calm and implacable
resolution in Charles Gould's very voice. Men of
affairs venture sometimes on acts that the common
judgment of the world would pronounce absurd ; they
take their decisions on apparently impulsive and hu-
man grounds. "Very well," had sai.l the considerable
personage to whom Charles Gould on his way out
through San Francisco had lucidly exposed his point
of view. "Let us suppose that the mining affairs of
Sulaco are taken in hand. There would then be in it:
first, the house of Holroyd, which is all right; then,
Mr. Charles Gould, a citizen of Costaguana, who is
also all right; and, lastly, the government of the re-
public. So far this resembles the first start of the
Atacama nitrate fields, where there were a financing
house, a gentleman of the name of Edwards, and— »a
government; or, rather, two governments — two South
American governments. And you know what came <
of it. War came of it; devastating and prolonged war

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

came of it, Mr. Gould. However, here we possess the
advantage of having only one South American gov-
ernment hanging around for plunder out of the deal.
It is an advantage; but then there are degrees of bad-
ness, and that government is the Costaguana govern-
ment."

Thus spoke the considerable personage, the million-
aire endower of churches on a scale befitting the great-
ness of his native land — the same to whom the doctors
used the language of horrid and veiled menaces. He
was a big-limbed, deliberate man, whose quiet burli-
ness lent to an ample silk-faced frock-coat a superfine
dignity. His hair was iron gray, his eyebrows were
still black, and his massive profile was the profile of a
Caesar's head on an old Roman coin. But his parent-
age was German and Scotch and English, with remote
strains of Danish and French blood, giving him the
temperament of a Puritan and an insatiable imagina-
tion of conquest. He was completely unbending to
his visitor, because of the warm introduction the vis-
itor had brought from Europe, and because of an ir-
rational liking for earnestness and determination
wherever met, to whatever end directed.

"The Costaguana government shall play its hand
for all it's worth — and don't you forget it, Mr. Gould.
Now, what is Costaguana ? It is the bottomless pit of
ten per cent, loans and other fool investments. Euro-
pean capital had been flung into it with both hands
or years. Not ours, though. We in this country
enow just about enough to keep in-doors when it rains.
We can sit and watch. Of course, some day we shall
tepin. We are bound to. But there's no hurry. Time

No. nomo: A Tale of the Seaboard

itself has got to wait on the greatest country in the
whole of God's universe. We shall be giving the word
for everything — industry, trade, law, journalism, art,
politics, and religion, from Cape Horn clear over to
Smith's Sound, and beyond, too, if anything worth
taking hold of turns up at the North Pole. And then
we shall have the leisure to take in hand the outlying
islands and continents of the earth. We shall run
the world's business whether thcworld liTcesit or not.
^Tlu^worTTrrrin t. holt) it^iml ^^Tn.cr I'M we^l KUC^

By this he meant to express his faith in destiny in
words suitable to his intelligence, which was unskilled
in the presentation of general ideas. His.intellig*
was nqurishejL-jon— facts ; and Charles Gould, whos
imagination had been permanently affected by the
one great fact of a silver-mine, had no objection
this theory of the world's future. If it had seemed'
distasteful for a moment it was because the sudden
statement of such vast eventualities dwarfed almost
to nothingness the actual matter in hand. He and
his plans and all the mineral wealth of the Occidental^
province appeared suddenly robbed of every vestige
of magnitude. The sensation was disagreeable; but
Charles Gould was not dull. Already he felt that he
was producing a favorable impression ; the conscious-
ness of that flattering fact helped him to a vague
smile, which his big interlocutor took for a smile of
discreet and admiring assent. He smiled quietly, too;
and immediately Charles Gould, with that mental
agility mankind will display in defence of a cherished
hope, reflected that the very apparent insignificance
of his aim would help him to success. His personality

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

and his mine would be taken up because it was a mat-
ter of no great consequence, one way or another, to a
man who referred his action to such a prodigious des-
tiny. And Charles Gould was not humiliated by this
consideration, because the thing remained as big as
ever for him. Nobody else's vast conceptions of des-
tiny could diminish the aspect of his desire for the
redemption of the San Tome mine. In comparison to
the correctness of his aim, definite in space and abso-
lutely attainable within a limited time, the other man
appeared for an instant as a dreamy idealist of no
importance.

The great man, massive and benignant, had been
looking at him thoughtfully ; when he broke the short
silence it was to remark that concessions flew about
thick in the air of Costaguana. Any simple soul that
just yearned to be taken in could bring down a con-
cession at the first shot.

"Our consuls get their mouths stopped with them,"
he continued, with a twinkle of genial scorn in his
eyes. But in a moment he became grave. "A con-
scientious, upright man, that cares nothing for boodle,
and keeps clear of their intrigues, conspiracies, and
factions, soon gets his passports. See that, Mr.
Gould ? Persona non grata. That's the reason our
government is never properly informed. On the oth-
er hand, Europe must be kept out of this continent,
and for proper interference on our part the time is not
yet ripe, I dare say. But we here — we are not this
country's government, neither are we simple souls.
Your affair is all right. The main question for us is
whether the second partner, and that's you, is the

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

right sort to hold his own against the third and un-
welcome partner, whii-h is one or another of the high
and mighty robber gangs that run the Costaguana
government. What do you think, Mr. Gould, eh?"

He bent forward to look steadily into the unflinching
eyes of Charles Gould, who, remembering the large
box full of his father's letters, put the accumulated
scorn and bitterness of many years into the tone of his
answer:

"As far as the knowledge of these men and their
methods and their politics is concerned, I can answer
for myself. I have been fed up on that sort of knowl-
edge since I was a boy. I am not likely to fall into
mistakes from excess of optimism."

" Not likely, eh ? That's all right. Tact and a stiff
upper lip is what you'll want; and you could bluff a
little on the strength of your backing. Not too much,
though. We will go with you as long as the thing
runs straight; but we won't be drawn into any large
trouble. This is the experiment which I am willing
to make. There is some risk, and we will take it; but
if you can't keep up your end, we will stand our loss,
of course, and then — we'll let the thing go. This
mine can wait; it has been shut up before, as you
know. You must understand that under no circum-
stances will we consent to throw good money after
bad."

Thus the great personage had spoken then, in his
own private office, in a great city where other men
(very considerable in the eyes of a vain populace)
waited with alacrity upon a wave of his hand. And
rather more than a year later, during his unexpected

8? \

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

appearance in Sulaco, he had emphasized his uncom-
promising attitude with a freedom of sincerity per-
mitted to his wealth and influence. He did this with
the less reserve, perhaps, because the inspection of
what had been done, and more still the way in which
successive steps had been taken, had impressed him
with the conviction that Charles Gould was perfectly
capable of keeping up his end.

"This young fellow," he thought to himself, "may
yet become a power in the land."

This thought flattered him, for hitherto the only
account of this young man he couid give to his inti-
mates was:

"My brother-in-law met him in one of these one-
horse old German towns, near some mines, and sent
him on to me with a letter. He's one of the Costa-
guana Goulds, pure-bred Englishmen, but all born in
the country. His uncle went into politics, was the
last provincial President of Sulaco, and got shot after
a battle. His father was a prominent business-man
in Sta. Marta, tried to keep clear of their politics, and
died ruined after a lot of revolutions. And that's
your Costaguana in a nutshell."

Of course, he was too great a man to be questioned
as to his motives, even by his intimates. The outside
world was at liberty to wonder respectfully at the
hidden meaning of his actions. He was so great a
man that his lavish patronage of the "purer forms
of Christianity" (which in its naive form of church
building amused Mrs. Gould) was looked upon by his
fellow-citizens as the manifestation of a pious and
Vumble spirit. But in his own circles of the financial

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

world the taking up of such a thing as the San Tom£
mine was regarded with respect, indeed, but rather as
a subject for discreet jocularity. It was a great man's

ice. In the great Holroyd building (an enormous
pile of iron, glass, and blocks of stone at the corner of
two streets, cobwebbed aloft by the radiation of tele-
graph wires) the heads of principal departments ex-
changed humorous glances, which meant that they
were not let into the secrets of the San Tom£ business.
The Costaguana mail (it was never large — one fairly
heavy envelope) was taken unopened straight into the
great man's room, and no instructions dealing with it
had ever been issued thence. The office whispered
that he answered personally — and not by dictation
either, but actually writing in his own hand, with pen
and ink, and, it was to be supposed, taking a copy in
his own private press copy-book, inaccessible to profane
eyes. Some scornful young men, insignificant pieces of
minor machinery in that eleven-story-high workshop
of great affairs, expressed frankly their private opin-
ion that the great chief had done at last something
silly, and was ashamed of his folly; others, elderly and

nificant, but full of romantic reverence for the
business that had devoured their best years, used to
mutter darkly and knowingly that this was a por-
tentous sign; that the Holroyd connection meant by-
and-by to get hold of the whole republic of Costa-
guana, lock, stock, and barrel. But, in fact, the
hobby theory was the right one. It interested the
great man to attend personally to the San Tomd mine;
it interested him so much that he allowed this hobby
to give a direction to the first complete holiday he

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

had taken for quite a startling number of years. He
was not running a great enterprise there ; no mere rail-
way board or industrial corporation. He was running
a man ! A success would have pleased him very much
on refreshingly novel grounds; but, on the other side
of the same feeling, it was incumbent upon him to
cast it off utterly at the first sign of failure. A man
may be thrown off. The papers had unfortunately
trumpeted all over the land his journey to Costaguana.
If he was pleased at the way Charles Gould was going
on, he infused an added grimness into his assurances
of support. Even at the very last interview, half an
hour or so before he rolled out of the patio, hat in
hand, behind Mrs. Gould's white mules, he had said
in Charles's room:

"You go ahead in your own way, and I shall know
how to help you as long as you hold your own. But
you may rest assured that in a given case we shall
know how to drop you in time."

To this Charles Gould's only answer had been : "You
may begin sending out the machinery as soon as you
like."

And the great man had liked this imperturbable
assurance. The secret of it was that to Charles Gould's
mind these uncompromising terms were agreeable.
Like this the mine preserved its identity, with which
he had endowed it as a boy; and it remained depend-
ent on himself alone. It was a serious affair, and he,
too, took it grimly.

"Of course," he said to his wife, alluding to this
last conversation with the departed guest, while they
walked slowly up and down the corridor, followed by

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

the irritated eye of the parrot — "of course, a man of
that sort can take up a thing or drop it when he likes
He will suffer from no sense of defeat. He may have
to give in, or he may have to die to-morrow, but the
great silver and iron interests shall survive, and some
day shall get hold of Costaguana along with the rest
of the world."

They had stopped near the cage. The parrot,
catching the sound of a word belonging to his vocabu-
lary, was moved to interfere. Parrots are very hu-
man.

"Viva Costaguana!" he shrieked, with intense self-
assertion, and, instantly ruffling up his feathers, as-
sumed an air of puffed - up somnolence behind the
glittering wires.

"And do you believe that, Charley?" Mrs. Gould
asked. "This seems to me most awful materialism,
and—"

"My dear, it's nothing to me," interrupted her hus-
band, in a reasonable tone. "I make use of what I
see. What's it to me whether his talk is the voice of
destiny or simply a bit of clap-trap eloquence ? There's
a good deal of eloquence of one sort or another pro-
duced in both Americas. The air of the New World
seems favorable to the art of declamation. Have you
forgotten how dear Avellanos can hold forth for hours
here?"

"Oh, but that's different," protested Mrs. Gould, al-
most shocked. The allusion was not to the point. Don
Jose" was a dear good man, who talked very well, and
was enthusiastic about the greatness of the San Tome*
mine. "How can you compare them, Charles?" she
7 91

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

exclaimed reproachfully. "He has suffered — and yet
he hopes."

The working competence of men — which she never
questioned — was very surprising to Mrs. Gould, be-
cause upon so many obvious issues they showed them-
selves strangely muddle-headed.

Charles Gould, with a careworn calmness which se-
cured for him at once his wife's anxious sympathy, as-
sured her that he was not comparing. He was an
American himself, after all, and perhaps he could un-
derstand both kinds of eloquence — "if it were worth
while to try," he added grimly. But he had breathed
the air of England longer than any of his people had
done for three generations, and really he begged to be
excused. His poor father could be eloquent, too.
And he asked his wife whether she remembered a pas-
sage in one of his father's last letters where Mr. Gould
had expressed the conviction that "God looked wrath-
fully at these countries, or else He would let some ray
of hope fall through a rift in the appalling darkness of
intrigue, bloodshed, and crime that hung over the
Queen of Continents."

Mrs. Gould had not forgotten. "You read it to me,
Charley," she murmured. "It was a striking pro-
nouncement. How deeply your father must have felt
its terrible sadness!"

" He did not like to be robbed. It exasperated him,"
said Charles Gould. "But the image will serve well
enough. What is wanted here is law, good faith, order,
security. Any one can declaim about these things,
but I pin my faith to material interests. Only let the
material interests once get a firm footing, and they are

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

bound to impose the conditions on which alone they
ran continue to exist. That's how your money-mak-
ing is justified here in the face of lawlessness and dis-
order. It is justified because the security whirh it
tk'iuands must be shared with an oppressed people.
.T^hettcr justice will come afterwards^ That's your
ray of hope." His arm pressed her slight form closer
to his side for a moment. "And who knows whether
in that sense even the San Tome" mine may not become
that little rift in the darkness which poor father de-
spaired of ever seeing?"

She glanced up at him with admiration. He was
competent; he had given a vast shape to the vague-
ness of her unselfish ambitions.

"Charley, "she said, "you are splendidly disobedient."

He left her suddenly in the corridor to go and get his
hat, a soft, gray sombrero, an article of national cos-
tume which combined unexpectedly well with his
English get-up. He came back, a riding-whip under
his arm, buttoning up a dog-skin glove; his face re-
flected the resolute nature of his thoughts. His wife
had waited for him at the head of the stairs, and be-
fore he gave her the parting kiss he finished the con-
versation :

"What should be perfectly clear to us," he said, "is
the fact that there is no going back. Where could
we begin life afresh ? We are in now for all that there
is in us."

He bent over her upturned face very tenderly and
a little remorsefully. Charles Gould was competent
because he had no illusions. The Gould Concession
had to fight for life with such weapons as could b«

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

found at once in the mire of a corruption that was so
universal as to almost lose its significance. He was
prepared to stoop for his weapons. For a moment
he felt as if the silver-mine, which had killed his father,
had decoyed him farther than he meant to go; and
with the roundabout logic of emotions, he felt that
the worthiness of his life was bound up with success.
There was no going back.

VII

MRS. GOULD was too intelligently sympathetic
not to share that feeling. It made life exciting,
and she was too much of a woman not to like excite-
ment. But it frightened her, too, a little; and when
Don Jose" Avellanos, rocking in the American chair,
would go so far as to say, "Even, my dear Carlos, if
you had failed ; even if some untoward event were yet
to destroy your work — which God forbid ! — you would
have deserved well of your country," Mrs. Gould
would look up from the tea-table profoundly at her
unmoved husband stirring the spoon in the cup as
though he had not heard a word.

Not that Don Jose* anticipated anything of the sort.
He could not praise enough dear Carlos's tact and
courage. His English, rocklike quality of character
was his best safeguard, Don Jose" affirmed; and, turn-
ing to Mrs. Gould, "As to you, Emilia, my soul" — he
would address her with the familiarity of his age and
old friendship — "you are as true a patriot as though
you had been born in our midst."

This might have been less or more than the truth.
Mrs. Gould, accompanying her husband all over the
province in the search for labor, had seen the land
with a deeper glance than a true-born Costaguanera
could have done. In her travel -worn riding-hal.it.
her face powdered white like a plaster - cast, with a

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

further protection of a small silk mask during the heat
of the day, she rode on a well-shaped, light-footed
pony in the centre of a little cavalcade. Two mozos
de campo, picturesque in great hats, with spurred bare
heels, in white embroidered calzoneras, leather jackets
and striped ponchos, rode ahead with carbines across
their shoulders, swaying in unison to the pace of the
horses. A tropilla of pack-mules brought up the rear,
in charge of a thin brown muleteer, sitting his long-
eared beast very near the tail, legs thrust far forward,
the wide brim of his hat set far back, making a sort of
halo for his head. An old Costaguana officer, a re-
tired senior major of humble origin, but patronized by
the first families on account of his Blanco opinions,
had been recommended by Don Jose" for commissary
and organizer of that expedition. The points of his
gray mustache hung far below his chin, and, riding
on Mrs. Gould's left hand, he looked about with kind-
ly eyes, pointing out the features of the country, tell-
ing the names of the little pueblos and of the estates,
of the smooth-walled haciendas like long fortresses
crowning the knolls above the level of the Sulaco Val-
ley. It unrolled itself, with green young crops, plains,
woodland, and gleams of water, parklike, from the
blue vapor of the distant sierra to an immense quiver-
ing horizon of grass and sky, where big white clouds
seemed to fall slowly into the darkness of their own
shadows.

Men ploughed with wooden ploughs and yoked oxen,
small on a boundless expanse, as if attacking im-
mensity itself. The mounted figures of vaqueros gal-
loped in the distance, and the great herds fed with all

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

their horned heads one way, in one single wavering
line as far as eye could reach across the broad potreros.
A spreading cotton-wood tree shaded a thatched ranche
by the road ; the trudging files of burdened Indians tak-
ing off their hats, would lift sad, mute eyes to the
cavalcade raising the dust of the crumbling Camino
Real made by the hands of their enslaved forefathers.
And Mrs. Gould, with each day's journey, seemed to
come nearer to the soul of the land in the tremendous
.disclosure of this interior unaffected by the slight
European veneer of the coast towns, a great land of
plain and mountain and people, suffering and mute,
waiting for the future in a pathetic immobility of
patience.

She knew its sights and its hospitality, dispensed
with a sort of slumberous dignity in those great houses
presenting long, blind walls and heavy portals to the
wind-swept pastures of camps. She was given the
head of the tables, where masters and dependants sat
in a simple and patriarchal state. The ladies of the
house would talk softly in the moonlight under the
orange-trees of the court-yards, impressing upon her
the sweetness of their voices and the something mys-
terious in the quietude of their lives. In the morning
the gentlemen, well mounted in braided sombreros and
embroidered riding -suits, with much silver on the
trappings of their horses, would ride forth to escort
the departing guests before committing them, with
grave good-byes, to the care of God at the boundary
pillars of their estates. In all these households she
could hear stories of political outrage; friends, relatives
ruined, imprisoned, killed in the battles of senseless

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

civil wars, barbarously executed in ferocious proscrip-
tions, as though the government of the country had
been a struggle of lust between bands of absurd devils
let loose upon the land with sabres and uniforms and
grandiloquent phrases. And on all the lips she found
a weary desire for peace, the dread of officialdom with
its nightmareish parody of administration without
law, without security, and without justice.

She bore a whole two months of wandering very
well ; she had that power of resistance to fatigue which
one discovers here and there in some quite frail-look-
ing women with surprise — like a state of possession
by a remarkably stubborn spirit. Don Pep£ — the old
Costaguana major — after much display of solicitude
for the delicate lady, had ended by conferring upon
her the name of the "Never-tired Senora." Mrs.
Gould.-W.as^ideed becoming a Costaguanera. Having
acquired in southern Europe a knowledge of true
peasantry, she was able to appreciate the great worth
of the people. She saw the man under the silent, sad-
eyed beast of burden. She saw them on the road
carrying loads, lonely figures upon the plain, toiling
under great straw hats, with their white clothing flap-
ping about their limbs in the wind; she remembered
the villages by some group of Indian women at the
fountain impressed upon her memory, by the face of
some young Indian girl with a melancholy and sensual
profile, raising an earthenware vessel of cool water at
the door of a dark hut with a wooden porch cumbered
with great brown jars. The solid wooden wheels of
an ox-cart, halted with its shafts in the dust, showed
the strokes of the axe, and a party of charcoal carriers,

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

with each man's load resting above his head on the
top of the low mud wall, slept stretched in a row within
tin- strip of shade.

The heavy stone-work of bridges and churches left
by the conquerors proclaimed the disregard of human
lat>or, the tribute - labor of vanished nations. The
power of king and church was gone, but at the sight
of some heavy ruinous pile overtopping from a knoll
the low mud walls of a village, Don Pdpe" would inter-
rupt the tale of his campaigns to exclaim:

"Poor Costaguana! Before, it was everything for
the padres, nothing for the people; and now it is every-
thing for these great politicos in Sta. Marta, for negroes
and thieves."

Charles talked with the alcaldes, with the fiscales,
with the principal people in towns, and with the cab-
alleros on the estates. The commandantes of the dis-
tricts offered him escorts — for he could show an au-
thorization from the Sulaco political chief of the day.
How much the document had cost him in gold twenty-
dollar pieces was a secret between himself, a great
man in the United States (who condescended to an-
swer the Sulaco mail with his own hand), and a great
man of another sort, with a dark olive complexion and
shifty eyes, inhabiting then the palace of the Inten-
dencia in Sulaco, and who piqued himself on his culture
and Europeanism generally in a rather French style
because he had lived in Europe for some years — in
exile, he said. However, it was pretty well known
that just before this exile he had incautiously gam-
bled away all the cash in the custom-house of a small
port where a friend in power had procured for him the

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

post of sub-collector. That youthful indiscretion had,
among other inconveniences, obliged him to earn his
living for a time as a cafe" waiter in Madrid; but his
talents must have been great, after all, since they had
enabled him to retrieve his political fortunes so splen-
didly. Charles Gould, exposing his business with an
imperturbable steadiness, called him Excellency.

The provincial Excellency assumed a weary supe-
riority, tilting his chair far back near an open window
in the true Costaguana manner. The military band
happened to be braying operatic selections on the
plaza just then, and twice he raised his hand im-
peratively for silence in order to listen to a favorite
passage.

"Exquisite, delicious!" he murmured; while Charles
Gould waited, standing by with inscrutable patience.
"Lucia, Lucia di Lammermoor! I am passionate for
music. It transports me. Ha! the divine — ha! Mo-
zart. Si! divine . . . What is it you were saying?"

Of course, rumors had reached him already of the
new-comer's intentions. Besides, he had received an
official warning from Sta. Marta. His manner was in-
tended simply to conceal his curiosity and impress his
visitor. But after he had locked up something val-
uable in the drawer of a large writing-desk in a distant
part of the room, he became very affable, and walked
back to his chair smartly.

"If you intend to build villages and assemble a
population near the mine, you shall require a decree
of the Minister of the Interior for that," he suggested
in a business-like manner.

"I have already sent a memorial," said Charles
100

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

Gould, steadily, "and I reckon now confidently upon
your Excellency's favorable conclusions."

The Excellency was a man of many moods. With
the receipt of the money a great mellowness had de-
scended upon his simple soul. Unexpectedly he fetch-
ed a deep sigh.

"Ah, Don Carlos! What we want is advanced men
like you in the province. The lethargy — the lethargy
of these aristocrats! The want of public spirit! The
absence of all enterprise! I, with my profound studies
in Europe, you understand — "

With one hand thrust into his swelling bosom, he
rose and fell on his toes, and for ten minutes, almost
without drawing breath, went on hurling himself in-
tellectually to the assault of Charles Gould's polite
silence; and when, stopping abruptly, he fell back into
his chair, it was as though he had been beaten off
from a fortress. To save his dignity he hastened to
dismiss this silent man with a solemn inclination of
the head and the words, pronounced with moody,
fatigued condescension :

"You may depend upon my enlightened good-will
as long as your conduct as a good citizen deserves it."

He took up a paper fan and began to cool himself
with a consequential air, while Charles Gould bowed
and withdrew. Then he dropped the fan at once, and
stared with an appearance of wonder and perplexity
at the closed door for quite a long time. At last he
shrugged his shoulders as if to assure himself of his
disdain. Cold, dull. No intellectuality. Red hair.
A true Englishman. He despised him.

His face darkened. What meant this unimpressed
101

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

and frigid behavior? He was the first of the succes-
sive politicians sent out from the capital to rule the
Occidental province whom the manner of Charles
Gould in official intercourse was to strike as offen-
sively independent.

Charles Gould assumed that if the appearance of
listening to deplorable balderdash must form part of
the price he had to pay for being left unmolested, the
obligation of uttering balderdash personally was by
no means included in the bargain. He drew the line
there. To these provincial autocrats, before whom the
peaceable population of all classes had been accus-
tomed to tremble, the reserve of that English-looking
engineer caused an uneasiness which swung to and fro
between cringing and truculence. Gradually all of
them discovered that, no matter what party was in
power, that man remained in most effective touch
with the higher authorities in Sta. Marta.

This was a fact, and it accounted perfectly for the
Goulds being by no means so wealthy as the engineer-
in-chief of the new railway could legitimately suppose.
Following the advice of Don Jose Avellanos, who was
a man of good counsel (though rendered timid by his
horrible experiences of Guzman Bento's time), Charles
Gould had kept clear of the capital; but in the current
gossip of the foreign residents there he was known
(with a good deal of seriousness underlying the irony)
by the nickname of "King of Sulaco." An advocate*
of the Costaguana bar, a man of reputed ability and
good character, member of the distinguished Moraga
family possessing extensive estates in the Sulaco Val-
ley, was pointed out to strangers, with a shade of mys-

102

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

tcry ami respect, as the agent of the San Tome" mine
— "political, you know." He was tall, black-whisk-
ered, and discreet. It was known that he had easy
access to ministers, and that the numerous Costa-
guana generals were always anxious to dine at his
house. Presidents granted him audience with facility.
He corresponded actively with his maternal uncle,
Don Jose* Avellanos; but his letters — unless those ex-
pressing formally his dutiful affection — were seldom
entrusted to the Costaguana post-office. There the
envelopes are opened indiscriminately, with the frank-
ness of a brazen and childish impudence characteristic
of some Spanish-American governments. But it must
be noted that at about the time of the re-opening of
the San Tome' mine the muleteer who had been em-
ployed by Charles Gould in his preliminary travels on
the Campo added his small train of animals to the
thin stream of traffic carried over the mountain -passes
between the Sta. Marta upland and the valley of
Sulaco. There are no travellers by that arduous and
unsafe route unless under very exceptional circum-
stances, and the state of inland trade did not visibly
require additional transport facilities; but the man
seemed to find his account in it. A few packages were
always found for him whenever he took the road.
Very brown and wooden, in goat-skin breeches with
the hair outside, he sat near the tail of his own smart
mule, his great hat turned against the sun, an expres-
sion of blissful vacancy on his long face, humming
day after day a love-song in a plaintive key, or, with-
out a change of expression, letting out a yell at his
small tropilla in front. A round little guitar hung

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

high up on his back; and there was a place scooped
out artistically in the wood of one of his pack-saddles
where a tightly-rolled piece of paper could be slipped
in, the wooden plug replaced, and the coarse canvas
nailed on again. When in Sulaco it was his practice
to smoke and doze all day long (as though he had no
care in the world) on a stone bench outside the door-
way of the Casa Gould and facing the windows of the
Avellanos house. Years and years ago his mother had
been chief laundry-woman in that family — very ac-
complished in the matter of clear starching. He him-
self had been born on one of their haciendas. His
name was Bonifacio, and Don Jose", .crossing the street
about five o'clock to call on Dona Emilia, always ac-
knowledged his humble salute by some movement of
hand or head. The porters of both houses conversed
lazily with him in tones of grave intimacy. His even-
ings he devoted to gambling and to calls in a spirit of
generous festivity upon the peyne d'oro girls in the more
remote side-streets of the town. But he, too, was a
discreet man.

VIII

' I ''HOSE of us whom business or curiosity took to^
J. Sulaco in these years before the first advent of /
the railway can remember thesteadying effect of the i
San Tome" mine upon the life of tfiat qqnoJg province.
The outward appearances had not changed then as
they have changed since, as I pm told with cable-cars
running along the Street of the Constitution, and
carriage - roads far into the country, to Rincon and \
other villages, where the foreign merchants and the
Ricos generally have their modern villas, and a vast
railway goods yard by the harbor, which has a quay- /
side, a long range of warehouses, and quite serious/
^organized labor troubles of its own.

Nobody had ever heard of labor troubles then. The
cargadores of the port formed, indeed, an unruly
brotherhood of all sorts of scum, with a patron saint of
their own. They went on strike regularly (every bull-
fight day), a form of trouble that even Nostromo at
the height of his prestige could never cope with effi-
ciently; but the morning after each fiesta, before the
Indian market-women had opened their mat parasols
on the plaza, when the snows of Higuerota gleamed
pale over the town on a yet black sky, the appearance
of a phantom -like horseman mounted on a silver-gray
mare solved the problem of labor without fail. His
fteed, paced the lanes of the slums and the weed-grown

103

A Tale of the Seaboard

enclosures within the old ramparts, between the black,
lightless clusters of huts, like cow-byres, like dog-ken-
nels. The horseman hammered with the butt of a
heavy revolver atTthe doors of low pulperias, of ob-
scene lean-to sheds sloping against the tumble-down
piece of a noble wall, at the wooden sides of dwellings
so flimsy that the sounds of snores and sleepy mutters
within could be heard in the pauses of the thundering
clatter of his blows. He called out men's names men-
acingly from the saddle, once, twice. The drowsy an-
swers— grumpy, conciliating, savage, jocular, or depre-
cating— came out into, the silent darkness in which the
horseman sat still, and presently a dark figure would flit
out coughing in the still air. Sometimes a low-toned
woman cried through the window-hole softly, "He's
coming directly, senor," and the horseman waited
silent on a motionless horse. But if perchance he had
to dismount, then, after a while, from the door of that
hovel or of that pulperia, with a ferocious scuffle and
stifled imprecations, a cargador would fly out head
first and hands abroad, to sprawl under the fore-legs
of the silver-gray mare, who only pricked forward her
sharp little ears. She was used to that work; and the
man, picking himself up, would walk away hastily
from Nostromo's revolver, reeling a little along the
street and snarling low curses. At sunrise Captain
Mitchell, coming out anxiously in his night attire on
to the wooden balcony running the whole length of
the O.S.N. Company's lonely building by the shore,
would see the lighters already under way, figures
moving busily about the cargo cranes, perhaps hear
the invaluable Nostromo, now dismounted and in the

106

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

checked shirt and red sash of a Mediterranean sailor,
bawling orders from the end of the jetty in a stentorian
voice. A fellow in a thousand!

The material apparatus of perfected civilization
which obliterates the individuality of old towns under
the stereotyped conveniences of modern life had not
intruded as yet; bujt_pver the worn-out antiquity of
Sulaco, so characreristic with its stuccoed houses and
barred windows, with the great yellowy-white walls
of abandoned convents behind the rows of sombre
green cypresses, that fact — very modern in its spirit —
the San Tome* mine had already thrown its subtle in-
fluence. It had altered, too, the outward character
of the crowds on feast days on the plaza before the
open portal of the cathedral, by the number of white
ponchos with a green stripe affected as holiday wear
by the San Tome* miners. They had also adopted
white hats with green cord and braid — articles of
good quality, which could be obtained in the store-
house of the administration for very little money.
A peaceable Chulo wearing these colors (unusual in
Costaguana) was somehow very seldom beaten to
within an inch of his life on a charge of disrespect to
the town police; neither ran he much risk of being
suddenly lassoed on the road by a recruiting -party
of lanceros — a method of voluntary-enlistment looked
upon as almost legal in the republic. Whole villages
were known to have volunteered for the army in that
way ; but, as Don Pdpe* would say with a hopeless shrug
to Mrs. Gould, "What would you! Poor people!
Pobrecitos. Pobrecitos! But the state must have
its soldiers."

a 107

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Thus professionally spoke Don P6p6, the fighter,
with pendent mustaches, a nut-brown, lean face, and
a clean run of a cast-iron jaw, suggesting the type
of a cattle-herd horseman from the great Llanos of
the south. "If you will listen to an old officer of
Paez, senores," was the exordium of all his speeches
in the aristocratic club of Sulaco, where he was ad-
mitted on account of his past services to the extinct
cause of Federation. The club, dating from the days
of the proclamation of Costaguana's independence,
boasted many names of liberators among its first
founders. Suppressed arbitrarily innumerable times
by various governments, with memories of proscrip-
tions and of at least one wholesale massacre of its
members, sadly assembled for a banquet by the order
of a zealous military commandante (their bodies were
afterwards stripped naked and flung into the plaza
out of the windows by the lowest scum of the populace),
it was again flourishing, at that period, peacefully.
It extended to strangers the large hospitality of the
cool, big rooms of its historic quarters in the front
part of a house, once the residence of a high official of
the Holy Office. The two wings, shut up, crumbled
behind the nailed doors, and what may be described
as a grove of young orange-trees grown in the unpaved
patio concealed the utter ruin of the back part facing
the gate. You turned in from the street, as if enter-
ing a secluded orchard, where you came upon the foot
of a disjointed staircase, guarded by a moss-stained
effigy of some saintly bishop, mitred and staffed, and
bearing the indignity of a broken nose meekly, with
his fine stone hands crossed on his breast. The choco-

108

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

late-colored faces of servants with mops of black hair
peeped at you from above; the click of billiard-balls
came to your ears, and. ascending the steps, you would
perhaps see in the first sala, very stiff upon a straight-
backed chair, in a good light, Don Pe'pe' moving his
long mustaches as he spelled his way, at arm's-length,
through an old Sta. Marta newspaper. His horse — a
stony-hearted but persevering black brute with a
hammer head — you would have seen in the street,
dozing motionless under an immense saddle, with its
nose almost touching the curb-stone of the sidewalk.

Don Pe'pe', when "down from the mountain," as the
phrase, often heard in Sulaco, went, could also be seen
in the drawing-room of the Casa Gould. He sat with
modest assurance at some distance from the tea-table.
With his knees close together, and a kindly twinkle of
drollery in his deep-set eyes, he would throw his small
and ironic pleasantries into the current of conversa-
tion. There was in that man a sort of sane, humorous
shrewdness, and a vein of genuine humanity so often
found in simple old soldiers of proved courage who
have seen much desperate service. Of course, he
knew nothing whatever of mining, but his employ-
ment was of a special kind. He was in charge of the
whole population in the territory of the mine, which
extended from the head of the gorge to where the
cart-track from the foot of the mountain enters the
plain, crossing a stream over a little wooden bridge
painted green — green, the color of hope, being also
the color of the mine.

It was reported in Sulaco that up there "at the
mountain" Don Pe'pe' walked about precipitous paths,

109

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

girt with a great sword and in a shabby uniform with
tarnished bullion epaulets of a senior major. Most
miners beCng Indians, with big wild eyes, addressed
him as Taita (father), as these barefooted people of
Costaguana will address anybody who wears shoes;
but it was Basilio, Mr. Gould's own mozo and the
head servant of the casa, who in all good faith and
from a sense of propriety announced him once in the
solemn words, "El Senor Gobernador has arrived."

Don Jose' Avellanos, then in the drawing-room, was
delighted beyond measure at the aptness of the title,
with which he greeted the old major banteringly as
soon as the latter 's soldierly figure appeared in the
doorway. Don Pepe" only smiled in his long mus-
taches, as much as to say, "You might have found a
worse name for an old solider."

And El Senor Gobernador he had remained, with
his small jokes upon his function and upon his domain,
where he affirmed with humorous exaggeration to Mrs.
Gould:

" No two stones could come together anywhere with-
out the Gobernador hearing the click, senora."

And he would tap his ear with the tip of his fore-
finger knowingly. Even when the number of the
miners alone rose to over six hundred he seemed to
know each of them individually, all the innumerable
Jose's, Manuels, Ignacios, from the villages primero,
segundo, or tercero (there were three mining villages)
under his government. He could distinguish them
not only by their flat, joyless faces, which to Mrs.
Gould looked all alike, as if run into the same ancestral
mould of suffering and patience, but apparently also

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

by the infinitely graduated shades of reddish-brown,
of blackish-brown, of coppery-brown backs, as the
two shifts, stripped to linen drawers and leather skull-
. mingled together with a confusion of naked
limbs, of shouldered picks, swinging lamps, in a great
shuffle of sandalled feet on the open plateau before the
entrance of the main tunnel. It was a time of pause.
The Indian boys leaned idly against the long line of
little cradle wagons standing empty; the screeners and
ore - breakers squatted on their heels smoking long
cigars ; the great wooden shoots slanting over the edge
of the tunnel plateau were silent; and only the cease-
less, violent rush of water in the open flumes could be
heard, murmuring fiercely, with the splash and rumble
of revolving turbine-wheels, and the thudding march
of the stamps pounding to powder the treasure rock
on the plateau below. The heads of gangs, distin-
guished by brass medals hanging on their bare breasts,
marshalled their squads; and at last the mountain
would swallow one-half of the silent crowd, while the
other half would move off in long files down the zig-
zag paths leading to the bottom of the gorge. It was
deep; and, far below a thread of vegetation winding
between the blazing rock faces, resembled a slender
green cord, in which three lumpy knots of banana
lies, palm-leaf roots, and shady trees marked the
Village One, Village Two, Village Three, housing the
miners of the Gould Concession.

Whole families had been moving from the first tow-
ards the spot in the Higuerota range, whence the ru-
mor of work and safety had spread over the pastoral
Campo, forcing its way also, even as the waters of a

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

high flood, into the nooks and crannies of the distant
blue walls of the Sierras. Father first, in a pointed
straw hat, then the mother with the bigger children,
generally also a diminutive donkey, all under burdens
except the leader himself, or perhaps some grown girl,
the pride of the family, stepping barefooted and
straight as an arrow, with braids of raven hair, a
thick, haughty profile, and no load to carry but the
small guitar of the country and a pair of soft leather
sandals tied together on her back. At the sight of
such parties strung out on the cross trails between
the pastures, or camped by the side of the royal
road, travellers on horseback would remark to each
other :

"More people going to the San Tomd mine. We
shall see others to-morrow."

And spurring 011 in the dusk they would discuss the
great news of the province, the news of the San Tome
mine. A rich Englishman was going to work it — and
perhaps not an Englishman, Quien sabcf A foreigner
with much money. Oh yes, it had begun. A party
of men who had been to Sulaco with a herd of black
bulls for the next corrida had reported that from the
porch of the posada in Rincon, only a short league
from the town, the lights on the mountain were visible,
twinkling above the trees. And there was a woman
seen riding a horse sideways, not in the chair seat,
but upon a sort of saddle, and a man's hat on her head.
She walked about, too, on foot up the mountain-paths. _
A woman engineer, it seemed she was.

"What an absurdity! Impossible, senor!"

"Si! Si! Una Americana del Norte."

112

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

" Ah. well! if your worship is informed. Una Anier-
something of that sort."

And they would lavish a little with ;ist< •nishincnt
and scorn, keeping a wary eye on the shadows of the
road, for one is liable to meet bad men when travelling
late on the Campo.

And it was not only the men that Don Pe'pe' knew
so well, but he seemed able, with one attentive, thought-
ful glance, to classify each woman, girl, or growing
youth of his domain. It was only the small fry that
puzzled him sometimes. He and the padre could be
seen frequently side by side, meditative and gazing
across the street of a village at a lot of sedate brown
children, trying to sort them out, as it were, in low,
consulting tones, or else they would together put
searching questions as to the parentage of some small,
staid urchin met wandering, naked and grave, along
the road with a cigar in his baby mouth, and perhaps
his mother's rosary, purloined for purposes of orna-
mentation, hanging in a loop of beads low down on
his rotund little stomach. The spiritual and temporal
pastors of the mine flock were very good friends. With
Dr. Monygham, the medical pastor, who had accepted
ffie~c1laTfe~ffbm Mrs. Gould, and lived in the hospital
building, they were on not so intimate terms. But no
one could be on intimate terms with El Senor Doctor,
who, with his twisted shoulders, drooping head, sar-
donic mouth, and sidelong bitter glance, was mys-
terious and uncanny. Tin.- otlu-r two authorities work-
ed in harmony. Father Roman, dried up, small, alert,
wrinkled, with big round eyes, a sharp chin, and a
great snuff -taker, was an old campaigner, too; he had
» 113

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

shriven many simple souls on the battle-fields of the
republic, kneeling by the dying on hill-sides, in the
long grass, in the gloom of the forests, to hear the last
confession with the smell of gunpowder smoke in his
nostrils, the rattle of muskets, the hum and spatter
of bullets in his ears. And where was the harm if,
at the presbytery, they had a game with a pack of
greasy cards in the early evening, before Don Pepe
went his last rounds to see that all the watchmen of
the mine — a body organized by himself — were at their
posts? For that last duty before he slept Don Pdpe"
did actually gird his old sword on the veranda of an
unmistakable American white frame house, which
Father Roman called the presbytery. Near by, a
long, low, dark building, steeple-roofed, like a vast
barn, with a wooden cross over the gable, was the
miners' chapel. There Father Roman said mass
every day before a sombre altar-piece representing
the Resurrection, the gray slab of the tombstone bal-
anced on one corner, a figure soaring upward, long-
limbed and livid, in an oval of pallid light, and a hel-
meted brown legionary smitten down, right across the
bituminous foreground "This picture, my children,
muy linda e maravillosa," Father Roman would say
to some of his flock, "which you behold here through
the munificence of the wife of our Senor Adminis-
trador, has been painted in Europe, a country of saints
and miracles, and much greater than our Costaguana."
And he would take a pinch of snuff with unction.
But when once an inquisitive spirit desired to know
in what direction this Europe was situated, whether
up or down the coast, Father Roman, to conceal his

114

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

perplexity, became very reserved and severe. "No
doubt it is extremely far away. But ignorant sinners
like you of the San Tom£ mine should think earnestly
of everlasting punishment instead of inquiring into
the magnitude of the earth, with its countries and
populations altogether beyond your understanding."

With a "Good -night, padre;" "good -night, Don
Pe'pe'," the Gobernador would go off, holding up his
sabre against his side, his body bent forward, with a
long, plodding stride, in the dark. The jocularity
proper to an innocent card-game for a few cigars or a
bundle of yerba was replaced at once by the stern duty
mood of an officer setting out to visit the outposts of
an encamped army. One loud blast of the whistle that
hung from his neck provoked instantly a great shrill-
ing of responding whistles, mingled with the barking
of dogs, that would calm down slowly at last, away
up at the head of the gorge; and in the stillness two
serenos, on guard by the bridge, would appear walking
noiselessly towards him. On one side of the road a
long frame building — the store — would be closed and
barricaded from end to end; facing it another white
frame house, still longer, and with a veranda — the
hospital — would have lights in the two windows of
Dr. Monygham's quarters. Even the delicate foliage
of a clump of pepper-trees did not stir, so breathless
would be the darkness warmed by the radiation of
the overheated rocks. Don Pe*p6 would stand still
for a moment with the two motionless serenos before
him, and, abruptly, high up on the sheer face of the
mountain, dotted with single torches, like drops of fire
fallen from the two great blazing clusters of light*

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

above, the ore shoots would begin to rattle. The
great clattering, shuffling noise, gathering speed and
weight, would be caught up by the walls of the gorge,
and sent upon the plain in a growl of thunder. The
posadero in Rincon swore that on calm nights, by listen-
ing intently, he could catch the sound in his doorway
as of a storm in the mountains.

To Charles Gould's fancy it seemed that the sound
must reach the uttermost limits of the province.
Riding at night towards the mine, it would meet him
at the edge of a little wood just beyond Rincon. There
was no mistaking the growling mutter of the moun-
tain pouring its stream of treasure under the stamps ;
and it came to his heart with the peculiar force of a
proclamation thundered forth over the land and the
marvellousness of an accomplished fact fulfilling an
audacious desire. He had heard this very sound in
his imagination on that far-off evening when his wife
and himself, after a tortuous ride through a strip of
forest, had reined in their horses near the stream, and
had gazed for the first time upon the jungle-grown
solitude of the gorge. The head of a palm rose here
and there. In a high ravine round the corner of the
San Tom 6 mountain (which is square, like a block-
house) the thread of a slender waterfall flashed bright
and glassy through the dark green of the heavy fronds
of tree-ferns. Don Pdpe", in attendance, rode up, and,
stretching his arm up the gorge, had declared with
mock solemnity, " Behold the very paradise of snakes,
senora."

And then they had wheeled their horses and ridden
back to sleep that night at Rincon. The alcalde — an

116

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

oKl. skinny Moreno, a sergeant of Guzman Bento's
time — had cleared respectfully out of his house with
his three pretty daughters, to make room for the for-
eign senora and their worships the caballeros. All
he asked Charles Gould (whom he took for a myste-
rious and official person) to do for him was to remind
the supreme government — El Gobierno supremo — of
a pension (amounting to about a dollar a month) to
which he believed himself entitled. It had been prom-
ised to him, he affirmed, straightening his bent back
martially, "many years ago, for my valor in the wars
with the wild Indies when a younj; man, senor."

The waterfall existed no longer. The tree-ferns that
had luxuriated in its spray had dried around the dried-
up pool, and the high ravine was only a big trench
half filled up with the refuse of excavations and tailings.
The torrent, dammed up above, sent its water rush-
ing along the open flumes of scooped tree-trunks strid-
ing on trestle legs to the turbines working the stamps
on the lower plateau — the mesa grandc of the San Tome"
mountain. Snly th«» mpmn^y q£ {he,

its amazing fernery^. like a Imaging gorden abuvc thei
rocks of thg""go"rger- was preserved in Mrs. Gould's!
water-color sketch; she had made it hastily one day
from a eleared patch in the bushes, sitting in the shade
of a roof of straw erected for her on three rough poles
under Don Pe"pe"s direction.

Mrs. Gould had seen it all from the beginning; the
clearing of the wilderness, the making of the road, the
cutting of new paths up the cliff face of San Tome".
For weeks together she had lived on the spot with her
husband; and she was so little in Sulaco during that

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

year that the appearance of the Gould carriage on the
Alameda would cause a social excitement. From the
heavy family coaches full of stately senoras and black-
eyed serioritas, rolling solemnly in the shaded alley,
white hands were waved towards her with animation
in a flutter of greetings. Dona Emilia was "down
from the mountain."

But not for long. Dona Emilia would be gone "up
to the mountain" in a day or two, and her sleek car-
riage mules would have an easy time of it for another
long spell. She had watched the erection of the first
frame house put up on the lower mesa for an office and
Don P^p^'s quarters; she heard with a thrill of thankful
emotion the first wagon-load of ore rattle down the
then only shoot; she had stood by her husband's side
perfectly silent, and gone cold all over with excite-
ment at the instant when the first battery of only
fifteen stamps was put in motion for the first time.
On the occasion when the fires under the first set of
retorts in their shed had glowed far into the night she
did not retire to rest on the rough cadre set up for
her in the as yet bare frame house till she had seen
the first spungy lump of silver yielded to the hazards
of the world by the dark depths of the Gould Conces-
sion ; she had laid her unmercenary hands, with an
eagerness that made them tremble, upon the first silver
ingot turned out still warm from the mould; and by
her imaginative estimate of its power she endowed that
lump of metal with a justificative conception, as though
it were not a mere fact, but something far-reaching
and impalpable, like the true expression of an emotion
o~ the emergency of a principle.

118

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Don P(5p<5, extremely interested, too, looked over
her shoulder with a smile that, making longitudinal
folds on his face, caused it to resemble a leathern mask
with a benignantly diabolic expression.

" Would not the muchachos of Hernandez like to get

hold of this insignificant object, that looks, por Dies,

much like a piece of tin ?" he remarked jocularly.

Hernandez, the robber, had been an inoffensive,
small ranchero, kidnapped with circumstances of pe-
culiar atrocity from his home during one of the civil
wars, and forced to serve in the army. There his con-
duct as soldier was exemplary, till, watching his chance,
he killed his colonel, and managed to get clear away.
With a band of deserters, who chose him for their
chief, he had taken refuge beyond the wild and water-
Uolson de Tonoro. The haciendas paid him black-
mail in cattle and horses; extraordinary stories were
told of his powers and of his wonderful escapes from
capture. He used to ride, single-handed, into the
villages and the little towns on the Campo, driving a
pack-mule before him, with two revolvers in his belt,
go straight to the shop or store, select what he wanted,
and ride away unopposed because of the terror his
exploits and his audacity inspired. Poor country
people he usually left alone ; the upper class were often
stopped on the roads and robbed ; but any unlucky offi-
that fell into his hands was sure to get a severe
flogging. The army officers did not like his name to be
mentioned in their presence. His followers, mounted
'.olen horses, laughed at the pursuit of the regular
ilry sent to hunt them down, and whom they took
pleasure to ambush most scientifically in the broken

119

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ground of their own fastness. Expeditions had been
fitted out; a price had been put upon his head; even
attempts had been made, treacherously of course, to
open negotiations with him, without in the slightest
way affecting the even tenor of his career, At last,
in true Costaguana fashion, the fiscal of Tonoro, who
was ambitious of the glory of having reduced the fa-
mous Hernandez, offered him a sum of money and a
safe-conduct out of the country for the betrayal of his
band. But Hernandez evidently was not of the stuff
of which the distinguished military politicians and
conspirators of Costaguana are made. This clever
but common device (which frequently works like a
charm in putting down revolutions) failed with the
chief of vulgar salteadores. It promised well for the
fiscal at first, but ended very badly for the squadron
of lanceros posted (by the fiscal's directions) in a fold
of the ground into which Hernandez had promised to
lead his unsuspecting followers. They came, indeed,
at the appointed time, but creeping on their hands and
knees through the bush, and only let their presence
be known by a general discharge of fire-arms, which
emptied many saddles. The troopers who escaped came
riding very hard into Tonoro. It is said that their
commanding officer (who, being better mounted, rode
far ahead of the rest) afterwards got into a state of
despairing intoxication and beat the ambitious fiscal
severely with the flat of his sabre in the presence of
his wife and daughters, for bringing this disgrace
upon the national army. The highest civil official of
Tonoro, falling to the ground in a swoon, was further
kicked all over the body and rowelled with sharp spurs

120

N o^trumo : A Talc ot" the Seaboard

about the neck and face because of the great sensi-
tiveness of his military colleague. This gossip of the
inland Cumpo. so chara of the rulers of the

•i try with its story of oppression, inefficiency, fatu-
ous methods, treachery, and savage brutality, was

vtly known to Mrs. Gould. That it should be

i»tcd with no indignant comment by people of
intelligence, refinement, and character, as something
inherent in the nature of things, was one of the symp-
toms of degradation that had the power to exasperate
her almost to the verge of despair. Still, looking at
the ingot of silver, she shook her head at Don Pe"pe"s
remark :

"If it had not been for the lawless tyranny of your
government, Don P£pc", many an outlaw now with
Hernandez would be living peaceable and happy by
the honest work of his hands."

"Sertora," cried Don Pdpe", with enthusiasm, "r
true! It is as if God had given you the power to look
into the very breasts of people. You have seen them
working round you, Dofia Emilia — meek as lambs,
patient like their own burros, brave like lions. I have
led them to the very muzzles of guns — I, who stand
here before you, senora — in the time of Paez, who was
full of generosity, and in courage only approached by
the uncle of Don Carlos here, as far as I know. No
wonder there are bandits in the Campo when there
are none but thieves, switidlers, and sanguinary ma-

:es to rule us in Sta. Marta. However, all the same,
a bandit is a bandit, and we shall have a dozen good

^ht Winchesters to ride with the silver down to
Sulaco."

121

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Mrs. Gould's ride with the first silver escort to
Sulaco was the closing episode of what she called "my
camp life" before she had settled in her town-house
permanently, as was proper and even necessary for
the wife of the administrator of such an important
institution as the San Tome" mine. For the San Tome"
mine was to become an institution, a rallying point
for everything in the province that needed order and
stability to live. Security seemed to flow upon this
land from the mountain-gorge. The authorities of
Sulaco had learned that the San Tome mine could
make it worth their while to leave things and people
alone. This was the nearest approach to the rule of
common-sense and justice Charles Gould felt it possible
to secure at first. In fact, the mine, with its organiza-
tion, its population growing fiercely attached to their
position of privileged safety, with its armory, with its
Don Pe'pe', with its armed body of serenos (where, it
was said, many an outlaw and deserter — and even
some members of Hernandez's band — had found a
place), the mine was a power in the land. As a certain
prominent man in Sta. Marta had exclaimed with a hol-
low laugh, once, when discussing the line of action taken
by the Sulaco authorities at a time of political crisis :

"You call these men government officials? They?
Never! They are officials of the mine — officials of the
Concession — I tell you."

The prominent man (who was then a person in power,
with a lemon-colored face and a very short and curly,
not to say woolly, head of hair) went so far in his
temporary discontent as to shake his yellow fist under
the nose of his interlocutor, and shriek:

122

Nostromo ; A Talc of the Seaboard

. all! Silence! All, I tell you! The poll t
the chief of the police, the chief of the cus-
toms, the general, all, all, are the officials of that
Gould!"

Thereupon an intrepid but low and argumentative
murmur would flow on for a space in the ministerial
cabinet, and the prominent man's passion would end
in a cynical shrug of the shoulders. After all, he
seemed to say, what did it matter as long as the min-
ister himself was not forgotten during his brief day of
authority. But all the same, the unofficial agent of
the San Tom£ mine, working for a good cause, had his
moments of anxiety which were reflected in his let-
ters to Don Jos£ Avellanos, his maternal uncle.

" No sanguinary macaque from Sta. Marta shall set
foot on that part of Costaguana which lies beyond the
San Tom£ bridge," Don Pe'pe' used to assure Mrs.
Gould. "Except, of course, as an honored guest — for
our Senor Administrador is a deep politico." But to
Charles Gould, in his own room, the old major would
remark with. a grim and soldierly cheeriness, "We are
all playing our heads at this game."

Don Jos£ Avellanos would mutter " Imperium in
imperio, Emilia, my soul," with an air of profound self-
satisfaction which, somehow, in a curious way, seemed
to contain a queer admixture of bodily discomfort.
But that, perhaps, could only be visible to the initiated.

And for the initiated it was a wonderful place, this
drawing-room of the Casa Gould, with its momentary
glimpses of the master — El Senor Administrador—
older, harder, mysteriously silent, with the lines deep-
ened on his English, ruddy, out-of-doors complexion;

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

flitting on his thin, cavalry-man's legs across the door-
ways, either just "back from the mountain," or, with
jingling spurs and riding-whip under his arm, on the
point of starting "for the mountain." Then Don
Pepe, modestly martial in his chair, the Llanero who
seemed somehow to have found his martial jocularity,
his knowledge of the world, and his manner perfect
for his station, in the midst of savage armed contests
with his kind; Avellanos, polished and familiar, the
diplomatist with his loquacity covering much caution
and wisdom in delicate advice, with his manuscript of
a historical work on Costaguana, entitled Fifty Years
of Misrule, which, at present, he thought it was not
prudent (even if it were possible) "to give to the
world"; these three, and also Dona Emilia among
them, gracious, small, and fairy-like, before the glitter-
ing tea-set, with one common master-thought in their
heads, with one common feeling of a tense situation,
with one ever-present aim to preserve the inviolable
character of the mine at every cost. And there was
also to be seen Captain Mitchell, a little apart, near one
of the long windows, with an air of old-fashioned neat
old bachelorhood about him, slightly pompous, in a
white waistcoat, a little disregarded and unconscious of
it; utterly in the dark, and imagining himself to be in
the thick of things. The good man, having spent a
clear thirty years of his life on the high seas before
getting what he called a "shore billet," was astonished
at the importance of transactions (others than relating
to shipping) which takes place on dry land. Almost
every event out of the usual daily course "marked an
epoch" for him or else was "history"; unless with his

124

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

pomposity struggling with a discomfited droop of his
rubicund, rather handsome face, set off by snow-white
close hair and short whiskers, he would mutter:
"Ah, that! That, sir, was a mistake."
The-receptten Q{ the first consignment of San Tome"
silver for shipment to S.m I;r;im-isr<> in <>ne of the
O.S.N. Company's mail-boat

n? Hr00 *"** Pnr^in ^'^hffl" The ingots packed
in boxes of stiff ox-hide with plaited handles, small
enough to be carried easily by two men, were brought
down by the serenos of the mine walking in careful
couples down the half-mile «or so of steep, zigzag
paths to the foot of the mountain. There they would
be loaded into a string of two-wheeled carts, resem-
bling roomy coffers with a door at the back, and har-
nessed tandem with two mules each, waiting under
the guard of armed and mounted serenos. Don Pe'pe'
padlocked each door in succession, and at the signal
of his whistle the string of carts would move off, closely
surrounded by the clank of spur and carbine, with
jolts and cracking of whips, with a sudden deep rum-
ble over the boundary bridge ("into the land of thieves
and sanguinary macaques," Don Pe'pe' defined that
crossing); hats bobbing in the first light of the dawn,
on the heads of cloaked figures; Winchesters on hip;
bridle hands protruding lean and brown from under
the falling folds of the ponchos. The convoy skirting
a little wood, along the mine trail, between the mud
huts and low walls of Rincon, increased its pace on the
Camino Real, mules urged to speed, escort galloping,
Don Carlos riding alone ahead of a dust storm, afford-
ing a vague vision of long ears of mules, of fluttering

125

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

little green and white flags stuck upon each cart, of
raised arms in a mob of sombreros with the white
gleam of ranging eyes; and Don Pe"pe, hardly visible
in the rear of that rattling dust trail, with a stiff seat
and impassive face, rising and falling rhythmically on
an ewe-necked silver-bitted black brute with a ham-
mer head.

The sleepy people in the little clusters of huts, in
the small ranches near the road, recognized by the
headlong sound the charge of San Tome" silver escort
towards the crumbling wall of the city on the Campo
side. They came to the doors to see it dash by over
ruts and stones, with a clatter and clank and cracking
of whips, with the reckless rush and precise driving of
a field-battery hurrying into action, and the solitary
English figure of the Senor Administrador riding far
ahead in the lead.

In the fenced road -side paddocks loose horses galloped
wildly for a while; the heavy cattle stood up breast
deep in the grass, lowing mutteringly at the flying
noise; a meek Indian villager would glance back once
and hasten to shove his loaded little donkey bodily
against a wall, out of the way of* the San Tom6 silver
escort going to the sea; a small knot of chilly leperos
under the Stone Horse of the Alameda would mutter:
"Caramba!" on seeing it take a wide curve at a gallop
and dart into the empty Street of the Constitution;
for it was considered the correct thing, the only proper
style by the mule-drivers of the San Tome* mine, to go
through the waking town from end to end without
a check in the speed, as if chased by a devil.

The early sunshine glowed on the delicate primrose,
126

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

pale pink, pale blue fronts of the big houses with all
their gates shut, yet, and no face behind the iron bars
of the windows. In the whole sunlit range of empty
balconies along the street only one white figure would
be visible high up above the clear pavement — the wife
of the Seftor Administrador — leaning over to see the
escort go by to the harbor, a mass of heavy fair hair
twisted up negligently on her little head, and a lot of
lace about the neck of her muslin wrapper. With a
smile to her husband's single, quick, upward glance,
she would watch the whole thing stream past below
her feet with an orderly uproar, till she answered by a
friendly sign the salute of the galloping Don Pe'pe', the
stiff, deferential inclination with a sweep of the hat
below the knee.

The string of padlocked carts lengthened, the size
of the escort grew bigger as the years went on. Every
three months an increasing stream of treasure swept
through the streets of Sulaco on its way to the strong
room in the O.S.N. Company's building by the harbor,
there to await shipment for the north. Increasing in
volume, and of immense value also; for, as Charles
Gould told his wife once with ,some exultation, there
had never been seen anything in the world to approach
the vein of the Gould Concession. For them both, each
passing of the escort under the balconies of the Casa
Gould was like another victory gained in the conquest
of peace for Sulaco.

No doubt the initial action of Charles Gould had
been helped at the beginning by a period of compar-
ative peace which occurred just about that time; and
also by the general softening of manners as compared

127

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

with the epoch of civil wars whence had emerged the
iron tyranny of Guzman Bento of fearful memory. In
the contests that broke out at the end of his rule
(which had kept peace in the country for a whole
fifteen years) there was more fatuous imbecility, plenty
of cruelty and suffering still, but much less of the old-
time fierce and blind ferocious political fanaticism. It
was all more vile, more base, more contemptible, and
infinitely more manageable in the very outspoken cyni-
cism of motives. It was more clearly a brazen-faced
scramble for a constantly diminishing quantity of
booty, since all enterprise had been stupidly killed in
the land. Thus it came to pass that the province of
Sulaco, once the field of cruel party vengeances, had
become in a way one of the considerable prizes of
political career. The great of the earth (in Sta. Marta)
reserved the posts in the old Occidental state to those
nearest and dearest to them: nephews, brothers, hus-
bands of favorite sisters, bosom friends, trusty sup-
porters— or prominent supporters of whom perhaps
they were afraid. It was the blessed province of
great opportunities and of largest salaries ; for the San
Tome" mine had its own unofficial pay-list, whose items
and amounts, fixed in consultation by Charles Gould
and Senor Avellanos, were known to a prominent busi-
ness man in the United States, who for twenty minutes
or so in every month gave his undivided attention to
Sulaco affairs. At the same time the material inter-
ests of all sorts, backed up by the influence of the San
Tome" mine, were quietly gathering substance in that
part of the republic. r If, for instance, the Sulaco
collectorship was generally understood, in the politi-

128

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

cal world of the capital, to open the way to the Ministry
of Finance, and so on for every official post, then, on
the other hand, the despondent business circles of the
republic had come to consider the Occidental Prov-
ince as the promised land of safety, especially if a
man managed to get on good terms with the adminis-
tration of the mine. "Charles Gould; excellent fel-
low! Absolutely necessary to make sure of him be-
fore taking a single step. Get an introduction to him
from Moraga if you can — the agent of the King of
Sulaco, don't you know."

No wonder, then, that Sir John, coming from Europe
to smooth the path for his railway, had been meeting
the name (and even the nickname) of Charles Gould
at every turn in Costaguana. The agent of the San
Tom£ administration in Sta. Marta (a polished, well-
informed gentleman, Sir John thought him) had cer-
tainly helped so greatly in bringing about the presi-
dential tour that he began to think that there was
something in the faint whispers hinting at the im-
mense occult influence of the Gould Concession. What
was currently wTiispered was this — that the San Tome"
administration had, in part, at least, financed the
last revolution, which had brought into a five-year
dictatorship Don Vincente Ribiera, a man of culture
and of unblemished character, invested with a man-
date of reform by the best elements of the state.
Serious, well-informed men seemed to believe the fact,
to hope for better things, (or the establishment of
legality, of good faith and oraer in f>uMu- life. So
much the better, then, thought Sir John. He worked
always on a great scale ; there was a loan to the state,

129

I >

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

and a project for systematic colonizatioajal_the_ Oc-
cidental' Prcfvince, involved in one vast scheme with
the construction of the National Central Railway.
Good faith, order, honesty, peace, were badly wanted
for this great development of material interests. Any-
body on the side of these things, and especially if able
to help, had an importance in Sir John's eyes. He
had not been disappointed in the "King of Sulaco."
The local difficulties had fallen away, as the engineer-
in-chief had foretold they would, before Charles Gould's
mediation. Sir John had been extremely feted in
Sulaco, next to the President-Dictator, a fact which
might have accounted for the evident ill-humor Gen-
eral Montero displayed at lunch, given on board the
Juno just before she was to sail, taking away from
Sulaco the President-Dictator and the distinguished
foreign guests in his train.

The Excellentissimo ("the hope of honest men," as
Don Jose" had addressed him in a public speech de-
livered in the name of the Provincial Assembly of
Sulaco) sat at the head of the long table; Captain
Mitchell, positively stony-eyed and purple in the face
with the solemnity of this "historical event," occu-
pied the foot as the representative of the O.S.N. Com-
pany in Sulaco, the hosts of that informal function,
with the captain of the ship and some minor officials
from the shore around him. Those cheery, swarthy
little gentlemen cast jovial side-glances at the bottles
of champagne beginning to pop behind the guests'
backs in the hands of the ship's stewards. The amber
wine creamed up to the rims of the glasses.

Charles Gould had his place next to a foreign envoy,
130

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

who in a listless undertone had been talking to him
fitfully of hunting and shooting. The well-nourished,
pale face, with an eyeglass and drooping yellow mus-
tache, made the Seftor Administrador appear by con-
trast twice as sunbaked, more flaming red, a hundred
times more intensely and silently alive. Don Jose"
Avellanos touched elbows with the other foreign dip-
lomat, a dark man with a quiet, watchful, self-confi-
dent demeanor and a touch of reserve. All etiquette
being laid aside on the occasion, General Memtero was
the only one there in full uniform, so stiff with em-
broideries in front that his broad chest seemed pro-
tected by a cuirass of gold. Sir John at the beginning
had got away from high places for the sake of sitting
near Mrs. Gould.

The great financier was trying to express to her his
grateful sense of her hospitality and of his obligation
to her husband's "enormous influence in this part of
the country," when she interrupted him by a low
" Hush!" The President was going to make an infor-
mal pronouncement.

The Excellentissimo was on his legs. He said only
a few words, evidently deeply felt, and meant perhaps
mostly for Avellanos — his old friend — as to the neces-
sity of unremitting effort to secure the lasting welfare
of the country emerging after this last struggle, he
hoped, into a period of peace and material prosperity.

Mrs. Gould, listening to the mellow, slightly mourn-
ful voice, looking at this rotund, dark, spectacled face,
at the short body, obese to the point of infirmity,
thought that this man of delicate and melancholy
mind, physically almost a cripple, coming out of his

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

retirement into a dangerous strife at the call of his
fellows, had the right to speak with the authority of
his self-sacrifice. And yet she was made uneasy. He
was more pathetic than promising, this first civilian
Chief of the State Costaguana had ever known, pro-
nouncing, glass in hand, his simple watchwords of
honesty, peace, respect for law, political good faith
abroad and at home — the safeguards of national
honor.

He sat down. During the respectful, appreciative
buzz of voices that followed the speech, General Mon-
tero raised a pair of heavy, drooping eyelids and rolled
his eyes with a sort of uneasy dulness from face to face.
The military backwoods hero of the party, though
secretly impressed by the sudden novelties and splen-
dors of his position (he had never been on board a
ship before, and had hardly ever seen the sea except
from a distance), understood by a sort of instinct the
advantage his surly, unpolished attitude of a savage
fighter gave him among all these refined Blanco aristo-
crats. But why was it that nobody was looking at
him? he wondered to himself, angrily. He was able
to spell out the print of newspapers, and knew that he
had performed the "greatest military exploit of mod-
ern times."

"My husband wanted the railway," Mrs. Gould said
to Sir John in the general murmur of resumed conver-
sations. "All this brings nearer the sort of future we
desire for the country, which has waited for it in sor-
row long enough, God knows. But I will confess that
the other day, during my afternoon drive, when I sud-
denly saw an Indian boy ride out of a wood with the

132

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

red flag of a surveying party in his hand, I felt somei
thing of a shock. The future means change — an uttcf
change. And yet even here there are simple and pict\
uresque things that one would like to preserve."

Sir John listened, smiling. But it was his turn now
to hush Mrs. Gould.

"General Montero is going to speak," he whispered,
and almost immediately added, in comic alarm, " Heav-
ens! he's going to propose my own health, I believe!"

General Montero had risen with a jingle of steel scab-
bard and a ripple of glitter on his gold embroidered
breast; a heavy sword-hilt appeared at his side above
the edge of the table. In this gorgeous uniform, with
his bull neck, his hooked nose flattened on the tip
upon a blue -black, dyed mustache, he looked like a
disguised and sinister vaquero. The drone of his
voice had a strangely rasping, soulless ring. He
floundered, lowering, through a few vague sentences;
then suddenly raising his big head and his voice to-
gether, burst out, harshly:

"The honor of the country is in the hands of the
army. I assure you I shall be faithful to it." He
hesitated till his roaming eyes met Sir John's face,
upon which he fixed a lurid, sleepy glance; and the fig-
ure of the lately negotiated loan came into his mind.
He lifted his glass. " I drink to the health of the man
who brings us a million and a half of pounds."

He tossed off his champagne, and sat down heavily
with a half-surprised, half-bullying look all round the
faces in the profound, as if appalled, silence which suc-
ceeded the felicitous toast. Sir John did not move.

"I don't think I am called upon to rise," he mur-
133

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

mured to Mrs. Gould. " That sort of thing speaks for
itself." But Don Jose* Avellanos came to the rescue
with a short oration, in which he alluded pointedly to
England's good-will towards Costaguana — a good -will,
he continued significantly, "of which I, having been
in my time accredited to the court of St. James, am
able to speak with some knowledge."

Only then Sir John thought fit to respond, which he
did gracefully in bad French, punctuated by bursts
of applause and the "Hear! hears!" of Captain Mit-
chell, who was able to understand a word now and
then. Directly he had done, the financier of railways
turned to Mrs. Gould:

"You were good enough to say that you intended
to ask me for something," he reminded her gallantly.
"What is it? Be assured that any request from you
would be considered in the light of a favor to myself."

She thanked him by a gracious smile. Everybody
was rising from the table.

"Let us go on deck," she proposed, "where I'll be
able to point out to you the very object of my request.''

An enormous national flag of Costaguana, diagonal
red and yellow, with two green palm-trees in the mid-
dle, floated lazily at the mainmast-head of the Juno. A
multitude of fire-works being let off in their thousands
at the water's edge in honor of the President kept up
a mysterious crepitating noise half round the harbor.
Now and then a lot of rockets, swishing upward in-
visibly, detonated overhead with only a puff of smoke
in the bright sky. Crowds of people could be seen be-
tween the town gate and the harbor, under the bunches
of multicolored flags fluttering on tall poles. Faint

134

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

bursts of military music would be heard suddenly,
and the remote sound of shouting. A knot of ragged
negroes at the end of the wharf kept on loading and
firing a small iron cannon time after time. A grayish
haze of dust hung thin and motionless against the sun.

Don Vincente Ribiera made a few steps under the
deck-awning, leaning on the arm of Seflor Avellanos ;
a wide circle was formed round him, where the mirth-
less smile of his dark lips and the sightless glitter of
his spectacles could be seen turning amiably from side
to side. The informal function arranged on purpose
on board the Juno to give the President-Dictator an
opportunity to meet intimately some of his most nota-
ble adherents in Sulaco, was drawing to an end. On
one side, general Montero, his bald head covered now
by a plumed cocked hat, remained motionless on a
skylight seat, a pair of big gauntleted hands folded on
the hilt of the sabre standing upright between his legs.
The white plume, the coppery tint of his broad face,
the blue -black of the mustaches under the cur
beak, the mass of gold on sleeves and breast, the high
shining boots with enormous spurs, the working nos-
trils, the imbecile and domineering stare of the glorious
victor of Rio Seco had in them something ominous
and incredible; the exaggeration of the cruel carica-
ture, the fatuity of solemn masquerading, the atro-
cious grotesqucness of some military idol of Aztec con-
ception an«l European bedecking, awaiting the homage
of worshippers. Don Jos£ approached diplomatically
this weird and inscrutable portent, and Mrs. Gould
turned her fascinated eyes away at last.

Charles, coming up to take leave of Sir John, heard
US

JNI ostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

him say, as he bent over his wife's hand, "Certainly.
Of course, my dear Mrs. Gould, for a prote'ge' of yours!
Not the slightest difficulty. Consider it done."

Going ashore in the same boat with the Goulds,
Don Jose* Avellanos was very silent. Even in the
Gould carriage he did not open his lips for a long time.
The mules trotted slowly away from the wharf be-
tween the extended hands of the beggars, who for that
day seemed to have abandoned in a body the portals
of churches. Charles Gould sat on the back seat and
looked away upon the plain. A multitude of booths
made of green boughs, of rushes, of odd pieces of plank
eked out with bits of canvas had been erected all over
it for the sale of cana, of dulces, of fruit, of cigars.
Over little heaps of glowing charcoal Indian women,
squatting on mats, cooked food in black earthen pots,
and boiled the water for the mate" gourds, which they
offered in soft, caressing voices to the country people.
A race-course had been staked out for the vaqueros;
and away to the left, from where the crowd was massed
thickly about a huge temporary erection, like a circus-
tent of wood with a conical grass roof, came the res-
onant twanging of harp -strings, the sharp ping of
guitars, with the grave drumming throb of an Indian
gombo pulsating steadily through the shrill choruses
of the dancers.

Charles Gould said, presently:

"All this piece of land belongs now to the railway
company. There will be no more popular feasts held
here."

Mrs. Gould was rather sorry to think so. She took
this opportunity to mention how she had just obtained

'3*

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

from Sir John the promise that the house occupied by
Giorgio Viola should not be interfered with. She de-
clared she could never understand why the survey
engineers ever talked of demolishing that old build-
ing. It was not in the way of the projected harbor
branch of the line in the least.

She stopped the carriage before the door to reassure
at once the old Genoese, who came out bare-headed
and stood by the carriage step. She talked to him in
Italian, of course, and he thanked her with calm dig-
nity. An old Garibaldino was grateful to her from
the bottom of his heart for keeping the roof over the
beads of his wife and children. He was too old to
wander any more.

"And is it forever, signora?" he asked.

" For as long as you like."

"Bene. Then the place must be named. It was
not worth while before."

He smiled ruggedly, with a running together of
wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. " I shall set about
the painting of the name to-morrow."

"And what is it going to be, Giorgio?"

"Albergo d'ltalia Una," said the old Garibaldino,
looking away for a moment. "More in memory of
those who have died," he added, " than for the country
stolen from us soldiers of liberty by the craft of that
accursed Piedmontese race of kings and ministers."

Mrs. Gould smiled slightly, and, bending over a lit-
tle, began to inquire about his wife and children. He
had sent them into town on that day. The padrona
was better in health; many thanks to the signora for
inquiring.

137

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

People were passing in twos and threes, in whole
parties of men and women attended by trotting chil-
dren. A horseman mounted on a silver - gray mare
drew rein quietly in the shade of the house after taking
off his hat to the party in the carriage, who returned
smiles and familiar nods. Old Viola, evidently very
pleased with the news he had just heard, inter-
rupted himself for a moment to tell him rapidly
that the house was secured, by the kindness of
the English signora, for as long as he liked to keep
it. The other listened attentively, but made no re-
sponse.

When the carriage moved on he took off his hat
I., ^again, a gray sombrero with a silver cord and tassels.
The bright colors of a Mexican serape twisted on the
cantle, the enormous silver buttons on the embroidered
leather jacket, the row of tiny silver buttons down the
seam of the trousers, the snowy linen, a silk sash with
embroidered ends, the silver plates on headstall and
saddle, proclaimed the unapproachable style of the fa-
mous capataz de cargadores — a Mediterranean sailor
— got up with more finished splendor than any well-
to-do young ranchero of the Campo had ever displayed
on a high holiday.

"It is a great thing for me," murmured old Giorgio,
still thinking of the house, for now he had grown
weary of change. "The signora just said a word to
the Englishman."

"The old Englishman who has enough money to pay
for a railway? He is going off in an hour," remarked
Nostromo, carelessly. "Buon viaggio, then. I've
guarded his bones all the way from the Entrada pass

138

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

down to the plain and into Sulaco, as though he had
been my own father."

Old Giorgio only moved his head sideways absently.
Nostromo pointed after the Goulds' carriage, nearing
the grass-grown gate in the old town wall that was
like a wall of matted jungle.

"And I have sat alone at night with my revolver in
the company's warehouse time and again by the side
of that other Englishman's heap of silver, guarding it
as though it had been my own."

Viola seemed lost in thought. " It is a great thing
for me," he repeated again, as if to himself.

"It is," agreed the magnificent capataz de carga-
dores calmly. "Listen, Vecchio — go in and bring me
out a cigar, but don't look for it in my room. There's
nothing there."

Viola stepped into the cafe and came out directly,
still absorbed in his idea, and tendered him a cigar,
mumbling thoughtfully in his mustache, "Children
growing up — and girls, tool Girls!" He sighed and
fell silent.

"What! only one?" remarked Nostromo, looking
down with a sort of comic inquisitiveness at the un-
conscious old man. "No matter," he added, with
lofty negligence; "one is enough till another is wanted."

He lit it and let the match drop from his passive
fingers. Giorgio Viola looked up, and said, abruptly:

"My son would have been just such a fine young
man as you, Gian* Battista, if he had lived."

"What? Your son? But you are right, padrone.
If he had been like me he would have been a man."

He turned his horse slowly, and paced on between

10 139

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

the booths, checking the mare almost to a stand-still
now and then for children, for the groups of people
from the distant Campo, who stared after him with
admiration. The company's lightermen he met sa-
luted him from afar; and the greatly envied capataz
de cargadores advanced, among murmurs of recog-
nition and obsequious greetings, towards the huge
circus-like erection. The throng thickened; the gui-
tars tinkled louder; other horseman sat motionless,
smoking calmly above the heads of the crowd; it ed-
died and pushed before the doors of the high-roofed
building, whence issued a shuffle and thumping of
feet in time to the dance-music vibrating and shrieking
with a racking rhythm, overhung by the tremendous,
sustained, hollow roar of the gombo. The barbarous
and imposing noise of the big drum, that can madden
a crowd, and that even Europeans cannot hear with-
out a strange emotion, seemed to draw Nostromo on
to its source, while a man, wrapped up in a faded, torn
poncho, walked by his stirrup, and, buffeted right and
left, begged "his worship" insistently for employment
on the wharf. He whined, offering the Senor Capataz
half his daily pay for the privilege of being admitted
to the swaggering fraternity of cargadores; the other
half would be enough for him, he protested. But Cap-
tain Mitchell's right-hand man — "invaluable for our
work — a perfectly incorruptible fellow" — after look-
ing down critically at the ragged mozo, shook his head
without a word in the uproar going on around.

The man fell back ; and a little farther on Nostromo
had to pull up. From the doors of the dance-hall men
and women emerged tottering, streaming with sweat,

140

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

trembling in every limb, to loan, punting, with staring
eyes and parted lips, against the wall of the structure,
where the harps and guitars played on with mad speed
in an incessant roll of thunder. Hundreds of hands
clapped in there; voices shrieked, and then all at once
would sink low, chanting in unison the refrain of a
love-song, with a dying fall. A red flower, flung with
a good aim from somewhere in the crowd, struck the
resplendent capataz on the cheek.

He caught it as it fell, neatly, but for some time did
not turn his head. When at last he condescended to
look round, the throng near him had parted to make
way for a pretty Morenita, her hair held up by a small
golden comb, who was walking towards him in the open
space.

Her arms and neck emerged plump and bare from a
snowy chemisette; the blue woollen skirt, with all the
fulness gathered in front, scanty on the hips and tight
across the back, disclosed the provoking actior of her
walk. She came straight on and laid her hand on
the mare's neck with a timid, coquettish look up-
jeard out of the corner of her eyes.

"Querido," she murmured, caressingly, "why do
you pretend not to see me when I pass ?"

"Because I don't love thee any more," said Nostro-
mo, deliberately, after a moment of reflective silence.

The hand on the mare's neck trembled suddenly.
She dropped her head before all the eyes in the wide
circle formed round the generous, the terrible, the in-
constant capataz de cargadores, and his Morenita.

Nostromo, looking down, saw tears beginning to fall
down her face.

141

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

" Has it come, then, ever-beloved of my heart?" she
whispered. "Is it true?"

" No," said Nostromo, looking away carelessly. " It
was a lie. I love thee as much as ever."

"Is that true?" she cooed joyously, her cheeks still
wet with tears.

"It is true."

"True on the life?"

"As true as that; but thou must not ask me to
swear it on the Madonna that stands in thy room."
And the capataz laughed a little in response to the
grins of the crowd.

She pouted — very pretty — a little uneasy.

" No, I will not ask for that. I can see love in your
eyes." She laid her hand on his knee. "Why are
you trembling like this? From love?" she continued,
while the cavernous thundering of the gombo went on
without a pause. "But if you love her as much as
that, you must give your Paquita a gold-mounted
rosary of beads for the neck of her Madonna."

"No," said Nostromo, looking into her uplifted,
begging eyes, which suddenly turned stony with sur-
prise.

"No? Then what else will your worship give me
on the day of the fiesta?" she asked, angrily; "so as
not to shame me before all these people."

"There is no shame for thee in getting nothing from
thy lover for once."

"True! The shame is your worship's — my poor
lover's," she flared up, sarcastically.

Laughs were heard at her anger, at her retort. What
an audacious spitfire she was! The people aware of

142

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

this scene were calling out urgently to others in the
crowd. The circle round the silver-gray mare nar-
rowed slowly.

The girl went off a pace or two, confronting the
mocking curiosity of the eyes, then flung back to the
stirrup, tiptoeing, her enraged face turned up to Nos-
tromo with a pair of blazing eyes. He bent low to
her in the saddle.

"Juan," she hissed, " I could stab thee to the heart."

The dreaded capataz de cargadores, magnificent and
carelessly public in his amours, flung his arm round
her neck and kissed her spluttering lips. A murmur
went round.

"A knife!" he demanded at large, holding her firm-
ly by the shoulder.

Twenty blades flashed out together in the circle. A
young man in holiday attire, bounding in, thrust one
in Nostromo's hand and bounded back into the ranks,
very proud of himself. Nostromo had not even looked
at him.

"Stand on my foot," he commanded the girl, who,
icnly subdued, rose lightly, and when he had her
up, encircling her waist, her face near to his, he pressed
the knife into her little hand.

"No, Morenita! You shall not put me to shame,"
he said. "You shall have your present; and so that
every one shall know who is your lover to-day, you
may cut all the silver buttons off my coat."

There were shouts of laughter and applause at this
witty freak, while the girl passed the keen blade, and
the impassive rider jingled in his palm the increasing
hoard of silver buttons. He eased her to the ground

143

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

with both her hands full. After whispering for a
while with a very strenuous face, she walked away,
staring haughtily, and vanished into the crowd.

The circle had broken up, and the lordly capataz
de cargadores, the indispensable man, the tried and
trusty Nostromo, the Mediterranean sailor come
ashore casually to try his luck in Costaguana, rode
slowly towards the harbor. The Juno was just then
swinging round ; and even as Nostromo reined up again
to look on, a flag was run up on the improvised flag-staff
erected in an ancient and dismantled little fort at the
harbor entrance. Half a battery of field-guns had been
hurried over there from the Sulaco barracks for the
purpose of firing the reglementary salutes for the Presi-
dent-Dictator and the War Minister. As the mail-
boat headed through the pass, the badly timed reports
announced the end of Don Vincente Ribiera's first of-
ficial visit to Sulaco, and for Captain Mitchell the end
of another "historic occasion." Next time when the
" Hope of honest men " was to come that way, a year
and a half later, it was unofficially, over the mountain
tracks, fleeing after a defeat on a lame mule, to be
only just saved by Nostromo from an ignominious
death at the hands of a mob. It was a very different
event, of which Captain Mitchell used to say:

"It was history — history, sir! And that fellow of
mine. Nostromo, you know, was right in it. Abso-
lutely making history, sir."

But this event, creditable to Nostromo, was to lead
immediately to another, which could not be classed
either as "history" or as "a mistake" in Captain
Mitchell's phraseology. He had another word for it.

i44

Nostromo: A Tale of* the Scaboar,'

"Sir," he used to say, afterwards. " that was no mis-
take. It was a fatality. A misfortune, pure and sim-
ple, sir. And that poor fellow of mine was right in it
— right in the middle of it! A fatality, if ever there
was one — and to my mind he has never been the
same man since."

PART II
The Isabels

THROUGH good and evil report in the varying
fortune of that struggle which Don Jose* had
characterized in the phrase "The fate of national hon-
esty trembles in the balance," the Gould Concession,
" Imperium in imperio," had gone on working; the
square mountain had gone on pouring its treasure
down the wooden shoots to the unresting batteries of
stamps; the lights of San Tome* had twinkled night
after night upon the great, limitless shadow of the
Campo; every three months the silver escort had gone
down to the sea as if neither the war nor its conse-
quences could ever affect the ancient Occidental state
secluded beyond its high barrier of the Cordillera. All
the fighting took place on the other side of that mighty
wall of serrated peaks lorded over by the white dome
of Higuerota and as yet unbreached by the railway,
of which only the first part, the easy Campo part from
Sulaco to the I vie Valley at the foot of the pass, had
been laid. Neither did the telegraph - line cross the
mountains yet; its poles, like slender beacons on the
plain, penetrated into the forest fringe of the foot-hills
cut by the deep avenue of the track ; and its wire ended
abruptly in the construction camp at a white deal
table supporting a Morse apparatus, in a long hut of
planks with a corrugated iron roof overshadowed by

149

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

gigantic cedar-trees — the quarters of the engineer in
charge of the advance section.

The harbor was busy, too, with the traffic in rail-
way material, and with the movements of troops along
the coast. The O.S.N. Company found much occu-
pation for its fleet. Costaguana had no navy, and,
apart from a few coast-guard cutters, there were no
national ships except a couple of old merchant steam-
ers used as transports.

Captain Mitchell, feeling more and more in the
thick of history, found time for an hour or so during
an afternoon in the drawing-room of the Casa Gould,
where, with a strange ignorance of the real forces at
work around him, he professed himself delighted to
get away from the strain of affairs. He did not know
what he would have done without his invaluable Nos-
tromo, he declared. Those confounded Costaguana
politics gave him more work — he confided to Mrs.
Gould — than he had bargained for.

Don Jose" Avellanos had displayed in the service of
the endangered Ribiera government an organizing
activity and an eloquence of which the echoes reached
even Europe. For, after the new loan to the Ribiera
government, Europe had become interested in Costa-
guana. The sala of the Provincial Assembly (in the
municipal buildings of Sulaco), with its portraits of
the Liberators on the walls and an old flag of Cortez
preserved in a glass case above the President's chair,
had heard all these speeches — the early one containing
the impassioned declaration " Militarism is the enemy,"
the famous one of the "trembling balance," delivered
on the occasion of the vote for the raising of a second

'5°

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Sulaco regiment in the defence of the reforming gov-
ernment; and when the provinces again displayed their
old flags (proscribed in Guzman Bento's time) there
was another of those great orations, when Don Jose"
greeted these old emblems of the war of independence,
brought out again in the name of new Ideals. The old
idea of Federalism had disappeared. For his part he
did not wish to revive old political doctrines. They
were perishable. They died. But the doctrine of
political rectitude was immortal. The second Sulaco
regiment, to whom he was presenting this flag, was
going to show its valor in a contest for order, peace,
progress; for the establishment of national self-respect,
without which — he declared with energy — "we are
a reproach and a by-word among the powers of the
world."

Don Jose" Avellanos loved his country. He had
served it lavishly with his fortune during his diplo-
matic career, and the later story of his captivity and
barbarous ill - usage under Guzman Ben to was well
known to his listeners. It was a wonder that he had
not been a victim of the ferocious and summary exe-
cutions which marked the course of that tyranny; for
Guzman had ruled the country with the sombre im-
becility of political fanaticism. The power of su-
preme government had become in his dull mind an
object of strange worship, as if it were some sort of
cruel deity. It was incarnated in himself, and his
adversaries, the Federalists, were the supreme sinners,
objects of hate, abhorrence, and fear, as heretics
would be to a convinced Inquisitor. For years he
had carried about at the tail of the Army of Pacifica-

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

tion, all over the country, a captive band of such
atrocious criminals, who considered themselves most
unfortunate at not having been summarily executed.
It was a diminishing company of nearly naked skele-
tons, loaded with irons, covered with dirt, with ver-
min, with raw wounds, all men of position, of educa-
tion, of wealth, who had learned to fight among them-
selves for scraps of rotten beef thrown to them by
soldiers, or to beg a negro cook for a drink of muddy
water in pitiful accents. Don Jose Avellanos, clank-
ing his chains among the others, seemed only to exist
in order to prove how much hunger, pain, degrada-
tion, and cruel torture a human body can stand with-
out parting with the last spark of life. Sometimes
interrogatories, backed by some primitive method of
torture, were administered to them by a commission of
officers hastily assembled in a hut of sticks and branch-
es, and made pitiless by the fear for their own lives.
A lucky one or two of that spectral company of pris-
oners would perhaps be led tottering behind a bush
to be shot by a file of soldiers. Always an army chap-
lain— some unshaven, dirty man, girt with a sword and
with a tiny cross embroidered in white cotton on the
left breast of a lieutenant's uniform — would follow,
cigarette in the corner of the mouth, wooden stool in
hand, to hear the confession and give absolution; for
the Citizen Savior of the Country (Guzman Bento
was called thus officially, in petitions) was not averse
from the exercise of rational clemency. The irregular
report of the firing -squad would be heard, followed
sometimes by a single finishing shot; a little bluish
cloud of smoke would float up above the green bushes,

152

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

and the Army of Pacification would move on over the
savannas, through the forests, crossing rivers, invad-
ing rural pueblos, devastating the haciendas of the
horrid aristocrats, occupying the inland towns in the
fulfilment of its patriotic mission, and leaving behind
a united land wherein the evil taint of Federalism
could no longer be detected in the smoke of burning
houses and the smell of spilled blood.

Don Jose* Avellanos had survived that time.

Perhaps, when contemptuously signifying to him
his release, the Citizen Savior of the Country might
have thought this benighted aristocrat too broken in
health and spirit and fortune to be any longer dan-
gerous. Or, perhaps, it may have been a simple ca-
price. Guzman Bento, usually full of fanciful fears
and brooding suspicions, had sudden accesses of un-
reasonable self-confidence when he perceived himself
elevated on a pinnacle of power and safety beyond the
reach of mere mortal plotters. At such times he
would impulsively command the celebration of a sol-
emn mass of thanksgiving, which would be sung in
great pomp in the cathedral of Sta. Marta by the
trembling, subservient archbishop of his creation. He
heard it sitting in a gilt arm-chair placed before the high
altar, surrounded by the civil and military heads of
his government. The unofficial world of Sta. Marta
would crowd into the cathedral, for it was not quite
safe for anybody of mark to stay away from these
manifestations of presidential piety. Having thus ac-
knowledged the only power he was at all disposed to
recognize as above himself, he would scatter acts of
political grace in a sardonic wantonness of clemency.

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

There was no other way left now to enjoy his power
but by seeing his crushed adversaries crawl impotent-
ly into the light of day out of the dark, noisome cells
of the colegio. Their harmlessness fed his insatiable
vanity, and they could always be got hold of again.
It was the rule for all the women of their families to
present thanks afterwards in a special audience. The
incarnation of that strange god, El Gobierno Supremo,
received them standing, cocked hat on head, and ex-
horted them in a menacing mutter to show their grat-
itude by bringing up their children in fidelity to the
democratic form of government, "which I have es-
tablished for the happiness of our country." His
front teeth having been knocked out in some accident
of his former herdsman's life, his utterance was splut-
tering and indistinct. He had been working for Costa-
guana alone in the midst of treachery and opposition.
Let it cease now lest he should become weary of for-
giving!

Don Jose" Avellanos had known this forgiveness.

He was broken in health and fortune deplorably
enough to present a truly gratifying spectacle to the
supreme chief of democratic institutions. He retired
to Sulaco. His wife had an estate in that province, and
she nursed him back to life out of the house of death
and captivity. When she died, their daughter, an only
child, was old enough to devote herself to "poor papa."

Miss Avellanos, born in Europe and educated partly
in England, was a tall, grave girl, with a self-possessed
manner, a wide, white forehead, a wealth of rich brown
hair, and blue eyes.

The other young ladies of Sulaco stood in awe of her

: A Tale of the Seaboard

vharai-u-r and accomplishments. She was reputed to
be terribly learned and serious. As to pride, it was
well known that all the Corbelans were proud, and her
mother was a Corbelan. Don Jos£ Avellanos depend-
ed very much upon the devotion of his beloved An-
tonia. He aorptol it in the benighted way of men,
who, though made in God's image, are like stone idols
without sense before the smoke of certain burnt offer-
ings. He was ruined in every way, but a man pos-
sessed of passion is not a bankrupt in life. Don Jose"
Avellanos desired passionately for his country: peace,
prosperity, and (as the end of the preface to Fifty
Years of Misrule has it) "an honorable place in the
comity of civilized nations." In this last phrase the
Minister Plenipotentiary, cruelly humiliated by the
bad faith of his government towards the foreign bond-
holders, stands disclosed in the patriot.

The fatuous turmoil of greedy factions succeeding
the tyranny of Guzman Bento seemed to bring his de-
sire to the very door of opportunity. He was too old
to descend personally into the centre of the arena at
Sta. Marta. But the men who acted there sought his
advice at every step. He himself thought that he
could be most useful at a distance, in Sulaco. His
name, his connections, his former position, his experi-
ence commanded the respect of his class. The discovery
that this man, living in dignified poverty in the Cor-
belan town residence (opposite the Casa Gould), could
dispose of material means towards the support of the
cause increased his influence. It was his open letter
of appeal that decided the candidature of Don Vin-
cente Ribiera for the Presidency. Another of these
" J55

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

informal state papers drawn up by Don Jose" (this
time in the shape of an address from the province) in-
duced that scrupulous constitutionalist to accept the
extraordinary powers conferred upon him for five
years by an overwhelming vote of the congress in Sta.
Marta. It was a specific mandate to establish the
prosperity of the people on the basis of firm peace at
home, and to redeem the national credit by the satis-
faction of all just claims abroad.

On the afternoon the news of that vote had reached
Sulaco by the usual roundabout postal way through
Cayta, and up the coast by steamer. Don Jose", who
had been waiting for the mail in the Goulds' drawing-
room, got out of the rocking-chair, letting his hat fall
off his knees. He rubbed his silvery, short hair with
both hands, speechless with the excess of joy.

"Emilia, my soul," he had burst out, "let me em-
brace you! Let me —

Captain Mitchell, had he been there, would no doubt
have made an apt remark about the dawn of a new
era; but if Don Jose thought something of the kind,
his eloquence failed him on this occasion. The in-
spirer of that revival of the Blanco party tottered
where he stood. Mrs. Gould moved forward quickly,
and, as she offered her cheek with a smile to her old
friend, managed very cleverly to give him the support
of her arm he really needed.

Don Jose" had recovered himself at once, but for a
time he could do no more than murmur, "Oh, you
two patriots! Oh, you two patriots!" — looking from
one to the other. Vague plans of another historical
work, wherein all the devotions to the regeneration of

156

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

the country he loved would be enshrined for the rev-
erent worship of posterity, flitted through his mind.
The historian who had enough elevation of soul to
write of Guzman Bento: "Yet this monster, imbrued
in the blood of his countrymen, must not be held un-
reservedly to the execration of future years. It ap-
pears to be true that he, too, loved his country. He
had given it twelve years of peace; and, absolute mas-
ter of lives and fortune as he was, he died poor. His
worst fault, perhaps, was not his ferocity, but his igno-
rance." The man who could write thus of a cruel per-
secutor (the passage occurs in his History of Misntlc)
felt at the foreshadowing of success an almost boundless
affection for his two helpers, for these two young peo-
ple from over the sea.

Just as years ago, calmly, from the conviction of
practical necessity, stronger than any abstract politi-
cal doctrine, Henry Gould had drawn the sword, so
now, the times being changed, Charles Gould had flung
the silver of the San Tome" into the fray. The Inglez
of Sulaco, the "Costaguana Englishman" of the third
generation, was as far from being a political intriguer
as his uncle from a revolutionary swashbuckler. Spring-
ing from the instinctive uprightness of their natures
their action was reasoned. They saw an opportunity
and used the weapon to hand.

Charles Gould's position — a commanding position in
the background of that attempt to retrieve the peace
and the credit of the republic — was very clear. At
the beginning he had had to accommodate himself to
existing circumstances of corruption so naively brazen
as to disarm the hate of a man courageous enough

'57

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

not to be afraid of its irresponsible potency to ruin every-
thing it touched. It seemed to him too contemptible
for hot anger even. He made use of it with a cold, fear-
less scorn, manifested rather than concealed by the
forms of stony courtesy which did away with much of
the ignominy of the situation. At bottom, perhaps, he
suffered from it, for he was not a man of cowardly illu-
sions, but he refused to discuss the ethical view with his
wife. He trusted that, though a little disenchanted,
she would be intelligent enough to understand that his
character safeguarded the enterprise of their livps as
much or more than his policy. The extraordinary de-
velopment of the mine had put a great power into his
hands. To feel that prosperity always at the mercy
of unintelligent greed had grown irksome to him. To
Mrs. Gould it was humiliating. At any rate, it was
dangerous. In the confidential communications pass-
ing between Charles Gould, the King of Sulaco, and the
head of the silver and steel interests far away in Cali-
fornia, the conviction was growing that any -attempt
made by men of education and integrity ought to be
discreetly supported. "You may tell your friend
Avellanos that I think so." Mr. Holroyd had written
at the proper moment from his inviolable sanctuary
within the eleven-story-high factory of great affairs.
And shortly afterwards, with a credit opened by the
Third Southern Bank (located next door but one to
the Holroyd Building) the Ribierist party in Costa-
guana took a practical shape under the eye of the ad-
ministrator of the San Tome mine. And Don Jose, the
hereditary friend of the Gould family, could say: " Per-
haps, my dear Carlos, I shall not have believed in vain."

158

FTER another armed struggle, decided by Mon-
tero's victory of Rio Seco, had been added to the
tale of civil wars, the " honest men," as Don Jose" called
them, could breathe freely for the first time in half a
century. The Five- Year-Mandate law became the

Is of that regeneration, the passionate desire and
hope for which had l>een like the elixir of everlasting
youth for Don Jose* Avellanos.

And when it was suddenl} — and not quite unex-
pectedly— endangered by that "brute Montero," it
was a passionate indignation that gave him a new
lease of life, as it were. Already, at the time of the
President-Dictator's visit to Stilaco, Mnraga had sound-
ed a note of warning from Sta. Maria about the War
Minister. Montero ami his brother ma. IP the subject
of an earnest talk between tin- 1 >i< -tutor -Pn-M.lent and
the Nestor-inspirer of the party. But Don Vinrente,
a doctor of philosophy from the Cordova Univcr
seemed to have an exaggerated respect for military
ability, whose mysteriousness — since it appeared to
be altogether independent of intellect — imposed upon
his imagination. The victor of Rio Seco was a popu-
lar hero. His services were so recent that the P
dent-Dictator quailed before the obvious charge of
political ingratitude. Great regenerating transactions
were being initiated — the fresh loan, a new railway*

J59

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

line, a vast colonization scheme. Anything that could
unsettle the public opinion in the capital was to be
avoided. Don Jose" bowed to these arguments and
tried to dismiss from his mind the gold-laced portent
in boots, and with a sabre, made meaningless now at
last, he hoped, in the new order of things.

Less than six months after the President-Dictator's
visit, Sulaco learned with stupefaction of the military
revolt in the name of national honor. The Minister of
War, in a barrack-square allocution to the officers of
the artillery regiment he had been inspecting, had de-
clared the national honor sold to foreigners. The Dic-
tator, by this weak compliance with the demands of
the European powers — for the settlement of long out-
standing money claims — had showed himself unfit to
rule. A letter from Moraga explained afterwards that
the initiative, and even the very text, of the incendiary
allocution came, in reality, from the other Montero,
the ex-guerrillero, the Commandante de Plaza. The
energetic treatment of Dr. Monygham, sent for in
haste "to the mountain," who came galloping three
leagues in the dark, saved Don Jose" from a dangerous
attack of jaundice.

After getting over the shock, Don Jose" refused to let
himself be prostrated. Indeed, better news succeeded
at first. The revolt in the capital had been suppressed
after a night of fighting in the streets. Unfortunately,
both the Monteros had been able to make their escape
south, to their native province of Entre-Montes. The
hero of the forest march, the victor of Rio Seco, had
been received with frenzied acclamations in Nicoya,
the provincial capital. The troops in garrison there

160

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

had gone to him in a body. The brothers were or-
ganizing an army, gathering malcontents, sending
emissaries primed with patriotic lies to the people, and
with promises of plunder to the wild Llaneros. Even
a Monterist press had come into existence, speaking
oracularly of the secret promises of support given by
"our great sister republic of the north" against the
sinister land -grabbing designs of European powers,
cursing in every issue the "miserable Ribiera," who
had plotted to deliver his country, bound hand and
foot, for a prey to foreign speculators.

Sulaco, pastoral and sleepy, with its opulent Campo
and the rich silver-mine, heard the din of arms fitfully
in its fortunate isolation. It was nevertheless in the
very forefront of the defence with men and money;
but rumors reached it circuitously — from abroad
even, so much was it cut off from the rest of the re-
public, not only by natural obstacles, but also by the
vicissitudes of the war. The Monteristos were besieg-
ing Cayta, an important postal link. The overland
couriers ceased to come across the mountains, and no
muleteer would consent to risk the journey at last;
even Bonifacio on one occasion failed to return from
Sta. Marta, either not daring to start, or perhaps capt-
ured by the parties of the enemy raiding the country
between the Cordillera and the capital. Monterist
publications, however, found their way into the prov-
ince, mysteriously enough; and also Monterist emis-
saries preaching death to aristocrats in the villages
and towns of the Campo. Very early, at the begin-
ning of the trouble, Hernandez, the bandit, had pro-
posed (through the agency of an old priest of a village

161

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

in the wilds) to deliver two of them to the Ribierist
authorities in Tonoro. They had come to offer him
a free pardon and the rank of colonel from General
Montero in consideration of joining the rebel army
with his mounted band. No notice was taken at the
time of the proposal. It was joined, as an evidence
of good faith, to a petition praying the Sulaco Assem-
bly for permission to enlist, with all his followers, in
the forces being then raised in Sulaco for the defence
of the Five Year Mandate of regeneration. The pe-
tition, like everything else, had found its way into Don
Jose"s hands. He had showed to Mrs. Gould these
pages of dirty-grayish rough paper (perhaps looted in
some village store), covered with the crabbed, illiter-
ate handwriting of the old padre, carried off from his
hut by the side of a mud-walled church to be the sec-
retary of the dreaded salteador. They had both bent
in the lamp-light of the Gould drawing-room over the
document containing the fierce and yet humble ap-
peal of the man against the blind and stupid barbar-
ity turning an honest ranchero into a bandit. A post-
script of the priest stated that, but for being deprived
of his liberty for ten days, he had been treated with
humanity and the respect due to his sacred calling.
He had been, it appears, confessing and absolving the
chief and most of the band, and he guaranteed the
sincerity of their good disposition. He had distrib-
uted heavy penances, no doubt in the way of litanies
and fasts; but he argued shrewdly that it would be
difficult for them to make their peace with God du-
rably till they had made peace with men.

Never before, perhaps, had Hernandez's head been
162

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

in less jeopardy than when he petitioned humbly for
permission to buy a pardon for himself and his gang
of deserters by armed service. He could range afar
from the waste lands protecting his fastness, uncheck-
ed, because there were no troops left in the whole
province. The usual garrison of Sulaco had gone
south to the war, with its brass band playing the
Bolivar march on the bridge of one of the O.S.N.
Company's steamers. The great family coaches
drawn up along the shore of the harbor were made
to rock on the high leathern springs by the en-
thusiasm of the senoras and the senoritas standing
up to wave their lace handkerchiefs, as lighter after
lighter packed full of troops left the end of the
jetty.

Nostromo directed the embarkation, under the su-
perintendence of Captain Mitchell, red-faced in the sun,
conspicuous in a white waistcoat, representing the
allied and anxious good-will of all the material inter-
ests of civilization. General Barrios, who commanded
the troops, assured Don Jose" on parting that in three
weeks he would have Montero in a wooden cage drawn
by three pair of oxen ready for a tour through all the
towns of the republic.

"And then, senora," he continued, baring his curly,
iron-gray head to Mrs. Gould in her landau — "and
then, senora, we shall convert our swords into plough-
shares and grow rich. Even I, myself, as soon as this
little business is settled, shall open a fundacion on some
land I have on the Llanos and try to make a little
money in peace and quietness. Senora, you know,
all Costaguana knows — what do 1 say? — this whole

163

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

South American continent knows, that Pablo Barrios
has had his fill of military glory."

Charles Gould was not present at the anxious and
patriotic send-off. It was not his part to see the
soldiers embark. It was neither his part, nor his in-
clination, nor his policy. His part, his inclination, and
his policy were united in one endeavor to keep un-
checked the flow of treasure he had started single-
handed from the re-opened scar in the flank of the
mountain. As the mine had developed he had trained
for himself some native help. There were foremen,
artificers, and clerks, with Don Pe'pe' for the gobernador
of the mining population. For the rest, his shoulders
alone sustained the whole weight of the "Imperium
in imperio," the great Gould Concession whose mere
shadow had been enough to crush the life out of his
father.

Mrs. Gould had no silver-mine to look after. In the
general life of the Gould Concession she was repre-
sented by her two lieutenants, the doctor and the
priest, but she fed her woman's love of excitement on
events whose significance was purified to her by the
fire of her imaginative purpose. On that day she had
brought the Avellanos, father and daughter, down to

the harbor with her.
/

Among his other activities of that stirring time,
Don Josd had become the chairman of a patriotic com-
mittee which had armed a great proportion of troops
in the Sulaco command with an improved model of a
military rifle. It had been just discarded for some-
thing still more deadly by one of the great European
powers. How much of the market-price for second-

164

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

hand weapons was covered by the voluntary, contri-
butions of the principal families, and how much came
from those funds Don Jose* was understood to com-
mand abroad, remained a secret which he alone could
have disclosed; but the Ricos, as the populace called
them, had contributed under the pressure of their
Nestor's eloquence. Some of the more enthusiastic
ladies had been moved to bring offerings of jewels into
the hands of the man who was the life and soul of the
party.

There were moments when both his life and his
soul seemed overtaxed by so many years of undis-
couraged belief in regeneration. He appeared almost
inanimate, sitting rigidly by the side of Mrs. Gould in
the landau, with his fine, old, clean-shaven face of a
uniform tint as if modelled in yellow wax, shaded by
a soft felt hat, and the dark eyes looking out fixedly.
Antonia, the beautiful Antonia, as Miss Avellanos was
called in Sulaco, leaned back, facing them; and her full
figure, the grave oval of her face with full red lips,
made her look more mature than Mrs. Gould, with her
mobile expression and small erect person under a
slightly swaying sunshade.

Whenever possible Antonia attended her father;
her recognized devotion weakened the shocking effect
of her scorn for the rigid conventions regulating the
life of Spanish -American girlhood. And, in truth,
she was no longer girlish. It was said that she often
wrote state papers from her father's dictation, and was
allowed to read all the books in his library. At the
receptions — where the situation was saved by the
presence of a very decrepit old lady (a relation of the

165

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Corbelans), quite deaf and motionless in an arm-chair
— Antonia could hold her own in a discussion with
two or three men at a time. Obviously she was not
the girl to be content with peeping through a barred
window at a cloaked figure of a lover ensconced in a
doorway opposite — which is the correct form of Costa-
guana courtship. It was generally believed that with
her foreign upbringing and foreign ideas the learned
and proud Antonia would never marry — unless, in-
deed, she married a foreigner from Europe or North
America, now that Sulaco seemed on the point of being
invaded by all the world.

Ill

WHEN General Barrios stopped to address Mrs.
Gould, Antonia raised negligently her hand hold-
ing an open fan, as if to shade from the sun her head,
:>ped in a light lace shawl. The clear gleam of
her blue eyes gliding behind the black fringe of eye-
lashes paused for a moment upon her father, thi-n
travelled farther to the figure of a young man of thirty
at most, of medium height, rather thick, wearing a
light overcoat. Bearing down with the open palm of
his hand upon the knob of a flexible cane, he had been
looking on from a distance; but directly he saw him-
self noticed, he approached quietly and put his elbow
over the door of the landau.

The shirt collar, cut low in the neck, the big bow of
his cravat, the style of his clothing, from the round
hat to the varnished shoes, suggested an idea of Frcm h
elegance; but otherwise he was the very type of a fair
•iish Creole. The fluffy mustache and the short,
curly, golden beard did not conceal his lips. rosy, fresh,
almost pouting in expression. His full round face was
of that warm, healthy, Creole white which is never
tanned by its native sunshine. Martin Decoud was
seldom exposed to the Costaguana sun under which he
was born. His people had been long settled in Paris,
where he had studied law, had dabbled in literature,
had hoped now and then in moments of exaltation to

167

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

become a poet like that other foreigner of Spanish
blood, Jose* Maria Here'dia. In other moments he had,
to pass the time, condescended to write articles on
European affairs for the Sctn&nario, the principal news-
paper in Sta. Marta, which printed them under the
heading, ''From our special correspondent," though
the authorship was an open secret. Everybody in
Costaguana, where the tale of compatriots in Europe
is jealously kept, knew that it was "the son Decoud,"
a talented young man, supposed to be moving in the
higher spheres of Society. As a matter of fact, he
was an idle boulevardier, in touch with some smart
journalists, made free of a few newspaper offices, and
welcomed in the pleasure haunts of pressmen. This
life, whose dreary superficiality is covered by the glit-
ter of universal blague, like the stupid clowning of a
harlequin by the spangles of a motley costume, in-
duced in him a Frenchified — but most un-French —
cosmopolitanism, in reality a mere barren indifferent-
ism posing as intellectual superiority. Of his own
country he used to say to his French associates: —
" Imagine an atmosphere of opera-bouffe in which all
the comic business of stage statesmen, brigands, etc.,
etc., all their farcical stealing, intriguing, and stabbing
is done in dead earnest. It is screamingly funny; the
blood flows all the time, and the actors believe them-
selves to be influencing the fate of the universe. Of
course, government in general, any government any-
where, is a thing of exquisite comicality to a discern-
ing mind; but really we Spanish-Americans do over-
step the bounds. No man of ordinary intelligence
can take part in the intrigues of wne farce macabre,

i63

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

-.ever, those Ribicrists, of whom we hear so much
now, are really trying in their own comical way
to make the country habitable, and even to pay some
of its debts. My friends, you had better write up
Sefior RiliitTu all you can in kindness to your own
bondholders. Really, if what I am told in my letters
is true, there is some chance for them at last

And he would explain with railing verve what Don
Vincente Ribiera stood for — a mournful little man op-
pressed by his own good intentions; the significance
of battles won, who Montero was (KM grotesque vaniteux
ft ftroce), and the manner of the new loan connected
with railway development, and the colonization of vast
tracts of land in one great financial scheme.

And his French friends would remark that evidently
this little fellow Decoud connaissait /j question A fond.
An important Parisian review asked him for an article
on the situation. It was composed in a serious tone
uid in a spirit of levity. Afterwards he asked one of
his intimates:

" Have you read my thing about the regeneration of
Costaguana — itnc bonne blague, heinf"

He imagined himself Parisian to the tips of his fin-
gers. But far from being that he was in danger of re-
maining a sort of nondescript dilettante all his life.
He had pushed the habit of universal raillery to a
point where it blinded him to the genuine impulses
of his own nature. To be suddenly selected for the
executive member of the patriotic small-arms com-
mittee of Sulaco seemed to him the height of the un-
•spected, one of those fantastic moves of which only
his "dear countrymen" were capable.

269

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"It's like a tile falling on my head. I — I — execu-
tive member! It's the first I hear of it! What do I
know of military rifles? C'est funambulesque!" he had
exclaimed to his favorite sister; for the Decoud fam-
ily— except the old father and mother — used the
French language among themselves. "And you should
see the explanatory and confidential letter! Eight
pages of it — no less!"

This letter, in Antonia's handwriting, was signed by
Don Jose", who appealed to the "young and gifted
Costaguanero " on public grounds, and privately open-
ed his heart to his talented godson, a man of wealth
and leisure, with wide relations, and by his parentage
and bringing-up worthy of all confidence.

"Which means," Martin commented cynically to
his sister, "that I am not likely to misappropriate the
funds, or go blabbing to our Charge" d' Affaires here."

The whole thing was being carried out behind the
back of the War Minister, Montero, a mistrusted mem-
ber of the Ribiera government, but difficult to get
rid of at once. He was not to know anything of it
till the troops under Barrios 's command had the new
rifle in their hands. The President-Dictator, whose
position was very difficult, was alone in the secret.

"How funny," commented Martin's sister and con-
fidante ; to which the brother, with an air of best Pa-
risian blague, had retorted:

"It's immense. The idea of that Chief of the State
engaged, with the help of private citizens, in digging
a mine under his own indispensable War Minister. No!
We are unapproachable!" And he laughed immod-
erately.

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Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

Afterwards his sifter was surprised at the earnest-
ness and ability he displayed in carrying out his mis-
sion, which circumstances made delicate, and his want
of special knowledge rendered difficult. She had never
seen Martin take so much trouble about anything in
his whole life.

"It amuses me," he had explained, briefly. " I am
beset by a lot of swindlers trying to sell all sorts of
gas-pipe weapons. They are charming; they invite
me to expensive luncheons; I keep up their hopes; it's
extremely entertaining. Meanwhile the real affair is
being carried through in quite another quarter."

When the business was concluded he declared sud-
denly his intention of seeing the precious consignment
delivered safely in Sulaco. The whole burlesque bu- 1-
. he thought, was worth following up to the end.
He mumbled his excuses, tugging at his golden beard,
before the acute young lady who (after the first wide
stare of astonishment) looked at him with narrowed
eyes, and pronounced, slowly:

1 I believe you want to see Antonia."

"What Antonia?" asked the Costaguana boulevar-
dier, in a vexed and disdainful tone. He shrugged his
shoulders, and spun round on his heel. Hi sister
called out after him, joyously:

"The Antonia you used to know when she wore her
hair in two plaits down her back."

He had known her some eight years before, shortly
before the Avellanos had left Europe for good, as a
tall girl of sixteen, youthfully austere, and of a char-
acter already so formed that she ventured to treat
slightingly his pose of disabused wisdom. On one

n 17*

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

occasion, as though she had lost all patience, 'she flew
out at him about the aimlessiiess of his life and the
levity of his opinions. He was twenty then, an only
son, spoiled by his adoring family. This attack dis-
concerted him so greatly that he had faltered in his
affectation of amused superiority before that insignifi-
cant chit of a school - girl. But the impression left
was so strong that ever since all the girl friends of his
sisters recalled to him Antonia Avellanos by some
faint resemblance, or by the great force of contrast.
It was, he told himself, like a ridiculous fatality. And,
of course, in the news the Decouds received regularly
from Costaguana, the name of their friends, the Avel-
lanos, cropped up frequently — the arrest and the
abominable treatment of the ex - Minister, the dan-
gers and hardships endured by the family, its with-
drawal in poverty to Sulaco, the death of the mother.

The Monterist pronunciamento had taken place be-
fore Martin Decoud reached Costaguana. He came
out in a roundabout way, through Magellan's Straits
by the main line and the West Coast Service of the
O.S.N. Company. His precious consignment arrived
just in time to convert the first feelings of consternation
into a mood of hope and resolution. Publicly he was
made much of by the familias principals . Privately
Don Jose", still shaken and weak, embraced him with
tears in his eyes.

" You have come out yourself! No less could be expect-
ed from a Decoud. Alas ! our worst fears have been real-
ized," he moaned, affectionately. And again he hugged
his godson. This was indeed the time for men of intel-
lect and conscience to rally round the endangered cause.

172

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

It v..is thru that Martin Dccoud, the adopted chil«l
of western Europe, felt the absolute « hange of atmos-
phere. He submitted to bring embraced and talki-.l
to without a word. He was moved in spite of him-
self by that note of passion and sorrow unknown on
the more refined stage of European ]><>litus Hut
when the tall Antonia, advancing with her light
in the dimness of the bi^r bare sala of the Avellanos
house, offered him her hand (in her emancipated
way), and murmured, "I am glad to see you here,
Don Martin," he felt how impossible it would be to
tell these two people that he had intended to go away
by the next month's packet. Don Jose", meantime,
continued his praises. Every accession added to pub-
lic confidence; and, besides, what an example to the
young men at home from the brilliant defender of tin-
country's regeneration, the worthy expounder of the
party's political faith before the world' Everybody
read the magnificent article in the famous Paris-
ian Review. The world was now informed: and the
author's appearance at this moment was like a public-
act of faith. Young Decoud felt overcome by a feel-
ing of impatient confusion. His plan had been to re-
turn by way of the United States through California,
visit tlie Yellowstone Park, see Chicago, Niagara, have
a look at Canada, perhaps make a short stay in New
York, a longer one in Newport, use his letters of intro-
ion. The pressure of Antonia's hand was so frank,
the tone of her voice was so unexpectedly unchanged
in its approving warmth, that all he found to say after
bis low bow was:

" I am inexpressibly grateful for your welcome; but

173

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

why need a man be thanked for returning to his native
country ? I am sure Dona Antonia does not think so."

"Certainly not, sefior," she said, with that perfectly
calm openness of manner which characterized all her
utterances. "But when he returns, as you return,
one may be glad — for the sake of both."

Martin Decoud said nothing of his plans. He not
only never breathed a word of them to any one, but
only a fortnight later asked the mistress of the Casa
Gould (where he had of course obtained admission at
once), leaning forward in his chair with an air of well-
bred familiarity, whether she could not detect in him
that day a marked change — an air, he explained, of
more excellent gravity. At this Mrs. Gould turned
her face full towards him with the silent inquiry of
slightly widened eyes and the merest ghost of a smile,
an habitua^, movement with her, which was very fas-
cinating to men by something subtly devoted, finely
self-forgetful in its lively readiness of attention. Be-
cause, Decoud continued im perturb ably, he felt no
longer an idle cumberer of the earth. She was, he
assured her, actually beholding at that moment the
Journalist of Sulaco. At once Mrs. Gould glanced
towards Antonia, posed upright in the corner of a
high, straight-backed Spanish sofa, a large black fan
waving slowly against the curves of her fine figure,
the tips of crossed feet peeping from under the hem of
the black skirt. Decoud's eyes also remained fixed
there, while in an undertone he added that Miss Avel-
lanos was quite aware of his new and unexpected vo-
cation, which in Costaguana was generally the special-
ity of half-educated negroes and wholly penniless law-

174

Nostromo : A Talc oi the Seaboard

Then, confronting with a sort of urbane dtron-

tery >uld's gaze, now turned sympathetically

lu- breathed out the words, "Pro Patria!"

What had happened was that he had all at <
yielded to Don Jose's pressing entreaties to take the
direction of a newspaper that would "voice the as-
pirations of the province." It had been Don Jose's
old and cherished idea. The necessary plant (on a
modest scale) and a large consignment of paper had
been received from America some time before; the
right man alone was wanted. Even Senor Moraga in
Sta. Marta had not been able to find one, and the
matter was now becoming pressing; some organ was
absolutely needed to counteract the effect of the lies
disseminated by the Monterist press: the atrocious
calumnies, the appeals to the people calling upon them
to rise with their knives in their hands and put an end
once for all to the Blancos, to these Gothic remnants,
to these sinister mummies, these impotent paraliticos,
who plotted with foreigners for the surrender of the
lands and the slavery of the people.

The clamor of this AV^ro Liberalism frightened Senor
Avellanos. A newspaper was the only remedy. And
now the right man had been found in Decoud, great
black letters appeared painted between the windows
above the arcaded ground -floor of a house on the Plaza.
It was next to Anzani's ^reat emporium of boots, silks.
ironware, muslins, wooden toys, tiny sliver arms, legs,
heads, hearts (for ex-voto offerings), rosaries, cham-

e, women's hats, patent medicines, even a
du>ty books in paper covers and mostly in the French
language. The big black letters formed the words,

'75

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"Offices of the Porvenir." From these offices a single
folded sheet of Martin's journalism issued three times
a week; and the sleek, yellow Anzani prowling in a
suit of ample black and carpet slippers, before the
many doors of his establishment, greeted by a deep,
sidelong inclination of his body the Journalist of Su-
laco going to and fro on the business of his august
calling.

OERHAPS it was in the exercise of his calling that
JL he had come to see the troops depart. The Por-
vcnir of the day after next would no doubt relate the
event, but its editor, leaning his side against the landau,
seemed to look at nothing. The front rank of the
company of infantry drawn up three deep across the
shore end of the jetty when pressed too close would
bring their bayonets to the charge ferociously, with
an awful rattle; and then the crowd of spectators
swayed back bodily, even under the noses of the big
white mules. Notwithstanding the great multitude
there was only a low, muttering noise; the dust hung
in a brown haze, in which the horsemen, wedged in
the throng here and there, towered from the hips up-
ward, gazing all one way over the heads. Almost
every one of them had mounted a friend, who steadied
himself with both hands grasping his shoulders from
behind ; and the rims of their hats touching, made like
one disk sustaining the cones of two pointed crowns
with a double face underneath. A hoarse mozo would
bawl out something to an acquaintance in the ranks,
or a woman would shriek suddenly the word Adios!
followed by the Christian name of a man.

General Barrios, in a shabby blue tunic and white
peg-top trousers falling upon strange red boots, kept
his head uncovered and stooped slightly, propping

177

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

himself up with a thick stick. No! He had earned
enough military glory to satiate any man, he insisted
to Mrs. Gould, trying at the same time to put an air
of gallantry into his attitude. A few jetty hairs hung
sparsely from his upper lip, he had a salient nose, a
thin, long jaw, and a black silk patch over one eye.
His other eye, small and deep-set, twinkled erratically
in all directions, aimlessly affable. The few European
spectators, all men, who had naturally drifted into the
neighborhood of the Gould equipage, betrayed by the
solemnity of their faces their impression that the gen-
eral must have had too much punch (Swedish punch,
imported in bottles by Anzani) at the Amarilla Club
before he had started with his staff on a furious ride
to the harbor. But Mrs. Gould bent forward, self-
possessed, and declared her conviction that still more
glory awaited the general in the near future.

"Senora," he remonstrated, with great feeling, "in
the name of God, reflect! How can there be any glory
for a man like me in overcoming that bald-headed em-
bustero with the dyed mustaches?"

Pablo Ignacio Barrios, son of a village alcalde, gen-
eral of division, commanding in chief the Occidental
military district, did not frequent the higher society
of the town. He preferred the unceremonious gath-
erings of men, where he could tell jaguar-hunt stories,
boast of his powers with the lasso, with which he
could perform extremely difficult feats of the sort
"no married man should attempt," as the saying goes
among the Llaneros ; relate tales of extraordinary night
rides, encounters with wild bulls, struggles with croco-
diles, adventures in the great forests, crossings of

•ffl

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

swollen rivers. And it was not mere boastfulness
that prompted the general's reminiscences, but a gen-
uine love of that wild life which he had led in his
young days before he turned his back forever on the
thatched roof of the parental tolderia in the woods.
Wandering away as far as Mexico he had fought
against the French by the side (as he said) of Juarez,
and was the only military man of Costaguana who
hail ever encountered European troops in the field.
That fact shed a great lustre upon his name till it be-
came eclipsed by the rising star of Montero. All his
life he had been an inveterate gambler. He alluded
himself quite openly to the current story how once,
during some campaign (when in command of a brigade),
he had gambled away his horses, pistols, and accoutre-
ments, to the very epaulets, playing mcmte with his
colonels the night before the battle. Finally, he had
sent under escort his sword (a presentation sword, with
a gold hilt) to the town in the rear of his position to be
immediately pledged for five hundred pesetas with a
sk-i-py and frightened shopkeeper. By daybreak he
had lost the last of that money, too, when his only re-
mark, as he rose calmly, was, "Now let us go and
fight to the death." From that time he had become
aware that a general could lead his troops into battle
very well with a simple stick in his hand. "It has
been my custom ever since," he would say.

He was always overwhelmed with debts; even dur-
ing the periods of splendor in his varied fortunes of a
Costaguana general, when he held high military com-
mands, his gold-laced uniforms were almost always in
pawn with some tradesman. And at last, to avoid

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

the incessant difficulties of costume caused by the anx-
ious lenders, he had assumed a disdain of military
trappings, an eccentric fashion of shabby old tunics,
which had become like a second nature. But the
faction Barrios joined needed to fear no political be-
trayal. He was too much of a real soldier for the
ignoble traffic of buying and selling victories. A mem-
ber of the foreign diplomatic body in Sta. Marta had
once passed judgment upon him: "Barrios is a man
of perfect honesty and even of some talent for war,
mais il manque de temie." After the triumph of the
Ribierists he had obtained the reputedly lucrative
Occidental command, mainly through the exertions
of his creditors (the Sta. Marta shopkeepers, all great
politicians), who moved heaven and earth in his inter-
est publicly, and privately besieged Serior Moraga, the
influential agent of the San Tome" mine, with the ex-
aggerated lamentations that if the general were passed
over, "we shall all be ruined." An incidental but favor-
able mention of his name in Mr. Gould senior's long
correspondence with his son had something to do with
his appointment, too; but most of all undoubtedly his
established political honesty. No one questioned the
personal bravery of the Tiger-killer, as the populace
called him. He was, however, said to be unlucky in
the field — but this was to be the beginning of an era of
peace. The soldiers liked him for his humane tem-
per, which was like a strange and precious flower un-
expectedly blooming on the hotbed of corrupt revo-
lutions; and when he rode slowly through the streets
during some military display, the contemptuous good-
humor of his solitary eye roaming over the crowds e.X'

1 80

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

torted the acclamations of the populace. The women
of that class especially seemed positively fascinated
by the long drooping nose, the peaked chin, the heavy
lower lip. the Mark silk eye-patch and hand slanting
rakishly over the forehead. His high rank always pro-
cured an audience of caballeros for his sporting stories.
which he detailed very well, with a simple grave en-
joyment. As to the society of ladies, it was irksome
by the restraints it imposed without any equivalent,
as far as he could see. He had not, perhaps, spoken
three times on the whole to Mrs. Gould since he had
taken up his high command ; but he had observed her
frequently riding with the Senor Administrador, and
had pronounced that there was more sense in her lit-
tle bridle-hand than in all the female heads in Sulaco.
His impulse had been to be very civil on parting to a
woman who did not wobble in the saddle and happened
to be the wife of a personality very important to a man
always short of money. He even pushed his at
tions so far as to desire the aide-de-camp at his side
(a thick-set, short captain with a Tartar physiognomy)
to bring along a corporal with a file of men in front
of the carriage, lest the crowd in its backward surges
should "incommode the mules of the senora." Then,
turning to the small knot of silent Kumpeans looking
on within earshot, he raised his voice protectingly:

"Seftores, have no apprehension. Go on quietly
making your ferrocarril — your railways, your tele-
graphs, your — There's enough wealth in Costa-
guana to pay for everything — or else you would not
be here. Ha! ha! Don't mind this little picardia ol
my friend Montero. In a little while you shall be-

181 •

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

hold his dyed mustaches through the bars of a strong
wooden cage. Si, senores! Fear nothing; develop the
country; work, work."

The little group of engineers received this exhorta-
tion without a word, and after waving his hand at
them loftily, he addressed himself again to Mrs. Gould:

"That is what Don Jos£ says we must do. Be en-
terprising! Work! Grow rich! To put Montero in a
cage is my work; and when that insignificant piece
of business is done, then, as Don Jose" wishes us, we
shall grow rich, one and all, like so many Englishmen,
because it is money that saves a country, and—

But a young officer in a very new uniform, hurrying
up from the direction of the jetty, interrupted his in-
terpretation of Seiior Avellanos's ideals. The general
made a movement of impatience; the other went on
talking to him insistently, with an air of respect. The
horses of the staff had been embarked, the steamer's
gig was awaiting the general at the boat steps; and
Barrios, after a fierce stare of his one eye, began to
take leave. Don Jose* roused himself for an appro-
priate phrase pronounced mechanically. The terri-
ble strain of. hope and fear was telling on him, and he
seemed to husband the last sparks of his fire for those
oratorial efforts of which even the distant Europe
was to hear. Antonia, her red lips firmly closed,
averted her head behind the raised fan; and young
Decoud, though he felt the girl's eyes upon him, gazed
away persistently, hooked on his elbow, with a scorn-
ful and complete detachment. Mrs. Gould heroically
concealed her dismay at the appearance of men and
events so remote from her racial conventions, dismay
* 182

Nostromo: A T.ilc of the Seaboard

too deep to be uttered in words even to her husband.
She understood his voiceless reserve better now. Their
confidential intercourse fell, not in moments of pri

. but precisely in public, when the quick meeting
of their glances would comment upon some fresh turn
of events. She had gone to his school of uncon ;
niisin- silcncr, the only one possible, since so much
that seemed shocking, weird, and grotesque in the
working out of their purposes had to be accepted as
normal in this country. I )e< idedly, the stately Antonia
looked more mature and infinitely calm; but she would
never have known how to reconcile the sudden sinkings
of her heart with an amiable mobility of expression.

Mrs. Gould smiled a good-bye at Barrios, nodded
round to the Europeans (who raised their hats simul-
taneously) with an engaging invitation, "I hope to
see you all presently, at home;" then said nervously to
Decoud, "<iet in, Don Martin." and heard him mutter
to himself in French, as he opened the carriage door.
"/.<• sort en cst ictc." She heard him with a sort of

peration. Nobody ought to have known better
than himself that the fir <>f dice had been al-

ready thrown long ago in a most desperate game.

mt acclamations, words of command yelled out.
and a roll of drums on the jetty greeted the departing
general. Something like a slight faintness came <
her. and she looked blankly at Antonia's still i
wondering what would happen to Charley if that
surd man failed. ".1 ii • Wtf, Ignaciof* she cried at
the motionless broad back of the coachman, who gath

the reins without haste, mumbling to himself un-
der his breath, "Si, /u casa. Si, si nina."

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

The carriage rolled noiselessly on the soft track,
the shadows fell long on the dusty little plain inter-
spersed with dark bushes, mounds of turned-up earth,
low wooden buildings with iron roofs of the railway
company; the sparse row of telegraph-poles strode ob-
liquely clear of the town, bearing a single, almost in-
visible wire far into the great Campo — like a slender
vibrating feeler of that progress waiting outside for
a moment of peace to enter and twine itself about the
weary heart of the land.

The cafe" window of the Albergo d'ltalia Una was
full of sunburned, whiskered faces of railway men. But
at the other end of the house, the end of the Signori
Inglesi, old Giorgio, at the door, with one of his girls
on each side, bared his bushy head, as white as the
snows of Higuerota. Mrs. Gould stopped the car-
riage. She seldom failed to speak to her prote"gd ; more-
over, the excitement, the heat, and the dust had made
her thirsty. She asked for a glass of water. Giorgio
sent the children in-doors for it, and approached with
pleasure expressed in his whole rugged countenance.
It was not often that he had occasion to see his bene-
factress, who was also an Englishwoman — another
title to his regard. He offered some excuses for his
wife. It was a bad day with her; her oppressions — he
tapped his own broad chest. She could not move
from her chair that day.

Decoud, ensconced in the corner of his seat, ob-
served gloomily Mrs. Gould's old revolutionist, then,
off-hand :

"Well, and what do you think of it all, Garibaldino?"

Old Giorgio, looking at him with some curiosity,
184

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

:!ly. that the troops had marched very well.
One-eyed Barrios ami his officers had done wonders
with the recruits in a short time. Those Indios, only
lit the other day, had gone swinging past in
double-quick time, like bersaglieri; they looked well
too, and had whole uniforms. "Uniforms!" he
.ited with a half-smile of pity. A look of grim ret-
rospect stole over his piercing, steady eyes. It had
a otherwise in his time, when men fought against
tyranny, in the forests of Brazil, or on the plains of
Uruguay, starving on half-raw beef without salt, half
naked, with often only a knife tied to a ^tick for a
weapon. "And yet we used to prevail against the
oppressor," he concluded, proudly.

His animation fell; the slight gesture of his hand
expressed discouragement; but he added that he had
asked one of the sergeants to show him the new rifle.
There was no such weapon in his fighting-days; and if
Barrios could not —

"Yes, yes," broke in Don Jose", almost trembling
with eagerness. " We are safe. The good Seflor
Viola is a man of experience. Extremely deadly — is
it not so? You have accomplished your mission ad-
mirably, my dear Martin."

Decoud, lolling back moodily, contemplated old
Viola.

"Ah, yes. A man of experience. But who are you
for, really, in your heart?"

Mrs. Gould leaned over to the children. Linda had
brought out a glass of water on a tray, with extremt
Bare; Giselle presented her with a bunch of flowers
gathered hastily.

185

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"For the people," declared old Viola, sternly.

"We are all for the people — in the end."

"Yes," muttered old Viola, savagely. "And mean-
time they fight for you. Blind. Esclavos!"

At that moment young Scarfe of the railway staff
emerged from the door of the part reserved for the
Signori Inglesi. He had come down to headquarters
from somewhere up the line on a light engine, and had
had just time to get a bath and change his clothes.
He was a nice boy, and Mrs. Gould welcomed him.

"It's a delightful surprise to see you, Mrs. Gould.
I've just come down. Usual luck. Missed every-
thing, of course. This show is just over, and I hear
there has been a great dance at Don Juste Lopez's
last night. Is it true?"

"The young patricians," Decoud began suddenly in
his precise English, "have indeed been dancing before
they started off to the war with the Great Pompey."

Young Scarfe started, astounded. "You haven't
met before," Mrs. Gould intervened. "Mr. Decoud —
Mr. Scarfe."

"Ah! But we are not going to Pharsalia," pro-
tested Don Jose, with nervous haste, also in English.
"You should not jest like this, Martin."

Antonia's breast rose and fell with a deeper breath.
The young engineer was utterly in the dark. "Great
what?" he muttered vaguely.

"Luckily, Montero is not a Caesar," Decoud con-
tinued. "Not the two Monteros put together would
make a decent parody of a Ctesar." He crossed his
arms on his breast, looking at Senor Avellanos, who
had returned to his immobility. "It is only you, Don

186

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Jose", who are a genuine old Roman — vir Romanus —
eloquent and inflexi!

Since he had heard the name of Montero pronounced,
young Scarfe had been eager to express his simple
feelings. In a loud and youthful tone In- hoped that
this Montero was goin^ to U- lu-ked once for all and
done with. There was no .-aying what would happen
to the railway if the revolution got the upperhaml.
Perhaps it would have to be abandoned. It would
not be the first railway gone to pot in Costaguuna.

You know, it's one of their so-called national tilings,"
he ran on, wrinkling up his nose as if the word had a
suspicious flavor to his profound experience of South
American affairs. And, of course, he chatted with
animation, it had been such an immense piece of luck
for him at his age to get appointed on the staff "of
a big thing like that — don't you know." It would
give him the pull over a lot of chaps all through !
he asserted. "Therefore — down with Montero, Mrs.
Gould." His artless grin disappeared slowly l»efore
the unanimous gravity of the faces turned upon him
from the carriage; only that "old chap," Don JflBe*,
presenting a motionless, waxy profile, stared straight
on as if deaf. Scarfe did not know the Avellanos very
well. They did not give balls, and Antonia never ap-
peared at a ground-floor window, as some other young
ladies used to do, attended by elder women, to chaU
with the caballeros on horseback in the I'alle. The
stares of these Creoles did not matter much; but v
on earth had come to Mrs. Gould ? She said. "Go on.
Ignacio," and gave him a slow inclination of the head,
card a short laugh from that round-faced, Frenchi-
18;

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

fied fellow. He colored up to the eyes, and stared at
Giorgio Viola, who had fallen back with the children,
hat in hand.

"I shall want a horse presently," he said with some
asperity to the old man.

"Si, senor. There are plenty of horses," murmured
the Garibaldino, smoothing absently, with his big
brown hands, the two heads, one dark with bronze
glints, the other fair with a coppery ripple, of the two
girls by his side. The returning stream of sightseers
raised a great dust on the road. Horsemen noticed
the group. "Go to your mother," he said. "They
are growing up as I am growing older, and there is
nobody — "

He looked at the young engineer and stopped, as if
awakened from a dream; then, folding his arms on his
breast, took up his usual position, leaning back in the
doorway with an upward glance fastened on the white
shoulder of Higuerota far away.

In the carriage Martin Decoud, shifting his position
as though he could not make himself comfortable,
muttered as he swayed towards Antonia, "I suppose
you hate me." Then in a loud voice he began to con-
gratulate Don Jose" upon all the engineers being con-
vinced Ribierists. The interest of all those foreigners
was gratifying. "You have heard this one. He is
an enlightened well-wisherr It is pleasant to think
that the prosperity of Costaguana is of some use to
the world."

"He is very young," Mrs. Gould remarked, quietly.

"And so very wise for his age," retorted Decoud.
"But here we have the naked truth from the mouth

1 88

Nostroinu: A Tale of the Seaboard

of that child. You are right, Don Jose". The natural
treasures of Costaguana are of importance to the pro-
gressive Europe represented by this youth, just as
three hundred years ago the wealth of our Spanish
fathers was a serious object to the rest of Europe — as
represented by the bold buccaneers. There is a curse
of futility upon our character: Don Quixote andSancho
Panza, chivalry and materialism, high-sounding senti-
ments and a supine morality, violent efforts for 4n idea
and a sullen acquiescence in every form of cornfc>tion.
We convulsed a continent for our independenc
to become the passive prey of a democratic
the helpless victims of scoundrels and cutthroat
institutions a mockery, our laws a farce — a G\
Bento our master! And we have sunk so
when a man like you has awakened our consciei
stupid barbarian . of a Montero — great Heavei
Montero! — becomes a deadly danger, and an ignoi
boastful Indio, like Barrios, is our defender."

But Don Jose", disregarding the general indictiient
as though he had not heard a word of it, took upthe
defence of Barrios. The man was competent enough
for his special task in the plan of campaign. It
sisted in an offensive movement, with Cayta as bs
upon the flank of the revolutionist forces advanc^
from the south against Sta. Marta, which was covei
by another army with the President-Dictator in
midst. Don Jose" became quite animated with a gn
flow of speech, bending forward anxiously under
steady eyes of his daughter. Decoud, as if silence
by so much ardor, did not make a sound. The b
of the city were striking the hour of Oracion when

189

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

carriage rolled under the old gateway facing the har-
bor like a shapeless monument of leaves and stones.
The rumble of wheels under the sonorous arch was
traversed by a strange, piercing shriek, and Decoud,
from his back seat, had a view of the people behind
the carriage trudging along the road outside, all turn-
ing their heads, in sombreros and rebozos, to look at
a locomotive which rolled quickly out of sight behind
Giorgio Viola's house, under a white trail of steam
that seemed to vanish in the breathless, hysterically
prolonged scream of warlike triumph. And it was all
like a fleeting vision, the shrieking ghost of a railway
engine fleeing across the frame of the archway, behind
the startled movement of the people streaming back
from a military spectacle with silent footsteps on the
dust of the road. It was a material train returning
fron the Campo to the palisaded yards. The empty
can rolled lightly on the single track; there was no
rurible of wheels, no tremor of the ground. The en-
.gire-driver, running past the Casa Viola with the salute
of an uplifted arm, checked his speed smartly before
entering the yard; and when the ear-splitting screech
of the steam-whistle for the brakes had stopped, a
series of hard, battering shocks, mingled with the clank-
irg of chain-couplings, made a tumult of blows and
siaken fetters under the vault of the gate.

r I "HE Gould carriage was the first to return from
± the harbor to the empty town. On the ancient
pavement, laid out in patterns, sunk into ruts and
holes, the portly Ignacio, mindful of the springs of the
Parisian-built landau, had pulled up to a walk, and
Decoud in his corner contemplated moodily the inner
aspect of the gate. The squat, turreted sides held up
between them a mass of masonry with bunches of
grass growing at the top, and a gray, heavily scrolled
armorial shield of stone above the apex of the an h
with the arms of Spain nearly smoothed out, as if in
readiness for some new device typical of the impend-
ing progress.

The explosive noise of the railway-trucks seeme
augment Decoud's irritation. He muttered some-
thing to himself, then began to talk aloud in curt,
angry phrases thrown at the silence of the two women.
They did not look at him at all ; while Don Jose\ with
his semi-translucent, waxy complexion, overshadowed
by the soft gray hat, swayed a little to the jolts of the
carriage by the side of Mrs. Gould.

"This sound puts a new edge on a very old truth."

Decoud spoke in French, perhaps because of Ignacio

on the box above him; the old coachman, with his

broad back filling a short silver-braided jacket, had a

191

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

big pair of ears, whose thick rims stood well away
from his cropped head.

"Yes, the noise outside the city wall is new, but
the principle is old."

He ruminated his discontent for a while, then began
afresh with a sidelong glance at Antonia:

"No, but just imagine our forefathers in morions
and corselets drawn up outside this gate, and a band
of adventurers just landed from their ships in the
harbor there. Thieves, of course. Speculators, too.
Their expeditions, each one, were the speculations of
grave and reverend persons in England. That is
history, as that absurd sailor Mitchell is always
saying."

"Mitchell's arrangements for the embarkation of
the troops were excellent!" exclaimed Don Jose*.

"That! — that! oh, that's really the work of that
Genoese seaman! But to return to my noises; there
used to be in the old days the sound of trumpets out-
side that gate. War trumpets! I'm sure they were
trumpets. I have read somewhere that Drake, who
was the greatest of these men, used to dine alone in
his cabin on board ship to the sound of trumpets. In
those days this town was full of wealth. Those men
came to take it. Now the whole land is like a treasure-
house, and all these people are breaking into it, while
we are cutting each other's throats. The only thing
that keeps them out is mutual jealousy. But they'll
come to an agreement some, day — and by the time we've
settled our quarrels and become decent and honorable,
there'll be nothing left for us. It has always been the
same. We are a wonderful people, but it has always

192

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

been our fate to be" — he did not say "robbed," but
added, after a j.ausr -"r\|il":

Mrs. GouUl said. "Oh, tins is unjust!" And An-
tonia interjected, "Don't answer hi-»i. Kmilia. He is
attacking me."

"You surely do not think I was attacking Don
Carlos!" Decoud answrred.

And then the carriage stopped before the door of
the Casa Gould. The young man offered his hand to
the ladies. They went in first together; Don Jose*
walked by the side of Decoud, and the gouty old por-
ter tottered after them with some light wraps on his
arm.

Don Josd slipped his hand under the arm of the
Journalist of Sulaco.

"The Porvenir must have a long and confident arti-
cle upon Barrios and the irresistibleness of his army
of Cayta! The moral effect should be kept up in the
country. We must cable encouraging extracts to
Europe and the United States to maintain a favorable
impression abroad."

Decoud muttered, "Oh yes, we must comfort our
mends, the speculators."

The long open gallery was in shadow, with its screen
of plants in vases along the balustrade, holding out
motionless blossoms, and all the glass doors of the re-
ception-rooms thrown open. A jingle of spurs died
out at the farther end.

Basilio, standing aside against the wall, said in a
soft tone to the passing ladies, "The Setter Adminis-
trador is just back from the mount

In the great sala, with its groups of ancient Spanish

'93

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

and modern European furniture making as if different
centres under the high white spread of the ceiling, the
silver and porcelain of the tea-service gleamed among
a cluster of dwarf chairs, like a bit of a lady's boudoir,
putting in a note of feminine and intimate delicacy.

Don Jose in his rocking-chair placed his hat on his
lap, and Decoud walked up and down the whole
length of the room, passing between tables loaded with
knick-knacks and almost disappearing behind the high
backs of leathern sofas. He was thinking of the an-
gry face of Antonia; he was confident that he would
make his peace with her. He had not stayed in
Sulaco to quarrel with Antonia.

Martin Decoud was angry with himself. All he
saw and heard going on around him exasperated the
preconceived views of his European civilization. To
contemplate revolutions from the distance of the
Parisian boulevards was quite another matter. Here
on the spot it was not possible to dismiss their tragic
comedy with the expression, " Onclle farce^T'

The reality of the political action, such as it was,
seemed closer, and acquired poignancy by Antonia's
belief in the cause. Its crudeness hurt his feelings.
He was surprised at his own sensitiveness.

"I suppose I am more of a Costaguanero than I
would have believed possible," he thought to himself.

His disdain grew like a reaction of his scepticism
against the action into which he was forced by his
infatuation for Antonia. He soothed himself by say-
ing he was not a patriot, but a lover.

The ladies came in bareheaded, and Mrs. Gould
sank low before the little tea-table. Antonia took up

194

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

her usual place at the reception hour— the coi
leathern courh. with a ri^iil grace in her pose and a
fan in her haml. Dccoud, swerving from the straight
line of his march, came to lean over the high back of
her seat.

For a long time he talked into her ear from behind,
softly, with a half smile and an air of ap<>! unil-

iarity. Her fan lay half grasped on her knees. She
never looked at htm. His rapid utterance grew more
and more insistent and caressing. At last he vent-
ured a slight laugh.

"No, really. You must forgive me. One must l>e
serious sometimes." He paused. She turned her
head a little; her blue eyes glided slowly towards him,
slightly upward, mollified and questioning.

"You can't think I am serious when I rail Mont

bestia every second day in the Par; That

is not a serious occupation. No occupation is serious,
not even when a bullet through the heart is the penalty
of failure!"

Her hand closed firmly on her fan.

"Some reason, you understand — I mean some sense
— may creep into thinking; some glimpse of truth. I
mean some effective truth, for which there is no room
in politics or journalism. I happen to have said what
I thought. And you are angry! If you do me the
kindness to think a little you will see that I spoke like
a patriot."

She opened her red lips for the first time, not unkindly.

"Yes, but you never see the aim. Mm must
used as they are. I suppose nobody is really disin-
terested, unless, perhaps, you, Don Martin."

»9S

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"God forbid! It's the last thing I should like you
to believe of me." He spoke lightly, and paused.

She began to fan herself with a slow movement with-
out raising her hand. After a time he whispered
passionately:

" Antonia!"

She smiled, and extended her hand after the Eng-
lish manner towards Charles Gould, who was bowing
before her; while Decoud, with his elbows spread on
the back of the sofa, dropped his eyes and murmured,
"Bon jour."

The Sefior Administrador of the San Tome" mine
bent over his wife for a moment. They exchanged a
few words, of which only the phrase, "The greatest
enthusiasm," pronounced by Mrs. Gould, could be
heard.

"Yes," Decoud began in a murmur. "Even he!"

"This is sheer calumny," said Antonia, not very
severely.

"You just ask him to throw his mine into the melt-
ing-pot for the great cause," Decoud whispered.

Don Jose had raised his voice. He rubbed his
hands cheerily. The excellent aspect of the troops
and the great quantity of new deadly rifles on the
shoulders of those brave men seemed to fill him with
an ecstatic confidence.

Charles Gould, very tall and thin before his chair,
listened, but nothing could be discovered in his face
except a kind and deferential attention.

Meantime, Antonia had risen, and, crossing the room,
stood looking out of one of the three long windows giv-
ing on the street. Decoud followed her. The win-

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

dow was thrown open, and he leaned against the
thickness of the wall. The long folds of the damask
curtain, falling straight from the broad brass cornice,
hiil him partly from the room. He folded his arms
on his breast and looked steadily at Antonia's profile.
The people returning from the harbor filled the
pavements; the shuffle of sandals and a low murmur
of voices ascended to the window. Now and then a
coach rolled slowly along the disjointed roadway of
the Calle de la Constitucion. There were not many
private carriages in Sulaco; at the most crowded hour
on the Alameda they could be counted with one
glance of the eye. The great family arks swayed on
high leathern springs, full of pretty powdered faces in
which the eyes looked intensely alive and black. And
first, Don Justo Lopez, the President of the Provincial
Assembly, passed with his three lovely daughters,
solemn in a black frock-coat and stiff white tie, as
when directing a debate from a high tribune. Though
they all raised their eyes, Antonia did not make the
usual greeting gesture of a fluttered hand, and they
affected not to see the two young people, Costaguan-
eros with European manners, whose eccentricities were
discussed behind the barred windows of the first fam-
ilies in Sulaco. And then the widowed Seflora Gav-
ilaso de Valdes rolled by, handsome and dignified, in
a great machine in which she used to travel to and
from her country house, surrounded by an armed
retinue in leather suits and big sombreros, with car-
bines at the bows of their saddles. She was a woman
of most distinguished family, proud, rich, and kind-
hearted. Her second son, Jaime, had just gone off

J97

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

on the staff of Barrios. The eldest, a worthless fellow
of a moody disposition, filled Sulaco with the noise of
his dissipations and gambled heavily at the club. The
two youngest boys, with yellow Ribierist cockades in
their caps, sat on the front seat. She, too, affected
not to see the Senor Decoud talking publicly with An-
tonia in defiance of every convention. And he not
even her novio as far as the world knew! Though,
even in that case, it would have been scandal enough.
But the dignified old lady, respected and admired by
the first families, would have been still more shocked
if she could have heard the words they were exchang-
ing.

"Did you say I lost sight of the aim? I have only
one aim in the world."

She made an almost imperceptible negative move-
ment of her head, still staring across the street at the
Avellanos's house, gray, marked with decay, and with
iron bars like a prison.

"And it would be so easy of attainment," he con-
tinued, "this aim which, whether knowingly or not,
I have always had in my heart — ever since the day
when you snubbed me so horribly once in Paris, you
remember."

A slight smile seemed to move the corner of the lip
that was on his side.

"You know you were a very terrible person, a sort
of Charlotte Corday in a school-girl's dress ; a ferocious
patriot. I suppose you would have stuck a knife into
Guzman Bento?"

She interrupted him. "You do me too much
honor."

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Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

"At any rate," he said. clianxinK suddenly to a
tone of bitter levity, "you would have sent me to
stab him without compunction."

"Ah, par example!" she murmured.

"Well," he argued mockingly, "you do keep me
here writing deadly nonsense. Deadly to me! It has
already killed my self-respect. And you may im-
agine," he continued, his tone passing into light banter,
"that Montero, should he be successful, would get
even with me in the only way such a brute can get
even with a man of intelligence who condescends to
call him a gran bcstui three times a week. It's a sort
of intellectual death ; but there is the other one in the
background for a journalist of my ability."

"If he is successful!" said Antonia, thoughtfully.

" You seem satisfied to see my life hang on a thread ,"
Decoud replied, with a broad smile. "And the other
Montero, the 'my trusted brother' of the proclama-
tions, the guerrillero — haven't I written that he was
taking the guests' overcoats and changing platrs in
Paris at our Legation in the intervals of spying on our
refugees there, in the time of Rojas ? He will v
out that sacred truth in blood. In my blood! Why
do you look annoyed? This is simply a l>it of the
biography of one of our great men. What do you
think he will do to me? There is a certain convent
wall round the corner of the Plaza, opposite the door
of the Bull-Ring. You know? Opposite the door
with the inscription, ' Intrada de la Sombra.' Ap-
propriate, perhaps! That's where the uncle of our
host gave up his Anglo-South-American soul. And.
note, he might have run away. A man who has fought

199

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

with weapons may run away. You might have let
me go with Barrios if you had cared for me. I would
have carried one of those rifles, in which Don Jose" be-
lieves, with the greatest satisfaction, in the ranks of
poor peons and Indies, that know nothing either of
reason or politics. The most forlorn hope in the most
forlorn army on earth would have been safer than that
for which you made me stay here. When you make
war you may retreat, but not when you spend your
time in inciting poor ignorant fools to kill and to die."

His tone remained light, and as if unaware of his
presence she stood motionless, her hands clasped light-
ly, the fan hanging down from her interlaced fingers.
He waited for a while, and then:

"I shall go to the wall," he said, with a sort of
jocular desperation.

Even that declaration did not make her look at
him. Her head remained still, her eyes fixed upon
the house of the Avellanos, whose chipped pilasters,
broken cornices, the whole degradation of dignity was
hidden now by the gathering dusk of the street. In
her whole figure her lips alone moved, forming the
words :

"Martin, you will make me cry."

He remained silent for a minute, startled, as if over-
whelmed by a sort of awed happiness, with the lines
of the mocking smile still stiffened about his mouth,
and incredulous surprise in his eyes. The value of a
sentence is in the personality which utters it, for noth-
ing new can be said by man or woman ; and those were
the last words, it seemed to him, that could ever have
been spoken by Antonia. He had never made it up

200

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

with her so completely in all their intercourse of small
encounters; but even before she had time to turn tow-
ards him, which she did slowly with a rigid grace, he
had begun to pleat 1:

"My sister is only waiting to embrace you. My
father is transported. I won't say anything of my
mother! Our mothers were like sisters. There is
the mail-boat for the south next week — let us go.
That Moraga is a fool! A man like Montero is bn
It's the practice of the country. It's tradition-
politics. Read Fifty Years of Misrule."

" Leave poor papa alone, Don Martin. He be-
lieves— "

"I have the greatest tenderness for your father,"
he began, hurriedly. "But I lo ve you, Anton ia! And
Moraga has miserably mismanaged this business.
Perhaps your father did, too; I don't know. Montero
was bribeable. Why, I suppose he only wanted his
share of this famous loan for national development.
Why didn't the stupid Sta. Marta people give him a
mission to Eruope, or something? He would have
taken five years' salary in advance, and go on loafing
in Paris, this stupid, ferocious Indio!"

"The man," she said, thoughtfully, and very calm
before this outburst, "was intoxicated with vanity.
We had all the information, not from Moraga only;
from others, too. There was his brother intriguing,
too."

"Oh yes!" he said. "Of course you know. You
know everything. You read all the correspondci
you write all the papers — all those state papers that
are inspired here, in this room, in blind deference to a

901

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

theory of political purity. Hadn't you Charles Gould
before your eyes ? Rey de Sulaco ! He and his mine
are the practical demonstration of what could have
been done. Do you think he succeeded by his fidelity
to a theory of virtue? And all those railway people,
with their honest work! Of course, their work is
honest! But what if you cannot work honestly till
the thieves are satisfied? Could he not, a gentleman,
have told this Sir John what's-his-name, that Montero
had to bought off — he and all his Negro Liberals hang-
ing on to his gold-laced sleeve? He ought to have
been bought off with his own stupid weight of gold —
his weight of gold, I tell you, boots, sabre, spurs,
cocked hat and all."

She shook her head slightly. "It was impossible,"
she murmured.

"He wanted the whole lot? What?"
She was facing him now in the deep recess of the
window, very close and motionless. Her lips moved
rapidly. Decoud, leaning his head back against the
wall, listened with crossed arms and lowered eyelids.
He drank in the tones of her even voice, and watched
the agitated life of her throat, as if waves of emotion
had run from her heart to pass out into the air in her
reasonable words. He also had his aspirations; he
aspired to carry her away out of these deadly futilities
of pronunciamientos and reforms. All this was wrong
— utterly wrong; but she fascinated him, and some-
times the sheer sagacity of a phrase would break the
charm, replace the fascination by a sudden unwilling
thrill of interest. Some women hovered, as it were,
on the threshold of genius, he reflected. They did

202

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

.vant to know, or think, or understand. Passion
•tood for all that, and he was ready to believe that
some startlingly profound remark, some appreciation
of character, or a judgment upon an event, bordered
on the miraculous. In the mature Antonia he could
see with an extraordinary vividness the austere school-
girl of the earlier days. She seduced his attention;
sometimes he could not restrain a murmur of assent;
Bow and then he advanced an objection quite seri
m. Gradually they began to argue; the curtain half
hid them from the people in the sala.

Outside it had grown dark. From the deep trench
of shadow between the houses, lit up vaguely by the
glimmer of street-lamps, ascended the evening silence
of Sulaco; the silence of a town with few carriages, of
unshod horses, and a softly sandalled population. The
windows of the Casa Gould flung their shining parallel-
ograms upon the house of the Avellanos. Now and
then a shuffle of feet passed below with the pulsating
•id glow of a cigarette at the foot of the walls; and the
night air. as if cooled by the snows of Higuerota, re-
ed their faces.

' We-Qccidentals." said Martin Decoud, using the
.\ term the provincials of Sulaco applied to them-
selves,''have beeiLalwa-y^distint^aiid^egarated. As
long as we hold Cayta nothing can reach us. In all
our troubles no army has marched over those moun-
tains. A revolution in the central provinces isolates
t once. Look how complete it is now ! The news
of Barrios's movement will be cabled to the United
<-s, and only in that way will it reach Sta. Marta
by the cable from the other seaboard. We have th«

203

•4

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

greatest riches, the greatest fertility, the purest blood
in our great families, the most laborious population.
The Occidental Province should stand alone. The
early Federalism was not bad for us. Then came this
union which Don Henrique Gould resisted. It opened
the road to tyranny; and, ever since, the rest of
Costaguana hangs like a millstone round our ne,cks.
The Occidental territory is large enough to make any
man's country. Look at the mountains! Nature it-
self seems to cry to us, 'Separate!'"

She made an energetic gesture of negation. A si-
lence fell.

"Oh yes, I know it's contrary to the doctrine laid
down in the History of Fifty Years of Misrule. I am
only trying to be sensible. But my sense seems al-
ways to give you cause for offence. Have I startled
you very much with this perfectly reasonable aspira-
tion?"

She shook her head. No, she was not startled, but
the idea shocked her early convictions. Her patriot-
ism was larger. She had never considered that pos-
sibility.

" It may yet be the means of saving some of your
convictions," he said, prophetically.

She did not answer. She seemed tired. They
leaned side by side on the rail of the little balcony,
very friendly, having exhausted politics, giving them-
selves up to the silent feeling of their nearness, in one
of those profound pauses that fall upon the rhythm
of passion. Towards the plaza end of the street the
glowing coals in the brazeros of the market-women
cooking their evening meal gleamed red along the

204

Nostromo: A Talc oi tlic Seaboard

edge of the pavement. A man appeared without a
sound in the light of a street-lamp, showing the col-
ored inverted triangle of his bordered poncho, square
on his shoulders, hanging to a point below his knees.
From the harbor end of the calle a !
his soft-stepping mount, gleaming silver-gray al.r
each lamp under the dark shape of the rider.

"Behold the illustrious capataz de cargadi
said Decoud, gently, "coming in all his splendor .
his work is done. The next great man of Sulaco •
Don Carlos Gould. But he is good-natured, and let
me make friends with him."

"Ah, indeed!" said Antonia. "How did you make
friends?"

" A journalist ought to have his finger on the popu-
larpulse, and this man is one of the leaders of the IK>I»U-
lace. A journalist ought to know remarkable men —
and this man is remarkable in his way."

"Ah, yes!" said Antonia, thoughtfully. "It is
known that this Italian has a great influence."

The horseman had passed below them, with a gleam
of dim light on the shining broad quarters of the gray
mare, on a bright heavy stirrup, on a long silver spur;
but the short flick of yellowish flame in the dusk was
powerless against the muffled -up mysteriousness of
the dark figure with an invisible face concealed by a
great sombrero.

Decoud and Antonia remained leaning over the bal-
cony, side by side, touching elbows, with their heads
overhanging the darkness of the street, and the brill-
iantly lighted sala at their backs. This was a t£te-a-
extreme impropriety ; something of which in the
205

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

whole extent of the republic only the extraordinary
Antonia could be capable — the poor, motherless girl,
never accompanied, with a careless father, who had
thought only of making her learned. Even Decoud
himself seemed to feel that this was as much as he
could expect of having her to himself till — till the
revolution was over and he could carry her off to
Europe, away from the endlessness of civil strife,
whose folly seemed even harder to bear than its ig-
nominy. After one Montero there would be another,
the lawlessness of a populace of all colors and races,
barbarism, irremediable tyranny. As the great Lib-
erator Bolivar had said in the bitterness of his spirit,
"America is ungovernable. Those who worked for
her independence have ploughed the sea." He did
not care, he declared boldly; he seized every oppor-
tunity to tell her that though she had managed to make
a Blanco journalist of him, he was no patriot. First
of all, the word had no sense for cultured minds, to
whom the narrowness of every belief is odious; and
secondly, in connection with the everlasting troubles
of this unhappy country it was hoplessly besmirched ;
it had been the cry of dark barbarism, the cloak
of lawlessness, of crimes, of rapacity, of simple
thieving. ,

He was surprised at the warmth of his own utter-
ance. He had no need to drop his voice; it had been
low all the time, a mere murmur in the silence of dark
houses with their shutters closed early against the
night air, as is the custom of Sulaco. Only the sala
of the Casa Gould flung out defiantly the blaze of its
four windows, the bright appeal of light in the whole

206

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

obscurity of the street. Ancl the murmur on
the little balcony went on after a short pause."

" nut we are laboring to change all that," Antonia

protested. "It is exactly what we desire. It is our

object. It is the great cause. Ami the word you

ise had stood also for sacrifice, for courage, for

constancy, for suffering. Papa, who

"Ploughing the sea," interrupted Decoud, looking
down.

There was below the sound of hasty and ponderous
footsteps.

" Your uncle, the Grand-Vicar of the Cathedral, has
just turned under the gate," observed Decoud. " II.
sat-l mass for the troops in the Plaza this morning.
They had built for him an altar of drums, you kt
And they brought outside all the painted Mocks to
take the air. All the wooden saints stood militarily
in a row at the top of the great flight of steps. They
looked like a gorgeous escort attending the Vicar-
General. I saw the great function from the windows
of the Porrcnir. He is amazing, your uncle, the last
of the Corbelans. He glittered exceedingly in his
vestments, with a great crimson velvet cross down his
back. And all the time our s;>vior Barrios sat in the
Amarilla Club drinking punch at an open window.
[•'sprit fort — our Barrios. I expected every moment
your uncle to launch an excommunication there and
then at the black eye-patch in the window across the
Plaza. But not at all. Ultimately the troops march-
ed off. Later on Barrios came down with some of the
officers, and stood with his uniform all unbuttoned,
discoursing at the edge of the pavement. Suddenly

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

your unde appeared, no longer glittering, but all
black, at the cathedral door, with that threatening
aspect he has— you know, like a sort of avenging spirit.
He gives one look, strides over straight at the group
of uniforms, and leads away the general by the el-
bow. He walked him for a quarter of an hour in the
shade of a wall. Never let go his elbow for a mo-
ment, talking all the time with exaltation, and gesticu-
lating with a long black arm. It was a curious scene.
The officers seemed struck with astonishment. Re-
markable man, your missionary uncle. He hates an
infidel much less than a heretic, and prefers a heathen
many times to an infidel. He condescends graciously
to call me a heathen, sometimes, you know."

Antonia listened with her hands over the balustrade,
opening and shutting the fan gently; and Decoud
talked a little nervously, as if afraid that she would
leave him at the first pause. Their comparative isola-
tion, the preckms sense of intimacy, the slight contact
of their arms, affected him softly; for now and then a
tender inflection crept into the flow of his ironic mur-
murs.

"Any slight sign of favor from a relative of yours
is welcome, Antonia. And perhaps he understands
me, after all! But I know him, too, our Padre Cor-
belan. The idea of political honor, justice, and hon-
esty for him consists in the restitution of the con-
fiscated church property. Nothing else could have
drawn that fierce converter of savage Indians out of
the wilds to work for the Ribierist cause! Nothing
else but that wild hope! He would make a pronun-
ciamiento himself for such an object against any gov-

208

Nostrorrto : \ Talc of the Seaboard

ernment if he could only get followers! What does
Don Carlos Gould think of that? But, of course,
with his English impenetrability, nobody can tell
what he thinks. Probably lie thinks of nothing apart
from his mine; of his ' IinjKTiuin in imi>erio.' As to
Mrs. Gould, she thinks of her schools, of her hospitals,
of the mothers with the young babies, of every sick
old man in the three villages. If you were to turn
your head now you would see her extracting a report
from that sinister doctor in a check shirt — what's his
name? Monygham — or else catechising Don Pe'pe',
or perhaps listening to Padre Roman. They are all
down here to-day — all her ministers of state. Well,
she is a sensible woman, and perhaps Don Carlos is
a sensible man. It's a part of solid English sense not
to think too much ; to see only what may be of practi-
cal use at the moment. These people are not like
ourselves. We have no political reason; we have po-
litical passions — sometimes. What is a conviction?
A particular view of our personal advantage either
practical or emotional. No one is a patriot for noth-
ing. The word serves us well. But I am clear-sighted,
and I shall not use that word to you, Antonia! I have
no patriotic illusions. I have only the supreme illu-
sion of a lover."

He paused, then muttered almost inaudibly, "That
can lead one very far, though."

Hohind their backs the political tide that once in

every twenty-four hours set with a strong flood through

'iould drawing-room could be lu-ard. rising higher

in .1 hum of voices. Men ha-! been dropping in singly,

or in twos and threes; the higher officials of the prov-

309

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ince, engineers of the railway, sunburned and in tweeds,
with the frosted head of their chief smiling with slow
humorous indulgence among the young eager faces.
Scarfe, the lover of fandangos, had already slipped out
in search of some dance, no matter where, on the
outskirts of the town. Don Juste Lopez, after taking
his daughters home, had entered solemnly, in a black
creased coat buttoned up under his spreading brown
beard. The few members of the Provincial Assem-
bly present clustered at once around their President
to discuss the news of the war and the last proclama-
tion of the rebel Montero, the miserable Montero, call-
ing in the name of "a justly incensed democracy"
upon all the Provincial Assemblies of the republic to
suspend their sittings till his sword had made peace
and the will of the people could be consulted. It
was practically an invitation to dissolve; an unheard-
of audacity of that evil madman.

The indignation ran high in the knot of deputies
behind Jose Avellanos. Don Jose", lifting up his
voice, cried out to them over the high back of his
chair, "Sulaco has answered by sending to-day ar
army upon his flank. If all the other provinces sh
only half as much patriotism as we Occidentals —

A great outburst of acclamations covered the vibrat-
ing treble of the life and soul of the party. Yes, yes!
This was true! A great truth! Sulaco was in the
forefront, as ever! It was a boastful tumult, the hope-
fulness inspired by the event of the day breaking out
among those caballeros of the Campo thinking of their
herds, of their lands, of the safety of their families.
Everything was at stake. . . . No! It was impossible

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Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

that Montero should succeed! This criminal, this
shameless Indio! The clamor continued for some
time, everybody else in the room looking towards the
group where Don Juste had put on his air of impartial
solemnity as if presiding at a sitting of the Provincial
Assembly. Decoud had turned round at the noise,
an«l, leaning his back on the balustrade, shouted into
the room with all the strength of his lungs, "(inin'
best ia .'"

This unexpected cry had the effect of stilling the
noise. All the eyes were directed to the window with
an approving expectation; but Decoud had already
turned his back upon the room, and was again leaning
out over the quiet street.

"This is the quintessence of my journalism; that is
the supreme argument," he said to Antonia. "I have
invented this definition, this last word on a great ques-
tion. But I am no patriot. I am no more of a pa-
triot than the capataz of the Sulaco cargadores, this
Genoese who has done such great things for this har-
bor— this active usher-in of the material implements
for our progress. You have heard Captain Mitchell
confess. over and over again that till he got this man
he could never tell how long it would take to unload
a ship. That is bad for progress. You have seen him
pass by after his labors, on his famous horse, to dazzle
the girls in some ballroom with an earthen floor. He
is a fortunate fellow! His work is an exercise of per-
sonal powers; his leisure is spent in receiving the
marks of extraordinary adulation. And he like
too. Can anybody be more fortunate ? To be feared
and admired is — "

311

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"And are these your highest aspirations, Don Mar-
tin?" interrupted Antonia.

"I was speaking of a man of that sort," said De-
coud, curtly. "The heroes of the world have been
feared and admired. What more could he want?"

Decoud had often felt his familiar habit of ironic
thought fall shattered against Antonia's gravity. She
irritated him as if she, too, had suffered from that
inexplicable feminine obtuseness which stands so often
between a man and a woman of the more ordinary
sort. But he overcame his vexation at once. He
was very far from thinking Antonia ordinary, what-
ever verdict his scepticism might have pronounced
upon himself. With a touch of penetrating tender-
ness in his voice he assured her that his only aspiration
was to a felicity so high that it seemed almost un-
realizable on this earth.

She colored invisibly, with a warmth against which
the breeze from the sierra seemed to have lost its
cooling power in the sudden melting of the snows.
His whisper could not have carried so far, though
there was enough ardor in his tone to melt a heart
of ice. Antonia turned away abruptly, as if to carry
his whispered assurance into the room behind, full of
light, noisy with voices.

The tide of political speculation was beating high
within the four walls of the great sala, as if driven be-
yond the marks by a great gust of hope. Don Juste's
fan-shaped beard was still the centre of loud and ani-
mated discussions. There was a self-confident ring
in all the voices. Even the few Europeans around
Charles Gould — a Dane, a couple of Frenchmen, a

212

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

discreet fat German, smiling, with downcast eyes, the
representatives of those material interests that had got
a footing in Sulaco under the protecting might of the
San Tome" mine — had infused a lot of good-humor into
their deference. Charles Gould, to whom they were
paying their court, was the visible sign of the stability
that could be achieved on the shifting ground of revo-
lutions. They felt hopeful about their various under-
takings. One of the two Frenchmen, small, black,
with glittering eyes lost in an immense growth of
bushy beard, waved his tiny brown hands and deli-
cate wrists. He had been travelling in the interior
of the province for a syndicate of European capital-
ists. His forcible "Monsieur /'. l</»/;»m7ru/«-»<r" re-
turning every minute shrilled above the steady hum
of conversations. He was relating his disoov.
He was ecstatic. Charles Gould glanced down at him
courteously.

At a given moment of these necessary receptions it
was Mrs. Gould's habit to withdraw quietly into a
little drawing-room, especially her own, next to the
great sala. She had risen, and, waiting for Antonia,
listened with a slightly worried graciousness to the
engineer-in-chief of the railway, who stooped over her,
relating slowly, without the slightest gesture, some-
thing apparently amusing, for his eyes had a humor-
ous twinkle. Antonia, before she advanced into the
room to join Mrs. Gould, turned her head over her
shoulder towards Decoud, only for a moment.

' Why should any one of us think his aspirations
unrealizable?" she said, rapidly.

"I am going to cling to mine to the end, Antonia,"
"3

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

he answered, through clinched teeth, then bowed
very low, a little distantly.

The engineer-in-chief had not finished telling his
amusing story. The humors of railway building in
South America appealed to his keen appreciation of the
absurd, and he told his instances of ignorant preju-
dice and as ignorant cunning very well. Now, Mrs.
Gould gave him all her attention as he walked by her
side escorting the ladies out of the room. Finally
all three passed unnoticed through the glass doors in
the gallery. Only a tall priest stalking silently in the
noise of the sala checked himself to look after them.
Father Corbelan, whom Decoud had seen from the
balcony turning into the gateway of the Casa Gould,
had addressed no one since coming in. The long,
skimpy soutane accentuated the tallness of his stature ;
he carried his powerful torso thrown forward; and
the straight, black bar of his joined eyebrows, the
pugnacious outline of the bony face, the white spot
of a scar on the bluish shaven cheeks (a testimonial
to his apostolic zeal from a party of unconverted
Indians), suggested something unlawful behind his
priesthood, the idea of a chaplain of bandits.

He separated his bony, knotted hands clasped be-
hind his back, to shake his-finger at Martin.

Decoud had stepped into the room after Antonia.
But he did not go far. He had remained just within,
against the curtain, with an expression of not quite
genuine gravity, like a grown-up person taking part
in a game of children. He gazed quietly at the
threatening finger.

' ' I have watched your reverence converting General
214

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Barrios by a special sermon on the Plaza," he said,
without making the slightest movement.

"What miserable nonsense!" Father Corbelan's

p voice resounded all over the room, making all

the heads turn on the shoulders. "The man is a

drunkard. Seftores, the God of your general is a

bottle!"

His contemptuous, arbitrary voice caused an un-
easy suspension of every sound, as if the self-con-
fidence of the gathering had been staggered by a
blow. But nobody took up Father Corbelkn's declara-
tion.

It was know that Father Corbelan hat! come out of
the wilds to advocate the sacred rights of the Church
with the same fanatical fearlessness with which he
had gone preaching to bloodthirsty savages, devoid
of human compassion or worship of any kind . Rumors
of legendary proportions told of his successes as a mis-
sionary beyond the eye of Christian men. He had bap-
tized whole nations of Indians, living with them like
a savage himself. It was related that the padre used
to ride with his Indians for days, half naked, cam' ing
a bullock-hide shield, and, no doubt, a long lance,
too — who knows? That he had wandered clothed in
skins, seeking for proselytes somewhere near the snow-
line of the Cordillera. Of these exploits Padre Cor-
belan himself was never known to talk. But he made
no secret of his opinion that the politicians of Sta.
Marta had harder hearts and more corrupt minds
than the heathen to whom he had carried the won!
of God. His injudicious zeal for the temporal wel-
fare of the Church was damaging the Ribierist cause.

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

It was common knowledge that he had refused to be
made titular bishop of the Occidental diocese till jus-
tice was done to a despoiled Church. The political
Pe'pe' of Sulaco (the same dignitary whom Captain
Mitchell saved from the mob afterwards) hinted with
naive cynicism that doubtless their Excellencies the
Ministers sent the padre over the mountains to Sulaco
in the worst season of the year in the hope that he
would be frozen to death by the icy blasts of the high
paramos. Every year a few hardy muleteers — men
inured to exposure — were know to perish in that way.
But what would you have? Their Excellencies pos-
sibly had not realized what a tough priest he was.
Meantime the ignorant were beginning to murmur
that the Ribierist reforms meant simply the taking
away of the land from the people. Some of it was to
be given to foreigners who made the railway ; the greater
part was to go to the padres.

These were the results of the Grand Vicar's zeal.
Even from the short allocution to the troops on the
Plaza (which only the first ranks could have heard)
he had not been able to keep out his fixed idea of an
outraged Church waiting for reparation from a peni-
tent country. The political ge"fe" had been exasper-
ated. But he could not very well throw the brother-
in-law of Don Jose* into the prison of the Cabildo. The
chief magistrate, an easy-going and popular official,
visited the Casa Gould, walking over after sunset from
the Intendencia, unattended, acknowledging with dig-
nified courtesy the salutations of high and low alike.
That evening he had walked straight up to Charles Gould
and had hissed out to him that he would have liked

316

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

to .lejKjrt the (irand Vicar out of Sula» <>, anywhere, to
some desert island, to the Isabels, for instance. "The
one without watrr preferably— eh, Don Carlos?" he
lunl added, in a tone between jest and earnest.* This
uncontrollable priest, who had rejected his offer of the
episcopal palace for a residence and preferred to hang
his shabby hammock among the rubble and spiders of
the sequestrated Dominican convent, had taken into
his head to advocate an unconditional pardon for Her-
nandez the Robber! And this was not enough; he
seemed to have entered into communication with the
most audacious criminal the country had known for
years. The Sulaco police knew, of course, what was
going on. Padre Corbelan had got hold of that reck-
less Italian, the capataz de cargadores, the only man
fit for such an errand, and had sent a message through
him. Father Corbelan had studied in Rome, and could
speak Italian. The capataz was known to visit the
old Dominican convent at night. An old woman who
served the Grand Vicar had heard the name of Her-
nandez pronounced ; and only last Saturday afternoon
the capataz had been observed galloping outof town.
He did not return for two days. The police would
have laid the Italian by the heels if it had not been for
fear of the cargadores, a turbulent body of men, quite
apt to raise a tumult. Nowadays it was not so easy
to govern Sulaco. Bad characters flocked into it, at-
tracted by the money in the pockets of the railway
workmen. The populace was made restless by Fa-
ther Corbelan's discourses. And the first magistrate
explained to Charles Gould that now the province
was stripped of troops any outbreak of lawlessness

217

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

would find the authorities with their boots off, as it
were.

Then he went away moodily to sit in an arm-chair,
smoking a long, thin cigar, not very far from Don
Jose, with whom, bending over sideways he exchanged
a few words from time to time. He ignored the en-
trance of the priest, and whenever Father Corbelan's
voice was raised behind him, he shrugged his shoulders
impatiently.

Father Corbelan had remained quite motionless for
a time, with that something vengeful in his immobility
which seemed to characterize all his attitudes. A
lurid glow of strong convictions gave its peculiar as-
pect to the black figure. But its fierceness became
softened as the padre, fixing his eyes upon Decoud,
raised his long, black arm slowly, impressively:

"And you — you are a perfect heathen," he said, in
a subdued, deep voice.

He made a step nearer, pointing a forefinger at the
young man's breast. Decoud, very calm, felt the wall
behind the curtain with the back of his head. Then,
with his chin tilted well up, he smiled.

"Very well," he agreed with the slightly weary non-
chalance of a man well used to these passages. "But
is it not perhaps that you have not discovered yet
what is the God of my worship? It was an easier
task with our Barrios."

The priest suppressed a gesture of discouragement.
"You believe neither in stick nor stone," he said.

" Nor bottle," added Decoud without stirring.
" Neither does the other of your reverence's confidants.
I mean the capataz of the cargadores. He does not

218

Nostromu: A Talc of the Seaboard

drink Your rr.uling of my character docs honor to
your perspicacity. But why call me a heathen?"

"True," retorted the priest. "You are ten times
worse. A miracle could not convert you."

"I certainly do not believe in miracles," said De-
coud, quietly. Father Corbelan shrugged his high,
broad shoulders doubtfully.

"A sort of Frenchman — godless — a materialist," he
pronounced slowly, as if weighing the terms of a care-
ful analysis. " Neither the son of his own country nor
of any other," he continued, thoughtfully.

"Scarcely human, in fact," Decoud commented
under his breath, his head at rest against the wall,
his eyes gazing up at the ceiling.

"The victim of this faithless age," Father Corbelan
resumed in a deep but subdued voice.

" But of some use as a journalist." Decoud changed
his pose and spoke in a more animated tone. "Has
your worship neglected to read the last number of
the Porvenirf I assure you it is just like the others.
On the general policy it continues to call Montero a
gran' bestia, and stigmatize his brother, the guerrillero,
for a combination of lackey and spy. What could
be more effective? In local affairs it urges the pro-
vincial government to enlist bodily into the national
army the band of Hernandez the Robber — who is ap-
parently the protdgd of the Church — or at least of the
Great Vicar. Nothing could be more sound."

The priest nodded, and turned on the heels of his

square-toed shoes with big steel buckles. Again, with

his hands clasped behind his back, he paced about,

planting his feet firmly. When he swung about, the

15 219

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

skirt of his soutane was inflated slightly by the brusk-
ness of his movements.

The great sala had been emptying itself slowly.
When the Ge"fe Politico rose to go, most of those still
remaining stood up suddenly in sign of respect, and
Don Jose Avellanos stopped the rocking of his chair.
But the good-natured First Official made a depreca-
tory gesture, waved his hand to Charles Gould, and
went out discreetly.

In the comparative peace of the room the screaming
"Monsieur I'Administrateur" of the frail, hairy French-
man seemed to acquire a preternatural shrillness. The
explorer of the capitalist syndicate was still enthusi-
astic. "Ten million dollars' worth of copper practi-
callv in sight, Monsieur V Administrates. Ten mill-
ions in sight! And a railway coming — a railway!
They will never believe my report. C'est trap beau."
He fell a prey to a screaming ecstasy, in the midst of
sagely nodding heads, before Charles Gould's imper-
turbable calm.

And only the priest continued his pacing, flinging
round the skirt of his soutane at each end of his beat.
Decoud murmured to him ironically, "These gentle-
men talk about their gods."

Father Corbelkn stopped short, looked at the Jour-
nalist of Sulaco fixedly for a moment, shrugged his
shoulders slightly, and resumed his plodding walk of
an obstinate traveller.

And now the Europeans were dropping off from the
group around Charles Gould till the administrador of
the great silver mine could be seen in his whole lank
length, from head to foot, left stranded by the ebbing

220

Nostnmiu : A Talc of the Seaboard

tide of his guests on the great square of carpet, as it
were a multicolored shoal of flowers and arabesques
under his brown boots. Father Corbelan approached
the rocking-chair of Don Jose" Avellanos.

"Come, brother," he said, with kindly brusqueness
and a touch of relieved impatience a man may feel at
the end of a perfectly useless ceremony. "A la casa!
A la casa! This has been all talk. Let us now go
and think and pray for guidance from Heaven."

He rolled his black eyes upward. By the side of
the frail diplomatist — the life and soul of the party —
he seemed gigantic, with a gleam of fanaticism in the
glance. But the voice of the party, or, rather, its
mouth-piece, the "son Decoud" from Paris, turned
journalist for the sake of Antonia's eyes, knew very
well that it was not so, that he was only a strenuous
priest with one idea, feared by the women and exe-
crated by the men of the people. Martin Decoud, the
dilettante in life, imagined himself to derive an artistic
pleasure from watching the picturesque extreme of
wrong-headed ness into which an honest, almost sacred
conviction may drive a man. "It is like madness.
It must be — because it's self -destructive," Decoud had
said to himself often. It seemed to him that every
conviction, as soon as it became effective, turned into
that form of dementia the gods sent upon those they
wish to destroy. But he enjoyed the bitter flavor of
that example with the zest of a connoisseur in the art
of his choice. Those two men got on well together,
as if each had felt respectively that a masterful con-
viction, as well as utter scepticism, may lead a man
very far on the by-paths of political action.

221

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Don Jose" obeyed the touch of the big hairy hand.
Decoud followed out the brothers-in-law. And there
remained only one visitor in the vast empty sala,
bluishly hazy with tobbaco- smoke, a heavy-eyed,
round-cheeked man, with a dropping mustache, a
hide-merchant from Esmeralda, who had come over-
land to Sulaco, riding with a few peons across the
coast-range. He was very full of his journey, under-
taken mostly for the purpose of seeing the Serior Ad-
ministrador of San Tome" in relation to some assistance
he required in his hide-exporting business. He hoped
to enlarge it greatly now that the country was going
to be settled. It was going to be settled, he repeated
several times, degrading by a strange, anxious whine
the sonority of the Spanish language, which he pat-
tered rapidly, like some sort of cringing jargon. A
plain man could carry on his little business now in
the country, and even think of enlarging it — with
safety. Was it not so? He seemed to beg Charles
Gould for a confirmatory word, a grunt of assent, a
simple nod even.

He could get nothing. His alarm increased, and in
the pauses he would dart his eyes here and there; then,
loth to give up, he would branch off into feeling al-
lusion to the dangers of his journey. The audacious
Hernandez, leaving his usual haunts, had crossed the
Campo of Sulaco, and was known to be lurking in the
ravines of the coast-range. Yesterday, when distant
only a few hours from Sulaco, the hide-merchant and
his servants had seen three men on the road arrested
suspiciously, with their horses' heads together. Two
of these rode off at once and disappeared in a shallow

222

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

quebrada to the left. "We stopped," continued the
man from EsmeraMa. "and I tried to hide behind a
small bush. But none of my mozos would go forward
to find out what it meant, and the third horseman
seemed to be waiting for us to come up. It was no
use. We had been seen. So we rode slowly on, trem-
bling. He let us pass — a man on a gray horse with
his hat down on his eyes — without a word of greeting;
but by-and-by we heard him galloping after us. We
faced about, but that did not seem to intimidate him.
He rode up at speed, and touching my foot with the
toe of his boot, asked me for a cigar, with a blood-
curdling laugh. He did not seem armed, but when
he put his hand back to reach for the matches I saw
an enormous revolver strapped to his waist. I shud-
dered. He had very fierce whiskers, Don Carlos, and
as he did not offer to go on we dared not move. At
last, blowing the smoke of my cigar into the air through
his nostrils, he said, 'Senor, it would be perhaps bet-
ter for you if I rode behind your party. You are not
very far from Sulaco now. Go you with God.' What
would you? We went on. There was no resisting
him. He might have been Hernandez himself; though
my servant, who has been many times to Sulaco by
sea, assured me that he had recognized him very
well for the capataz of the steamship company's
cargadores. Later on, that same evening, I saw that
very man at the corner of the Plaza talking to a girl,
a morenita, who stood by the stirrup with her hand
on the gray horse's mane."

I assure you, Seftor Hirsch," murmured Charles
Gould, "that you ran no risk on this occasion."

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"That may be, senor, though I tremble yet. A
most fierce man — to look at. And what does it mean ?
A person employed by the steamship company talking
with salteadores — no less, senor; the other horsemen
were salteadores — in a lonely place, and behaving like
a robber himself! A cigar is nothing, but what was
there to prevent him asking me for my purse?"

"No, no, Senor Hirsch," Charles Gould murmured,
letting his glance stray away a little vacantly from
the round face with its hooked beak upturned towards
him in an almost childlike appeal. "If it was the
capataz of the cargadores you met — and there is no
doubt, is there? — you were perfectly safe."

"Thank you. You are very good. A very fierce-
looking man, Don Carlos. He asked me for a cigar
in a most familiar manner. What would have hap-
pened if I had not had a cigar ? I shudder yet. What
business had he to be talking with robbers in a lonely
place?"

But Charles Gould, openly preoccupied now, gave
not a sign, made no sound. The impenetrability of
the embodied Gould Concession had its surface shades.
To be dumb is merely a fatal affliction; but the King
of Sulaco had words enough to give him all the mys-
terious weight of a taciturn force. His silences, back-
ed by the power of speech, had as many shades of
significance as uttered words in the way of assent, of
doubt, of negation — even of simple comment. Some
seemed to say plainly, "Think it over"; others meant
clearly "Go ahead"; a simple, low, "I see," with an
affirmative nod, at the end of a patient listening half-
hour was the equivalent of a verbal contract, which

224

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

men had learned to trust implicitly, since behind it
all there was the great San Tom£ mine, the head and
front of the material interests, so strong that it de-
pended on no man's good-will in the whole length and
breadth of the Occidental Province — that is, on no
good-will whirh it could not buy ten times over. But
to the little hook-nosed man from Esmeralda, anxious
about the export of hides, the silence of Charles Gould
portended a failure. Evidently this was no time for
extending a modest man's business. He enveloped in
a swift mental malediction the whole country, with
all its inhabitants, partisans of Ribiera and Montero
alike; and there were incipient tears in his mute anger
at the thought of the innumerable ox-hides going to
waste upon the dreamy expanse of the Campo, with
its single palms rising like ships at sea within the per-
fect circle of the horizon, its clumps of heavy timber
motionless like solid islands of leaves above the run-
ning waves of grass. There were hides there, rotting,
with no profit to anybody — rotting where they had
been dropped by men called away to attend the urgent
necessities of political revolutions. The practical mer-
cantile soul of Senor Hirsch rebelled against all that
foolishness, while he was taking a respectful but dis-
concerted leave of the might and majesty of the San
Tomd mine in the person of Charles Gould. He could
not restrain a heart-broken murmur, wrung out of his
very aching heart, as it were.

" It is a great, great foolishness, Don Carlos, all this
The price of hides in Hamburg is gone up— up. Of
course the Ribierist government will do away with all
that — when it gets established firmly. Meantime—

225

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

He sighed.

"Yes, meantime," repeated Charles Gould, inscru-
tably.

The other shrugged his shoulders. But he was not
ready to go yet. There was a little matter he would
like to mention very much if permitted. It appeared
he had some good friends in Hamburg (he murmured
the name of the firm) who were very anxious to do
business, in dynamite, he explained. A contract for
dynamite with the San Tom£ mine, and then, perhaps,
later on, other mines, which were sure to — The lit-
tle man from Esmeralda was ready to enlarge, but
Charles interrupted him. It seemed as though the
patience of the Sefior Administrador was giving way
at last.

"Senor Hirsch," he said, "I have enough dynamite
stored up at the mountain to send it down crashing
into the valley" — his voice rose a little — "to send
half Sulaco into the air if I liked."

Charles Gould smiled at the round, startled eyes of
the dealer in hides, who was murmuring hastily, "Just
so. Just so." And now he was going. It was im-
possible to do business in explosives with an admin-
istrador so well provided and so discouraging. He
had suffered agonies in the saddle and had exposed
himself to the atrocities of the bandit Hernandez for
nothing at all. Neither hides nor dynamite — and the
very shoulders of the enterprising Israelite expressed
dejection. At the door he bowed low to the engineer-
in-chief. But at the bottom of the stairs in the patio
he stopped short, with his podgy hand over his lips,
in an attitude of meditative astonishment.

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

" What docs he want to keep so much dynamite for ?"
he muttered. " And why does he talk like this to me?"

The engineer-in-chief, looking in at the door of the
empty sala. whence the political tide had ebbed out
to the last insignificant drop, nodded familiarly to the
master of the house, standing motionless like a tall
beacon among the deserted shoals of furniture.

" Good-night; I am going. Got my bike down-stairs.
The railway will know where to go for dynamite should
we get short at any time. We have done cutting and
chopping for a while now. We shall begin soon to
blast our way through."

"Don't come to me," said Charles Gould, with per-
fect serenity. " I sha'n't have an ounce to spare for
anybody. Not an ounce. Not for my own brother,
if I had a brother, and he were the engineer-in-chief
of the most promising railway in the world."

"What's that?" asked the engineer-in-chief, with
equanimity. "Unkindness?"

"No," said Charles Gould, stolidly. "Policy."

"Radical, I should think," the engineer - in - chief
observed from the doorway.

"Is that the right name?" Charles Gould said, from
the middle of the room.

" I mean, going to the roots, you know," the en-
gineer explained, with an air of enjoyment.

"Why, yes," Charles pronounced slowly. "The
Gould Concession has struck such deep roots in this
country, in this province, in that gorge of the moun-
tains, that nothing but dynamite shall be allowed to
dislodge it from there. It's my choice. It's my last
card to play."

2*7

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

The engineer - in - chief whistled low. "A pretty
game," he said, with a shade of discretion. "And
have you told Holroyd of that extraordinary trump
card you hold in your hand?"

"Card only when it's played; when it falls at the
end of the game. Till then you may call it a — a — "

"Weapon," suggested the railway man.

"No. You may call it rather an argument," cor-
rected Charles Gould, gently. "And that's how I've
presented it to Mr. Holroyd."

"And what did he say to it?" asked the engineer,
with undisguised interest.

"He — " Charles Gould spoke after a slight pause —
"he said something about holding on like grim death
and putting our trust in God. I should imagine he
must have been rather startled. But then" — pursued
the administrador of the San Tome' mine — "but then,
he is very far away, you know, and, as they say in this
country, God is very high above."

The engineer's appreciative laugh died away dowr
the stairs, where the Madonna with the Child on her
arm seemed to look after his shaking broad back frorr?
her shallow niche.

A PROFOUND stillness reigned in the Casa GouM.
/~\ The master of the house, walking along the
ridor, opene<l the door of his room, and saw his wife
sitting in a big arm-chair — his own smoking arm-chair
— thoughtful, contemplating her little shoes. And sne
did not raise her eyes when he walked in.

"Tired?" asked Charles Gould.

"A little," said Mrs. Gould. Still without looking
up, she added with feeling, " There is an awful sense of
unreality al>out all this."

Charles Gould, l>efore the long table strewn with
papers, on which lay a hunting crop and a pair of
spurs, stood looking at his wife. "The heat and dust
must have been awful this afternoon by the water-
si, k-," he murmured sympathetically. "The glare on
the water must have been simply terrible."

"One could close one's eyes to the glare Mrs.

Gould. "But, my dear Charley, it is impossible for
me to close my eyes to our position, to this awful

She raised her eyes and looked at her husband's
face, from which all sign of sympathy or any other
feeling had disappeared. "Why don't you tell me
something?" she almost wailed.

I thought you had understood me perfectly from
the first," Charles Gould said, slowly. " I thought we
had said all there was to say a long time ago. There

229

Nostromo ; A Tale of the Seaboard

is nothing to say now. There were things to be done.
We have done them; we have gone on doing them.
There is no going back now. I don't suppose that,
even from the first, there was really any possible way
back. And, what's more, we can't even afford to
stand still."

"Ah, if one only knew how far you mean to go,"
said his wife, inwardly trembling, but in an almost
playful tone.

"Any distance, any length, of course," was the an-
swer, in a matter-of-fact tone, which caused Mrs.
Gould to make another effort to repress a shudder.

She stood up, smiling graciously, and her little fig-
ure seemed to be diminished still more by the heavy
mass of her hair and the long train of her gown.

"But always to success," she said, persuasively.

Charles Gould, enveloping her in the steely blue
glance of his attentive eyes, answered without hesita-
tion:

"Oh, there is no alternative."

He put an immense assurance into his tone. As to
the words, this was all that his conscience would allow
him to say.

Mrs. Gould's smile remained a shade too long upon
her lips. She murmured:

" I will leave you; I've a slight headache. The heat,
the dust, were indeed — I suppose you are going
back to the mine before the morning?"

"At midnight," said Charles Gould. "We are
bringing down the silver to-morrow. Then I shall take
three whole days off in town with you."

"Ah, you are going to meet the escort. I shall be
230

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

on the balcony at five o'clock to see you pass. Till
then, good-l-

Charles GouKl walked rapidly round the table, and,
seizing her hands, bent down, pressing them both to
his lips. Before he straightened himself up again to
his full height she had disengaged one to smooth his
cheek with a light touch, as if he were a little boy.

"Try to get some rest for a couple of hours," she
murmured, with a glance at a hammock stretched in
a distant part of the room. Her long train swished
softly after her on the red tiles. At the door she look-
ed back.

Two big lamps with unpolished glass globes bathed
in a soft and abundant light the four white walls of
the room, with a glass case of arms, the brass hilt of
Henry Gould's cavalry sabre on its square of velvet,
ami the water -color sketch of the San Tom£ gorge.
And Mrs. Gould, gazing at the last in its black wooden
frame, sighed out:

"Ah, if we had left it alone, Charles!"

"No," Charles Gould said, moodily; "it was impos-
sible to leave it alone."

"Perhaps it was impossible," Mrs. Gould admitted
slowly. Her lips quivered a little, but she smiled with
an air of dainty bravado. "We have disturbed a
good many snakes in that paradise, Charley, haven't
we?"

"Yes; I remember," said Charles Gould, "it was
Don Pe'pe' who called the gorge the paradise of snakes.
No doubt we have disturbed a great many. But re-
member, my dear, that it is not now as it was when
you made that sketch." He waved his hand towards

231

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

the small water-color hanging alone upon the great
bare wall. " It is no longer a paradise of snakes. We
have brought mankind into it, and we cannot turn
our backs upon them to go and begin a new life else-
where."

He confronted his wife with a firm, concentrated
gaze, which Mrs. Gould returned with a brave assump-
tion of fearlessness before she went out, closing the
door gently after her.

In contrast with the white glaring room the dimly
lit corridor had a restful mysteriousness of a forest
shade, suggested by the stems and the leaves of the
plants ranged along the balustrade of the open side.
In the streaks of light falling through the open door
of the reception-rooms, the blossoms, white and red
and pale lilac, came out vivid with the brillance of
flowers in a stream of sunshine; and Mrs. Gould, pass-
ing on, had the vividness of a figure seen in the clear
patches of sun that checker the gloom of open glades
in the woods. The stones in the rings upon her hand
pressed to her forehead glittered in the lamp - light
abreast of the door of the sala.

"Who's there?" she asked, in a startled voice. "Is
that you, Basilio?" She looked in, and saw Martin
Decoud walking about, with an air of having lost some-
thing among the chairs and tables.

"Antonia has forgotten her fan in here," said De-
coud, with a strange air of distraction; "so I entered
to see."

But, even as he said this, he had obviously given
up his search, and walked straight towards Mrs, Gould,
who looked at him with doubtful surprise.

23?

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

"Senora," he began, in a low voice.
• What is it, Don Martin ?" asked Mrs. Gould. And
then she added, with a slight laugh, " I am so nervous
to-day," as if to explain the eagerness of the question.

"Nothing immediately dangerous," said Decoud,
who now could not conceal his agitation. " Pray don't
distress yourself. No, really, you must not distress
yourself."

Mrs. Gould, with her candid eyes very wide open,
her lips composed into a smile, was steadying herself
with a little bejewelled hand against the lintel of the
door.

"Perhaps you don't know how alarming you are,
appearing like this, unexpectedly — "

"I! Alarming!" he protested, sincerely vexed and
surprised. "I assure you that I am not in the least
alarmed myself. A fan is lost; well, it will be found
again. But I don't think it is here. It is a fan I am
looking for. I cannot understand how Antonia could —
Well! have you found it, amigo?"

" No, senor," said, behind Mrs. Gould, the soft voice
of Basilio, the head servant of the casa. " I don't
think the senorita could have left it in this house at
all."

"Go and look for it in the patio again. Go now,
my friend; look for it on the steps, under the gate;
examine every flag-stone; search for it till I comedown
again. . . . That fellow" — he addressed himself in
English to Mrs. Gould — "is always stealing up behind
one's back on his bare feet. I set him to look for that
fan directly I came in, to justify my reappearance,
my sudden return."

233

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

He paused, and Mrs. Gould said, amiably, "You are
always welcome." She paused for a second, too.
"But I am waiting to learn the cause of your return."

Decoud affected suddenly the utmost nonchalance.

"I can't bear to be spied upon. Oh, the cause?
Yes, there is a cause; there is something else that is
lost besides Antonia's favorite fan. As I was walking
home after seeing Don Jose" and Antonia to their
house, the capataz de cargadores, riding down the
street, spoke to me."

"Has anything happened to the Violas?" inquired
Mrs. Gould.

"The Violas? You mean the old Garibaldino who
keeps the hotel where the engineers live? Nothing
happened there. The capataz said nothing of them;
he only told me that the telegraphist of the cable
company was walking on the Plaza, bareheaded, look-
ing out for me. There is news from the interior, Mrs.
Gould. I should rather say rumors of news."

"Good news?" said Mrs. Gould, in a low voice.

"Worthless, I should think. But if I must define
them, I would say bad. They are to the effect that
a two days' battle had been fought near Sta. Marta,
and that the Ribierists are defeated. It must have
happened a few days ago — perhaps a week. The
rumor has just reached Cayta, and the man in charge
of the cable-station there has telegraphed the news to
his colleague here. We might just as well have kept
Barrios in Sulaco."

"What's to be done now?" murmured Mrs. Gould.

" Nothing. He's at sea with the troops. He will
get to Cayta in a couple of days' time and learn the

234

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

news there. What he will do then, who can say?
Holil Cayta? Offer his submission to Montero? Dis-
band his army — this last most likely, and go himself
in one of the O.S.N. Company's stcamors, north or
south, to Valparaiso or to San Francisco, no matter
where. Our Barrios has a great practice in exiles and
repatriations, which mark the points in the political
game."

Decoud, exchanging a steady stare with Mrs. Gould,
added, tentatively, as it were, "And yet, if we had
Barrios with his two thousand improved rifles here,
something could have been done."

"Montero victorious, completely victorious!" Mrs.
Gould breathed out in a tone of unbelief.

"A canard, probably. That sort of bird is hatched
in great numbers in such times as these. And even if
it were true? Well, let us put things at their worst,
let us say it is true."

"Then everything is lost," said Mrs, Gould, with the
calmness of despair.

Suddenly she seemed to divine, she seemed to see
Decoud 's tremendous excitement under its cloak of
studied carelessness. It was, indeed, becoming visible
in his audacious and watchful stare, in the curve, half-
reckless, half-contemptuous, of his lips. And a French
phrase came upon them as if, for this Costa guanero of
the boulevard, that had been the only forcible lan-
guage:

"Mm, madam*. Rien n'est perdu "

It electrified Mrs. Gould out of her benumbed at-
titude, and she said, vivaciously:

" What would you think of doing?"

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

But already there was something of mockery in
Decoud's suppressed excitement.

"What would you expect a true Costaguanero to
do? Another revolution, of course. On my word of
honor, Mrs. Gould, I believe I am a true hijo del pays,
a true son of the country, whatever Father Corbelan
may say. And I'm not so much of an unbeliever as
not to have faith in my own ideas, in my own remedies,
in my own desires."

"Yes," said Mrs. Gould, doubtfully.

"You don't seem convinced," Decoud went on again
in French. "Say, then, in my passions."

Mrs. Gould received this addition unflinchingly. To
understand it thoroughly she did not require to hear
his muttered assurance.

"There is nothing I would not do for the sake of
Antonia. There is nothing I am not prepared to un-
dertake. There is no risk I am not ready to run."

Decoud seemed to find a fresh audacity in this voic-
ing of his thought. "You would not believe me if I
were to say that it is the love of the country which — "

She made a sort of discouraged protest with her
arm, as if to express that she had given up expecting
that motive from any one.

"A Sulaco revolution," Decoud pursued in a forcible
undertone. "The Great Cause may be served here,
on the very spot of its inception, in the place of its
birth, Mrs. Gould."

Frowning, and biting her lower lip thoughtfully, she
made a step away from the door.

"You are not going to speak to your husband?"
Decoud arrested her anxiously.

236

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

you will need his h« •:•

"No doubt," Decoud admitted without hesitation.
trything turns upon the San Tome" mine, but I
would rather he didn't know anything as yet of my—
my hopes."

A puzzled look came upon Mrs. Gould's face, and
Decoud, approaching, explained confidentially:

" Don't you see, he's such an ideali

Mrs. Gould flushed pink, and her eyes grew darker
at the same time.

"Charley an idealist!" she said, as if to herself, won-
deringly. " What on earth do you mean

"Yes," conceded Decoud; "it's a wonderful thing
to say with the sight of the San Tome" mine, the great-
est fact in the whole of South America, perhaps, be-
fore our very eyes. But look even at that; lie has
idealized this fact to a point — " He paused. "Mrs.
Gould, are you aware to what point he ha- idealized
the existence, the worth, the meaning of the San Tome"
mine? Are you aware of it?"

He must have known what he was talking atout.
The effect he expected was produced. Mrs. Gould,
ready to take fire, gave it up suddenly with a low lit-
tle sound that resembled a moan.

"What do you know?" she asked in a feeble voice.

"Nothing," answered Decoud, firmly. " Hut. then,
don't you see, he's an Englishman '"

Well, what of that?" asked Mrs. Gould

" Simply that he cannot act or exist without ideal-
izing every simple feeling, desire, or achievement. He
could not believe his own motives if he did not make
them first a part of some fairy-tale. The earth is not

'37

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

quite good enough for him, I fear. Do you excuse my
frankness? Besides, whether you excuse it or not, it
is part of the truth of things which hurts the — what
do you call them? — the Anglo-Saxon's susceptibilities,
and at the present moment I don't feel as if I could
treat seriously either his conception of things or — if
you allow me to say so — or yet yours."

Mrs. Gould gave no sign of being offended. "I
suppose Antonia understands you thoroughly?"

"Understands? Well, yes. But I am not sure
that she approves. That, however, makes no differ-
ence. I am honest enough to tell you that, Mrs.
Gould."

"Your idea, of course, is separation," she said.

"Separation, of course," declared Martin. "Yes;
separation of the whole Occidental Province from the
rest of the unquiet body. But my true idea, the only
one I care for, is not to be separated from Antonia."

"And that is all?" asked Mrs. Gould, without se-
verity.

"Absolutely. I am not deceiving myself about my
motives. She won't leave Sulaco for my sake, there-
fore Sulaco must leave the rest of the republic to its
fate. Nothing could be clearer than that. I like a
clearly defined situation. I cannot part with Antonia,
therefore the one and indivisible republic of Costa-
guana must be made to part with its western prov-
ince. Fortunately it happens to be also a sound policy.
The richest, the most fertile part of this land may be
saved from anarchy. Personally, I care little, very
little; but it's a fact that the establishment of Montero
in power would mean death to me. In all the procla-

238

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

mations of general pardon which I have seen, my
name, with a few of specially exoepted. The

brothers hate me, as you know very well, Mrs. Gould;
ami behold, here is the rumor of them having won a
'c. You say that, supposing it is true, I have
plenty of time to run a\s

The slight protesting murmur on the part of Mrs.
Gould made him pause for a moment, while he looked
at her with a sombre and resolute glance.

"Ah, but I would, Mrs. Gould. I would run away
if it served that which at prv;» nt is my onl'
I am courageous enough to say that, and to ,]<> it
But women, even our women, are idealists. It is An-
tonia that won't run away. A nov:l sort of vanity."

"You call it vanity," said Mrs. Gould, in a shocked
voice.

"Say pride, then, which, Father Corbelan would
tell you, is a mortal sin. But I am not proud. I am
simply too much in love to run away. At the same
I want to live. There is no love for a dead man.
Therefore it is necessary that Sulaco should not rec-
ognize the victorious Montero."

"And you think my husband will give you his sup-
port?"

"I think he can be drawn into it, like all idealists,
when he once sees a sentimental basis for his action.
But I wouldn't talk to him. Merc clear facts won't
Ippeal to his sentiment. It is much better for him
to convince himself in his own way. And, frankly. I
could not, perhaps, just now pay sufficient respect to
either his motives or even, perhaps, to yours, Mrs-
Gould."

'39

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

It was evident that Mrs. Gould was very deter-
mined not to be offended. She smiled vaguely, while
she seemed to think the matter over. As far as she
could judge from the girl's half-confidences, Antonia
understood that young man. Obviously there was a
promise of safety in his plan, or rather in his idea.
Moreover, right or wrong, the idea could do no harm.
And it was quite possible, also, that the rumor was
false.

"You have some sort of plan," she said.

"Simplicity itself. Barrios has started, let him go
on then; he will hold Cayta, which is the door of the
sea route to Sulaco. They cannot send a sufficient
force over the mountains. No; not even to cope with
the band of Hernandez. Meantime we shall organize
our resistance here. And for that, this very Hernandez
will be useful. He has defeated troops as a bandit;
he will no doubt accomplish the same thing if he were
made a colonel or even a general. You know the
country well enough not to be shocked by what I say, ,
Mrs. Gould. I have heard you assert that this poor
bandit was the living and breathing example of cruelty,
injustice, stupidity, and oppression, that ruin men's
souls as well as their fortunes in this country. Well,
there would be some poetical retribution in that mat
arising to crush the evils which had driven an honest
ranchero into a life of crime. A fine idea of retribu-
tion in that, isn't there?"

Decoud had dropped easily into English, which he
spoke with precision, very correctly, but with toe
many z sounds.

"Think also of your hospitals, of your schools, of
240

Nostroino : A Tale of the Seaboard

your ailing mothers and feeble old men, of all that
population which you and your husband have brought
into the rocky gorge of San Tome". Are you not re-
•isible to your conscience for all these people? Is
it not worth while to make another effort, which is not
at all so desperate as it looks, rather than — "

Decoud finished his thought with an upward toss
of the arm, suggesting annihilation; and Mrs. Gould
turned away her head with a look of horror.

"Why don't you say all this to my husband?" she
asked, without looking at Decoud, who stood watch-
ing the effect of his words.

"Ah! But Don Carlos is so English," he began.
Mrs. Gould interrupted —

"Leave that alone, Don Martin. He's as much a
Costaguanero — No! He's more of a Costaguanero
than yourself."

"Sentimentalist, sentimentalist," Decoud almost
cooed, in a tone of gentle and soothing deference.
"Sentimentalist, after the amazing manner of your
people. I have been watching El Rey de Sulaco since
I came here on a fool's errand, and perhaps impelled
by some treason of fate lurking behind the unaccount-
able turns of a man's life. But I don't matter; I am
not a sentimentalist, I cannot endow my personal de-
sires with a shining robe of silk and jewels. Life is
not for me a moral romance derived from the tradition
of a pretty fairy-tale. No, Mrs. Gould ; I am practical.
I am not afraid of my motives. But. pardon me, I
have been rather carried away. What I wish to say
is that I have been observing. I won't say what I
have discovered — "

241

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

" No. That is unnecessary," whispered Mrs. Gould,
once more averting her head.

"It is. Except one little fact, that your husband
does not like me. It's a small matter, which, in the
circumstances, seems to acquire a perfectly ridiculous
importance. Ridiculous and immense; for, clearly,
money is required for my plan," he reflected; then
added, meaningly, "and we have two sentimentalists
to deal with."

"I don't know that I understand you, Don Martin,"
said Mrs. Gould, coldly, preserving the low key of
their conversation. " But, speaking as if I did, who
is the other?"

"The great Holroyd in San Francisco, of course,"
Decoud whispered, lightly. "I think you understand
me very well. Women are idealists; but then they
are so perspicacious."

But whatever was the reason of that remark, dis-
paraging and complimentary at the same time, Mrs.
Gould seemed not to pay attention to it. The name
of Holroyd had given a new tone to her anxiety.

"The silver escort is coming down to the harbor to-
morrow; a whole six months' working, Don Martin!"
she cried in dismay.

" Let it come down then," breathed out Decoud,
earnestly, almost into her ear.

"But if the rumor should get about, and especially
if it turned out true, troubles might break out in the
town," objected Mrs. Gould.

Decoud admitted that it was possible. He knew
well the town children of the Sulaco Campo: sullen,
thievish, vindictive, and blood-thirsty, whatever great

242

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

qualities their brothers of the plain might have had.
Hut then there was that other sentimentalist, who at-
tached a strangely idealistic meaning to concrete facts,
stream of silver must be kept flowing north, to
return in the form of financial backing from the great
house of Holroyd. Up at the mountain in the strong-
room of the mine the silver bars were worth less for
his purpose than so much lead, from which at least
bullets may be run. Let it come down > W.4fre> harbor,
ready for shipment.

The next north-going steamer would carry it off for
the very salvation of the San Tome* mine, which has
produced so much treasure. And, moreover, the ru-
mor was probably false, he remarked, with much con-
viction in his hurried tone.

"Besides, senora," concluded Decoud, "we may
suppress it for many days. I have been talking with
the telegraphist in the middle of the Plaza Mayor;
thus I am certain that we could not have been over-
heard. There was not even a bird in the air near us.
And also let me tell you something more. I have
been making friends with this man called Nostromo,
the capataz. We had a conversation this very even-
ing, I walking by the side of his horse as he rode
slowly out of the town just now. He promised me
that if a riot took place, for any reason — even for the
most political of reasons — you understand, his carga-
dores, an important part of the populace, you will
admit, should be found on the side of the Europeans."

"He has promised you that?" Mrs. Gould inquired,
with interest. "What made him make that promise
to you?"

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

" Upon my word, I don't know," declared Decoud, in
a slightly surprised tone. "He certainly promised
me that, but, now you ask me why, I certainly could
not tell you his reasons. He talked with his usual
carelessness, which, if he had been anything else but
a common sailor, I would call a pose or an affec-
tation."

Decoud, interrupting himself, looked at Mrs. Gould

"Upon the whole," he continued, "I suppose he
expects something to his advantage from it. You
mustn't forget that he does not exercise his extraor-
dinary power over the lower classes without a certain
amount of personal risk and without a great profusion
in spending his money. One must pay in some way
or other for such a solid thing as individual prestige.
He told me after we made friends at a dance, in a
posada kept by a Mexican just outside the walls,
that he had come here to make his fortune. I sup-
pose he looks upon his prestige as a sort of invest-
ment."

"Perhaps he prizes it for its own sake," Mrs. Gould
said, in a tone as if she were repelling an undeserved
aspersion. "Viola, the Garibaldino, with whom he
has lived for some years, calls him the incorrupt-
ible."

"Ah! he belongs to the group of your proteges out
there towards the harbor, Mrs. Gould. Muy bicu.
And Captain Mitchell calls him wonderful. I have
heard no end of tales of his strength, his audacity, his
fidelity. No end of fine things. H'm! incorruptible?
It is indeed a name of honor for the capataz of the

944

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

cargadores of Sulaco. Incorruptible ! Fine, but
vague. However, I suppose he's sensible, too. And
I talked to him upon that sane and practical assump-
tion."

"I prefer to think him disinterested, and therefore
trustworthy," Mrs. Gould said, with the nearest ap-
proach to curtness it was in her nature to assume.

" Well, if so, then the silver will be still more safe.
Let it come down, senora. Let it come down, so that
it may go north and return to us in the shape of credit."

Mrs. Gould glanced along the corridor towards the
door of her husband's room. Decoud, watching her
as if she had his fate in her hands, detected an almost
imperceptible nod of assent. He bowed with a smile,
and, putting his hand into the breast-pocket of his
coat, pulled out a fan of light feathers set upon painted
leaves of sandal-wood. "I had it in my pocket," he
murmured triumphantly, "for a plausible prct«
He bowed again. "Good-night, seflora."

Mrs. Gould continued along the corttdor away from
her husband's room. The fate of the San Tomd mine
was lying heavy upon her heart. It was a long time
now since she had begun to fear it. It had been an
idea. She had watched it with misgivings turning
into a fetish, and now the fetish had grown into a
monstrous and crushing weight. It was as if the in-
spiration of their early years had left her heart to turn
into a wall of silver bricks, erected by the silent work
of evil spirits, between her and her husband. He
seemed to dwell alone within a circumvalation of
precious metal, leaving her outside with her school,
her hospital, the sick mothers and the feeble old men,

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

mere insignificant vestiges of the initial inspiration.
"Those poor people!" she murmured to herself.

Below she heard the voice of Martin Decoud in the
patio speaking loudly.

"I have found Dona Antonia's fan, Basilio. Look
here it is!"

VII

IT was part of what Decoud would have called his
sane materialism that he did not believe in the pos-
sibility of friendship existing between man and woman.

The one exception he allowed confirmed, he main-
tained, that absolute rule. Friendship was possible
between brother an meaning by friendship

the frank unreserve-, a-, before another human being,
of thoughts and sensations; an objectless and neces-
sary sincerity of one's innermost life trying to react
upon the profound sympathies of another existence.

His favorite sifter, the handsome, slightly arbitt
and resolute angel, ruling the father and mother De-
coud in the first-floor apartments of a very I,:
ian house, was the recipient of Martin Decoud's con-
fidences as to his thoughts, actions, purposes, doubts,
and even failures. . . .

"Prqjare our little circle in Paris for the birth of
another South American republic. One more or
what does it matter? They may come into the world
like evil flowers on a hot-bed of rotten institutions;
but the seed of this one has germinated in your broth-
er's brain, and that will be enough for your devoted
assent. I am writing this to you by the light of a
single candle, in a sort of inn, near the harbor, kept
by an Italian called Viola, a prote'ge' of Mrs. Gould.
The whole building, which, for all I know, may have

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

been contrived by a conquistador farmer of the pearl
fishery three hundred years ago, is perfectly silent.
So is the plain between the town and the harbor; si-
lent, but not so dark as the house, because the pickets
of Italian workmen guarding the railway have lighted
little fires all along the line. It was not so quiet
around here yesterday. We had an awful riot — a
sudden outbreak of the populace, which was not sup-
pressed till late to-day. Its object, no doubt, was
loot, and that was defeated, as you must have learned
already from the cablegram sent via San Francisco
and New York last night, when the cables were still
open. You have read already there that the ener-
getic action of the Europeans of the railway has saved
the town from destruction, and you may believe that.
I wrote out the cable myself. We have no Reuter's
Agency man here. I have also fired at the mob from
the windows of the club, in company with some othei
young men of position. Our object was to keep the
Calle da la Constitucion clear for the exodus of the
ladies and children, who have taken refuge on board
a couple of cargo-ships now in the harbor here. That
was yesterday. You should also have learned from
the cable that the missing President, Ribiera, who
had disappeared after the battle of Sta. Marta, has
turned up here in Sulaco by one of those strange
coincidences that are almost incredible, riding on a
lame mule into the very midst of the street-fighting.
It appears that he had fled, in company of a muleteer
called Bonifacio, across the mountains, from the
threats of Montero, into the arms of an enraged mob.
"The capataz of cargadores, that Italian sailor of
248

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

whom I have written to you before, has saved him
from an ignoble death. That man seems to have a
particular talon t tor being on the spot whenever there
is something picturesque to be done.

" He was with me at four o'clock in the morning at
the offices of the Porvcnir, where he had turned up so
early in order to warn me of the coming trouble, and
aKo to assure me that he would keep his cargadores
on the side of order. When the full daylight came
we were looking together at the crowd on foot and on
horseback, demonstrating on the Plaza and shying
stones at the windows of the Intendencia. Nostromo
(that is the name they call him by here) was pointing
out to me his cargadores interspersed in the mob.

"The sun shines late upon Sulaco, for it has first
to climb above the mountains. In that dear morn-
ing light, brighter than twilight, Nostromo saw right
across the vast Plaza, at the end of the street beyond
the cathedral, a mounted man apparently in difficul-
ties with a yelling knot of leperos. At once he said to
me, ' That's a stranger. What is it they are doing to
him?' Then he took out the silver whistle he is in
the habit of using on the wharf (this man seems to
disdain the use of any metal less precious than silver)
and blew into it twice, evidently a preconcerted signal
for his cargadores. He ran out immediately, and
they rallied round him. I ran out, too, but was too
late to follow them and help in the rescue of the stran-
ger whose animal had fallen. I was set upon at once
as a hated aristocrat, and was only too glad to get into
the club, where Don Jaime Berges (you may remember
him visiting at our house in Paris some three years

249

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ago) thrust a sporting-gun into my hands. They were
already firing from the windows. There were little
heaps of cartridges lying about on the open card-
tables. I remember a couple of overturned chairs,
some bottles rolling on the floor among the packs
of cards scattered suddenly as the caballeros rose
from their game to open fire upon the mob. Most of
the young men had spent the night at the club in the
expectation of some such disturbance. In two of the
candelabra, on the consoles, the candles were burn-
ing down in their sockets. A large iron nut, prob-
ably stolen from the railway workshops, flew in from
the street as I entered, and broke one of the large
mirrors set in the wall. I noticed also one of the
club servants tied up hand and foot with the cords
of the curtain and flung in a corner. I have a vague
recollection of Don Jaime assuring me hastily that the
fellow had been detected putting poison into the
dishes at supper. But I remember distinctly he was
shrieking for mercy, without stopping at all, con-;
tinuously, and so absolutely disregarded that nobody
even took the trouble to gag him. The noise he madt
was so disagreeable that I had half a mind to do it
myself. But there was no time to waste on sucl
trifles. I took my place at one of the windows anc
began firing.

" I didn't learn till later in the afternoon whom it wj
that Nostromo, with his cargadores and some Italiz
workmen as well, had managed to save from the
drunken rascals. That man has a peculiar tale
when anything striking to the imagination has to be
done. I made that remark to him afterwards when

250

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

met after some sort of order had been restore.! in the
town, and the answer he made rather surprised me.
He said, quite moodily, 'And how much do I get for
that, senor?' Then it dawned upon me that perhaps
this man's vanity has been satiated by the adulation
of the common people and the confidence of his su-
periors!"

Decoud paused to light a cigarette, then, with his
head still over his writing, he blew a cloud of smoke,
which seemed to rebound from the paper. He took
up the pencil again.

"That was yesterday evening on the Plaza, while
he sat on the steps of the cathedral, his hands between
his knees, holding the bridle of his famous silver-gray
mare. He had led his body of cargadores splendidly
all day long. He looked fatigued. I don't know how
I looked. Yen- dirty, I suppose. But I suppose I
also looked pleased. From the time the fugitive
President had been got off to the S.S. MhuT.\i, the tide
of success had turned against the mob. They had
been driven off the harl>or, and out of the better
streets of the town, into their own maze of ruins and
tolderias. You must understand that this riot, whose
primary object was undoubtedly the getting hold of
the San Tome' silver stored in the lower rooms of the
custom - house (besides the general looting of the
Ricos), had acquired a political coloring from the fact
of two Deputies to the Provincial Assembly, Senores
Gamacho and Fucntes, both from Bolson, putting
themselves at the head of it — late in the afternoon,
it is true, when the mob, disappointed in their hopes
of loot, made a stand in the narrow streets to the

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

cries of 'Viva la Libertad! Down with Feudalism!'
(I wonder what they imagine Feudalism to be.) ' Down
with the Goths and Paralytics.' I suppose the
Senores Gamacho and Fuentes knew what they wrere
doing. They are prudent gentlemen. In the As-
sembly they called themselves Moderates, and op-
posed every energetic measure with philanthropic
pensiveness. At the first rumors of Montero's vic-
tory they began to show a subtle change of the pen-
sive temper, and began to defy poor Don Juste Lopez
in his presidential tribune with an effrontery to which
the poor man could only respond by a dazed smooth-
ing of his beard and the ringing of the presidential
bell. Then, when the downfall of the Ribierist cause
became confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt,
they blossomed into convinced Liberals, acting to-
gether as if they were Siamese twins, and ultimately
taking charge, as it were, of the riot, in the name of
Monterist principles.

"Their last move at eight o'clock last night was
to organize themselves into a Monterist committee,
which sits, as far as I know, in a posada kept by a
retired Mexican bull -fighter, a great politician, too,
whose name I have forgotten. Thence they have
issued a communication to us, the Goths and
Paralytics of the Amarilla Club (who have our own
committee), inviting us to come to some provisional un-
derstanding for a truce, in order, they have the impu-
dence to say, that the noble cause of Liberty 'should
not be stained by the criminal excesses of Conservative
selfishness!' As I came out to sit with Nostromo on
the cathedral steps, the club was busy considering a

252

-troino: A 1 a U- <>t" the Seaboard

er reply in the principal room, littered with ex-
ploded cartridges, with a lot of broken glass, blood
smears, candlesticks, and all sorts of wreckage on the
floor. But all this is nonsense. Nobody in the town
has any real power except the railway engineers, whose
men occupy the dismantled houses acquired by the
company for their town station on one side of the
Plaza, and Nostromo, whose cargadores were sleeping
under the Arcades, along the front of Anzam's shops.
A fire of broken furniture out of the lnteml<
saloons, mostly gilt, was burning on the Plaza, in a
high flame swaying right upon the statue of Charles IV.
The dead body of a man was lying on the steps of the
pedestal, his arms thrown wide open, and his sombrero
covering his face — the attention of some friem 1 , peri
The light of the flames touched the foliage of the ;
trees on the Alameda, and played on the end of a
street near by, blocked up by a jumble of ox -carts ami
dead bullocks. Sitting on one of the carcasses, a lepero,
muffled up, smoked a cigarette. It was a truce, you
understand. The only other living being on the Plaza
besides ourselves was a cargador, walking to and fro,
with a long, bare knife in his hand, like a sentry before
the Arcades, where his friends were sleeping. And the
only other spot of light in the dark town were the
lighted windows of the club, at the corner of the calle."
After having written so far, Don Martin Decoud, the
exotic dandy of the Parisian boulevard, got up and
walked across the sanded floor of the cafe" at one end
of the albcrgo of United Italy, kept by Giorgio Viola,
the old companion of Garibaldi. The highly colored
lithograph of the Faithful Hero seemed to look dimly,

253

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

in the light of one candle, at the man with no faith in
anything except the truth of his own sensations.
Looking out of the window, Decoud was met by a
darkness so impenetrable that he could see neither the
mountains nor the town, nor yet the buildings near
the harbor; and there was not a sound, as if the
tremendous obscurity of the Placid Gulf, spreading
from the waters over the land, had made it dumb as
well as blind. Presently Decoud felt a light tremor of
the floor and distant clank of iron. A bright white
light appeared, deep in the darkness, growing bigger
with a thundering noise. The rolling-stock usually
kept on the sidings in Rincon was being run back to
the yards for safe-keeping. Like a mysterious stirring
of the darkness behind the head-light of the engine, the
train passed in a gust of hollow uproar by the end of
the house, which seemed to vibrate all over in response.
And nothing was clearly visible but, on the end of the
last flat-car, a negro, in white trousers and naked to
the waist, swinging a blazing torch-basket incessantly
with a circular movement of his bare arm. Decoud
did not stir.

Behind him, on the back of the chair from which he
had risen, hung his elegant Parisian overcoat, with a
pearl-gray silk lining. But when he turned back to
come to the table the candle-light fell upon a face that
was grimy and scratched. His rosy lips were blackened
with heat, the smoke of gunpowder. Dirt and rust
tarnished the lustre of his short beard. His shirt
collar and cuffs were crumpled, the blue silken tie
hung down his breast like a rag; a greasy smudge
crossed his white brow. He had not taken off his

254

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

clothing nor used water, except to snatch a hasty drink
greedily, for some forty hours. An awful restlessness
had made him its own, had marked him with all the
signs of desperate strife, and put a dry. sleepless stare
into his eyes. He murmured to himself in a hoarse
voice, '* I wonder if there's any bread here," looked
vaguely about him, then dropped into the chair and
took the pencil up again. He became aware he had
not eaten anything for many hours.

It occurred to him that no one could understand
him so well as his sister. In the most sceptical 1
there lurks at such moments, when the chances of
existence are involved, a desire to leave a correct im-
pression of the feelings, like a light by which the action
may be seen when personality is gone, gone where no
light of investigation can ever rc.nl i the truth wlm h
every death takes out of the world. Therefore, in-
stead of looking for something to eat or trying to
snatch an hour or so of sleep, Decoud was filling the
pages of a large note-book with a letter to his sister.

In the intimacy of that intercourse he could not
keep out his weariness, his great fatigue, the close touc h
of his bodily sensations. He began again as if he
were talking to her. With almost an illusion of her
presence he wrote the phrase, " I am very hungry."

" I have the feeling of a great solitude around me."
he continued. " Is it, perhaps, because I am the only
man with a definite idea in his head, in the com]
collapse of every resolve, intention, and hope about
me? But the solitude is also very real. All the en-
gineers are out, and have been for two days, looking
after the property of the National Central Railwa;

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

that great Costaguana undertaking which is to put
money into the pockets of Englishmen, Frenchmen,
Americans, Germans, and God knows who else. The
silence about me is ominous. There is above the
middle part of this house a sort of first floor, with
narrow openings like loop-holes for windows, probably
used in old times for the better defence against the
savages, when the persistent barbarism of our native
continent did not wear the black coats of politicians,
but went about yelling, half-naked, with bows and
arrows in its hands. The woman of the house is dying
up there, I believe, all alone with her old husband.
There is a narrow staircase, the sort of staircase one
man could easily defend against a mob, leading up
there, and I have just heard, through the thickness of
the wall, the old fellow going down into their kitchen
for something or other. It was a sort of noise a mouse
might make behind the plaster of a wall. All the ser-
vants they had ran away yesterday and have not re-
turned yet, if ever they do. For the rest, there are
only two children here, two girls. The father has sent
them down-stairs, and they have crept into this cafe",
perhaps because I am here. They huddle together in
a corner, in each other's arms. I just noticed them a
few minutes ago, and I feel more lonely than ever."

Decoud turned half round in his chair, and asked,
"Is there any bread here?"

Linda's dark head was shaken negatively in re-
sponse, above the fair head of her sister nestling on her
breast.

"You couldn't get me some bread?" insisted De-
coud. The child did not move; he saw her large eyes

256

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

stare at him very dark from the corner. "You're
not afraid of me?" he said.

"No," said Linda, "we are not afraid of you. You
came here with Oian' Hattista."

" You mean Nostromo ?" said Decoud.

"The English call him so, but that is no name either
for man or beast," said the girl, passing her hand gently
over her sister's hair.

"But he lets people call him so." remarked Decoud.

" Not in this house," retorted the child.

"Ah! well. I shall call him the capataz then."

Decoud gave up the point, and after writing steadily
for a while turned round again.

"When do you expect him back?" he asked.

"After he brought you here he rode off to fetch the
Senor Doctor from the town for mother. He will be
back soon."

"He stands a good chance of getting shot some-
where on the road," Decoud murmured to himself
audibly; and Linda declared in her high-pitched voice:

" Nobody would dare to fire a shot at Gian* Battista."

"You believe that." asked Decoud, "do you?"

" I know it," said the child, with conviction. "There
is no one in this place brave enough to attack Gun*
Battista."

" It doesn't require much bravery to pull a trigger
behind a bush," muttered Decoud to himself,
tunately, the night is dark, or there would be but
little chance of saving the silver of the mine."

He turned again to his note - book, glanced back
through the pages, and again started his pennl

"That was the position yesterday, after the Minerva
257

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

with the fugitive President had gone out of harbor,
and the rioters had been driven back into the side-
lanes of the town. I sat on the steps of the cathedral
with Nostromo, after sending out the cable message
for the information of a more 01 less attentive world.
Strangely enough, though the offices of the cable com-
pany are in the same building as the Porvenir, the mob,
which has thrown my presses out of the window and
scattered the type all over the Plaza, has been kept
from interfering with the instruments on the other
side of the court-yard. As I sat talking with Nostromo,
Bernhardt, the telegraphist, came out from under the
Arcades with a piece of paper in his hand. The little
man had tied himself up to an enormous sword and
was hung all over with revolvers. He is ridiculous,
but the bravest German of his size that ever tapped
the key of a Morse transmitter. He had received the
message from Cayta reporting the transports with
Barrios's army just entering the port, and ending with
the words, 'The greatest enthusiasm prevails.' I
walked off to drink some water at the fountain, and I
was shot at from the Alameda by somebody hiding
behind a tree. But I drank, and didn't care; with
Barrios in Cayta, and the great Cordillera between us
and Montero's victorious army, I seemed, notwith-
standing Messrs. Gamacho and Fuentes, to hold my
new state in the hollow of my hand. I was ready to
sleep, but when I got as far as the Casa Gould I found
the patio full of wounded laid out on straw. Lights
were burning, and on that enclosed court -yard in
that hot night a faint odor of chloroform and blood
hung about. At one end Dr. Monygham, the doctor

258

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

of the mine, 'was dressing the wounds; at the other,
near the stairs, Father corbelan. kneeling, listened t-»
the confession of a dying cargador. Mrs. Gould was
walking alxnit through these shamhlrs with a large
bottle in one hand and a lot of cotton - wool in the
other. She just looked at me and never even winked.
Her camerista was following her, also holding a bottle,
and sobbing gently to herself.

" I busied myself for some time in fetching v.
from the cistern for the wounded. Afterwards I wan-
dered up-stairs, meeting some of the first ladies of
Sulaco, paler than I had ever seen them before, with
bandages over their arms. Not all of them had fled
to the ships. A good many had taken refuge for the
day in the Casa Gould. On the landing a girl, with
her hair half down, was kneeling against the wall under
the niche where stands a Madonna in blue robes and
a gilt crown on her head. I think it was the eldest
Miss Lopez. I couldn't see her face, but I remember
looking at the high French heel of her little shoe.
She did not make a sound, she did not stir, she was
not sobbing; she remained there, perfectly still, all
black against the white wall, a silent figure of passion-
ate piety. I am sure she was no more frightened than
the other white-faced ladies I met carrying bandages.
One was sitting on the top step tearing a piece of
linen hastily into strips — the young wife of an elderly
man of fortune here. She interrupted herself to wave
her hand to my bow, as though she were in her car-
riage on the Alameda. The women of our country are
worth looking at during a revolution. The rouge and
pearl - powder fall off, together with that passive at-

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

titude towards the outer world which education, tra-
dition, custom seem to impose upon them from the
earliest infancy. I thought of your face, which from
your infancy had the stamp of intelligence instead of
that patient and resigned cast which appears when
some political commotion tears down the veil of cos-
metics and usage.

"In the great sala up-stairs a sort of Junta of No-
tables was sitting, the remnant of the vanished Pro-
vincial Assembly. Don Juste Lopez had had half his
beard singed off at the muzzle of a trabuco loaded
with slugs, of which every one missed him, providen-
tially. And as he turned his head from side to side it
was exactly as if there had been two men inside his
frock-coat, one nobly whiskered and solemn, the other
untidy and scared.

"They raised a cry of 'Decoud! Don Martin!' at
my entrance. I asked them, 'What are you deliber-
ating upon, gentlemen ?' There did not seem to be any
president, though Don Jose Avellanos sat at the head
of the table. They all answered together, 'On the
preservation of life and property.' 'Till the new offi-
cials arrive,' Don Juste explained to me with the sol-
emn side of his face offered to my view. It was as if
a stream of water had been poured upon my glowing
idea of a new state. There was a hissing sound in my
ears, and the room grew dim, as if suddenly rilled with
vapor.

"I walked up to the table blinaly, as though I had
been drunk. 'You are deliberating upon surrender,'
I said. They all sat still, with their noses over the
sheet of paper each had before him, God only knows

260

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

why. Only Don Jose" hid his face in his hands, mutter-
ini,'. ' NYviT. never!' But as I looked at him, it seemed
to me that I could have blown him away with my
breath, he looked so frail, so weak, so worn out. What-
ever happens, he will not survive. The deception is
too great for a man of his age; and hasn't he seen the
sheets of /•"»// v }\\irs of Misrule, which we have begun
printing on the presses of the Porvenir, littering
Plaza, floating in the gutters, fired out as wads for
trabucos loaded with handfuls of type, blown in the
wind, trampled in the mud ? I have seen pages float-
ing upon the very waters of the harbor. It would be
unreasonable to expect him to survive. It would be
cruel.

"'"'Do you know,' I cried, 'what surrender means to
you, to your women, to your children, to your prop-
erty ?'

" I declaimed for five minutes without drawing
breath, it seems to me, harping on our best chances,
on the ferocity of Montero, whom I made out to be
as great a beast as I have no doubt he would like to
be if he had intelligence enough to conceive a system-
atic reign of terror. And then for another five min-
utes or more I poured out an impassioned appeal to
their courage and manliness, with all the passion of
my love for Antonia. For if ever man spoke well, it
would be from a personal feeling, denouncing an
enemy, defending himself, or pleading for what really
may be dearer than life. My dear girl, I absolutely
thundered at them. It seemed as if my voice would
burst the walls asunder, and when I stopped I saw all
their scared eyes looking at me dubiously. And that

261

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

was all the effect I had produced! Only Don Josh's
head had sunk lower and lower on his breast. I bent
my ear to his withered lips, and made out his whisper,
something like 'In God's name, then, Martin, my
son!' I don't know exactly. There was the name of
God in it, I am certain. It seems to me I have caught
his last breath — the breath of his departing soul on
his lips.

"He lives yet, it is true. I have seen him since;
but it was only a senile body, lying on its back, cov-
ered to the chin, with open eyes, and so still that you
might have said it was breathing no longer. I left
him thus, with Antonia kneeling by the side of the
bed, just before I came to this Italian's posada, where
the ubiquitous death is also waiting. But I know that
Don Jose" has really died there, in the Casa Gould,
with that whisper urging me to attempt what no
doubt his soul, wrapped up in the sanctity of diplo-
matic treaties and solemn declarations, must have
abhorred. I had exclaimed very loud, 'There is never
any God in a country where men will not help them-
selves.'

"Meanwhile Don Juste had begun a pondered ora-
tion, whose solemn effect was spoiled by the ridiculous
disaster to his beard. I did not wait to make it out.
He seemed to argue that Montero's (he called him
the General) intentions were probably not evil, though,
he went on, 'that distinguished man' (only a week
ago he used to call him a gran' bestia) 'was perhaps
mistaken as to the true means.' As you may imagine,
I did not stay to hear the rest. I know the intentions
of Montero's brother, Pedrito, the guerrillero, whom I

262

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

exposed in Paris, MHIH- years ago, in a cafe- frequented
by South American students, where he tried to
himself off for a Secretary of Legation. He u^rd to
come in and talk for hours, twisting his felt hat in his
hairy paws, and his ambition seemed to become a sort
of Due de Morny to a sort of Napoleon. Already,
then, he used to talk of his brother in inflated terms.
He seemed fairly safe from being found out, bet
the students, all of the Blanco families, did not, as
you may imagine, frequent the Legation. It was only
Decoud, a man without faith and principles, as they
used to say, that went in there sometimes for the sake
of the fun, as it were to an assembly of trained mon-
keys. I know his intentions. I have seen him change
the plates at table. Whoever is allowed to live on in
terror, I must die the death.

"No, I didn't stay to the end to hear Don Juste
Lopez trying to persuade himself in a grave oration
of the clemency, and justice, and honesty, and purity
of the brothers Montero. I went out abruptly to
Antonia. I saw her in the gallery.. As I opened the
door, she extended to me her clasped hands.

'"What are they doing in there?' she asked.

" ' Talking,' I said, with my eyes looking into hers.

'"Yes, yes, but — '

" ' Empty speeches,' I interrupted her. ' Hiding
their fears behind imbecile hopes. They are all great
parliamentarians there — on the English model, as you
know.' I was so furious that I could hardly speak.
She made a gesture of despair.

"Through the door I held a little ajar behind me
we heard Don Juste 's measured mouthing monotone

263

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

go on from phrase to phrase, like a sort of awful and
solemn madness.

'"After all, the democratic aspirations have, per-
haps, their legitimacy. The ways of human progress
are inscrutable, and if the fate of the country is in the
hand of Montero, we ought —

"I crashed the door to on that; it was enough; it
was too much. There was never a beautiful face ex-
pressing more horror and despair than the face of An-
tonia. I couldn't bear it; I seized her wrists.

'" Have they killed my father in there?' she asked.

"Her eyes blazed with indignation, but as I looked
on, fascinated, the light in them went out.

'"It is a surrender,' I said. And I remember I was
shaking her wrists I held apart in my hand. ' But
it's more than a talk. Your father told me to go on
in God's name.'

" My dear girl, there is that in Antonia which would
make me believe in the feasibility of anything. One
look at her face is enough to set my brain on fire.
And yet I love her as any other man would — with the
heart, and with that alone. She is more to me than
his church to Father Corbelan (the Grand Vicar dis-
appeared last night from the town; perhaps gone to
join the band of Hernandez). She is more to me than
his precious mine to that sentimental Englishman. I
won't speak of his wife. S.he may have been senti-
mental once. The San Tome' mine stands now be-
tween those two people. 'Your father himself, An-
tonia,' I repeated; 'your father, do you understand?
has told me to go on.'

"She averted her face, and in a pained voice:
264

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

"He has?' she cried. 'Then, indeed, I fear he
never speak again.'

"She freed her wrists from my clutch and began to
cry in her handkerrhief. I disregarded her sorrow I
would rather see her miserable than not see her at
all, never any more; for whether I escaped or st;.
to die, there was for us no coming together, no future.
And that being so, I had no pity to wnstr upon the
passing moments of her sorrow. I sent her off all
in tears to fetch Dofia Emilia and Don Carlos, too.
Their sentiment was necessary to the very life of my
plan; the sentimentalism of the people that will n-
do anything for the sake of their passionate <lc
unless it comes to them clothed in the fair robes of an
idea.

" Late at night we formed a small junta of four —
the two women, Don Carlos, and myself — in Mrs.
Gould's blue-and-white boudoir.

" El Rey de Sulaco thinks himself, no doubt, a very
honest man. And so he is, if one could look behind
his taciturnity. Perhaps he thinks that this alone
makes his honesty unstained. Those Englishmen live
on illusions which somehow or other help them to
get a firm hold of substance. When he speaks it is
by a rare 'yes' or 'no* that seems as impersonal as
the words of an oracle. But he could not impose on
me by his dumb reserve. I knew what he had in his
head; he has his mine in his head; and his wife had
nothing in her head but his precious person, which he
bound up with the Gould Concession and tied up
hat little woman's neck. No matter. The tiling
was to make him present the affair to Holroyd (the

a65

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Steel and Silver King) in such a manner as to secure
his financial support. At that time last night, just
twenty-four hours ago, we thought the silver of the
mine safe in the custom-house vaults till the north-
bound steamer came to take it away. And as long
as the treasure flowed north, without a break, that
utter sentimentalist, Holroyd, would not drop his idea
of introducing, not only justice, industry, peace, to
the benighted continents, but also that pet dream of
his of a purer form of Christianity. Later on, the
principal European really in Sulaco, the engineer-in -
chief of the railway, came riding up the calle from
the harbor, and was admitted to our conclave. Mean-
time, the Junta of the Notables in the great sala was
still deliberating; only, one of them had run out in
the corridor to ask the servmt whether something to
eat couldn't be sent in. The first words the engineer-
in-chief said as he came into the boudoir were, 'What
is your house, dear Mrs. Gould ? A war hospital be-
low, and apparently a restaurant above. I see them
carrying trays full of good things into the sala.'

"And here, in this boudoir,' I said, 'you behold the
inner cabinet of the Occidental Republic that is to
be.'

" He was so preoccupied that he didn't smile at that;
he didn't even look surprised.

" He told us that he was attending to the general dis-
positions for the defence of the railway property at
the railway-yards when he was sent for to go into the
railway telegraph - office. The engineer at the rail-
head, at the foot of the mountains, wanted to talk to
him fmm his end of the wire. There was nobody in

266

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

•be office but himself and the operator of the railway
telegraph, who read off the clicks aloud as the tape
1 its length upon the floor. And the purjx.rt «.i
that talk, dirked nervously from a wooden shed in
the depths of the forests, had informed the chief that
President Rihiera had been or was being purs
This was news, indeed, to all of us in Sulaco. Kibicra
himself, when rescued, revived, and soothed by us.
been im -lined to think that he had not been pursued.
"Rihiera had yielded to the urgent solicitations of
•fcl friends, and had left the headquarters of his dis-
comfited army alone, under the guidance of Bonifacio,
•be muleteer, who had been willing to take the respon-
sibility with the risk. He had departed at daybreak
of the third day. His remaining forces had melted
away during the night. Bonifacio and he rode hard
on horses towards the Cordillera; then they obtained
mules, entered the passes, and crossed the paramo of
Kte just before a freezing blast swept over that stony
plateau, burying in a drift of snow the little shelter-
hut of stones in which they had spent the night. After-
wards poor Ribiera had many adventures, got separated
. his guide, lost his mount, struggled down to the
Campo on foot, and if he had not thrown himself on
the mercy of a ram-hero would have perished a long
way from Sulaco. That man. who as a matter of
fact, recognized him at once, let him have a fresh mule,
which the fugitive, heavy and unskilful, had ridden
to death. And it was true he had been pursued by a
party commanded by no less a person than Pedro
Montero. »he brother of the general. The cold wind
of the paramo lurkily caught the pursuers on the top

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

of the pass. Some few men, and all the animals, per-
ished in the icy blast. The stragglers died, but the
main body kept on. They found poor Bonifacio lying
half-dead at the foot of a snow-slope, and bayoneted
him promptly in the true civil - war style. They
would have had Ribiera too if they had not, for some
reason or other, turned off the track of the old Camino
Real, only to lose their way in the forests at the foot
of the' lower slopes. And there they were at last,
having stumbled in unexpectedly upon the construc-
tion camp. The engineer at the rail -head told his
chief by wire that he had Pedro Montero absolutely
there, in the very office, listening to the clicks. He
was going to take possession of Sulaco in the name of
the democracy. He was very overbearing. His men
slaughtered some of the railway company's cattle with-
out asking leave, and went to work broiling the meat
on the embers. Pedrito made many pointed inquiries
as to the silver-mine, and what had become of the pro-
duct of the last six months' working. He had said
peremptorily, 'Ask your chief up there by wire, he
ought to know; tell him that Don Pedro Montero,
Chief of the Campo and Minister of the Interior of
the new government, desires to be correctly informed.'
"He had his feet wrapped up in blood-stained rags,
a lean, haggard face, ragged beard and hair, and had
walked in limping, with a crooked branch of a tree for
a staff. His followers were perhaps in a worse plight,
but apparently they had not thrown away their arms,
and, at any rate, not all their ammunition. Their
lean faces filled the door and the windows of the tele-
graph hut. As it was at the same time the bedroom

268

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

of the engineer in charge there, Montero had thrown
himself on his clean blankets and lay there shivering
and dictating requisitions to be transmitted by wire
to Sulaco. He demanded a train of cars to be
down at once to transport his men up.

"'To this I answered from my end,' the engineer-
in-chief related to us, ' that I dared not risk the rolling-
stock in the interior, as there had been attemp*
wreck trains all along the line several times. I <h<]
that for your sake, Gould,' said the chief engineer.
'The answer to this was, in the words of my sul*>nli-
nate, the filthy brute on my bed said, "Suppose I were
to have you shot?" To which my subordinate, who,
it appears, was himself operating, remarked that it
would not bring the cars up. Upon that, the other,
yawning, said, " Never mind, there is no lack of hones
on the Campo." And, turning over, went to sleep on
Harris's bed.'

"This is why, my dear girl, I am a fugitive to-night.
The last wire from rail-head says that Pedro Montero
and his men left at daybreak, after feeding on asado
beef all night. They took all the horses; they will
find more on the road ; they'll be here in less than thirty
hours, and thus Sulaco is no place either for me or
the great store of silver belonging to the Gould Con-
cession.

" But that is not the worst. The garrison of Es-
meralda has gone over to the victorious party. That
news we have heard by means of the telegraphist of
the cable company, who came to the Casa GouUl in
the early morning with the news. In fact, it was so
early that the day had not yet quite broken over

269

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Sulaco. His colleague in Esmeralda had called him
up to say that the garrison, after shooting some of
their officers, had taken possession of a government
steamer laid up in the harbor. It is really a heavy
blow for me. I thought I could depend on every man
in this province. It was a mistake. It was a Mon-
terist revolution in Esmeralda, just such as was at-
tempted in Sulaco, only that that one came off. The
telegraphist was signalling to Bernhardt all the time,
and his last transmitted words were, 'They are burst-
ing in the door and taking possession of the cable
office. You are cut off. Can do no more.'

"But, as a matter of fact, he managed somehow to
escape the vigilance of his captors, who had tried to
stop the communication with the outer world. He
did manage it. How it was done I don't know, but
a few hours afterwards he called up Sulaco again, and
what he said was, 'The insurgent army has taken
possession of the government transport in the bay
and are filling her with troops, with the intention of
going round the coast to Sulaco. Therefore look out
for yourselves. They will be ready to start in a few
hours, and may be upon you before daybreak.'

"This is all he could say. They drove him away
from his instrument this time for good, because Bern-
hardt has been calling up Esmeralda ever since with-
out getting an answer."

After setting these words down in the note -book
which he was filling up for the benefit of his sister,
Decoud lifted his head to listen. But there were no
sounds, neither in the room nor in the house, except
the drip of the water from the filter into the vast

270

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

earthenware jar under the wooden stand. And outside
ihe house there was a gr c. Decoud lowered

his head again over the pocket-book.

" I am not running away, you understand." he wrote
on. " I am simply going away with that great treas-
urr of silver which must be saved at all costs. Pedro
tero from the Campo and the revolted garriso:
cralda from the sea are converging upon it. That
there lying ready for them is only an acci<!
The real objective is the San Tome" mine itself, a-s
may well imagine; otherwise the Occidental Province
would have been, no doubt, left alone for many weeks,
in l>e gathered at leisure into the arms of the victorious
party. Don Carlos Gould will have enough to do to
his mine, with its organization and its people;
this 'Imperium in imperio.' this wealth - producing
thing, to which his sentimentalism attaches a strange

ta of justice. He holds to it as some men hold to the
idea of love or revenge. Unless I am much mistaken
in the man, it must remain inviolate or perish by an
act of his will alone. A passion has crept into his cold
and idealistic lite. A passion which I can only com-
prehend intellectually. A passion that is not like the
passions we know, we men of another blood. But it
J8 as dangerous as any of ours.

11 His wife lias understood it too. That is why she
ich a good ally of mine. She seizes upon all my
suggestions with a sure instinct that in the end t
make for the safety of the Gould Concession.
he defers to her because he trusts her perhaps, but I
. more rather as if he wished to make up for some
subtle wrong, for that sentimental unfaithfulness which

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

surrenders her happiness, her life, to the seduction of
an idea. The little woman has discovered that he
lives for the mine rather than for her. But let them
be. To each his fate, shaped by passion or sentiment.
The principal thing is that she has backed up my ad-
vice to get the silver out of the town, out of the coun-
try, at once, at any cost, at any risk. Don Carlos 's
mission is to preserve unstained the fair fame of his
mine; Mrs. Gould's mission is to save him from the
effects of that cold and overmastering passion, which
she dreads more than if it were an infatuation for an-
other woman. Nostromo 's mission is to save the
silver. The plan is to load it into the largest of the
company's lighters, and send it across the gulf to a
small port out of Costaguana territory, just on the
other side the Azuera, where the first north-bound
steamers will get orders to pick it up. The waters here
are calm; we shall slip away into the darkness of the
gulf before the Esmeralda rebels arrive, and by the
time the day breaks over the ocean we shall be out of
sight, invisible, hidden by Azuera, which itself looks
from the Sulaco shore like a faint blue cloud on the
horizon.

" The incorruptible capataz de cargadores is the man
for that work; and I, the man with a passion, but
without a mission, I go with him to return — to play
my part in the farce to the end, and, if successful, to
receive my reward, which no one but Antonia can give
me.

"I shall not see her again now before I depart. I
left her, as I have said, by Don Josh's bedside. The
street was dark, the houses shut up, and I walked out

272

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

of the town in the night. Not a single street-lamp
had 1'ccu lit for two days, and the archway of the gate
was only a mass of darkness in the vague form of a
r. in which I heard low, dismal groans, that
ed to answer the murmurs of a man's voice.
"I recognized something impassive and careless in
me, characteristic of that Genoese sailor who, like
me. has come casually here to be drawn into the events
for which his scepticism as well as mine seems to en-
tin a sort of passive contempt. The only thing he
seems to care for, as far as I have been able to dis-
r, is to be well spoken of. An ambition fit for
noble souls, but also a profitable one for an exceptional-
ly intelligent scoundrel. Yes. His very words. 'To
be well spoken of. Si, senor.' He does not seem to
make any difference between speaking and thinking
Is it sheer naiveness or the practical point of view, I
wonder? Exceptional individualities always interest
IK, because they are true to the general formula ex-
preosing the moral state of humanity.

" He joined me on the harbor road after I had passed

them under the dark archway without stopping. It

was a woman in trouble he had been talking to.

Through discretion I kept silent while he walked by

my«side. After a time he began to talk himself. It

was not what I expected. It was only an old woman,

an old lace-maker, in search of her son, one of the

• •t-sweepers employed by the municipality. Friends

come the day before at daybreak to the door of

r hovel calling him out. He had gone with them.

. she had not seen him since; so she had left the

food she had been preparing half-cooked on the cx-

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

tinct embers, and had crawled out as far as the harbor,
where she had heard that some town mozos had been
killed on the morning of the riot. One of the carga-
dores guarding the custom-house had brought out a
lantern, and had helped her to look at the few dead
left lying about there. Now she was creeping back,
having failed in her search. So she sat down on the
stone seat under the arch, moaning, because she was
very tired. The capataz had questioned her, and
after hearing her broken and groaning tale had advised
her to go and look among the wounded in the patio
of the Casa Gould. He had also given her a quarter-
dollar, he mentioned carelessly.

'"Why did you do that?' I asked. 'Do you know |
her?'

"No, senor. I don't suppose I have ever seen her
before. How should I ? She has not probably been
out in the streets for years. She is one of those old
women that you find in this country at the back of
huts, crouching over fireplaces, with a stick on the
ground by their side, and almost too feeble to drive
away the stray dogs from their cooking -pots. Ca-
ramba! I could tell by her voice that death had for-
gotten her. But, old or young, they like money, and
will speak well of the man who gives it to them.' • He
laughed a little. ' Senor, you should have felt the
clutch of her paw as I put the piece in her palm.' He
paused. 'My last, too,' he added.

" I made no comment. He's known for his liberality
and his bad luck at the game of monte, which keeps him
as poor as when he first came here.
. "'I suppose, Don Martin,' he began, in a thoughtful,

274

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

speculative tone, 'that the Seflor Administrador of
Toim- will reward me some day if I save his silver?"

"I said that it could not be otherwise, surely, lie
walked on, muttering to himself. 'Si, si, without
doubt — without doubt; and look you, Senor Martin,
what it is to be well spoken of! There is not another
man that could have been even thought of for such a
thing. I shall get something great for it some day.
An«l let it come soon,' he mumbled. 'Time pasM
this country as quick as anywhere else.'

"This. s(rtir clu'rie, is my companion in the great
escape for the sake of the great cause. He is more
• than shrewd, more masterful than crafty, more
generous with his personality than the people who
make use of him are with their money. At least, that
is what he thinks himself, with more pride than senti-
ment. I am glad I have made friends with him. As
a companion he acquires more importance than he
ever had as a sort of minor genius in his way — as an
original Italian sailor whom I allowed to come in in
fhe small hours and talk familiarly to the editor of
PonvH/V while the paper was going through the
. And it is curious to have met a man for whom
••fcie value of life seems to consist in personal prestige.

"I am waiting for him here now. On arriving at
the posada kept by Viola we found the children alone
down below, and the old Genoese shouted to his coun-
tryman to go and fetch the doctor. Otherwise we
, would have gone on to the wharf, where it appears
\ Captain Mitchell with some volunteer Europeans and
;a few picked cargadores are loading the lighter with
the silver that must be saved from Montero's clutches

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

in order to be used for Montero's defeat. Nostromo
galloped furiously back towards the town. He has
been long gone already. This delay gives me time to
talk to you. By the time this note -book reac
your hands much will have happened. But now it is
a pause under the hovering wing of death in that
silent house buried in the black night, with this d
woman, the two children crouching without a sound,
and that old man whom I can hear through the thick-
ness of the wall passing up and down with a light rub-
bing noise no louder than a mouse. And I, the only
other with them, don't really know whether to coun
myself with the living or with the dead. ' Quien sabe ?'
as the people here are prone to say in answer to every
question. But no! feeling for you is certainly not
dead, and the whole thing, the house, the dark night,
the silent children in this dim room, my very pres-
ence here — all this is life> must be life, since^it is so
much like aT drgftm." .

With the writing of the last line there came upon
Decoud a moment of sudden and complete oblivion.
He swayed over the table as if struck by a bullet. The
next moment he sat up, confused, with the idea that
he had heard his pencil roll on the floor. The low
door of the cafe, wide open, was filled with the glare
of a torch in which was visible half of a horse, switch-
ing its tail against the leg of a rider with a long iron
spur strapped to the naked heel. The two girls were
gone, and Nostromo, standing in the middle of the
room, looked at him from under the round brim of
the sombrero pulled low down over his brow.

"I have brought that sour-faced English doctor in
276

.troino : A Talc of the Seaboard

Seflora Gould's carriage." said Nostromo. " I doubt
if, with all his wisdom, he can save the padrona
time. They have sent for the children. A bad sign

He sat down on the end of a bench. "She wants
to give them her blessing. I suppose."

Dazedly Decoud observed that he must have fallen
sound asleep, and Nostromo said, with a vague smile,
that he had looked in at the window and had seen him
lying still across the table with his head on his arms.
The English senora had also come in the carriage, and
went up-stairs at once with the doctor. She had told
him not to wake up Don Martin yet; but when they
sent for the children he had come into the cafe".

The half of the horse with its half of the rider swung
round outside the door; the torch of tow and resin in
the iron basket which was carried on a stick at the
aaddle-bow flared right into the room for a moment,
and Mrs. Gould entered hastily with a very white.
! face. The hood of her dark-blue cloak had fallen
back. Both men rose.

"Teresa wants to see you, Nottromo." she said.

The capataz did not move. Decoud. with his back
to the table, began to button up his coat.

"The silver, Mrs. Gould, the silver." he murmured
in English. "Don't forget that the Esmeralda gar-
•faon have got a steamer. They may appear at any
moment at the harbor entrance."

The doctor says there is no hope," Mrs. Gould

tpoke rapidly, also in English. " I shall take you down

he wharf in my carriage and then come back to

•i away the girls." She changed swiftly into Span-

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

ish to address Nostromo. "Why are you wasting
time? Old Giorgio's wife wishes to see you."

" I am going to her, sefiora," muttered the capataz.

Dr. Monygham now showed himself, bringing back
the children. To Mrs. Gould's inquiring glance he
only shook his head and went outside at once, fol-
lowed by Nostromo.

The horse of the torch-bearer, motionless, hung his
head low, and the rider had dropped the reins to light
a cigarette. The glare of the torch played on the
front of the house, crossed by the big black letters of its
inscription in which only the word " Italia" was light-
ed fully. The patch of wavering glare reached as far
as Mrs. Gould's carriage waiting on the road, with the
yellow-faced, portly Ignacio apparently dozing on the
box. By his side Basilio, dark and skinny, held a
Winchester carbine in front of him with both hands
and peered fearfully into the darkness. Nostromo
touched lightly the doctor's shoulder.

"Is she really dying, Sefior Doctor?"

"Yes," said the doctor, with a strange twitch of his
scarred cheek. "And why she wants to see you I can-
not imagine."

"She has been like that before," suggested Nos-
tromo, looking away.

"Well, capataz, I can assure you she will never be
like that again," snarled Dr. Monygham. "You may
go to her or stay away. There is very little to be got
from talking to the dying. But she told Dona Emilia
in my hearing that she has been like a mother to you
ever since you first set foot ashore here."

"Si! And she never had a good word to say for
278

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

me to anybody. It is more as if she could not forgive
me for being alive, and such a man, too, as she would
have liked her son to be."

"Maybe!" exclaimed a mournful deep voice near
them. "Women have their own ways of tormenting
themselves." Giorgio Viola had come out of the
house. He threw a heavy black shadow in the torch-
light, and the glare fell on his big face, on the great
bushy head of white hair. He motioned the capataz
in-doors with his extended arm.

Dr. Monygham, after busying himself with a little
medicament-box of polished wood on the seat of the
landau, turned to old Giorgio and thrust into his big
trembling hand one of the glass - stoppered bottles
out of the case.

" Give her a spoonful of this now and then, in water,"
he said. "It will make her easier."
[ "And there is nothing more for her?" asked the old
man patiently.

" No. Not on earth," said the doctor, with his back
to him, clicking the lock of the medicine-case.
1 Nostromo slowly crossed the large kitchen, all dark
but for the glow of a heap of charcoal under the heavy
mantel of the cooking-range, where water was boiling
in an iron pot with a loud, bubbling sound. Between
the two walls of a narrow staircase a bright light
streamed from the sick-room above; and the mag-
nificent capataz de cargadores stepping noiselessly in
soft leather sandals, bushy whiskered, his muscular
neck and bronzed chest bare in the open checked shirt,
resembled a Mediterranean sailor just come ashore from
some wine or fruit laden felucca. At the top he

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Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

paused, broad shouldered, narrow hipped and supple,
looking at the large bed, like a white couch of state,
with a profusion of snowy linen, among which the
padrona sat unpropped and bowed, her handsome,
black-browed face bent over her chest. A mass of
raven hair with only a few white threads in it covered
her shoulders; one thick strand fallen forward half-
veiled her cheek. Perfectly motionless in that pose,
expressing physical anxiety and unrest, she turned her
eyes alone towards Nostromo.

The capataz had a red sash wound many times round
his waist, and a heavy silver ring on the forefinger of
the hand he raised to give a twist to his mustache.

"Their revolutions — their revolutions!" gasped
Sefiora Teresa. " Look, Gian' Battista, it has killed
me at last!"

Nostromo said nothing, and the sick woman with
an upward glance insisted. "Look, this one has
killed me, while you were away fighting for what did
not concern you, foolish man."

"Why talk like this?" mumbled the capataz be-
tween his teeth. "Will you never believe in my good
sense ? It concerns me to keep on being what I am :
every day alike."

"You never change, indeed," she said, bitterly.
"Always thinking of yourself and taking your pay
out in fine words from those who care nothing for
you."

There was between them an intimacy of antagonism
as close in its way as the intimacy of accord and affec-
tion. He had not walked along the way of Teresa's
expectations. It was she who had encouraged him

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Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

to leave his ship, in the hope of securing a friend and
defender for the girls. The wife of old Giorgio was
aware of her precarious lu-alth. and was haunted by
the fear of her aged husband's loneliness and the un-
protected state of the children. She had wanted to
annex that apparently quiet and steady young man,
tionate and pliable, an orphan from his tenderest
age, as he had told her, with no ties in Italy except
an uncle, owner and master of a felucca, from whose
ill-usage he had run away before he was fourteen. He
ha«l seemed to her courageous, a hard worker, deter-
mined to make his way in the world. From gratitude
ami the ties of habit he would become like a son to
herself and Giorgio; and then, who knows, when Linda
haM grown up. . . . Ten years difference between hus-
band and wife was not so much. Her own great man
was nearly twenty years older than herself. Gian'
Battista was an attractive young fellow, besides; at-
ive to men, women, and children, just by that
profound quietness of personality \\hich, like a serene
twilight, rendered more seductive the promise of his
vigorous form and the resolution of his conduct.

Old Giorgio, in profound ignorance of his wife's
views and hopes, had a great regard for his young
countryman. "A man ought not to be tame," he
uso.l to tell her, quoting the Spanish proverb in de-
fence of the splendid capataz. She was growing jeal-
ous of his success. He was escaping from her, she
feared. She was practical, and he seemed to her to
be an absurd spendthrift of these qualities which made
him so valuable. He got too little for them. He
scattered them with both hands among too many

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

people, she thought. He laid no money by. She
railed at his poverty, his exploits, his adventures, his
loves and his reputation; but in her heart she had
never given him up, as though, indeed, he had been
her son.

Even now, ill as she was, ill enough to feel the chill,
black breath of the approaching end, she had wished
to see him. It was like putting out her benumbed
hand to regain her hold. But she had presumed too
much on her strength. She could not command her
thoughts; they had become dim, like her vision. The
words faltered on her lips, and only the paramount
anxiety and desire of her life seemed to be too strong
for death.

The capataz said, "I have heard these things many
times. You are unjust, but it does not hurt me.
Only now you do not seem to have much strength to
talk, and I have but little time to listen. I am en-
gaged in a work of very great moment."

She made an effort to ask him whether it was true
that he had found time to go and fetch a doctor for
her. Nostromo nodded affirmatively.

She was pleased: it relieved her sufferings to know
that the man had condescended to do so much for
those who really wanted his help. It was a proof o
his friendship. Her voice became stronger.

"I want a priest more than a doctor," she said
pathetically. She did not move her head; only her
eyes ran into the corners to watch the capataz stand
ing by the side of her bed. "Would you go to fetch
a priest for me now? Think! A dying woman asks
you!"

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Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Nostromo shook his head resolutely. He did not be-
lieve in priests in their sacerdotal character. A doc-
vas an efficacious person; but a priest, as priest,
was nothing, incapable of doing either good or harm.
Nostromo did not even dislike the sight of them as
old Giorgio did. The utter uselessness of the errand
was what struck him most.

" Padrona," he said, " you have been like this before,
and got better after a few days, I have given you al-
ready the very last moments I can spare. Ask Senora
Gould to send you one."

He was feeling uneasy at the impiety of this refusal.
The padrona believed in priests, and confessed her-
self to them. But all women did that. It could not
be of much consequence. And yet his heart felt op-
pressed for a moment at the thought what absolu-
tion would mean to her if she believed in it only ever
so little. No matter. It was quite true that he had
given her already the very last moment he could
spare.

"You refuse to go?" she gasped. "Ah! you are
always yourself, indeed."

"Listen to reason, padrona," he said. "I am need-
ed to save the silver of the mine. Do you hear? A
greater treasure than the one which they say is guarded*
by ghosts and devils on Azuera. It is true. I am
ved to make this the most desperate affair I was
ever engaged on in my whole life."

She felt a despairing indignation. The supreme
test had failed. Standing above her, Nostromo did
not see the distorted features of her face, distorted by
a paroxysm of pain and anger. Only she began to

>**

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

tremble all over. Her bowed head shook. The broad
shoulders quivered.

" Then God, perhaps, will have mercy upon me. But
do you look to it, man, that you get something for
yourself out of it, besides the remorse that shall over-
take you some day."

She laughed feebly. "Get riches at least for once,
you indispensable, admired Gian' Battista, to whom
the peace of a dying woman is less than the praise of
people who have given you a silly name — and noth-
ing besides — in exchange for your soul and body."

The capataz de cargadores swore to himself under
his breath.

"Leave my soul alone, padrona, and I shall know
how to take care of my body. Where is the harm of
people having need of me? What are you envying
me that I have robbed you and the children of?
Those very people you are throwing in my teeth have
done more for old Giorgio than they ever thought of
doing for me."

He struck his breast with his open palm; his voice
had remained low though he had spoken in a forcible
tone. He twisted his mustaches one after another,
and his eyes wandered a little about the room.

"Is it my fault that I am the only man for their
purposes ? What angry nonsense are you talking,
mother? Would you rather have me timid and fool-
ish, selling watermelons on the market-place or row-
ing a boat for passengers along the harbor, like a soft
Neapolitan without courage or reputation? Would
you have a young man live like a monk? I do not
believe it. Would you want a monk for your eldest

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

girl ? Let her grow. What are you afraid of? You
have been angry with me for everything I did for
< r since you first spoke to me, in secret from
oM Giorgio, about your Linda. Husband to one and
brother to the other, did you say? Well, why not?
I like the little ones, and a man must marry some
time. But ever since that time you have been mak-
ing little of me to every one. Why ? Did you think
you could put a collar and chain on me as if I were
one of the watch-dogs they keep over there in the rail-
way-yards? Look here, padrona, I am the same
man who came ashore one evening and sat down in
the thatched ranche you lived in at that time on the
other side of the town and told you all about himself.
You were not unjust to me then. What has happened
since? I am no longer an insignificant youth. A
good name, Giorgio says, is a treasure, padrona."

"They have turned your head with their praises,"
gasped the sick woman. "They have been paying
you with words. Your folly shall betray you into
poverty, misery, starvation. The very leperos shall
laugh at you — the great capataz."

Nostromo stood for a time as if struck dumb. She
never looked at him. A self -confident, mirthless
smile passed quickly from his lips, and then he backed
away. His disregarded figure sank down beyond the
doorway. He descended the stairs backward, with
the usual sense of having been somehow baffled by
this woman's disparagement of this reputation he had
obtained and desired to keep.

Down-stairs in the big kitchen a candle was burning,
surrounded by the shadows of the walls on the ceiling,

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

but no ruddy glare filled the open square of the outer
door. The carriage with Mrs. Gould and Don Martin,
preceded by the horseman bearing the torch, had
gone on to the jetty. Dr. Monygham, who had re-
mained, sat on the corner of a hard wood table near
the candlestick, his seamed, shaven face inclined side-
ways, his arms crossed on his breast, his lips pursed
up, and his prominent eyes glaring stonily upon the
floor of black earth. Near the overhanging mantel
of the fireplace, where the pot of water was still boil-
ing violently, old Giorgio held his chin in his hand,
one foot advanced, as if arrested by a sudden thought.

"Adios, viejo," said Nostromo, feeling the handle
of his revolver in the belt and loosening his knife in its
sheath. He picked up a blue poncho lined with red
from the table, and put it over his head. "Adios,
look after the things in my sleeping-room, and if you
hear from me no more, give up the box to Paquita.
There is not much of value there except my new
scrape from Mexico and a few silver buttons on my
best jacket. No matter! The things will look well
enough on the next lover she gets, and the man need
not be afraid I shall linger on earth after I am dead,
like those gringos that haunt the Azuera."

Dr. Monygham twisted his lips into a bitter smile.
After old Giorgio, with an almost imperceptible nod
and without a word, had gone up the narrow stairs, he
said :

"Why, capataz! I thought you could never fail in
anything."

Nostromo, glancing contemptuously at the doctor,
lingered in the doorway rolling a cigarette, then struck

286

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

a match, and, after lighting it, held the burning piece
of wood above his head till the flame nearly touched
his fingers.

"No wind!" he muttered to himself. "Look here,
scnor — do you know the nature of my undertaking?"

Dr. Monygham nodded sourly.

"It is as if I were taking a curse upon me, Seflor
Doctor. A man with a treasure on this coast will
have every knife raised against him in every place
upon the shore. You see that, Sefior Doctor? I shall
float along with a spell upon my life till I meet some-
where the north-bound steamer of the company, and
then indeed they will talk about the capataz of the Su-
laco cargadores from one end of America to the other."

Dr. Monygham laughed his short, throaty laugh.
Nostromo turned roumi in the doorway.

"But if your worship can find any other man ready
and fit for such business I will stand back. I am not
exactly tired of my life, though I am so poor that I
can carry all I have with myself on my horse's back."

"You gamble too much, and never say 'no' to a
pretty face, capataz," said Dr. Monygham, with sly
simplicity. "That's not the way to make a fortune.
But nobody that I know ever suspected you of being
poor. I hope you have made a good bargain in case
you come back safe from this adventure."

"What bargain would your worship have made?"
asked Nostromo, blowing the smoke out of his lips
through the doorway.

Dr. Monygham listened up the staircase for a mo-
ment before he answered, with another of his short,
abrupt laughs:

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

" Illustrious capataz, for taking the curse of death
upon my back, as you call it, nothing else but the
whole treasure would do."

Nostromo vanished out of the doorway with a grunt
of discontent at this jeering answer. Dr. Monygham
heard him gallop away. He rode furiously in the
dark. There were lights in the buildings of the O.S.N.
Company near the wharf, but before he got there he
met the Gould carriage. The horseman preceded it
with the torch, whose light showed the white mules
trotting, the portly Ignacio driving, and Basilic with
the carbine at ready on the box. From the dark
body of the landau Mrs. Gould's voice cried, "They
are waiting for you, capataz!" She was returning,
chilly and excited, with Decoud's note - book still
held in her hand. He had confided it to her to send
to his sister. "Perhaps my last words to her," he had
said, pressing Mrs. Gould's hand.

The capataz never checked his speed. At the head
of the wharf vague figures with rifles leaped to the
head of his horse; others closed upon him — carga-
dores of the company posted by Captain Mitchell on
the watch. At a word from him they fell back with
subservient murmurs, recognizing his voice. At the
other end of the jetty, near a cargo-crane, in a dark
group with glowing cigars, his name was pronounced
in a tone of relief. Most of the Europeans in Sulaco
were there, rallied round Charles Gould, as if the silver
of the mine had been the emblem of a common cause,
the symbol of the supreme importance of material in-
terests. They had loaded it into the lighter with
their own hands. Nostromo recognized Don Charles

288

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

!il, a thin, tall shape, standing a little apart and
silent, to whom another tall shape, the engineer -in-
chief, said aloud, " If it must be lost, it is a million
times better that it should go to the bottom of the
sea."

Martin Decoud called out from the lighter, "Au
revoir, messieurs, till we clasp hands again over the
new-born Occidental Republic." Only a subdued
murmur responded to his clear, ringing tones; and then
it seemed to him that the wharf was floating away
into the night; but it was Nostromo, who was already
pushing against a pile with one of the heavy sweeps.
Decoud did not move; the effect was that of being
launched into space. After a splash or two there
was not a sound but the thud of Nostromo's feet leap-
ing about the boat. He hoisted the big sail ; a breath
of wind fanned Decoud 's cheek. Everything had
vanished but the light of the lantern Captain Mitchell
had hoisted upon the post at the end of the jetty to
guide Nostromo out of the harbor.

The two men, unable to see each other, kept silent
till the lighter, slipping before the fitful breeze, passed
out between almost invisible headlands into the still
deeper darkness of the gulf. For a time the lantern
on the jetty shone after them. The wind failed, then
fanned up again, but so faintly that the big, half-
decked boat slipped along with no more noise than if
she had been suspended in the air.

"We are out in the gulf now," said the calm voice
of Nostromo. A moment after he added, "Seflor
Mitchell has lowered the light."

"Yes," said Decoud; "nobody can find us now."
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Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

A great recrudescence of obscurity embraced the
boat. The sea in the gulf was as black as the clouds
above. Nostromo, after striking a couple of matches
to get a glimpse of the boat-compass he had with him
in the lighter, steered by the feel of the wind on his
cheek.

It was a new experience for Decoud, this myste-
riousness of the great waters spread out strangely
smooth, as if their restlessness had been crushed by
the weight of that dense night. The Placido was
sleeping profoundly under its black poncho.

The main thing now for success was to get away
from the coast and gain the middle of the gulf before
day broke. The Isabels were somewhere at hand.
"On your left as you look forward, seiior," said Nos-
tromo, suddenly. When his voice ceased, the enor-
mous stillness, without light or sound, seemed to affect
Decoud's senses like a powerful drug. He didn't
even know at times whether he were asleep or awake.
Like a man lost in slumber, he heard nothing, he saw
nothing. Even his hand held before his face did not
exist for his eyes. The change from the agitation,
the passions and the dangers, from the sights and
sounds of the shore, was so complete that it would
have resembled death had it not been for the survival
of his thoughts. In this foretaste of eternal peace
they floated vivid and light, like unearthly clear
dreams of earthly things that may haunt the souls
freed by death from the misty atmosphere of regrets
and hopes. Decoud shook himself, shuddered a bit,
though the air that drifted past him was warm. He
had the strangest sensation of his soul having just

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Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

returned into his body from the circumambient dark-
ness in which land, sea, sky, the mountains and the
rocks were as if they had not been.

Nostromo's voice was speaking, though he, at the
tiller, was also as if he were not. " Have you been
asleep, Don Martin? Caramba! If it were possible
I would think that I, too, have dozed off. I have a
strange notion somehow of having dreamed that there
was a sound of blubbering, a sound a sorrowing man
could make, somewhere near this boat. Something
between a sigh and a sob."

"Strange," muttered Decoud, stretched upon the
pile of treasure - boxes covered by many tarpaulins.
"Could it be that there is another boat near us in the
gulf? We could not see it, you know."

Nostromo laughed a little at the absurdity of the
idea. They dismissed it from their minds. The soli-
tude could almost be felt. And when the breeze
ceased, the blackness seemed to weigh upon Decoud
like a stone.

"This is overpowering," he muttered. "Do we
move at all, capataz?"

"Not so fast as a crawling beetle tangled in the
grass," answered Nostromo, and his voice seemed
deadened by the thick veil of obscurity that felt warm
and hopeless all about them. There were long periods
when he made no sound, invisible and inaudible as if
he had mysteriously stepped out of the lighter.

In the featureless night Nostromo was not even cer-
tain whii-h way the lighter headed after the wind hud
completely died out. He peered for the islands. There
was not a hint of them to be seen, as if they had sunk

391

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

to the bottom of the gulf. He threw himself down by
the side of Decoud at last, and whispered into his ear
that if daylight caught them near the Sulaco shore
through want of wind, it would be possible to sweep
the lighter behind the cliff at the high end of the Great
Isabel, where she would lie concealed. Decoud was
surprised at the grimness of his anxiety. To him the
removal of the treasure was a political move. It was
necessary for several reasons that it should not fall into
the hands of Montero, but here was a man who took
another view of this enterprise. The caballeros over
there did not seem to have the slightest idea of what
they had given him to do. Nostromo, as if affected by
the gloom around, seemed nervously resentful. De-
coud was surprised. The capataz, indifferent to those
dangers that seemed obvious to his companion, al-
lowed himself to become scornfully exasperated by the
deadly nature of the trust put, as a matter of course,
into his hands. It was more dangerous, Nostromo
said, with a laugh and a curse, than sending a man to
get the treasure that people said was guarded by devils
and ghosts in the deep ravines of Azuera. "Senor,"
he said, "we must catch the steamer at sea. We must
keep out in the open looking for her till we have eaten
and drunk all that has been put on board here. And
if we miss her by some mischance we must keep away
from the land till we grow weak and perhaps mad, and
die, and drift, dead, until one or another of the steamers
of the Compania comes upon the boat with the two
dead men who have saved the treasure. That, senor,
is the only way to save it; for, don't you see, for us to
come to the land anywhere in a hundred miles along

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Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

this coast with this silver in our possession is to run
the naked breast against the point of a knife. This
thing has been given to me like a deadly disease. If
men discover it I am dead, and you, too, senor, since
you would come with me. There is enough silver
to make a whole province rich, let alone a sea-
board pueblo inhabited by thieves and vagabonds.
Senor, they would think that Heaven itself sent these
riches into their hands, and would cut our throats with-
out hesitation. I would trust no fair words from the
best man around the shores of this wild gulf. Reflect
that even by giving up the treasure at the first de-
mand we would not be able to save our lives. Do you
understand this, or must I explain?"

"No, you needn't explain," said Decoud, a -little
listlessly. "I can sec it well enough myself, that the
possession of so much treasure is very much like a
deadly disease for men situated as we are. But it had
to be removed from Sulaco, and you were the man for
the task."

"I was. But I cannot believe," said Nostromo,
"that its loss would have impoverished Don Carlos
Gould very much. There is more wealth in the moun-
tain. I have heard it rolling down the shoots on quiet
nights when I used to ride to Rincon to see a certain
girl, after my work at the harbor was done. For
years the rich rocks have been pouring down with a
noise like thunder, and the miners say that there is
enough at the heart of the mountain to thunder on for
years and years to come. And yet, the day before yes-
terday, we have been fighting to save it from the mob,
and to-night I am sent out with it into this darkness

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

where there is no wind to get away with, as if it were
the last lot of silver on earth to get bread for the hun-
gry with. Ha! ha! Well, I am going to make it the
most famous and desperate affair of my life — wind or
no wind. It shall be talked about when the little chil-
dren are grown up and the grown men are old. Aha!
the Monterists must not get hold of it, I am told, what-
ever happens to Nostromo the capataz ; and they shall
not have it, I tell you, since it has been tied for safety
round Nostromo's neck."

" I see it," murmured Decoud. He saw, indeed, that
his companion had his own peculiar view of this en-
terprise.

Nostromo interrupted his reflections upon the way
men's qualities are made use of without any funda-
mental knowledge of their nature, by the proposal
that they should slip the long oars out and sweep the
lighter in the direction of the Isabels. It wouldn't do
for daylight to reveal the treasure floating within a
mile or so of the harbor entrance. The denser the
darkness generally, the smarter were the pruffs of wind
on which he had reckoned to make his way; but to-
night the gulf under its poncho of clouds remained
breathless, as if dead rather than asleep.

Don Martin's soft hands suffered cruelly, tugging at
the thick handle of the enormous oar. He stuck to it
manfully, setting his teeth. He, too, was in the toils of
an imaginative existence, and that strange work of
pulling a lighter seemed to belong naturally to the in-
ception of a new state, acquired an ideal meaning from
his love for Antonia. For all their efforts the heavily
laden lighter hardly moved. Nostromo could be heard

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Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

swearing to himself between the regular splashes of the
sweeps. "We are making a crooked path," he mut-
tered to himself. "I wish I could see the islands."

In his unskilfulness Don Martin overexerted himself.
Now and then a sort of muscular faintness would run
from the tips of his aching fingers through every fibre
of his body and pass off in a flush of heat. He had
fought, talked, suffered mentally and physically, exert-
ing his mind and body for the last forty-eight hours
without intermission. He had had no rest, very little
food, no pause in the stress of his thoughts and his
feelings. Even his love for Antonia, whence he drew
his strength and his inspiration, had reached the
point of tragic tension during their hurried interview
by Don Jose"s bedside. And now, suddenly, he was
thrown out of all this into a dark gulf whose very
gloom, silence, and breathless peace added a torment
to the necessity for physical exertion. He imagined
the lighter sinking to the bottom with an extraordinary
shudder of delight. "I am on the verge of delirium,"
he thought. He mastered the trembling of all his
limbs, of his breast, the inward trembling of all his
body, exhausted of its nervous force.

"Shall we rest, capataz?" he proposed, in a careless
tone. " There are many hours of night yet before us."

"True. It is but a mile or so, I suppose. Rest
your arms, seflor, if that is what you mean. You will
find no other sort of rest, I can promise you, since you
let yourself be bound to this treasure whose loss would
make no poor man poorer. No, senor; there is no rest
till we find a north-bound steamer, or else some ship
finds us drifting about stretched out dead upon the

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Englishman's silver. Or, rather — no, por Dios! I shall
cut down the gunwale with the axe right to the
water's edge before thirst and hunger rob me of my
strength. By all the saints and devils, I shall let the
sea have the treasure rather than give it up to any
stranger. Since it was the good pleasure of the cabal-
leros to send me off on such an errand, they shall learn
I am just the man they take me for."

Decoud lay on the silver-boxes panting. All his ac-
tive sensations and feelings, from as far back as he
could remember, seemed to him the maddest of dreams.
Even his passionate devotion to Antonia, into which he
had worked himself up out of the depths of his scep-
ticism, had lost all appearance of reality. For a mo-
ment he was the prey of an extremely languid but not
unpleasant indifference.

" I am sure they didn't mean you to take such a des-
perate view of this affair," he said.

"What was it then? A joke?" snarled the man
who, on the pay-sheets of the O.S.N. Company's es-
tablishment in Sulaco, was described as "Foreman of
the wharf" against the figure of his wages. "Was it
for a joke that they woke me up from my sleep after
two days of street fighting to make me stake my life
upon a bad card ? Everybody knows, too, that I am
not a lucky gambler."

"Yes, everybody knows of your good luck with
women, capataz," Decoud propitiated his companion,
in a weary drawl.

"Look here, senor," Nostromo went on, "I never
even remonstrated about, this affair. Directly I heard
what was wanted I saw what a desperate affair it must

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be, and I made up my mind to see it out. Every min-
ute was of importance. I had to wait for you first.
Then, when we arrived at the Italia Una, old Giorgio
shouted to me to go for the English doctor. Later on
ihat poor dying woman wanted to see me, as you know,
r, I was reluctant to go. I felt already this cursed
Btver growing heavy upon my back, and I was afraid
feat, knowing herself to be dying, she would ask me
to ride off again for a priest. Father Corbelan, who
is fearless, would have come at a word, but Father Cor-
belan is far away safe, with the band of Hernandez, and
me populace that would have liked to tear him to
Beces are much incensed against the priests. Not a
tingle fat padre would have consented to put his head
out of his hiding-place to-night to save a Christian
soul except, perhaps, under my protection. That was
in her mind. I pretended I did not believe she was
going to die. Sertor, I refused to fetch a priest for a
dyin^ woman . . ."

Decoud was heard to stir.

"You did, capataz!" he exclaimed. His tone
changed. "Well, you know — it was rather fine."
• "You do not believe in priests, Don Martin? Neither
do I. What was the use of wasting time? But she —
she believes in them. The thing sticks in my throat.
She may be dead already, and here we are floating help-
Hi with no wind at all. Curse on all superstition.
Ht died thinking I deprived her of paradise, I suppose.
It shall be the most desperate affair of my life."

Decoud remained lost in reflection. He tried to
analyze the sensations awakened by what he had been
told. The voice of the capataz was heard again.

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Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"Now, Don Martin, let us take up the sweeps and
try to find the Isabels. It is either that or sinking the
lighter if the day overtakes us. We must not forget
that the steamer from Esmeralda with the soldiers may
be coming along. We will pull straight on now. I
have discovered a bit of a candle here, and we must
take the risk of a small light to make a course by the
boat - compass. There is not enough wind to blow it
out — may the curse of Heaven fall upon this blind
gulf."

A small flame appeared burning quite straight. It
showed fragmentally the stout ribs and planking in the
hollow, empty part of the lighter. Decoud could see I
Nostromo standing up to pull. He saw him as high as
the red sash on his waist, with a gleam of a white- 1
handled revolver and the wooden haft of a long knife
protruding on his left side. Decoud nerved himself for
the effort of rowing. Certainly there was not enough
wind to blow the candle out, but its flame swayed a
little to the slow movement of the heavy boat. It was
so big that with their utmost efforts they could not
move it quicker than about a mile an hour. This was
sufficient, however, to sweep them among the Isabels
long before daylight came. There was a good six
hours of darkness before them, and the distance from!
the harbor to the Great Isabel did not exceed two!
miles. Decoud put this heavy toil to the account ofl
the capataz's impatience. Sometimes they paused, f
and then both strained their ears to hear the boat from
Esmeralda. In this perfect quietness a steamer mov-j
ing would have been heard from far off. As to seeing!
anything, it was out of the question. They could not|

298

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

see each other. Kvm the lighter's sail, which remained
set, was invisible. Very often they rested.

"Caramba!" said Nostromo, suddenly, during one of
those intervals when they lolled idly against the heavy
handles of the sweeps. "What is it? Are you dis-
ed, Don Martin?"

Decoud assured him that he was not distressed in
the least. Nostromo for a time kept perfectly still, and
then in a whisper invited Martin to come aft.

With his lips touching Decoud's ear, he declared his
belief that there was somebody else besides themselves
upon the lighter. Twice now he had heard the sound
of stifled sobbing. "Seflor," he whispered, with awed
wonder, " I am certain that there is somebody weeping
on this lighter."

Decoud had heard nothing. He expressed his in-
credulity. However, it was easy to ascertain the truth
of the matter.

" It is most amazing!" muttered Nostromo. "Could
anybody have concealed himself on board while the
lighter was lying alongside the wharf?"

"And you say it was like sobbing?" asked Decoud,
lowering his voice, too. " If he is weeping, whoever he
is, he cannot be very dangerous."

Clambering over the precious pile in the middle, they
crouched low on the fore side of the mast and groped
under the half-deck. Right forward, in the narrowest
part, their hands came upon the limbs of a man who
remained as silent as death. Too startled themselves to
make a sound, they dragged him aft by one arm and
the collar of his coat. He was limp, lifeless.

The light of the bit of candle fell upon a round, hook-

ao 299

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

nosed face with black mustaches and little side-whis-
kers. He was extremely dirty. A greasy growth of
beard was sprouting on the shaven parts of the cheeks.
The thick lips were slightly parted, but the eyes re-
mained closed. Decoud, to his immense astonishment,
recognized Senor Hirsch, the hide-merchant from Es-
meralda. Nostromo, too, had recognized him; and
they gazed at each other across that body lying with
its naked feet higher than its head in an absurd pre-
tence of sleep, faintness, or death.

VIII

FOR a moment, before this extraordinary find,
they forgot their own concerns and sensations.
Bettor Hirsch's sensations as he lay there must have
been those of extreme terror. For a long time he re-
•nsed to give a sign of life, till at last Decoud's objur-
gations and, perhaps more, Nostromo's impatient sug-
gestion that he should be thrown overboard, as he
seemed to be dead, induced him to raise one eyelid
first and then the other.

I It appeared that he had never found a safe oppor-
tunity to leave Sulaco. He lodged with Anzani, the
universal store-keeper on the Plaza Mayor. But when
the riot broke out he had made his escape from his
•ost's house before daylight, and in such a hurry that
be had forgotten to put on his shoes. He had run
out impulsively in his socks, and with his hat in his
hand, into the garden of Anzani's house. Fear gave
him the necessary agility to climb over several low
walls, and afterwards he blundered into the over-
grown cloisters of the ruined Franciscan convent in one
of the by-streets. He forced himself into the midst of
matted bushes with the recklessness of desperation,
and this accounted for his scratched body and his torn
clothing. He lay hidden there all day, his tongue
•eaving to the roof of his mouth with all the intensity
of thirst engendered by heat and fear. Three times

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

different bands of men invaded the place with shouts
and imprecations looking for Father Corbelan, but
towards the evening, still lying on his face in the bushes,
he thought he would die from the fear of silence. He
was not very clear as to what had induced him to leave
the place, but evidently he had got out and slunk suc-
cessfully out of town along the deserted back lanes.
He wandered in the darkness near the railway, so
maddened by apprehension that he dared not even
approach the fires of the pickets of Italian workmen
guarding the line. He had a vague idea evidently of
finding refuge in the railway-yards, but the dogs rushed
upon him barking, men began to shout, a shot was fi
at random. He fled away from the gates. By
merest accident, as it happened, he took the direct!
of the O.S.N. Company's offices. Twice he stumb
upon the bodies of men killed during the day. B
everything living frightened him much more,
crouched, crept, crawled, made dashes guided by a so
of animal instinct, keeping away from every light an
from every sound of voices. His idea was to thro
himself at the feet of Captain Mitchell and beg fo
shelter in the company's offices. It was all dark then
as he approached on his hands and knees, but sudde
some one on guard challenged loudly, "Quien vive?
There were more dead men lying about, and he fla
tened himself down at once by the side of a cold corpse.
He heard a voice saying, " Here is one of those wound
rascals crawling about. Shall I go and finish him?"
And another voice objected that it was not safe to
out without a lantern upon such an errand. Perha
it was only some negro Liberal looking for a chance

302

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

^t; k a knife into the sti-ina^h of an honest man.

ncli didn't stay to hear any more, but, crawling
the end of the wharf, hid himself among a lot
of empty casks. After a while some i>eople came
along talking and with glowing cigarettes. He did
stop to ask himself whether they would l>e likely
to do him any harm, but bolted incontinently along
•B jetty, saw a lighter lying moored at the end, and
threw himself into it. In his desire to find cover he
Ctept right forward under the halt-deck, and he had re-
mained there more dead than alive, suffering agonies
of hunger and thirst, and almost fainting with terror
when he heard numerous footsteps and the voices of
mt Europeans, who came in a body escorting the wagon-
Bad of treasure pushed along the rails by a squad of
cargadores. He understood perfectly what was being
•me from the talk, but did not disclose his presence
Bom the fear that he would not be allowed to re-
main. His only idea at the time, overpowering and
•asterful, was to get away from this terrible Sulaco.
Bid now he regretted it very much. He had heard
Hostromo talk to Decoud and wished himself back
on shore. He did not desire to be involved in
any desperate affair — in a situation where one could
not run away. The involuntary groans of his an-
guished spirit had betrayed him to the sharp ears of
.ipataz.

They had propped him up in a sitting posture against
the side of the lighter, and he went on with the moan-
•jg account of his adventures till his voice broke, his
bead fell forward. "Water," he whispered, with dif-
ficulty. Decoud held one of the cans to his lips. He

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

revived after an extraordinarily short time and scram-
bled up to his feet wildly. Nostromo, in an angry and
threatening voice, ordered him forward. Hirsch was
one of those men whom fear lashes like a whip, and he
must have had an appalling idea of the capataz's
ferocity. He displayed an extraordinary agility in
disappearing forward into the darkness. They heard
him getting over the tarpaulin; then there was the
sound of a heavy fall followed by a weary sigh. After-
wards all was still in the fore part of the lighter, as
though he had killed himself in his headlong tumble.
Nostromo shouted in a menacing voice:

"Lie still there! Do not move a limb! If I hear
as much as a loud breath from you I shall come over
there and put a bullet through your head!"

The mere presence of a coward, however passive,
brings an element of treachery into a dangerous situa-
tion. Nostromo's nervous impatience passed into
gloomy thoughtfulness. Decoud, in an undertone,
if speaking to himself, remarked that, after all, t
bizarre event made no great difference. He could not
conceive what harm the man could do. At most
would be in the way, like an inanimate and usel
object — like a block of wood, for instance.

"I would think twice before getting rid of a pi
of wood," said Nostromo, calmly. "Something ma
happen unexpectedly where you could make use of it.
But in an affair like ours a man like this ought to
thrown overboard. Even if he were as brave as
lion we would not want him here. We are not run
ning away for our lives. Sefior, there is no ha
in a brave man trying to save himself with ingenui

304

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Courage; but you have heard his tale, Don Martin.
11 heinn hero is a miracle of fear — " Nostromo
paused. "There is no room for fear in this lighter,"
he added, through his teeth.

Decoud had no answer to make. It was not a posi-
tion for argument, for a display of scruples or feelings.
There were a thousand ways in which a panic-stricken
man could make himself dangerous. It was evident
that Hirsch could not be spoken to, reasoned with, or
persuaded into a rational line of conduct. The story
of his own escape demonstrated that clearly enough.
Decoud thought that it was a thousand pities the
wretch had not died of fright. Nature, who had made
him what he was, seemed to have calculated cruelly
how much he could bear in the way of atrocious an-
guish without actually expiring. Some compassion
was due to so much terror. Decoud, though imagi-
native enough for sympathy, resolved not to inter-
tVrc- with any action that Nostromo would take. But
Nostromo did nothing. And the fate of Senor Hirsch
remained suspended in the darkness of the gulf, at the
mercy of events which could not be foreseen.

The capataz, extending his hand, put out the candle
suddenly. It was to Decoud as if his companion had
destroyed by a single touch the world of affairs, of
loves, of revolution, where his complacent superiority
analyzed fearlessly all motives and all passions, in-
cluiling his own.

He gasped a little. Decoud was affected by the
novelty of his position. Intellectually self-confident,
he suffered from being deprived of the only weapon
he could use with effect. No intelligence could pene-

305

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

trate the darkness of the placid gulf. There remain-
ed only one thing he was certain of, and that was
the overweening vanity of his companion. It was
direct, uncomplicated, naive, and effectual. Decoud,
who had been making use of him, had tried to under-
stand his man thoroughly. He had discovered a com-
plete singleness of motive behind the varied manifesta-
tions of a consistent character. This was why the
man remained so astonishingly simple in the jealous
greatness of his conceit. And now there was a com-
plication. It was evident that he resented having
been given a task in which there were so many chances
of failure. "I wonder," thought Decoud, "how he
would behave if I were not here."

He heard Nostromo mutter again, "No! There is
no room for fear on this lighter. Courage itself does
not seem good enough. I have a good eye and a steady
hand; no man can say he ever saw me tired, or uncer-
tain what to do; but, por Dios, Don Martin, I have been
sent out into this black calm on a business where
neither a good eye nor a steady hand nor judgment
are any use. ..." He swore a string of oaths in Span-
ish and Italian under his breath. "Nothing but sheer
desperation will do for this affair."

These words were in strange contrast to the pre-
vailing peace, to this almost solid stillness of the gulf.
A shower fell with an abrupt, whispering sound all
around the boat, and Decoud took off his hat, and, let-
ting his head get wet, felt greatly refreshed. Pres-
ently a steady little draught of air caressed his cheek.
The lighter began to move, but the shower distanced
it. The drops ceased to fall upon his head and hands,

306

Nostromo; A Tale of the Seaboard

tho whispering died out in the distance. Nostromo
emitu-il a grunt of satisfaction, and, grasping the tiller,
chirruped softly, as sailors do, to encourage the wind.
Never for the last three days had Decoud felt less the
need for what the capataz would call desperation.

" I fancy I hear another shower on the water," he
observed, in a tone of quiet content. "I hope it will
catrh us up."

Nostromo ceased chirruping at once. "You hear
another shower?" he said, doubtfully. A sort of thin-
ning of the darkness seemed to have taken place, and
Decoud could see now the outline of his companion's
figure, and even the sail came out of the night like a
square block of dense shadow.

The sound which Decoud had detected came along
the water harshly. Nostromo recognized that noise,
partaking of a hiss and a rustle which spreads out on
all sides of a steamer making her way through smooth
water on a quiet night. It could be nothing else but
the captured transport with troops from Esmeralda.
She carried no lights. The noise of her steaming,
growing louder every minute, would stop at times al-
together, and then begin again abruptly and sound
start lingly nearer, as if that invisible vessel, whose
position could not be precisely guessed, were making
straight for the lighter. Meantime, that last kept on
sailing slowly and noiselessly before a breeze so faint
that it was only by leaning over the side and feeling
the water slip through his fingers that Decoud con-
vinced himself they were moving at all. His drowsy
feeling had departed. He was glad to know that the
lighter was moving. After so much stillness the noise

307

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

of the steamer seemed uproarious and distracting.
There was a weirdness in not being able to see her.
Suddenly all was still. She had stopped, but so close
to them that the steam blowing off sent its rumbling
vibration right over their heads.

"They are trying to make out where they are," said
Decoud, in a whisper. Again he leaned over and put
his fingers into the water. "We are moving quite
smartly," he informed Nostromo.

"We seem to be crossing their bows," said the
capataz, in a cautious tone. "But this is a blind
game with death. Moving on is of no use. We
mustn't be seen or heard."

His whisper was hoarse with excitement. Of all
his face there was nothing visible bxit a gleam of white
eyeballs. His fingers gripped Decoud 's shoulder.
"That is the only way to save this treasure from this
steamer full of soldiers. Any other would have car-
ried lights. But you observe there is not a gleam to
show us where she is." Decoud stood as if paralyzed;
only his thoughts were wildly active. In the space of
a second he remembered the desolate glance of An-
tonia as he left her a.t the bedside of her father, in
the gloomy house of Avellanos, with shuttered win-
dows, but all the doors standing open, and deserted
by all the servants except an old negro at the gate.
He remembered the Casa Gould on his last visit; the
arguments, the tones of his voice, the impenetrable
attitude of Charles; Mrs. Gould's face, so blanched
with anxiety and fatigue that her eyes seemed to have
changed color, appearing nearly black by contrast.
Even whole sentences of the proclamation which he

308

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

meant to make Barrios issue from his headquarters
at Cayta, as soon as he got there, passed through his
mind; the very germ of the new state, the Separation-

roclamation which he had tried before he left to
hurriedly to Don Jose\ stretched out on his bed
under the fixed gaze of his daughter. God knows
whether the old statesman had understood it; he was
unuble to speak, but he had certainly lifted his arm
off the coverlet; his hand had moved as if to make
the sign of the cross in the air, a gesture of bless-
ing, of consent. Decoud had that very draft in his
pocket, written in pencil on several loose sheets of
paper, with the heavily printed heading. "Adminis-
tration of the San Tomd Silver Mine. Sulaco. Re-
public of Costaguana." He had written it furiously,
snatching page after page on Charles Gould's table.
Mrs. Gould had looked several times over his shoulder
as he wrote; but the Seflor Administrador, standing
strai Idle-legged, would not even glance at it when it
was finished. He had waved it away firmly. It must
have been scorn, and not caution, since he never made
a remark about the use of the administration's paper
for such a compromising document. And that showed

lisdain, the true English disdain of common pru-
dence, as if everything outside the range of their own
thoughts and feelings were unworthy of serious recog-
nition. Decoud had the time in a second or two to
become furiously angry with Charles Gould, and even
resentful against Mrs. Gould, in whose care, tacitly it
is true, he had left the safety of Antonia. Better per-

i thousand times than owe your preservation to
such people, he exclaimed mentally. The grip of

3°9

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Nostromo's fingers, never removed from his shoulder,
tightening fiercely, recalled him to himself.

"The darkness is our friend," the capataz mur-
mured into his ear. "I am going to lower the sail,
and trust our escape to this black gulf. No eyes could
make \is out lying silent with a naked mast. I will
do it now, before this steamer closes still more upon
us. The faint creak of a block would betray us and
the San Tome treasure into the hands of those thieves."

He moved about as warily as a cat. Decoud heard
no sound ; and it was only by the disappearance of the
square blotch of darkness that he knew the yard had
come down, lowered as carefully as if it had been made
of glass. Next moment he heard Nostromo's quiet
breathing by his side.

"You had better not move at all from where you
are, Don Martin," advised the capataz, earnestly.
"You might stumble or displace something which
would make a noise. The sweeps and the punting-
poles are lying about. Move not for your life. . . . For
Dios, Don Martin," he went on, in a keen but friendly
whisper, "I am so desperate that if I didn't know your
worship to be a man of courage, capable of standing
stock-still whatever happens, I would drive my knife
into your heart."

A death-like stillness surrounded the lighter. It
was difficult to believe that there was near a steamer
full of men, with many pairs of eyes peering from her
bridge for some hint of land in the night. Her steam
h;i<l ceased blowing off and she remained stopped, tool
far off, apparently, for any other sound to reach the j
lighter.

310

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

" Perhaps you would, capataz," Decoud began, in a
whisper. "However, you need not trouble. There
arc other things than the fear of your knife to keep
my heart steady. It shall not betray you. Only, have
you forgotten — "

1 I spoke to you openly, as to a man as desperate
as myself," explained the capataz. "The silver must
be saved from the Montcrists. I told Captain Mitchell
three times that I preferred to go alone. I told Don
Carlos Gould, too. It was in the Casa Gould. They
ha<l sent for me. The ladies were there; and when I
tried to explain why I did not wish to have you with
me they promised me h«th of them, great rewards
f<-r your safety. A strange way to talk to a man you
are sending out to an almost certain death. Those
gentlefolk do not seem to have sense enough to under-
stand what they are giving one to do. I told them I
could do nothing for you. You would have been
safer with the 1 .audit Hernandez. It would have been
Hprible to ride out of the town with no greater risk
than a chance shot sent after you in the dark. But
it was as if they had been deaf. I had to promise I
would wait for you under the harbor gate. I did wait
And now, liccause you are a brave man, you are as
tafe as the silver. Neither more nor less."
; At that moment, as if by way of comment upon
Nostromo's words, the invisible steamer went ahead,
at half-speed only, as could l>c judged by the leisurely
beat of her propeller. The sound shifted its place
markedly, hut without coming nearer. It even grew
a little more distant right abeam of the lighter, and
then ceased again.

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"They are trying for a sight of the Isabels," mut-
tered Nostromo, "in order to make for the harbor in a
straight line, and seize the custom-house with the
treasure in it. Have you ever seen the Comandante
of Esmeralda, Sotillo? A handsome fellow with a soft
voice. When I first came here I used to see him in
the calle talking to the senoritas at the windows of
the houses, and showing his white teeth all the time.
But one of my cargadores, who had been a soldier,
told me that he had once ordered a man to be flayed
alive in the remote Campo, where he was sent re-
cruiting among the people of the Estancias. It has
never entered his head that the compania had a man
capable of baffling his game."

The murmuring loquacity of the capataz disturbed
Decoud like a hint of weakness. And yet talkative
resolution may be as genuine as grim silence.

"Sotillo is not baffled so far," he said. "Have you
forgotten that crazy man forward?"

Nostromo had not forgotten Senor Hirsch. He re-
proached himself bitterly for not having visited the
lighter carefully before leaving the wharf. He re-
proached himself for not having stabbed and flung
him overboard at the very moment of discovery with-
out even looking at his face. That would have been
consistent with the desperate character of the affair.
Whatever happened, Sotillo was already baffled. Even
if that wretch, now as silent as death, did anything
to betray the nearness of the lighter, Sotillo — if Sotillo
it was in command of the troops on board — would be
still baffled of his plunder.

"I have an axe in my hand," Nostromo whispered.
312

Nn.stromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

wrathfully, "that in three strokes would cut through
tlu- side down to the water's edge. Moreover, each
lighter has a plu^ in the stern and I know exactly
whore it is. I feel it under the sole of my foot."

•<• oud recognized the ring of genuine determina-
tion in the nervous murmurs, the vindictive excite-
ment of the famous capataz. Before the steamer,
guided by a shriek or two (for there could be no more
than that, Nostromo said, gnashing his teeth audibly),
could find the lighter there would be plenty of time

:nk this treasure tied up round his neck.
The last words he hissed into Decoud's ear. Decoud
said nothing. He was perfectly convinced. The usual
characteristic quietness of the man was gone. It
was not equal to the situation as he conceived it.
Something ^pyppr, cnmothinp iin.s"spe,c,faffr .b^y evprv

ii:t,i rnrflf ^p the i surface^ Decoud, with careful
movements, slipped off his overcoat and divested him-
self ol his boots; he did not consider himself bound in
honor to sink with the treasure. His object w?s to
get down to Barrios in Cayta, as the capataz knew

well; and he, too, meant in his own way to put
into that attempt all the desperation of which he was
capable. Nostromo muttered, "True, true! You are
a politician, seflor. Rejoin the army and start an-
other revolution." He pointed out, however, that
there was a little boat belonging to every lighter fit to
carry two men if not more. Theirs was towing behind.
Of that Decoud had not been aware. Of course it

too dark to see, and it was only when Nostromo
put his hand upon its painter fastened to a cleat in
the stern that he experienced a full measure of relief.

3'3

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

The prospect of finding himself in the water and swim-
ming, overwhelmed by ignorance and da/kness, prob-
ably in a circle, till he sank from exhaustion, was re-
volting. The barren and cruel futility of such an end
intimidated his affectation of careless pessimism. In
comparison to it, the chance of being left floating in a
boat exposed to thirst, hunger, discovery, imprison-
ment, execution, presented itself with an aspect of
amenity worth securing even at the cost of some self-
contempt. He did not accept Nostromo's proposal
that he should get into the boat at once. "Something
sudden may overwhelm us, senor," the capataz re-
marked, promising faithfully* at the same tin:e to let
go the painter at the moment when the necessity be-
came manifest.

But Decoud assured him lightly that he did not
mean to take to the boat till the very last moment,
and that then he meant the capataz to come along,
too. The darkness of the gulf was no longer for him
the end of all things. It was part of a living world,
since, pervading it, failure and death could be felt at
your elbow. And at the same time it was a shelter.
He exulted in its impenetrable obscurity. "Like a
wall — like a wall," he muttered to himself.

The only thing which checked his confidence was
the thought of Senor Hirsch. Not to have bound
and gagged him seemed to Decoud now the height of
improvident folly. As long as the miserable creature
had the power to raise a yell, he was a constant dan-
ger. His abject terror was mute now, but there was
no saying from what cause it might suddenly find vent
in shrieks.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

This very madness of fear which both Decoud and
Nostromo had seen in the wild and irrational glances,
and in the continuous twitchings of his mouth, pro-
tected Seflor Hirsch from the cruel necessities of this
desperate affair. The moment of silencing him for-
ever had passed. As Nostromo remarked in answer
to Decoud's regrets, it was too late! It could not be
done without noise, especially in the ignorance of the
man's exact position. Wherever he had elected to
crouch and tremble, it was too hazardous to go near
him. He would begin, probably, to yell for mercy.
It was much better to leave him quite alone, since he
was keeping so still. But to trust to his silence be-
came every moment a greater strain upon Decoud's
composure.

" I wish, capataz, you had not let the right moment
pass," he murmured.

"What? To silence him forever! I thought it
good to hear first how he came to be here. It was too
strange. Who could imagine that it was all an acci-
dent. Afterwards, sefior, when I saw you giving him
water to drink I could not do it. Not after I had seen
you holding up the can to his lips, as though he were
your brother. Serior, that sort of necessity must not
be thought of too long. And yet it would have been
no cruelty to take away from him his wretched life.
It is nothing but fear. Your compassion saved him
then, Don Martin, and now it is too late. It couldn't
be done without noise."

In the steamer they were keeping a perfect silence,
and the stillness was so profound that Decoud felt as
if the slightest sound conceivable must travel un-

315

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

checked and audible to the end of the world. What
if Hirsch coughed or sneezed. To feel himself at the
mercy of such an idiotic contingency was too exas-
perating to be looked upon with irony. Nostromo,
too, seemed to be getting restless. Was it possible, he
asked himself, that the steamer, finding the night too
dark altogether, intended to remain stopped where
she was till daylight ? He began to think that this,
after all, was the real danger. He was afraid that the
darkness which was his protection would in the end
cause his undoing.

Sotillo, as Nostromo had surmised, was in command
on board the transport. The events of the last forty-
eight hours in Sulaco were not known to him; neither
was he aware that the telegraphist in Esmeralda had
managed to warn his colleague in Sulaco. Like a good
many officers of the troops garrisoning the province,
Sotillo had been influenced in his adoption of the Ri-
bierist cause by the belief that it had the enormous
wealth of the Gould Concession on its side. He had
been one of the frequenters of the Casa Gould, where
he had aired his Blanco convictions and his ardor for
reform before Don Jose Avellanos, casting frank, hon-
est glances towards Mrs. Gould and Antonia the while.
He was known to belong to a good family, persecuted
and impoverished during the tyranny of Guzman
Bento. The opinions he expressed appeared eminent-
ly natural and proper in a man of his parentage and
antecedents. And he was not a deceiver; it was per-
fectly natural for him to express elevated sentiments
while his whole faculties were taken up with what
seemed then a solid and practical notion — the notion

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

the husband of Antonia Avellanos would be nat-
urally the intimate friend of the Gould Concession.
He even pointed this out to Anzani once when nego-
tiating the sixth or seventh small loan in the gloomy,
damp apartment, with enormous iron bars, behind the
principal shop in the whole row under the arcades.
He hinted to the universal shopkeeper at the excellent
terms he was on with the emancipated seflorita, who
was like a sister to the Englishwoman. He would ad-
vance one leg and put his arms akimbo, posing for
Anzani's inspection and fixing him with a haughty
stare.

"Look, miserable shopkeeper! How can a man like
me fail with any woman, let alone an emancipated girl
living in scandalous freedom?" he seemed to say.

His manner in the Casa Gould was, of course, very
different, devoid of all truculence and even slightly
mournful. Like most of his countrymen, he was car-
ried away by the sound of fine words, especially if ut-
tered by himself. He had no convictions of any sort
upon anything except as to the irresistible power of his
personal advantages. But that was so firm that even
Decoud's appearance in Sulaco and his intimacy with
the Goulds and the Avellanos, did not disquiet him.
On the contrary, he tried to make friends with that
ric-h Costaguanero from Europe in the hope of bor-
rowing a large sum by-and-by. The only guiding mo-
tive of his life was to get money for the satisfaction
of his expensive tastes, which he indulged recklessly,
having no self-control. He imagined himself a master
of intrigue, but his corruption was as simple as an
animal instinct. At times, in solitude, he had his

3'7

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

moments of ferocity, and also on such occasions as,
for instance, when alone in a room with Anzani trying
to get a loan.

He had talked himself into the command of the
Esmeralda garrison. That small seaport had its im-
portance as the station of the main submarine cable
connecting the Occidental provinces with the outer
world, and the junction with it of the Sulaco branch.
Don Jose" Avellanos proposed him, and Barrios, with
a rude and jeering guffaw, had said, "Oh, let Sotillo
go. He is a very good man to keep guard over the
cable, and the ladies of Esmeralda ought to have their
turn." Barrios, an indubitably brave man, had no
great opinion of Sotillo.

It was through the Esmeralda cable alone that the
San Tome" mine could be kept in constant touch with
the great financier, whose tacit approval made the
strength of the Ribierist movement. This movement
had its adversaries even there. Sotillo governed Es-
meralda with repressive severity till the adverse course
of events upon the distant theatre of civil war forced
upon him the reflection that, after all, the great silver-
mine was fated to become the spoil of the victors.
But caution was necessary. He began by assuming
a dark and mysterious attitude towards the faithful
Ribierist municipality of Esmeralda. Later on, the
information that the comandante was holding assem-
blies of officers in the dead of night (which had leaked
out somehow) caused those gentlemen to neglect their
c-ivil duties altogether and remain shut up in their
houses. Suddenly, one day, all the letters from Sulaco
by the overland courier were carried off by a file of

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

soldiers from the post-office to the comandancia,
without disguise, concealment, or apology. Sotillo
had heard through Cayta of the final defeat of Ribiera.

This was the first open sign of the change in his con-
victions. Presently notorious democrats, who had
been living till then in constant fear of arrest, leg-irons,
and even floggings, could be observed going in and
out at the great door of the comandancia, where the
horses of the orderlies doze under their heavy saddles,
while the men, in ragged uniforms and pointed straw
hats, lounge on a bench with their naked feet stuck
out beyond the strip of shade, and a sentry in a red
baize coat, with holes at the elbows, stands at the top
of the steps glaring haughtily at the common people,
who uncover their heads to him as they pass.

Sotillo's ideas did not soar above the care for his per-
sonal safety and the chance of plundering the town
in his charge, but he feared that such a late adhesion
would earn but scant gratitude from the victors. He
h:i«l believed just a little too long in the power of the
San Tome" mine. The seized correspondence had con-
firmed his previous information of a large amount of
silver ingots lying in the Sulaco custom-house. To
gain possession of it would be a clear Monterist move;
a sort of service that would have to be rewarded. With
the silver in his hands he could make terms for him-
self and his soldiers. He was aware neither of the
riots nor of the President's escape to Sulaco, and the
close pursuit led by Montero's brother, the guerrillero.
The game seemed in his own hands. The initial moves
were the seizure of the cable telegraph office and the
securing of the government steamer lying in the nar-

3'9

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

row creek which is the harbor of Esmeralda. The first
was effected without difficulty by a company of sol-
diers swarming with a rush over the gangways as she
lay alongside the quay ; but the lieutenant charged with
the duty of arresting the telegraphist halted on the way
before the only cafd in Esmeralda, where he distributed
some brandy to his men and refreshed himself at the
expense of the owner, a known Ribierist. The whole
party became intoxicated, and proceeded on their mis-
sion up the street yelling and firing random shots at
the windows. This little festivity, which might have
turned out dangerous to the telegraphist's life, enabled
him in the end to send his warning to Sulaco. The
lieutenant, staggering up-stairs with a drawn sabre,
was, before long, kissing him on both cheeks in one
of those swift changes of mood peculiar to a state of
drunkenness. He clasped the telegraphist close round
the neck, assuring him that all the officers of the Es-
meralda garrison were going to be made colonels, while
tears of happiness streamed down his sodden face.
Thus it came about that the town major, coming along
later, found the whole party sleeping on the stairs
and in passages, and the telegraphist (who scorned
this chance of escape) very busy clicking the key of
the transmitter. He led him away bareheaded, with
his hands tied behind his back, but concealed the
truth from Sotillo, who remained in ignorance of the
warning despatched to Sulaco.

The colonel was not the man to let any sort of dark-
ness stand in the way of the planned surprise. It ap-
peared to him a dead certainty ; his heart was set upon
his object with an ungovernable, childlike impatience.

320

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

Ever since the steamer had rounded Punta Mala, to
enter the deeper shadow of the gulf, he had remained
on the bridge in a group of officers as excited as himself.
Distracted between the coaxings and menaces of So-
tillo and his staff, the miserable commander of the
steamer kept her moving with as much prudence as
they would let him exercise. Some of them had been
drinking heavily, no doubt, but the prospect of laying
hands on so much wealth made them absurdly fool-
hardy, and, at the same time, extremely anxious. The
old major of the battalion, a stupid, suspicious man,
who had never been afloat in his life, distinguished
himself by putting out suddenly the binnacle light,
the only one allowed on board for the necessities of
navigation. He could not understand of what use it
could be for finding the way. To the vehement prot-
estations of the ship's captain, he stamped his foot
and tapped the handle of his sword. "Aha! I have
unmasked you," he cried, triumphantly. "You are
tearing your hair from despair at my acuteness. Am
I a child to believe that a light in that brass box cm
show you where the harbor is? I am an old soldier,
I am. I can smell a traitor a league off. You wanted
that gleam to betray our approach to your friend the
Englishman. A thing like that show you the way!
What a miserable lie! Que picardia! You Sulaco
people are all in the pay of those foreigners. You
deserve to be run through the body with my sword."
Other officers, crowding round, tried to calm his in-
dignation, repeating persuasively: "No, no! This is
an appliance of the mariners, major. This is no treach-
ery." The captain of the transport flung himself face

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

downward on the bridge and refused to rise. "Put
an end to me at once," he repeated, in a stifled voice.
Sotillo had to interfere.

The uproar and confusion on the bridge became so
great that the helmsman fled from the wheel. He
took refuge in the engine-room and alarmed the en-
gineers, who, disregarding the threats of the soldiers
set on guard over them, stopped the engines, protest-
ing that they would rather be shot than run the risk of
being drowned down below.

This was the first time Nostromo and Decoud heard
the steamer stop. After order had been restored and
the binnacle lamp relighted she went ahead again,
passing wide of the lighter in her search for the Isabels.
The group could not be made out, and, at the pitiful
entreaties of the captain, Sotillo allowed the engines
to be stopped again, to wait for one of those periodical
lightenings of darkness caused by the shifting of the
cloud-canopy spread above the waters of the gulf.

Sotillo, on the bridge, muttered from time to time
angrily to the captain. The other, in an apologetic
and cringing tone, begged su inerced the colonel to
take into consideration the limitations put upon hu-
man faculties by the darkness of the night. Sotillo
swelled with rage and impatience. It was the chance
of a lifetime.

"If your eyes are of no more use to you than this
I shall have them put out," he burst out. The captain
of the steamer made no answer, for just then the mass
of the Great Isabel loomed up darkly after a passing
shower, then vanished, as if swept away by a wave of
greater obscurity preceding another downpour.

322

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

This was enough for him. In the voice of a man
come back to life again, he informed Sotillo that in an
hour he would be alongside the Sulaco wharf. The
ship was then put full speed on the course, and a
great bustle of preparation for landing arose among
the soldiers on her deck.

It was heard distinctly by Decoud and Nostromo.
The capataz understood its meaning. They had made
out the Isabels, and were going on now in a straight
line for Sulaco. He judged that they would pass close,
but believed that, lying still like this with the sail
lowered, the lighter could not be seen. "No, not even
if they rubbed sides with us," he muttered.

The rain began to fall again; first like a wet mist,
then with a heavier touch, thickening into a smart per-
pendicular downpour; and the hiss and thump of the
approaching steamer was coming extremely near. De-
coud, with his eyes full of water and lowered head,
asked himself how long it would be before she drew
past, when unexpectedly he felt a lurch. An inrush
of foam broke swishing over the stern, simultaneously
with a crack of timbers and a staggering shock. He
had the impression of an angry hand laying hold of
the lighter and dragging it along to destruction. The
shock, of course, had knocked him down, and he found
himself rolling in a lot of water at the bottom of the
lighter. A violent churning went on alongside, a
strange and amazed voice cried out something above
him in the night. He heard a piercing shriek for help
from Seflor Hirsch. He kept his teeth hard set all the
time. It was a collision.

The steamer had struck the lighter obliquely, heel-
3a3

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ing her over till she was half swamped, starting some
of her timbers, and swinging her head parallel to her
own course with the force of the blow. The shock of
it on board of her was hardly perceptible. All the
violence of that collision was, as usual, felt only on
board the smaller craft. Even Nostromo himself
thought that this was perhaps the end of his desperate
adventure. He, too, had been flung away from the
long tiller, which took charge in the lurch. Next mo-
ment the steamer would have passed on, leaving the
lighter to sink or swim after having shouldered her
thus out of her way, and without even getting a glimpse
of her form, had it not been that, being deeply laden
with stores and the great number of people on board,
her anchor was low enough to hook itself into one of
the wire shrouds of the lighter's mast. For the space
of two or three gasping breaths that new rope held
against the sudden strain. It was this that gave De-
coud the sensation of the snatching pull, dragging the
lighter away to destruction. The cause of it, of course,
was inexplicable to him. The whole thing was so
sudden that he had no time to think. But all his sen-
sations were perfectly clear ; he had kept complete pos-
session of himself; in fact, he was even pleasantly aware
of that calmness at the very moment of being pitched
headfirst over the transom to struggle on his back in
a lot of water. Senor Hirsch's shriek he had heard
and recognized while he was regaining his feet, always
with that mysterious sensation of being dragged head-
long through the darkness. Not a word, not a cry,
escaped him; he had no time to see anything; and
following upon the despairing screams for help, the

324

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

dragging motion ceased so suddenly that he staggered
forward with open arms and fell against the pile of
the treasure-boxes. He clung to them instinctively,
in the vague apprehension of being flung about again;
and immediately he heard another lot of shrieks for
help, prolonged and despairing, not near him at all,
but unaccountably in the distance, away from the
lighter altogether, as if some spirit in the night were
mocking at Sertor Hirsch's terror and despair.

Then all was still, as still as when you wake up in
your bed in a dark room from a bizarre and agitated
dream. The lighter rocked slightly; the rain was still
falling. Two groping hands took hold of his bruised
sides from behind, and the capataz's voice whispered
in his ear, "Silence for your life! Silence! The
steamer has stopped."

Decoud listened. The gulf was dumb. He felt the
water nearly up to his knees. "Are we sinking?" he
asked, in a faint breath.

" I don't know," Nostromo breathed back at him.
"Seftor, make not the slightest sound."

Hirsch, when ordered forward by Nostromo, had
not returned into his first hiding-place. He had fallen
near the mast and had no strength to rise. More-
over, he feared to move. He had given himself up for
dead, but not on any rational grounds. It was sim-
ply a cruel and terrifying feeling. Whenever he tried
to think what would become of him his teeth would
start chattering violently. He was too absorbed in
the utter misery of his fear to take notice of any-
thing.

Though he was stifling under the lighter's sail, which

3*5

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Nostromo had unwittingly lowered on top of him, he
did not even dare to put out his head till the very mo-
ment of the steamer striking. Then, indeed, he leaped
right out, spurred on to new miracles of bodily vigor
by this new shape of danger. The inrush of water
when the lighter heeled over unsealed his lips. His
shriek, "Save me!" was the first distinct warning of
the collision for the people on board the steamer. Next
moment the wire shroud parted, and the released an-
chor swept over the lighter's forecastle. It came
against the breast of Senor Hirsch, who simply seized
hold of it without in the least knowing what it was,
but curling his arms and legs upon the part above the
fluke with an invincible, unreasonable tenacity. The
lighter yawed off wide, and the steamer moving on
carried him away, clinging hard and shouting for help.
It was some time, however, after the steamer had
stopped that his position was discovered. His sus-
tained yelping for help seemed to come from somebody
swimming in the water. At last a couple of men went
over the bows and hauled him on board. He was
carried straight off to Sotillo on the bridge. His ex-
amination confirmed the impression that some craft had
been run over and sunk; but it was impracticable on
such a dark night to look for the positive proof of
floating wreckage. Sotillo was more anxious than
ever now to enter the harbor without loss of time; the
idea that he had destroyed the principal object of his
expedition was too intolerable to be accepted. This
feeling made the story he had heard appear the more
incredible. Senor Hirsch, after being beaten a little
for telling lies, was thrust into the chart-room. But

326

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

vas beaten only a little. His talc had taken the
t out of Sotilio's staff, though they all repeated
round their chief, "Impossible! impossible!" with the
exception of the old major, who triumphed gloomily.
" I told you, I told you," he mumbled, "I could smell
some treachery, some diablerie, a league off."

Meantime, the steamer had kept on her way towards
Sulaco, where only the truth of that matter could be
ascertained. Decoud and Nostromo heard the loud
churning of her propeller diminish and die out; and
then, with no useless words, busied themselves in mak-
ing for the Isabels. The last shower had brought with
it a gentle but steady breeze. The danger was not
over yet, and there was no time for talk. The lighter
was leaking like a sieve. They splashed in the water
at every step. The capataz put into Decoud's hands
the handle of the pump, which was fitted at the side aft,
anil at once, without question or remark, Decoud be-
gan to pump, in utter forgetfulness of every desire but
that of keeping the treasure afloat. Nostromo hoisted
the sail, flew back to the tiller, pulled at the sheet like
mad. The short flare of a match (they had been kept
dry in a tight tin box, though the man himself was
completely wet) — the vivid flare of a match disclosed
to the toiling Decoud the eagerness of his face, bent
low over the box of the compass, and the attentive
stare of his eyes. He knew now where he was, and
he hoped to run the sinking lighter ashore in the shal-
cove where the high, cliff-like end of the great
{Isabel is divided in two equal parts by a deep and
overgrown ravine.

Decoud pumped without intermission. Nostromo

327

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

steered without relaxing for a second the intense, peer-
ing effort of his stare. Each of them was as if utterly
alone with his task. It did not occur to them to speak.
There was nothing in common between them but the
knowledge that the damaged lighter must be slowly
but surely sinking. In that knowledge, which was
like the crucial test of their desires, they seemed to
have become completely estranged, as if they had dis-
covered in the very shock of the collision that the loss
of the lighter would not mean the same thing to them
both. This common danger brought their differences
in aim, in view, in character, and in position into ab-
solute prominence in the private vision of each There
was no bond of conviction, of common idea; they were
merely two adventurers pursuing each his own ad-
venture, involved in the same imminence of deadly
peril. Therefore they had nothing to say to each
other. But this peril, this only incontrovertible
truth in which they shared, seemed to act as an in-
spiration to their mental and bodily powers.

There was certainly something almost miraculous
in the way the capataz made the cove, with nothing
but the shadowy hint of the island's shape and the
vague gleam of a small sandy strip for a guide. Where
the ravine opens between the cliffs, and a slender, shal-
low rivulet meanders out of the bushes to lose itself in
the sea, the lighter was run ashore; and the two men,
with a taciturn, undaunted energy, began to discharge
her precious freight, carrying each ox -hide box up the
bed of the rivulet, beyond the bushes, to a hollow
place which the caving-in of the soil had made below
the roots of a large tree. Its big, smooth trunk leaned

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

likr a fallen column far over the trickle of water run-
ning among the loose stones.

A couple of years l>efore, Nostromo had spent a whole
Sunday, all alone, exploring the island. He explained
this to Decoud after their task was done and they sat,
weary in every limb, with their legs hanging down the
low bank and their backs against the tree, like a pair
of blind men aware of each other and their surround-
ings by some indefinable sixth sense.

"Yes," Nostromo repeated, "I never forget a place
I have carefully looked at once." He spoke slowly,
almost lazily, as if there had been a whole leisurely life
before him instead of the scanty two hours before day-
light. The existence of the treasure, barely concealed
in this improbable spot, laid a burden of secrecy upon
every contemplated step, upon every intention and
plan of future conduct. He felt the partial failure of
this desperate affair, intrusted to the great reputation
he had known how to make for himself. However, it
was also a partial success. His vanity was half ap-
peased. His nervous irritation had subsided.

"You never know what may be of use," he pursued,
with his usual quietness of tone and manner. "I
spent a whole miserable Sunday in exploring this
crumb of land."

" A misanthropic sort of occupation," muttered De-
coud, viciously. "You had no money, I suppose, to
gamble with and to fling about among the girls in your
usual haunts, capataz?"

"E vero!" exclaimed the capataz, surprised into the
use of his native tongue by so much perspicacity. "I
had not. Therefore I did not want to go among those

3*9

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

beggarly people accustomed to my generosity. It is
looked for from the capataz of the cargadores, who are
the rich men, and, as it were, the caballeros among the
common people. I don't care for cards but as a pas-
time ; and as to those girls that boast of having opened
their doors to my knock, you know I wouldn't look at
any one of them twice except for what the people
would say. They are queer, the good people of Sulaco,
and I have got much useful information simply by
listening patiently to the talk of women that every-
body believed I was in love with. Poor Teresa could
never understand that. On that particular Sunday,
sefior, she scolded so that I went out of the house
swearing that I would never darken their door again,
xmless to fetch away my hammock and my chest of
clothes. Sefior, there is nothing more exasperating
than to hear a woman you respect rail against your
good reputation when you have not a single brass coin
in your pocket. I untied one of the small boats and
pulled myself out of the harbor with nothing but three
cigars in my pocket to help me spend the day on this
island. But the water of this rivulet you hear under
your feet is cool and sweet and good, sefior, both be-
fore and after a smoke." He was silent for a while,
then added, reflectively: "That was the first Sunday
after I brought the white - whiskered English rico all
the way down the mountains from the Paramo on
the top of the Entrada Pass — and in the coach, too!
No coach had gone up or down that mountain road
within the memory of man, sefior, till I brought this
one down in charge of fifty peons working like one
man with ropes, pickaxes, and poles, under my direc-

330

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Bbo. That was the rich KM irishman who, as people
say, pays for the making of this railway. He was very

•based with me. But my wages were not due till the
end of the month."

He slid down the bank, suddenly. Decoud heard

Ihe splash of his feet in the brook, and followed his
footsteps down the ravine. His form was lost among
the bushes till he had reached the strip of sand under

She cliff. As often happens in the gulf, when the
showers during the first part of the night had been fre-
quent and heavy, the darkness had thinned consider-
ably towards the morning, though there were uo signs
of daylight as yet.

The cargo lighter, relieved of its precious burden,
locked feebly, half afloat, with her forefoot on the sand.
A long rope stretched away like a black cotton thread

•cross the strip of white beach to the grapnel No-
stromo had carried ashore, and hooked to the stem
of a tree -like shrub in the very opening of the ravine.
There was nothing for Decoud but to remain on the
island. He received from Nostromo's hands what-

Brer food the foresight of Captain Mitchell had put on
board the lighter, and deposited it temporarily in the
Kttle dinghy which, on their arrival, they had hauled up
out of sight among the bushes. It was to be left with
him. The island was to be a hiding-place, not a prison ;

Hi could pull out to a passing ship. The O.S.N. Com-
pany's mail-boats passed close to the islands when
going into Sulaco from the north. But the Minerva,
carrying off the ex-president, had taken the news up
north of the disturbances in Sulaco. It was possible

Hut the next steamer down would get instructions to

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

miss the port altogether, since the town, as far as the
Minerva's officers knew, was for the time being in the
hands of the rabble. This would mean that there
would be no steamer for a month, as far as the mail
service went; but Decoud had to take his chance of
that. The island was his only shelter from the pro-
scription hanging over his head. The capataz was, of
course, going back. The unloaded lighter leaked much
less, and he thought that she would keep afloat as far
as the harbor.

He passed to Decoud, standing knee-deep along-
side, one of the two spades which belonged to the
equipment of each lighter, for use when ballasting
ships. By working with it carefully, as soon as there
was daylight enough to see, Decoud could loosen a
mass of earth and stones overhanging the cavity in
which they had deposited the treasure, so that it would
look as if it had fallen naturally. It would cover up
not only the cavity, but even all traces of their wor
the footsteps, the displaced stones, and even i.
broken bushes.

"Besides, who would think of looking either for you
or the treasure here?" Nostromo continued, as if he
could not tear himself away from the spot. "Nobody
is ever likely to come here. What could any man
want with this piece of earth as long as there is room
for his feet on the mainland ? The people in this coun-
try are not curious. There are even no fishermen
here to intrude upon your worship. All the fishing
that is done in the gulf goes on near Zapiga, over there.
Senor, if you are forced to leave this island before any-
thing can be arranged for you, do not try to make foi

332

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Zapiga. It is a settlement of thieves and matreros,
where they would cut your throat promptly fof the
sake of your gold watch and chain. And, seflor,
think twice before confiding in any one whatever, even
in the officers of the company's steamers if you ever
get on board one. Honesty alone is not enough for
security. You must look to discretion and prudence
in a man. And always remember, seflor, before you
open your lips for a confidence, that this treasure may
be left safely here for hundreds of years. Time is on
its side, seflor. And silver is an incorruptible metal
that can be trusted to keep its value forever. . . . An in-
corruptible metal," he repeated, as if the idea had
given him a profound pleasure.

"As some men are said to be," Decoud pronounced,
inscrutably, while the capataz, who busied himself in
baling out the lighter with a wooden bucket, went on
throwing the water over the side with a regular splash.
Decoud, incorrigible in his scepticism, reflected, not
cynically, but with genuine satisfaction, that this man
was made incorruptible by his enormous vanity, that
finest form of egoism which can take on the aspect of
every virtue.

Nostromo ceased baling and, as if struck with a
sudden thought, dropped the bucket with a clatter
into the lighter.

"Have you any message?" he asked, in a lowered
voice. "Remember, I shall be asked questions."

"You must find the hopeful words that ought to be
spoken to the people in town. I trust for that your
intelligence and your experience, capataz. You un-
derstand ?"

333

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"Si, senor. . . . For the ladies."

"Yes, yes," said Decoud, hastily. "Your wonder-
ful reputation will make them attach great value to
your words; therefore, be careful what you say. I am
looking forward," he continued, feeling the fatal touch
of contempt for himself to which his complex nature
was subject — "I am looking forward to a glorious and
successful ending to my mission. Do you hear, capa-
taz ? Use the words glorious and successful when you
speak to the senorita. Your own mission is accom-
plished gloriously and successfully. You have indubi-
tably saved the silver of the mine Not only this sil-
ver, but probably all the silver that shall ever come
out of it."

Nostromo detected the ironic tone. "I dare say,
Senor Don Martin," he said, moodily. "There are
very few things that I am not equal to. Ask the
foreign signori. I, a man of the people, who cannot
always understand what you mean. But as to this
lot which I must leave here, let me tell you that I would
believe it in greater safety if you had not been with
me at all."

An exclamation escaped Decoud, and a short pause
followed. "Shall I go back with you to Sulaco?" he
asked, in an angry tone.

"Shall I strike you dead with my knife where you
stand?" retorted Nostromo, contemptuously. "It
would be the same thing as taking you to Sulaco.
Come, senor! Your reputation is in your politics, and
mine is bound up with the fate of this silver. Do you
wonder I wish there had been no other man to share
my knowledge? I wanted no one with me, senor."

334

stromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

" You could not have kept the lighter afloat without
me," Decoud almost shouted, "You would have gone
to the bottom with her."

"Yes," muttered Nostromo, slowly. "Alone."

Here was a man, Decoud reflected, that seemed as
though he would have preferred to die rather than de-
face the perfect form of his egoism. Such a man was
safe. In silence he helped the capataz to get the grap-
nel on board. Nostromo cleared the shelving shore
with one push of the heavy oar, and Decoud found
himself solitary on the beach, like a man in a dream.
A sudden desire to hear a human voice once more seized
upon his heart. The lighter was hardly distinguishable
from the black water upon which she floated.

"What do you think has become of Hirsch?" he
shouted.

"Knocked overboard and drowned," cried Nostro-

voice, confidently, out of the black wastes of sky

aii-1 sea around the islet. "Keep close in the ravine,

senor. I shall try to come out to you in a night or

two."

A slight swishing ruirtte showed that Nostromo was
setting the sail. It filled all at once with a sound as of
a single loud drum -tap. Decoud went back to the
ravine. Nostromo, at the tiller, looked back from time
to time at the vanishing mass of the Great Isabel,
which, little by little, merged into the uniform texture
of the night. At last, when he turned his head again,
he saw nothing but a smooth darkness like a solid wall.

Then he, too, experienced that feeling of solitude
which had weighed heavily on Decoud after the lighter
had slipped off the shore. But while the man on the

33S

Nostromo : A Tale of* the Seaboard

island was oppressed by a bizarre sense of unreality,
affecting the very ground upon which he walked, the
mind of the capataz of the cargadores turned alertly
to the problem of future conduct. Nostromo 's facul-
ties, working on parallel lines, enabled him to steer
straight, to keep a lookout for Hermosa, near which
he had to pass, and to try to imagine what would hap-
pen to-morrow in Sulaco. To-morrow, or, as a mat-
ter of fact, to-day, since the dawn was not very far,
Sotillo would find out in what way the treasure had
gone. A gang of cargadores had been employed in
loading it into a railway -truck from the custom-house
store-rooms and running the truck onto the wharf.
There would be arrests made, and certainly before
noon Sotillo would know in what manner the silver
had left Sulaco and who it was that took it out.

Nostromo's intention had been to sail right into the
harbor, but at this thought, by a sudden touch of the
tiller, he threw the lighter into the wind and checked
her rapid way. His reappearance with the very boat
would raise suspicions, would cause surmises, would
absolutely put Sotillo on the track. He himself would
be arrested; and, once in the calabozo, there was no
saying what they would do to him to make him speak.
He trusted himself, but he stood up to look around.
Near by Hermosa showed low, its white surface as flat
as a table, with the slight run of the sea raised by the
breeze washing over its edges noisily. The lighter
must be sunk at once.

He allowed her to drift with her sail aback. There
was already a good deal of water in her. He allowed
her to drift towards the harbor entrance, and, letting

336

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

tlu- tilk-r swing ;il><>ut, squatted down and busied him-
self in loosening the plug. With that out she would
till very quickly, and every lighter carried a little iron
ist — enough to make her go down when full of
r. When he stood up again, the noisy wash about
tlu- Hermosa sounded far away, almost inaudible; and
already he could make out the shape of land about
the harbor entrance. This was a desperate affair, and
he was a good swimmer. A mile was nothing to him,
and he knew of an easy place for landing just below
the earthworks of the old abandoned fort. It occurred
to him with a peculiar fascination that this fort was a
good place in which to sleep the day through after so
many sleepless nights.

With one blow of the tiller he unshipped for the pur-
pose he knocked the plug out, but did not take the
trouble to lower the sail. He felt the water welling
up heavily about his legs before he leaped onto the
taffrail. There, upright and motionless, in his shirt
and trousers only, he stood waiting. When he felt
her settle, he sprang far away with a mighty plash.

At once he turned his head. The gloomy, clouded
dawn from behind the mountains showed him on the
smooth waters the upper corner of the sail, a dark,
wet triangle of canvas waving slightly to and fro. He
saw it vanish, as if jerked under, and then struck out
for the shore.

PART III
The Light-House

T^VIRECTLY the cargo-boat had slipped away from
JLx the wharf and got lost in the darkness of the har-
bor, the Europeans of Sulaco separated, to prepare for
the coming of the Monterist regime, which was ap-
proaching Sulaco from the mountains as well as from
the sea.

This bit of manual work in loading the silver was
their last concerted action. It ended the three days
of danger, during which, according to the newspaper
press of Europe, their energy had preserved the town
from the calamities of popular disorder. At the shore
end of the jetty Captain Mitchell said good-night and
turned back. His intention was to walk the planks
of the wharf till the steamer from Esmeralda turned
up. The engineers of the railway staff, collecting their
Basque and Italian workmen, marched them away to
the railway-yards, leaving the custom-house, so well de-
fended on the first day of the riot, standing open to the
four winds of heaven. Their men had conducted them-
selves bravely and faithfully during the famous "three
days" of Sulaco. In a great part this faithfulness and
that courage had been exercised in self-defence rather
than in the cause of those material interests to which
Charles Gould had pinned his faith. Among the cries
of the mob, not the least loud had been the cry of
" Death to foreigners!" It was, indeed, a lucky circum-

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

stance for Sulaco that the relations of those imported
workmen with the people of the country had been
uniformly bad from the first.

Dr. Monygham, going to the door of Viola's kitchen,
observed this retreat marking the end of the foreign
interference, this withdrawal of the army of material
progress from the field of Costaguana revolutions.

Algarroba torches, carried on the outskirts of the
moving body, sent their penetrating aroma into his
nostrils. Their light, sweeping along the front of
the house, made the letters of the inscription, " Albergo
d'ltalia Una," leap out black from end to end of the
long wall. His eyes blinked in the clear blaze. Sev-
eral young men, mostly fair and tall, shepherding this
mob of dark bronzed heads surmounted by the glint
of slanting rifle-barrels, nodded to him familiarly as
they went by. The doctor was a well-known character.
Some of them wondered what he was doing there.
Then, on the flank of their workmen, they tramped on,
following the line of rails.

"Withdrawing your people from the harbor?" said
the doctor, addressing himself to the chief-engineer of
the railway, who had accompanied Charles Gould so
far on his way to the town, walking by the side of the
horse, with his hand on the saddle-bow. They had
stopped just outside the open door to let the workmen
cross the road.

"As quick as I can. We are not a political faction,"
answered the engineer, meaningly. "And we are not
going to give our new rulers a handle against the rail-
way. You approve me, Gould?"

"Absolutely," said Charles Gould's impassive voice,
342

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

up -in. I outside the dim parallelogram of light fall-
ing on, the road through the open door.

With Sotillo < from one side, and Pedro

Montero from the other, the engineer-in-chiefs only
anxiety now was to avoid a collision with either.
Sulaco, for him, was a railway station, a terminus,
workshops, a great accumulation of stores. As
against the mob the railway defended its property,
but politically the railway was neutral. He was a
brave man, and in that spirit of neutrality he had
carried proposals of truce to the self-appointed chiefs
of the popular party, the deputies Fuentes and Ga-
macho. Bullets were still flying about when he had
crossed the plaza on that mission, waving above his
head a white napkin belonging to the table-linen of the
Amarilla Club.

He was rather proud of this exploit; and reflecting
that the doctor, busy all day with the wounded in the
patio of the Casa Gould, had not had time to hear the
news, he began a succinct narrative. He had com-
municated to them the intelligence from the construc-
tion-camp as to Pedro Montero. The brother of the
•rious general, he had assured them, could be ex-
pected at Sulaco at any time now. This news (as he
anticipated), when shouted out of the window by
Sefior Gamacho, induced a rush of the mob along the
Campo road towards Rincon. The two deputies, also,
after shaking hands with him effusively, mounted and
galloped off to meet the great man.

" I have misled them a little as to the time," the
chief-engineer confessed. " However hard he rides, he
can scarcely get here before the morning. But my

343

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

object is attained. I've secured several hours' peace
for the losing party. But I did not tell them anything
about Sotillo, for fear they would take it into their
heads to try to get hold of the harbor again, either
to oppose him or welcome him — there's no saying
which. There was Gould's silver, on which rests the
remnant of our hopes. Decoud's retreat had to be
thought of, too. I think the railway has done pretty
well by its friends without compromising itself hope-
lessly. Now the parties must be left to themselves.'

"Costaguana for the Costaguaneros," interjected
the doctor, sardonically. "It is a fine country, and
they have raised a fine crop of hates, vengeance, mur-
der, and rapine — those sons of the country."

"Well, I am one of them," Charles Gould's voice
sounded, calmly, "and I must be going on to see to my
own crop of trouble. My wife has driven straight on,
doctor?"

"Yes. All was quiet on this side. Mrs. Gould has
taken the two girls with her."

Charles Gould rode on and the engineer-in-chief fol-
lowed the doctor in-doors.

"That man is calmness personified," he said, ap-
preciatively, dropping on a bench and stretching his
well-shaped legs, in cycling-stockings, nearly across
the door- way. "He must be extremely sure of him-
self."

"If that's all he is sure of, then he is sure of noth-l
ing," said the doctor. He had perched himself again
on the end of the table. He nursed his cheek in the
palm of one hand, while the other sustained the elbow.
"It is the last thing a man ought to be sure of." Thej

344

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

candle, half consumed ami burning dimly with a long
. lighted up from below his inclined face, whose
expression, affected by the drawn-in cicatrices in the
•hecks, had something vaguely unnatural, an exag-
gerated remorseful bitterness. As he sat there he had
the air of meditating upon sinister things. The en-
gineer-in-chief gazed at him for a time before he pro-
•Ited.

"I really don't see that. For me there seems to be
nothing else. However — "

He was a wise man, but he could not quite conceal
his contempt for that sort of paradox; in fact, Dr.
Monygham was not liked by the Europeans of Sulaco.
His outward aspect of an outcast, which he preserved
even in Mrs. Gould's drawing-room, provoked unfa-
vorable criticism. There could be no doubt of his in-
telligence; and, as he had lived for over twenty years
in the country, the pessimism of his outlook could not
be altogether ignored. But, instinctively, in self-
defence of their activities and hopes, his hearers put it
to the account of some hidden imperfection in the
man's character. It was known that many years be-
fore, when quite young, he had been made by Guzman
Bento chief medical officer of the army. Not one of
the Europeans then in the service of Costaguana had
been so much liked and trusted by the fierce old dic-
tator.

Afterwards his story was not so clear. It lost itself
among the innumerable tales of conspiracies and plots
against the tyrant, as a stream is lost in an arid belt
of sandy country before it emerges, diminished and
troubled, perhaps, on the other side. He made no

345

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

secret of it that he had lived for years in the wildest
parts of the republic, wandering with almost unknown
Indian tribes in the great forests of the far interior,
where the great rivers have their sources. But it
was mere aimless wandering; he had written nothing,
collected nothing, brought nothing for science out of
the twilight of the forests, which seemed to cling to his
battered personality limping about Sulaco, where it
had drifted in casually only to get stranded on the
shores of the sea.

It was also known that he had lived in a state of
destitution till the arrival of the Goulds from Europe.
Don Carlos and Senora Emilia had taken up the mad
English doctor when it became apparent that for all
his savage independence he could be tamed by kind-
ness. Perhaps it was only hunger that had tamed him.
In years gone by he had certainly been acquainted
with Charles Gould's father, in Sta. Marta; and now,
no matter what were the dark passages of his history,
as the medical officer of the San Tome mine he became
a recognized personality. He was recognized, but not
unreservedly accepted. So much defiant eccentricity
and such an outspoken scorn for mankind seemed
point to mere recklessness of judgment, the bravado
guilt. Besides, since he had become again of some
account, vague whispers had been heard that years ago,
when fallen into disgrace and thrown into prison by
Guzman Bento, at the time of the so-called Great
Conspiracy, he had betrayed some of his best friends
among the conspirators. Nobody pretended to be-i
lieve that whisper; the whole story of the Great Con-j
spiracy was hopelessly involved and obscure; it is

346

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

admitted in Costaguana that there never had been
a conspiracy except in the diseased imagination of the
tyrant, and, therefore, nothing and no one to betray;
though the most distinguished Costaguaneros had been
imprisoned and executed upon that accusation. The
procedure had dragged on for years, decimating the
better 'class like a pestilence. The mere expression of
sorrow for the fate of executed kinsmen had been pun-
ished with death. Don Jose* Avellanos was, perhaps,
the only one living who knew the whole story of those
unspeakable cruelties. He had suffered from them
himself; and he, with a shrug of the shoulders and a
nervous, jerky gesture of the arm, was wont to put
away from him, as it were, every allusion to it. But
whatever the reason, Dr. Monygham, a personage in
the administration of the Gould Concession, treated
with reverent awe by the miners and indulged in his
peculiarities by Mrs. Gould, remained somehow outside
the pale.

It was not from any liking for the doctor that the
engineer-in-chief had lingered in the inn upon the
plain. He liked old Viola much better. He had come
to look upon the Albcrgo d'ltalia Una as a dependence
of the railway. Many of his subordinates had their
quarters there. Mrs. Gould's interest in the family
conferred upon it a sort of distinction. The engineer-
in-chief, with an army of workers under his orders, ap-
preciated the moral influence of the old Garibaldino
upon his countrymen. His austere old - world re-
publicanism had a severe, soldier-like standard of faith-
fulness and duty, as if the world were a battle-field
where men had to fight for the sake of universal love
u 347

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

and brotherhood instead of a more or less large share
of booty.

"Poor old chap!" he said, after he had heard the
doctor's account of Teresa. " He'll never be able to
keep the place going by himself. I shall be sorry."

"He's quite alone up there," grunted Dr. Monyg-
ham, with a toss of his heavy head towards the nar-
row staircase. "Every living soul has cleared out,
and Mrs. Gould took the girls away just now. It
might not be oversafe for them out here, before very
long. Of course, as a doctor I can do nothing more
here, but she has asked me to stay with old Viola, and
as I have no horse to get back to the mine, where I
ought to be, I made no difficulty to stay. They can
do without me in the town."

"I have a good mind to remain with you, doctor,
till we see whether anything happens to-night at the
harbor," declared the engineer-in-chief. "He must
not be molested by Sotillo's soldiery, who may push
on as far as this at once. Sotillo used to be very cord-
ial to me at the Goulds' and at the club. How that
man '11 ever dare to look any of his friends here in the
face I can't imagine."

" He'll no doubt begin by shooting some of them, to
get over the first awkwardness," said the doctor.
"Nothing in this country serves better your military
man who has changed sides than a few summary exe-
cutions." He spoke with a gloomy positiveness that
left no room for protest. The engineer-in-chief did not
attempt any. He simply nodded several times, regret-
fully, then said:

" I think we shall be able to mount you in the morn-
348

NOstromo: A Talc ot* the Seaboard

ing, doctor. Our peons have recoverd some of our
stampeded horses. By riding hard and taking a wide
circuit by Los Ilatos and along the edge of the forest,
clear of Rincon altogether, you may hope to reach the
San Tome" bridge without being interfered with. The
mine is just now, to my mind, the safest place for any-
body at all compromised. I only wish the railway
•was as difficult to touch."

"Am I compromised?" Dr. Monygham brought out
slowly, after a short silence.

"The whole Gould Concession is compromised. It
could not have remained forever outside the political
life of the country — if those convulsions may be called
life. The thing is — can it be touched ? The moment
was bound to come when neutrality would become
impossible, and Charles Gould understood this well.
I believe he is prepared for every extremity. A man
of his sort has never contemplated remaining indefi-
nitely at the mercy of ignorance and corruption. It
was like being a prisoner in a cavern of banditti with
the price of your ransom in your pocket and buying
your life from day to day. Your mere safety, not your
liberty, mind, doctor. I know what I am talking
about. The image at which you shrug your shoulders
is perfectly correct; especially if you conceive such a
prisoner endowed with the power of replenishing his
pocket by means as remote from the faculties of his
captors as if they were magic. You must have under-
stood that as well as I do, doctor. He was in the po-
sition of the goose with the golden eggs. I broached
this matter to him as far back as Sir John's visit here.
The prisoner of stupid and greedy banditti is always at

349

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

the mercy of the first imbecile ruffian, who may blow
out his brains in a fit of temper or for some prospect
of an immediate big haul. The tale of killing the
goose with the golden eggs has not been evolved for
nothing out of the wisdom of mankind. It is a story
that will never grow old. That is why Charles Gould
in his deep, dumb way has countenanced the Ribierist
mandate, the first public act that promised him safety
on other than venal grounds. Ribierism has failed, as
everything merely rational fails in this country. But
Gould remains logieal in wishing to save this big lot of
silver. Decoud's plan of a counter-revolution may
be practicable or not, it may have a chance or it may
not have a chance. With all my experience of this
revolutionary continent I can hardly yet look at their
methods seriously. Decoud has been reading to us
his draught of a proclamation and talking very well
for two hours about his plan of action. He had argu-
ments which should have appeared solid enough if we,
members of old, stable political and national organi-
zations, were not startled by the mere idea of a new
state evolved, like this, out of the head of a scofling
young man fleeing for his life, with a proclamation in
his pocket, to a rough, jeering, half-bred swashbuckler
who in this part of the world is called a general. It
sounds like a comic fairy-tale — and , behold ! it may come
off, because it is true to the very spirit of the country."

"Is the silver gone off, then?" asked the doctor,
moodily.

The chief engineer pulled out his watch.

"By Captain Mitchell's reckoning, and he ought to
know, it has been gone long enough now to be some

350

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

thrrr or four miles outsi-lr the harbor; and, as Mitchell
says, Nostrotno is the sort of seaman to make the host of
ppoftufti!

Here tin- doctor grunted so heavily that the other
changed his tone.

' You have a poor opinion of that move, doctor ?
But why ? Charles Gould has got to play his game
out, though he is not the man to formulate his conduct
even to himself, perhaps, let alone to others. It may
be that the game has been partly suggested to him by
Holroyd; but it accords with his character, too, and
that is why it has been so successful. Haven't they
come to calling him ' El Rev de Sulaco' in Sta. Marta?
A nickname may be the best record of a success.
That's what I call putting the face of a joke upon the
body of a truth. My dear sir, when I first arrived in
Marta I was struck by the way all those journal-
ists, demagogues, members of Congress, and all those
generals and judges cringed before a sleepy-eyed ad-
vocate without practice, simply because he was the
plenipotentiary of the Gould Concession. Sir John,
when he came out, was impressed, too."

"A new state, with that plump dandy, Decoud, for
the first President," mused Dr. Monygham, nursing
his cheek and swinging his legs all the time.

"Upon my word, and why not?" the chief engineer
retorted, in an unexpectedly earnest and confidential
voice. It was as if something subtle in the air of Cos-
taguana had inoculated him with the local faith in
" jironunciamientos." All at once he began to talk like
an expert revolutionist of the instrument ready to
hand in the intact army at Cayla, which could be

35'

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

brought back in a few days to Sulaco, if only Decoud
managed to make his way at once down the coast.
For the military chief there was Barrios, who had
nothing but a bullet to expect from Montero, his
former professional rival and bitter enemy. Barrios's
concurrence was assured. As to his army, it had noth-
ing to expect from Montero either; not even a month's
pay. From that point of view the existence of the
treasure was of enormous importance. The mere
knowledge that it had been saved from the Monterists
would be a strong inducement for the Cayta troops to
embrace the cause of the new state.

The doctor turned round and contemplated his
companion for some time.

"This Decoud, I see, is a persuasive young beggar,"
he remarked at last. "And, pray, is it for this, then,
that Charles Gould has let the whole lot of ingots go
out to sea in charge of that Nostromo?"

"Charles Gould," said the engineer-in-chief, "has
said no more about his motive than usual. You know
he doesn't talk. But we all here know his motive, and
he has only one — the safety of the San Tom£ mine with
the preservation of the Gould Concession in the spirit
of his compact with Holroyd. Holroyd is another un-
common man. They understand each other's imagi-
native side. One is thirty, the other nearly sixty, and
they have been made for each other. To be a million-
aire, and such a millionaire as Holroyd, is like being
eternally young. The audacity of youth reckons upon
what it fancies an unlimited time at its . disposal ; but
a millionaire has unlimited means in his hand — which
i* better. One's time on earth is an uncertain quan-

352

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

but about the long reach of millions there is no
doubt. The introduction of a pure form of Christianity
into this continent is a dream for a youthful enthusiast,
and I have been trying to explain to you why Holroyd
at fifty-eight is like a man on the threshold of life, and
better, too. He's not a missionary, but the San
Tome" mine holds just that for him. I assure you,
in sober truth, that he could not manage to keep
this out of a strictly business conference upon the
finances of Costaguana he had with Sir John a couple
of years ago. Sir John mentioned it with amazement
in a letter he wrote to me here from San Francisco,
when on his way home. Upon my word, doctor, things
seem to be worth nothing by what they are in them-
selves. I begin to believe that the only solid thing
about them is the spiritual value which every one
discovers in his own form of activity."

"Bah!" interrupted the doctor, without stopping
for an instant the idle swinging movement of his legs.
"Self-flattery. Food for that vanity which makes the
world go round. Meantime, what do you think is go-
ing to happen to the treasure floating about the gulf
with the great capataz and the great politician?"
"Why are you uneasy about it, doctor?"
" I uneasy! And what the devil is it to me? I put
no spiritual value into my desires, or my opinions, or
my actions. They have not enough vastness to give
me room for self-flattery. Look, for instance; I should
certainly have liked to ease the last moments of that
poor woman, and I can't. It's impossible. Have you
met the impossible face to face — or have you, the Napo-
leon of railways, no such word in your dictionary '

354

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

" Is she bound to have a very bad time of it ?" asked
the chief engineer, with humane concern.

Slow, heavy footsteps moved across the planks above
the heavy, hard- wood beams of the kitchen. Then
down the narrow opening of the staircase made in the
thickness of the wall, and narrow enough to be defended
by one man against twenty, enemies, came the mur-
mur of two voices, one faint and broken, the other deep
and gentle answering it, and in its graver tone covering
the weaker sound.

The two men remained still and silent till the mur-
murs ceased; then the doctor shrugged his shoulders
and muttered:

"Yes, she's bound to. And I could do nothing if
I went up now."

A long period of silence above and below ensued.

"I fancy," began the engineer, in a subdued voice,
"that you mistrust Captain Mitchell's capataz."

"Mistrust him," muttered the doctor, through his
teeth. "I believe him capable of anything; even of
the most absurd fidelity. I am the last person he
spoke to before he left the wharf, you know. The poor
woman up there wanted to see him and I let him go
up to her. The dying must not be contradicted, you
know. She seemed then fairly calm and resigned, but
the scoundrel in those ten minutes or so has done or
said something which seems to have driven her into
despair. You know," went on the doctor, hesitatingly,
"women are so very unaccountable, in every position
and at all times of life, that I thought sometimes she
was, in a way, don't you see? in love with him — the
capataz. The rascal has his own charm indubitably, or

354

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

lie would not have made the conquest of all the populace
of the town. No, no; I am not absurd. I may have
given a wrong name to some strong sentiment for him
on her part — to an unreasonable and simple attitude a
woman is apt to take up emotionally towards a man.
She used to abuse him to me frequently, which, of
course, is not inconsistent with my idea. Not at all.
It looked to me as if she were always thinking of him.
He was something important in her life. You know
I have seen a lot of those people. Whenever I came
down from the mine Mrs. Gould used to ask me to keep
my eye on them. She likes Italians; she has lived a
long time in Italy, I believe, and she took a special
fancy to that old Garibaldino. A remarkable chap
enough. A rugged and dreamy character living in the
republicanism of his young days as if in a cloud. He
has encouraged much of the capataz's confounded
nonsense — the high-strung, exalted old beggar."

"What sort of nonsense?" wondered the chief en-
gineer. "I found the capataz always a very shrewd
and sensible fellow, absolutely fearless, and remarkably
useful. A perfect handy man. Sir John was greatly
impressed by his resourcefulness and attention when
he made that overland journey from Sta. Mart a.
Later on, as you might have heard, he rendered us a
service by disclosing to the then chief of police the
presence in the town of some professional thieves who
came from a distance to wreck and rob our monthly
pay-train. He has certainly organized the lighterage
service of the harbor for the O.S.N. Company with
great ability. He knows how to make himself obevr.l.
foreigner though he is. It is true that the cargadores

355

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

are strangers here, too, for the most part — immigrants,
Islenos."

"His prestige is his fortune," muttered the doctor,
sourly.

"The man has proved his trustworthiness up to the
hilt on innumerable occasions and in all sorts of ways,"
argued the engineer. "When this question of the
silver arose, Captain Mitchell naturally was very warm-
ly of the opinion that his capataz was the only man
fit for the trust. As a sailor, of course, I suppose so.
But as a man, don't you know, Gould, Decoud, and
myself judged that it didn't matter in the least who
went. Any boatman would have done just as well.
Pray, what could a thief do with such a lot of ingots?
If he ran off with them he would have in the end to
land somewhere, and how could he conceal his cargo
from the knowledge of the people ashore. We dis-
missed that consideration from our minds. More-
over, Decoud was going. There have been occasions
when the capataz has been more implicitly trusted."

"He took a slightly different view," the doctor said.
"I heard him declare in this very room that it would
be the most desperate affair of his life. He made a
sort of verbal will here in my hearing, appointing old
Viola his executor; and, by Jove! do you know, he — he's
not grown rich by his fidelity to you good people of the
railway and the harbor. I suppose he obtains some —
how do you say that — some spiritual value for his
labors, or else I don't know why the devil he should be
faithful to you, Gould, Mitchell, or anybody else. He
knows this country well. He knows, for instance, that
Gamacho, the deputy from Javira, has been nothing

356

Nostromo; A Tale of the Seaboard

else but a " tramposo " of the commonest sort, a petty
peddler of the Campo, till he managed to get enough
goods on credit from Anzani to open a little store in
the wilds and get himself elected by the drunken mozos
that hang about the Estancias and the poorest sort of
rancheros, who were in his debt. And Gamacho, who
to-morrow will be probably one of our high officials, is a
stranger too, an Isleflo. He might have been a car-
gador on the O.S.N. wharf had he not (the posadero
of Rincon is ready to swear it) murdered a peddler in
the woods and stolen his pack to begin life on. And
do you think that Gamacho then would have ever
become a hero with the democracy of this place like
our capataz ? Of course not. He isn't half the
man. No ; decidedly, I think that Nostromo is a
fool."

The doctor's talk was distasteful to the builder of
railways. "It is impossible to argue that point," he
said, philosophically. " Each man has his gifts. You
should have heard Gamacho haranguing his friends
in the street. He has a howling voice and he shouted
like mad, lifting his clinched fist right above his head
and throwing his body half out of the window. At
every pause the rabble below yelled, "Down with the
oligarchs! Viva la Libertad!" Fuentes, inside, looked
extremely miserable. You know he is the brother of
Jorge Fuentes, who has been Minister of the Interior
for six months or so some few years back. Of course,
he has no conscience, but he's a man of birth ard edu-
cation; at one time the director of the customs of
Cayta. That idiot -brute Gamacho fastened himself
upon him with his following of the lowest rabble. His

357

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

sickly fear of that ruffian was the most rejoicing sight
imaginable."

He got up and went to the door to look out towards
the harbor. "All quiet," he said. "I wonder if
Sotillo really means to turn up here?"

CAPTAIN MITCHELL, pacing the wharf, was
v_x asking himself the same question. There was
always the doubt whether the warning of the Esmer-
alda telegraphist — a fragmentary and interrupted
message — had been properly understood. However,
the good man had made up his mind not to go to bed
till daylight, if even then. He imagined himself to
have rendered an enormous service to Charles Gould.
When he thought of the saved silver he rubbed his
hands together with satisfaction. In his simple way
he was proud at being a party to this extremely clever
expedient. It was he who had given it a practical
shape by suggesting the possibility of intercepting at
sea the north-bound steamer. And it was advanta-
geous to his company, too, which would have lost a val-
uable freight if the treasure had been left ashore to be
confiscated. The pleasure of disappointing the Mon-
terists was also very great. Authoritative by tem-
perament and the long habit of command, Captain
Mitchell was no democrat. He even went so far as
to profess a contempt for parliamentarism itself.
"His Excellency Don Vincente Ribiera," he used to
say, "whom I and that fellow of mine, Nostromo, had
the honor, sir, and the pleasure of saving from a cruel
death, deferred too much to his Congress. It was a
mistake — a distinct mistake, sir."

359

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

The guileless old seaman superintending the O.S.N.
service imagined that the last three days had exhausted
every startling surprise the political life of Costaguana
could offer. He used to confess afterwards that the
events which followed surpassed his imagination. To
begin with, Sulaco (because of the seizure of the cables
and the disorganization of the steam service) remained
for a whole fortnight cut off from the rest of the world
like a besieged city.

"One would not have believed it possible. But so
it was, sir. A full fortnight."

The account of the extraordinary things that hap-
pened during that time and the powerful emotions
he experienced acquired a wearisome impressiveness
from the pompous manner of his personal narrative.
He opened it always by assuring his hearer that he was
"in the thick of things from first to last." Then he
would begin by describing the getting away of the
silver and his natural anxiety lest " his fellow " in charge
of the lighter should make some mistake. Apart from
the loss of so much precious metal, the life of Senor
Martin Decoud, an agreeable, wealthy, and well-in-
formed young gentleman, would have been jeopardized
through his falling into the hands of his political ene-
mies. Captain Mitchell also admitted that in his sol-
itary vigil on the wharf he had felt a certain measure
of concern for the future of the whole country.

"A feeling, sir," he explained, " perfectly comprehen-
sible in a man properly grateful for the many kindnesses
received from the best families of merchants and other
native gentlemen of independent means who, barely
saved by us from the excesses of the mob, seemed to

360

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

my miml'* eye destined to become the prey in person
and fortune of the native soldiery, which, as is well
known, behave with regrettable barbarity to the in-
habitants during their rivil commotions. And then,
sir, there were the Goulds, for both of whom, man and
wife, I could not but entertain the warmest feelings,
deserved by their hospitality and kindness. I felt,
too, the dangers of the gentlemen of the AmariHa
Club, who had made me honorary member and had
treated me with uniform regard and civility both in
my capacity of consular agent and as superintendent
of an important steam service. Miss Antonia Avella-

the most beautiful and accomplished young lady
whom it had ever been my privilege to speak to, was
not a little in my mind, I confess. How the interests
of my company would be affected by the impending
change of officials claimed a large share of my atten-
tion. too. In short, sir, I was extremely anxious and
very tired, as you may suppose, by the exciting and
memorable events in which I had taken my little part.
The company's building containing my residence was
within five minutes' walk, with the attraction of some
supper and of my hammock (I always take my nightly

m a hammock, as the most suitable to the climate) ;
but somehow, sir, though evidently I could do nothing
for any one by remaining about, I could not tear myself
away from that wharf, where the fatigue made me stum-
ble painfully at times. The night was excessively
dark — the darkest I remember in my life — so that I
began to think that the arrival of the transport from
•emerald a could not possibly take place before day-
light, owing to the difficulty of navigating the gulf.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

The mosquitos bit like fury. We have been infested
here with mosquitos before the late improvements —
a peculiar harbor brand, sir, renowned for its ferocity.
They were like a cloud about my head, and I shouldn't
wonder that but for their attacks I would have dozed
off as I walked up and down and got a heavy fall. I
kept on smoking cigar after cigar, more to protect my-
self from being eaten up alive than from any real relish
for the weed. Then, sir, when perhaps for the twen-
tieth time I was approaching my watch to the lighted
end in order to see the time, and observing with surprisi
that it wanted yet ten minutes to midnight, I heard the
plash of a ship's propeller, an unmistakable sound to a
sailor's ear on such a calm night. It was faint indeed,
because they were advancing with precaution and dead
slow, both on account of the darkness and from their
desire of not revealing too soon their presence — a
very unnecessary care, because, I verily believe, in all
the enormous extent of this harbor I was the only living
soul about. Even the usual staff of watchmen and
others had been absent from their posts for several
nights owing to the disturbances. I stood stock-still
after dropping and stamping out my cigar — a circum-
stance highly agreeable, I should think, to the mos-
quitos, if I may judge from the state of my face next
morning. But that was a trifling inconvenience in
comparison with the brutal proceedings I became vic-
tim of on the part of Sotillo. Something utterly in-
conceivable, sir. More like the proceedings of a
maniac than the action of a sane man, however lost
to all sense of honor and decency. But Sotillo was
furious at the failure of his thievish scheme."

362

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

In this Captain Mitchell was right. Sotillo was in-
deed infuriated. Captain Mitchell, however, had not
been arrested at once; a vivid curiosity induced him
to remain on the wharf (which is nearly two hundred
and fifty yards long) to see, or rather hear, the whole
process of disembarkation. Concealed by the railway-
truck used for silver, which had been run back after-
wards to the shore end of the jetty, Captain Mitchell
saw the small detachment thrown forward and pass by,
taking different directions upon the plain. Meantime
the troops were being landed and formed into a col-
umn whose head crept up gradually so close to him
that he made it out barring nea'rly the whole width of
the wharf only a very few yards from him. Then the
low, shuffling, murmuring, clinking sounds ceased, and
the whole mass remained for about an hour motion-
less and silent, awaiting the return of the scouts. On
land nothing was to be heard except the deep baying
of the mastiffs at the railway-yards, answered by the
faint barking of the curs infesting the outer limits of
the town. A detached knot of dark shapes stood in
front of the head of the column.

Presently the picket at the end of the wharf began
to challenge in undertones single figures approaching
from the plain. Those messengers sent back from the
scouting-parties flung to their comrades brief sentences
and passed on rapidly, becoming lost in the great
motionless mass, to make their report to the staff. It
occurred to Captain Mitchell that his position could
become disagreeable, and perhaps dangerous, when,
suddenly, at the head of the jetty, there was a shout
of command, a btigle-call, followed by a stir and a
•« 363

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

rattling of arms and a murmuring noise that ran right
up the column. Near by a loud voice directed hur-
riedly, "Push that railway-car out of the way." At
the rush of bare feet to execute the order, Captain
Mitchell skipped back a pace or two ; the car, suddenly
impelled by many hands, flew away from him along
the rails; and before lie knew what had happened he
found himself surrounded and seized, by his arms and
the collar of his coat.

"We have caught a man hiding here, mi teniente!"
cried one of his captors.

" Hold him on one side till the rear-guard comes
along," answered the voice. The whole column stream-
ed past Captain Mitchell at a run, the thundering noise
of their feet dying away suddenly on the shore. His
captors held him tightly, disregarding his declaration
that he was an Englishman, and his loud demands to
be taken at once before their commanding officer.
Finally he lapsed into dignified silence. With a hol-
low rumble of wheels on the planks, a couple of field-
guns dragged by hand rolled by. Then, after a small
body of men had marched past, escorting four or five
figures which walked in advance with a jingle of steel
scabbards, he felt a tug at his arms and was ordered
to come along. During the passage from the wharf to
the custom-house it is to be feared that Captain Mit-
chell was subjected to certain indignities at the hands
of the soldiers, such as jerks, thumps on the neck,
forcible application of the butt of a rifle to the small
of his back. Their ideas of speed were not in accord with
his notion of his dignity. He became flustered, flushed,
and helpless. It was a,s if the world were coming to an end,

364

tromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

The long building was surrounded by troops, which
were already piling arms by companies ami preparing
f|> pass the night lying on the ground in their pon>
with their sarks under their heads. ('<>rp.>ruls moved
with swinging lantenis, posting sentries all round the
walls wherever there was a door or an opening. So-
tillo was taking his measures to protect his conquest
as if it had indeed contained the treasure. His desire
W make his fortune at one audacious stroke of genius
•kd overmastered his reasoning faculties. He would
not believe in the possibility of failure. The mere hint
of such a thing made his brain reel with rage. Every
circumstance pointing to it appeared incredible. The
ftatement of Hirsch, which was so absolutely fatal to
his hopes, could by no means be admitted. It is true,

that Hirsch "s story had been told so incoherently,
with such excessive signs of distraction, that it really
looked improbable. It was extremely difficult, as the
•lying is, to make head or tail of it. On the bridge
of the steamer, directly after his rescue, Sotillo and his
officers, in their impatience and excitement, would not
•ve the wretched man time to collect such few wits as

lined to him. He ought to have been quieted,
soothed, and reassured; whereas he had been roughly
handled, cuffed, shaken, and addressed in menacing
•ones. His struggles, his wriggles, his attempts to get
down on his knees, followed by the most violent efforts

reak away, as if he meant incontinently to jump
overboard; his shrieks and shrinkings and cowering
wild glances had filled them first with amazement
then with a doubt of his genuineness, as men are wont
•b suspect the sincerity of every great passion. His

365

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Spanish, too, became so mixed up with German that the
better half of his statements remained incomprehensible.
He tried to propitiate them by calling them hocku'ohl-
geboren herren, which in itself sounded suspicious.
When admonished sternly not to trifle he repeated his
entreaties and protestations of loyalty and innocence
again in German, obstinately, because he was not aware
in what language he was speaking. His identity, of
course, was perfectly known as an inhabitant of Es-
meralda, but this made the matter no clearer. As he
kept on forgetting Decoud's name, mixing him up with
several other people he had seen in the Casa Gould, it
looked as if they all had been in the lighter together;
and for a moment Sotillo thought that he had drowned
every prominent Ribierist of Sulaco. The improb-
ability of such a thing threw a doubt upon the whole
statement. Hirsch was either mad or playing a part —
pretending fear and distraction on the spur of the mo-
ment to cover the truth. Sotillo's rapacity, excited
to the highest pitch by the prospect of an immense
booty, could believe in nothing adverse. This Jew
might have been very much frightened by the accident,
but he knew where the silver was concealed, and had
invented this story, with his Jewish cunning, to put
him entirely off the track as to what had been done.
Sotillo had taken up his quarters on the upper floor
in a vast apartment with heavy black beams. But
there was no ceiling, and the eye lost itself in the dark-
ness under the high pitch of the roof. The thick shut-
ters stood open. On a long table could be seen a large
inkstand, some stumpy, inky quill pens, and two
square wooden boxes, each holding half a hundred-

366

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

weight of sand. Sheets of gr rse, official paper

bestrewed the floor. It must have been a room oc-
cupied by some higher official of the customs, because a
•qge leathern arm-chair stood behind the table, with
other high-backed chairs scattered about. A net ham-
mock was swung under one of the beams — for the oflfi-
gfal's afternoon siesta, no doubt. A couple of candles
stuck into tall iron candlesticks gave a dim, reddish
•ght. The colonel's hat, sword, and revolver lay l>e-
•reen them, and a couple of his more trusty officers
lounged gloomily against the table. The colonel
threw himself into the arm-chair, and a big negro with
a sergeant's stripes on his ragged sleeve, kneeling down,
pulled off his boots. Sotillo's ebony mustache con-
pasted violently with the livid coloring of his cheeks.
mas eyes were sombre and as if sunk very far into his
Lad. He seemed exhausted by his perplexities, lan-
guid with disappointment; but when the sentry on the
landing thrust his head in to announce the arrival of a
prisoner he revived at once.

" Let him be brought in," he shouted, fiercely.

The door flew open and Captain Mitchell, bare-
Haded, his waistcoat open, the bow of his tie under
his ear, was hustled into the room.

Sotillo recognized him at once. He could not have
hoped for a more precious capture. Here was a man who
could tell him, if he chose, everything he wished to know ;
and, directly, the problem of how best to make him talk
to the point presented itself to his mind. The resent-
ment of a foreign nation had no terrors for Sotillo.
The might of the whole armed Europe would not have
protected Captain Mitchell from insults and ill-usage so

367

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

well as the quick reflection of Sotillo that this was an I
Englishman, who would most likely turn obstinate
under bad treatment and become quite unmanageable.
At all events, the colonel smoothed the scowl on his
brow.

"What! The excellent Senor Mitchell!" he cried, j.
in affected dismay. The pretended anger of his swift
advance and of his shout, "Release the caballero
at once," was so effective that the astounded soldiers
positively sprang away from their prisoner. Thus
suddenly deprived of forcible support, Captain Mitchell
reeled as though about to fall. Sotillo took him fa-
miliarly under the arm, led him to a chair, waved his
hand at the room. "Go out, all of you," he commanded.

When they had been left alone he stood looking
down, irresolute and silent, waiting till Captain Mitchell
had recovered his power of speech.

Here in his very grasp was one of the men concerned
in the removal of the silver. Sotillo's temperam
was of that sort that he experienced an ardent desi:
to beat him; just as formerly, when negotiating wit!
difficulty a loan from the cautious Anzani, his fingers
always itched to take the shopkeeper by the throat.
As to Captain Mitchell, the suddenness, unexpectedness,
and general inconceivableness of this experience had
confused his thoughts. Moreover, he was physically
out of breath.

"I've been knocked down three times between this
and the wharf," he gasped out, at last. "Somebody
shall be made to pay for this. " He had certainly stum-
bled more than once, and had been dragged along for
some distance before he could regain his stride. With

368

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

ecovered breath his indignation seemed to madden
him. He jumped up, crimson, all his white hair bristling,
his eyes glaring vengefully, and shook violently the
Haj is of Ins ruined waistcoat before the disconcerted
Sotillo. "Look! Those uniformed thieves of yours
down-stairs have robbed me of my watch."

The old sailor's aspect was very threatening. So-
tillo saw himself cut off from the table on which his
sabre and revolver were lying.

" I demand restitution and apologies," Mitchell thun-
dered at him, (mite beside himself. "From you!
,Yes, from you!"

For the space of a second or so the colonel stood with
a perfectly stony expression of face; then, as Captain
Mitchell flung out an arm towards the table as if to
snatch up the revolver, Sotillo, with a yell of alarm,
bounded to the door and was gone in a flash, slamming
it after him. Surprise calmed Captain Mitchell's
fury. Behind the closed door Sotillo shouted on the
landing, and there was a great tumult of feet on the
wooden staircase.

"Disarm him! Bind him!" the colonel could be
heard vociferating.

Captain Mitchell had just the time to glance once
at the windows, with three perpendicular bars of iron
each and some twenty feet from the ground, as he
well knew, before the door flew open and the rush
upon him took place. In an incredibly short time he
found himself bound with many turns of a hide rope
to a high-backed chair, so that his head alone remained
free. Not till then did Sotillo, who had been leaning
in the doorway, trembling visibly, venture again with-

369

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard \\

in. The soldiers, picking up from the floor the rifles
they had dropped to grapple with the prisoner, filed
out of the room. The officers remained leaning on
their swords and looking on.

" The watch ! The watch !" raved the colonel, pacing
to and fro like a tiger in a cage. " Give me that man's
watch."

It was true that when searched for arms in the
hall down -stairs, before being taken into Sotillo's
presence, Captain Mitchell had been relieved of his
watch and chain ; but at the colonel's clamor it was prc
duced quickly enough, a corporal bringing it up, carrit
carefully in the palms of his joined hands. Sotilk
snatched it and pushed the clinched fist from which it
dangled close to Captain Mitchell's face.

"Now, then; you arrogant Englishman! You dai
to call the soldiers of the army thieves! Behold yoi
watch."

He flourished his fist as if aiming blows at th«
prisoner's nose. Captain Mitchell, helpless as a swathe
infant, looked anxiously at the sixty -guinea golc
half - chronometer presented to him years ago by
committee of underwriters for saving a ship from tote
loss by fire. Sotillo, too, seemed to perceive its val-
uable appearance. He became silent suddenly, st
ped aside to the table and began a careful examim
tion in the light of the candles. He had never
anything so fine. His officers closed in and cranec
their necks behind his back.

He became so interested that for an instant he for
got his precious prisoner. There is always something
childish in the rapacity of the passionate, clear-mindi

37°

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

southern races, wanting in the misty idealism of the
irrners, who at the smallest encouragement drram
of nothing less than the conquest of the earth. Sotillo
was fond of jewels, gold trinkets, of personal adorn-
ment. After a moment he turned about, and with a
mantling gesture made all his officers fall hark,
lid down the watch on the table, then, negligent-
ly, pushed his hat over it.

" Ha!" he began, going up very close to the chair.
u dare call my valiant soldiers of the Esmerakla
regiment thieves ? You dare? What impudence! You
foreigners come here to rob our country of its wealth.
You never have enough! Your audacity knows no
bounds."

He looked towards the officers, among whom there
was an approving murmur. The old major was
moved to declare:

"Si, mi coronel. They are all traitors."

"I shall say nothing," continued Sotillo, fixing the
motionless and powerless Mitchell with an angry but
uneasy stare. " I shall say nothing of your treacher-
ous attempt to get possession of my revolver to shoot
me while I was trying to treat you with a consideration
you did not deserve. You have forfeited your life.
Your only hope is in my clemency."

He watched for the effect of his words, but there was
no obvious sign of fear on Captain Mitchell's face.
Hi white hair was full of dust, which covered also the
rest of his helpless person. As if he had heard nothing,
he twitched an eyebrow to get rid of a bit of straw
which hung among the hairs.

Sotillo advanced one leg and put his arms akimbo.
37'

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"It is you, Mitchell," he said, emphatically, "who
are the thief, not my soldiers." He pointed at his
prisoner a forefinger with a long, almond-shaped nail.
" Where is the silver of the San Tome' mine ? I ask you..
Mitchell, where is the silver that was deposited in this
custom-house? Answer me that! You stole it.
You were a party to stealing it. It is stolen from the
government. Aha! you think I do not know what J
say, but I am up to your foreign tricks. It is gone,
the silver. No ? Gone in one of your lanchas, you
miserable man. How dared you?"

This time he produced his effect. " How on earth
could Sotillo know that ?" thought Mitchell. His head,
the only part of his body that could move, betrayed
his surprise by a sudden jerk.

"Ha! you tremble!" Sotillo shouted suddenly.
" It is a conspiracy. It is a crime against the stave.
Did you not know that the silver belongs to the repub-
lic till the government claims are satisfied? Where
is it ? Where have you hidden it, you miserable
thief?"

At this question Captain Mitchell's sinking spirits
revived. In whatever incomprehensible manner So-
tillo had already got his information about the lighter,
he had not captured it. That was clear. In his out-
raged heart Captain Mitchell had resolved that noth-
ing would induce him to say a word while he remained
so disgracefully bound, but his desire to help the es-
cape of the silver made him depart from this resolution.
His wits were very much at work. He detected in
Sotillo a certain air of doubt, of irresolution. "That
man," he said to himself, " is not certain of what he. ad-

372

Nostroino: A Tale of the Seaboard

''•••> trances." For all his pomposity in social intercourse,
Jptain Mitchell could meet the realities of life in a
•ohite and ready spirit. Now he had got over the
•it shock of the abominable treatment he was cool
and collected enough. The immense contempt he
felt for Sotillo steadied him and he said, oracularly,
"No doubt it is well concealed by this time."

tillo, too, had time to cool down. "Muy bien,
Mitchell," he said, in a cold and threatening manner.
"But can you produce the government receipt for the
yalty, and the custom-house permit of embarkation,
•By? Can vou? No. Then the silver has been re-

moved illegally, and the guilty shall l>e made to suffer
unless it is produced within five days from this." He
gave orders for the prisoner to be unbound and locked
rap in one of the smaller rooms down-stairs. He walked
Bout the room, moody and silent, till Captain Mitchell,
with each of his arms held by a couple of men, stood
•>, shook himself, and stamped his feet.
| " How did you like to be tied up, Mitchell ?" he asked,

ely.

if " It is the most incredible, abominable use of power,"
Captain Mitchell declared, in a loud voice. "And
whatever your purpose, you shall gain nothing from it,
I can promise you."

The tall colonel, livid, with his coal-black ringlets and
•ptache. crouched, as it were, to look into the eyes
of the short, thick-set, red -faced prisoner with rumpled
white hair.

"That we shall see. You shall know my power a
•tte better when I tie you up to a potalon outside in
•t sun for a whole day." He drew himself up haugh-

373

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

tily , and made a sign for- Captain Mitchell to be led
away.

"What about my watch?" cried Captain Mitchell,
hanging back from the efforts of the men pulling him
towards the door.

Sotillo turned to his officers. "No! But only listen
to this picaro, caballeros," he pronounced, with affected
scorn, and was answered by a chorus of derisive
laughter. "He demands his watch!" . . . He ran up
again to Captain Mitchell, for the desire to relieve his
feelings by inflicting blows and pain upon this English-
man was very strong within him. " Your watch! You
are a prisoner in war-time, Mitchell — in \\ar-time!
You have no rights and no property. Caramba! The |
very breath in your body belongs to me. Remember
that."

" Bosh!" said Captain Mitchell, concealing a disagree-
able impression.

Down below, in a great hall with an earthen floor
and with a tall mound thrown up by white ants in a
corner, the soldiers had kindled a small fire with broken
chairs and tables near the arched gateway, through
which the faint murmur of the harbor waters on the
beach could be heard. While Captain Mitchell was
being led down the staircase an officer passed him,
running up to report to Sotillo the capture of more
prisoners. A lot of smoke hung about in the vast
gloomy place, the fire crackled, and as if through a
haze Captain Mitchell made out, surrounded by short
soldiers with fixed bayonets, the heads of three tall
prisoners: the doctor, the engineer-in-chief, and the
white leonine mane of old Viola, who stood half turned

374

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

•ray from the others with his chin on his breast an- 1
m& arms crossed. Mitchell's astonishment knew no
Bunds. He cried out ; the other two exclaimed a
But he was hurried on, diagonally, across the big.
rn-like hall. Lots of thoughts, surmises, hint
.ion, and so on, crowded his head to distraction.

"Is he actually keeping you?" shouted the chief
engineer, whose single eye-glass glittered in the firelight.

An officer from the top of the stairs was shouting
tly, "Bring them all up — all three."

In the clamor of voices and the rattle of arms Cap-
B|B Mitchell made himself heard imi>erfectly. "By
•eavens! The fellow has stolen my watch!"

The engineer-in-chief on the staircase resisted the
pressure long enough to shout, " What ? What did you
tay ?"

"My chronometer!" Captain Mitchell yelled violent-
It, at the very moment of being thrust head-f«>remost
pirough a small door into a sort of cell perfectly black
and so narrow that he fetched up against the opposite
wall. The door had been instantly slammed. He
knew where they had put him. This was the strong-
Bom of the custom-house, whence the silver had been
removed only a few hours earlier. It was almost
as narrow as a corridor, with a small, square aperture
barred by a heavy grating at the distant end. Cap-
•fel Mitchell staggered for a few steps, then sat down
on the earthen floor with his back to the wall. Noth-
>ot even a gleam of light from anywhere, interfered
with Captain Mitchell's meditation. He did some
hard but not very extensive thinking. It was not of a
gloomy cast. The old sailor, with all his small weak-

375

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ness and absurdities, was constitutionally incapable i
of entertaining for any length of time a fear of his per-
sonal safety. It was not so much firmness of soul as
the lack of a certain kind of imagination — the kind
whose undue development caused intense suffering to
Senor Hirsch ; that sort of imagination which adds the ,
blind terror of bodily suffering and of death, envis- |
aged as an accident to the body alone, strictly, to all
the other apprehensions on which the sense of one's
existence is based. Unfortunately, Captain Mitchell
had not much penetration of any kind ; characteristic, [
illuminating trifles of expression, action, or movement, j
escaped him completely. He was too pompously and
innocently aware of his own existence to observe that
of others. For instance, he could not believe that So-
tillo had been really afraid of him, and this simply
because it would never have entered into his head to ;
shoot any one except in the most pressing case of self- ;.
defence. Anybody could see he was not a murdering
kind of man, he reflected quite gravely. Then wl
this preposterous and insulting charge, he asked him-
self. But his thoughts mainly clung around the as-
tounding and unanswerable question: How the devil
the fellow got to know that the silver had gone off in
the lighter? It was obvious that he had not captured
it. And, obviously, he could not have captured it.
In this last conclusion Captain Mitchell was misled
by the assumption drawn from his observation of the
weather during his long vigil on the wharf. He thought
that there had been much more wind than usual that
night in the gulf; whereas, as a matter of (act, the re-
verse was the case.

376

Nostiomo. A Talc of the Seaboard

1 How in the name of all that's marvellous did that
confounded fellow got wind of the affair?" was the first
•ion he asked directly after the bang, clatter, and
Hush of the open door (which was closed again almost
before he could lift his dropped head) informed him
that he had a companion of captivity. Dr. Monyg-
ham's voice stopped muttering curses in English and
Spanish.

1 Is that you, Mitchell?" he made answer, surlily.
I struck my forehead against this confounded wall
with enough force to fell an ox. Where are you?"

Captain Mitchell, accustomed to the darkness, could
make out the doctor stretching out his hands
blindly.

"I am sitting here on the floor. Don't fall over my
(legs," Captain Mitchell's voice announced with great
(dignity of tone. The doctor, entreated not to walk
about in the dark, sank down to the ground, too. The
itwo prisoners of Sotillo, with their heads nearly touch-
ling, began to exchange confidences.

" Yes," the doctor related, in a low tone, to Captain
[Mitchell's vehement curiosity, "we have been nabbed
j in old Viola's place. It seems that one of their pickets
commanded by an officer pushed as far as the town gate.
IThey had orders not to enter, but to bring along every-
[soul they could find on the plain. We had been talking
in there with the door open, and no doubt they saw the
glimmer of our light. They must have been making
their approaches for some time. The engineer laid
himself on a bench in a recess by the fireplace and I
went up-stairs to have a look. I hadn't heard any
(sound from there for a long time. Old Viola, as soon

377

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

as he saw me come up, lifted his arm for silence. I
stole in on tiptoe. By Jove! his wife was lying down
and had gone to sleep. The woman had actually
dropped off to sleep! 'Senor Doctor,' Viola whispers
to me, 'it looks as if her oppression was going to get
better.' 'Yes,' I said, very much surprised, 'your wife
is a wonderful woman, Giorgio.' Just then a shot was
fired in the kitchen which made us jump and cower
as if at a thunder-clap. It seems that the party of
soldiers had stolen quite close up and one of them had
crept up to the door. He looked 'in, thought there
was no one there, and holding his rifle ready entered
quietly. The chief told me that he had just closed his
eyes for a moment: when he opened them he saw the
man already in the middle of the room peering into
the dark corners. The chief was so startled that
without thinking, he made one leap from the rec
right out in front of the fireplace. The soldier, no 1
startled, up with his rifle and pulls the trigger, dea:
ening and singeing the engineer, but in his flurry miss-
ing him completely. But look what happens! At
the noise of the report the sleeping woman sat up, as
if moved by a spring, with a shriek, 'The child
Gian' Battista! Save the children!' I have it in
ears now. It was the truest cry of distress I ever
heard. I stood as if paralyzed, but the old husband
ran across to the bedside stretching out his hands.
She clung to them. I could see her eyes go glazed.
The old fellow lowered her down on the pillows and
then looked round at me. She was dead. All this
took less than five minutes, and then I ran down to
see what was the matter. It was no use thinking of

378

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

any ice. Nothing we two could 'say availed

with the officer, so I volunteered to go up with a couple
of soldiers and fetch down old Viola. He was sitting
at the foot of the bed looking at his wife's face and
did not seem to hear what I said ; but after I had pulled
the sheet over her head he got up and followed us
down-stairs quietly, in a sort of thoughtful way. They
marched us off along the road, leaving the door open
and the candle burning. The chief engineer strode
on without a word, but I looked back once or twice at
the feeble gleam. After we had gone some consider-
able distance the Garibaldino, who was walking by my
side, suddenly said : ' 1 have buried many men on battle-
fields on this continent. The priests talk of conse-
crated ground! Bah! All the earth made by God is
holy; but the sea, which knows nothing of kings and
priests and tyrants, is the holiest of all. Doctor, I
should like to bury her in the sea. No mummeries,
randies, incense, no holy - water mumbled over by
priests. The spirit of liberty is upon the waters.' . . .
Amazing old man. He was saying all this in an under-
tone, as if talking to himself."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Captain Mitchell, impa-
tiently. "Poor old chap! But have you any idea
how that ruffian Sotillo obtained his information ? He
did not get hold of any of our cargadores who helped
with the truck, did he? But no, it is impossible!
These were picked men we've had in our boats for
•«• five years, and I paid them myself specially for
the job, with instructions to keep out of the way for
twenty-four hours at least. I saw them with my own
march off with the Italians to the railway-yards.
»s 379

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

The chief promised to give them rations as long as they
wanted to remain there."

"Well," said the doctor, slowly, "I can tell you that
you may say good-bye forever to your best lighter and
to the capataz of cargadores."

At this Captain Mitchell scrambled up to his feet in
the excess of his excitement. The doctor, without
giving him time to exclaim, stated briefly the part
played by Hirsch during the night.

Captain Mitchell was overcome. "Drowned!" he
muttered, in a bewildered and appalled whisper.
"Drowned!" Afterwards he kept still, apparently
listening, but too absorbed in the news of the catas-
trophe to follow the doctor's narrative with attention.

The doctor had taken up an attitude of perfect igno-
rance, till at last Sotillo was induced to have Hirsch
brought in to repeat the whole story, which was got
out of him again with the greatest difficulty, because
every moment he would break out into lamentations.
At last Hirsch was led away, looking more dead than
alive, and shut up in one of the up-stairs rooms to be
close at hand. Then the doctor, keeping up his char-
acter of a man not admitted to the inner councils of
the San Tome administration, remarked that the story
sounded incredible. Of course, he said, he couldn't
tell what had been the action of the Europeans, as he
had been exclusively occupied with his own work in
looking after the wounded and also in attending Don
Jose" Avellanos. He had succeeded in assuming so
well a tone of impartial indifference that Sotillo seemed
to be completely deceived. Till then a show of regular
inquiry had been kept up — one of the officers sitting at

380

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

tlu- table wrote down the questions and the answers;
tin- others, lounging about the room, listened atten-
tively, puffing at their long cigars and keeping their
eyes on the doctor. But at that point Sotillo ordered
everybody out.

Ill

DIRECTLY they were alone the colonel's severe
official manner changed. He rose and approach-
ed the doctor. His eyes shone with rapacity and hope ;
he became confidential. " The silver might have been
indeed put on board the lighter, but it was not con-
ceivable that it should have been taken out to sea."
The doctor, watching every word, nodded slightly,
smoking with apparent relish the cigar which Sotilk
had offered him as a sign of his friendly intentions.
His manner of cold detachment from the rest of the
Europeans led Sotillo on till, from conjecture to con-
jecture, he arrived at hinting that in his opinion this
was a put-up job on the part of Charles Gould in order
to get hold of that immense treasure all to himself.
The doctor, observant and self-possessed, muttered,
"He is very capable of that."

Here Captain Mitchell exclaimed, with amazement,
amusement, and indignation, "You said that of
Charles Gould!" Disgust and even some suspicion
crept into his tone, for to him, too, as to other Euro-
peans, there appeared to be something dubious about
the doctor's personality.

"What on earth made you say that to that watch-
stealing scoundrel?" he asked. "What's the object
of an infernal lie of that sort? That confounded
pickpocket was quite capable of believing you."

382

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

He snorted. For a time the doctor remained silent
in the dark.

"Yes, that is exactly what I did say," he uttered
at last, in a tone which would have made it clear
enough to a third party that the pause was not of a
reluctant but of a reflective character. Captain Mit-
chell thought that he had never heard anything so
brazenly impudent in his life.

" Well, well!" he muttered to himself, but he had not
the heart to voice his thoughts. They were swept
away by others full of astonishment and regret. A
heavy sense of discomfiture crushed him: the loss of
the silver, the death of Nostromo, which was really
quite a blow to his sensibilities, because he had be-
come attached to his capataz as people get attached
to their inferiors from love of ease and almost uncon-
scious gratitude. And when he thought of Decoud
being drowned, too, his sensibility was almost overcome
by this miserable end. What a heavy blow for that
poor young woman ! Captain Mitchell did not belong
to the species of crabbed old bachelors, on the con-
trary, he liked to see young men paying attentions to
young women. It seemed to him a natural and proper
thing. Proper, especially. As to sailors, it was dif-
feriMit; it was not their place to marry, he maintained;
but it was on moral grounds as a matter of self-denial;
for, he explained, life on board ship is not fit for a
woman even at best, and if you leave her on shore, first
of all it is not fair, and next she either suffers from it
or doesn't care a bit, which in both cases is bad. He
couldn't have told what upset him most — Charles
Gould's immense material loss, the death of Nostromo,

383

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

which was a heavy loss to himself, or the idea of
that beautiful and accomplished young woman being
plunged into mourning.

" Yes," the doctor, who had been apparently reflect-
ing some more, began again, "he believed me right
enough. I thought he would have hugged me. 'Si,
si,' he said, 'he will write to that partner of his, the
rich Americano in San Francisco, that it is all lost.
Why not? There is enough to share with many peo-
ple.'"

"But this is perfectly imbecile!" cried Captain
Mitchell.

The doctor remarked that Sotillo was imbecile, and
that his imbecility was ingenious enough to lead him
completely astray. He had helped him only but a
little way.

"I mentioned," the doctor said, "in a sort of casual
way, that treasure is generally buried in the earth rather
than being set afloat upon the sea. At this my Sotillo
slapped his forehead. 'For Dios, yes,' he said, 'they
must have buried it on the shores of this harbor some-
where before they sailed out.'"

"Heavens and earth!" muttered Captain Mitchell.
"I should not have believed that anybody could be
ass enough — " He paused, then went on, mournful-
ly: "But what's the good of all this? It would have
been a clever enough lie if the lighter had been still
afloat. It would have kept that inconceivable idiot
perhaps from sending out the steamer to cruise in the
gulf. That was the danger that worried me no end."
Captain Mitchell sighed profoundly.

"I had an object," the doctor pronounced, slowly.
384

Nostromu: A Tale of the Seaboard

Had you?" muttered Captain Mitchell. "Well,
that's lucky. or else I would have thought that you went
on fooling him for the fun of the thing. And perhaps
that was your object. Well, I must say I personally
wouldn't condescend to that sort of thing. It is not to
my taste. No, no. Blackening a friend's character is
not my idea of fun, if it were to fool the greatest black-
guard on earth."

Had it not been for Captain Mitchell's depression,
caused by the fatal news, his distrust of Dr. Monygham
would have taken a more outspoken shape; but he
thought to himself that now it really did not matter
what that man, whom he had never liked, would say
and do.

" I wonder," he grumbled, "why they have shut us
up together, or why Sotillo should have shut you up at
all, since it seems to me you have been fairly chummy
'up there?"

"Yes, I wonder," said the doctor, grimly.

Captain Mitchell's heart was so heavy that he would
have preferred for the time being a complete solitude
to the best of company. But any company would
have been preferable to the doctor's, at whom he had
always looked askance as a sort of beach-comber of
superior intelligence partly reclaimed from his abased
state. That feeling led him to ask:

"What has that ruffian done with the other two?"

"The chief engineer he would have let go in any
case," said the doctor. "He wouldn't like to have a
«|uarrel with the railway upon his hands. Not just yet,
at any rate. I don't think, Captain Mitchell, that you
understand exactly what Sotillo's position is — "

385

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

" I don't see why I should bother my head about it,"
snarled Captain Mitchell.

" No," assented the doctor, with the same grim com-
posure, "I don't see why you should. It wouldn't
help a single human being in the world if you thought
ever so hard upon any subject whatever."

"No," said Captain Mitchell, simply, and with evi-
dent depression. "A man locked up in a confounded
dark hole is not much use to anybody."

"As to old Viola," the doctor continued, as though
he had not heard, "Sotillo released him for the same
reason he is presently going to release you."

"Eh? What?" exclaimed Captain Mitchell, staring
like an owl in the darkness. "What is there in com-
mon between me and old Viola ? More likely because the
old chap has no watch and chain for the pickpocket
to steal. And I tell you what, Dr. Monygham," he
went on with rising choler, "he will find it more diffi-
cult than he thinks to get rid of me. He will burn his
fingers over that job yet, I can tell you. To begin
with, I won't go without my watch, and as to the rest —
we shall see. I dare say it is no great matter for you
to be locked up. But Joe Mitchell is a different kind
of man, sir. I don't mean to submit tamely to insult
and robbery. I am a public character, sir."

And then Captain Mitchell became aware that the
bars of the opening had become visible — a black grating
upon a square of gray. The coming of the day silenced
Captain Mitchell as if by the reflection that now in all
the future days he would be deprived of the invaluable
services of his capataz. He leaned against the wall
with his arms folded on his breast, and the doctor

386

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

walked up and down the whole length of the place with
hi> peculiar, hobbling gait, as if slinking about on dam-
: feet. At the end farthest from the grating he
M be lost altogether in the darkness. Only the
slight, limping shuffle could be heard. There was
an air of moody detachment in that painful prowl kept
up without a pause. When the door of the prison was
suddenly flung open and his name shouted out, he
showed no surprise. He swerved sharply in his walk
and passed out at once, as though much depended upon
his speed; but Captain Mitchell remained for some
time with his shoulders against the wall, quite unde-
cided in the bitterness of his spirit whether it wouldn't
be better to refuse to stir a limb in the way of protest.
He had half a mind to get himself carried out, but
after the officer at the door had shouted three or four
times in tones of remonstrance and surprise he con-
descended to walk out.

Sotillo's manner had changed. The colonel's off-
hand civility was slightly irresolute, as though he were
in doubt if civility were the proper course in this case.
He observed Captain Mitchell attentively before he
spoke from the big arm-chair behind the table, in a
condescending voice:

" I have concluded not to detain you, Sefior Mitchell.
I am of a forgiving disposition. I make allowances.
Let this be a lesson to you, however."

The peculiar dawn of Sulaco, which seems to break
far away to the westward and creep back into the shade
of the mountains, mingled with the reddish light of the
candles. Captain Mitchell, in sign of contempt and
indifference, let his eyes roam all over the room, and

387

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

he gave a hard stare at the doctor, perched already on
the casement of one of the windows, with his eyelids
lowered, careless and thoughtful — or perhaps ashamed.

Sotillo, ensconced in the vast arm-chair, remarked:
"I should have thought that the feelings of a cabal-
lero would have dictated to you an appropriate reply."

He waited for it, but Captain Mitchell remaining
mute, more from extreme resentment than from rea-
soned intention, Sotillo hesitated, glanced towards the
doctor, who looked up and nodded, then went on with
a slight effort:

"Here, Serior Mitchell, is your watch. Learn how
hasty and unjust has been your judgment of my pa-
triotic soldiers."

Lying back in his seat he extended his arm over the
table and pushed the watch away slightly. Captain
Mitchell walked up with undisguised eagerness, put it
to his ear, then slipped it into his pocket coolly.

Sotillo seemed to overcome an immense reluctance.
Again he looked aside at the doctor, who stared at him
un win kingly.

But as Captain Mitchell was turning away, without
as much as a nod or a glance, he hastened to say:

"You may go and wait down-stairs for the Senor
Doctor, whom I am going to liberate too. You for-
eigners are insignificant to my mind."

He forced a slight discordant laugh out of himself,
while Captain Mitchell for the first time looked at him
with some interest.

"The law shall take note later on of your trans-
gressions," Sotillo hurried on. "But as for me, you
can live free, unguarded, unobserved. Do you hear,

388

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

Sertor Mitchell? You may depart to your aff
You are beneath my notice. My attention is claimed
by matters of the very highest importance."

Captain Mitchell was very nearly provoked to an
answer. It displeased him to be liberated insultingly ;
but want of sleep, prolonged anxieties, a profound
appointment with the fatal ending of the silver-saving
business weighed upon his spirits. It was as much as
he could do to conceal his uneasiness, not about him-
self, perhaps, but about things in general. It occurred
to him distinctly that something underhand was
going on. As he went out he ignored the doctor
pointedly.

"A brute," said Sotillo, as the door shut.

Dr. Monygham slipped off the window-sill, and,
thrusting his hands into the pockets of the long, gray
dust-coat he was wearing, made a few steps into the
room.

Sotillo got up, too, and, putting himself in the way,
examined him from head to foot.

"So your countrymen do not confide in you very
much, Seflor Doctor? They do not love you? Eh?
Why is that, I wonder?"

The doctor, lifting his head, answered by a long,
lifeless stare and the words, " Perhaps because I have
lived too long in Costaguana."

Sotillo had a gleam of white teeth under the black
mustache.

"Aha! But you love yourself," he said, encourag-
ingly.

"If you leave them alone," the doctor said, looking
with the same lifeless stare at Sotillo's handsome face,

389

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"they will betray themselves very soon. Meantime,
I may try to make Don Carlos speak."

"Ah, Seflor Doctor," said Sotillo, wagging his head,
"you are a man of quick intelligence. We were made
to understand each other." He turned away. He
could bear no longer that expressionless and motionless
stare, which seemed to have a sort of impenetrable
emptiness like the black depth of an abyss.

Even in a man utterly devoid of moral sense there
remains an appreciation of rascality which, being con-
ventional, is perfectly clear. Sotillo thought that Dr.
Monygham, so different from all Europeans, was ready
to sell his countrymen and Charles Gould, his employer,
for some share of the San Tome" silver. Sotillo did not
despise him for that. The colonel's want of moral
sense was of a profound and innocent character. It
bordered upon stupidity — moral stupidity. Nothing
that served his ends could appear to him really rep-
rehensible. Nevertheless, he despised Dr. Monygham.
He had for him an immense and satisfactory contempt.
He despised him with all his heart, because he did not
mean to let the doctor have any reward at all. He de-
spised him not as a man without faith and honor, but
as a fool. Dr. Monygham 's insight into his character
had deceived Sotillo completely. Therefore he thought
the doctor a fool.

Since his arrival in Sulaco the colonel's ideas had un-
dergone some modification.

He no longer wished for a political career in Mon-
tero's administration. He had always doubted the
safety of that course. Since he had learned from the
chief engineer that at daylight most likely he would

390

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

be confronted by Pedro Montero, his misgivings on that
point had considerably increased. The guerrillero
brother of the general, the Pedrito of popular speech,
had a reputation of his own. He wasn't safe to deal
with. Sotillo had vaguely planned seizing not only
the treasure but the town itself, and then negotiating
at leisure. But in the face of facts learned from the
chief engineer (who had frankly disclosed to him the
whole situation) his audacity, never of a very dashing
kind, had been replaced by a most cautious hesita-
tion.

"An army — an army crossed the mountains under

Pedrito already," he had repeated, unable to hide his

ternation. "If it had not been that I am given

the news by a man of your position I would never

have believed it. Astonishing!"

"An armed force," corrected the engineer, suavely.

His aim was attained. It was to keep Sulaco clear
of any armed occupation for a few hours longer, to let
those whom fear impelled leave the town. In the gen-
eral dismay there were families hopeful enough to fly
upon the road towards Los Hatos, which was left open
:ie withdrawal of the armed rabble under Sefiores
Fuentes and Gumacho to Rincon, with their enthusi-
astic welcome for Pedro Montero. It was a hasty and
risky exodus, and it was said that Hernandez, occu-
pying with his band the woods about Los Hatos, was
receiving the fugitives. That a good many people he
knew were contemplating such a flight had been well
know to the chief engineer.

ther Corbelan's efforts in the cause of that most
pious robber had not been altogether fruitless. The

39 1

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

political chief of Sulaco had yielded at the last moment
to the urgent entreaties of the priest, had signed a pro-
visional nomination appointing Hernandez a general,
and calling upon him officially in this new capacity to
preserve order in the town. The fact is that the po-
litical chief, seeing the situation desperate, did not
care what he signed. It was the last official document
he signed before he left the palace of the Intendencia
for the refuge of the O.S.N. Company's office. But
even had he meant his act to be effective it was already
too late. The riot which he feared and expected broke
out in less than an hour after Father Corbelan had left
him. Indeed, Father Corbelan, who had appointed a
meeting with Nostromo in the Dominican convent, where
he had his residence in one of the cells, never managed
to reach the place. From the Intendencia he had gone
straight on to the Avellanos house to tell his brother-
in-law, and though he stayed there no more than half
an hour he had found himself cut off from his ascetic
abode. Nostromo, after waiting there for some time
watching uneasily the increasing uproar in the street,
had made his way to the offices of the Porvcnir
and stayed there till daylight, as Decoud had mentioned
in the letter to his sister. Thus the capataz, instead
of riding towards the Los Hatos woods as bearer of
Hernandez's nomination, had remained in town to
save the life of the President-Dictator, to assist in re-
pressing the outbreak of the mob, and at last to sail
out with the silver of the mine.

But Father Corbelkn, escaping to Hernandez, had
the document in his pocket, a piece of official writing
turning a bandit into a general in a memorable last

393

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

ial act of the Rihierist party, whose watchwords
were honesty, peace, and progress. Probably neither
tlu' priest nor the bandit saw the irony of it. Father
Corbelan must havt' found messengers to send into the
town, for early on the second day of the disturbances
there were rumors of Hernandez being on the road
to Los Hatos ready to receive those who would put
themselves under his protection. A strange-looking
horseman, elderly and audacious, had appeared in the
town, riding slowly while his eyes examined the fronts
of the houses as though he had never seen such high
buildings before. Before the cathedral he had dis-
mounted, and, kneeling in the middle of the Plaza, his
bridle over his arm and his hat lying in front of him on
the ground, had bowed his head, crossing himself and
beating his breast for some little time. Remounting
his horse with a fearless but not unfriendly look round
the little gathering formed about his public devotions,
he had asked for the Casa Avellanos. A score of hands
were extended in answer, with fingers pointing up the
Calle de la Constitution.

The horseman had gone on with only a glance of
casual curiosity upward to the windows of the
Amarilla Club at the corfter. His stentorian voice
shouted periodically in the empty street: "Which is
the Casa Avellanos?" till an answer came from the
scared porter, and he disappeared under the gate.
The letter he was bringing, written by Father Corbelan
with a pencil by the camp - fire of Hernandez, was
addressed to Don Jose", of whose critical state the priest
was not aware. Antonia read it, and, after consulting
Charles Gould, sent it on for the information of the

393

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

gentlemen garrisoning the Amarilla Club. For her-
self, her mind was made up ; she would rejoin her uncle ;
she would entrust the last day — the last hours, per-
haps— of her father's life to the keeping of the bandit
whose existence was a protest against the irresponsible
tyranny of all parties alike ; against the moral darkness
of the land. The gloom of the Los Hatos woods was
preferable; a life of hardships in the train of a robber
band less debasing. Antonia embraced with all her
soul her uncle's obstinate defiance of misfortune. It
was grounded in the belief in the man whom she loved.

In his message the Vicar-General answered upon his
head for Hernandez's fidelity. As to his power, he
pointed out that he had remained unsubdued for so
many years. In that letter Decoud's idea of the new
Occidental state (whose flourishing and stable con-
dition is a matter of common knowledge now) was
for the first time made public and used as an argument.
Hernandez, ex-bandit and the last general of Ribierist
creation, was confident of being able to hold the tract
of country between the woods of Los Hatos and the
coast range till that devoted patriot, Don Martin
Decoud, could bring General Barrios back to Sulaco for
the reconquest of the town.

"Heaven itself wills it. Providence is on our side,"
wrote Father Corbelkn; there was no time to re-
flect upon or to controvert his statement; and if the
discussion started upon the reading of that letter in
the Amarilla Club was violent, it was also short-lived.
In the general bewilderment of the collapse some
jumped at the idea with joyful astonishment as upon
the amazing discovery of a new hope. Others became

394

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

:iatc«l by the prospect of immediate personal
y for their women and children. The majority
it at it as a drowning man catches at a straw.
Father Corbelan was unexpectedly offering them a
refuge from Pedrito Montero with his Llaneros allied to
Beflores Fuentes and Gamacho with their armed rabble.
All the latter part of the afternoon an animated
discussion went on in the big rooms of the Amarilla
Club. Even those memt>ers posted at the windows with
ritlcs and carbines to guard the end of the street in case
ot an offensive return of the populace shouted their
opinions and arguments over their shoulders. As dusk
fell. Don Juste Lopez, inviting those caballeros who
were of his way of thinking to follow him, withdrew
into the corridor, where at a little table in the light of
aiulles he busied himself in composing an address,
or rather a solemn declaration, to be presented to
Pedrito Montero by a deputation of such members of
Assembly as had elected to remain in town. His idea
to propitiate him in order to save the form at least
of parliamentary institutions. Seated before a blank
sheet of paper, a goose -quill pen in his hand, and
surged upon from all sides, he turned to the right and
to the left, repeating with solemn 'nsistence:

"Caballeros, a moment of silence! A moment of si-
••! We ought to make it clear that we bow in all
good faith to the accomplished facts."

The utterance of that phrase seemed to give him
a melancholy satisfaction. The hubbub of voices round
him was growing strained and hoarse. In the sudden
es the excited grimacing of the faces would sink
all at once into the stillness of profound dejection.
,6 395

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Meantime the exodus had begun. Carretas full of
ladies and children rolled swaying across the plaza, with
men walking or riding by their side; mounted parties
followed on mules and horses; the poorest were setting
out on foot, men and women carrying bundles, clasping
babies in their arms, leading old people, dragging along
the bigger children. When Charles Gould, after leav-
ing the doctor and the engineer at the Casa Viola, en-
tered the town by the harbor gate, all those that had
meant to go were gone and the others had barricaded
themselves in their houses. In the whole dark street
there was only one spot of flickering lights and moving
figures, where the Senor Administrador recognized his
wife's carriage waiting at the door of the Avellanos
house. He rode up, almost unnoticed, and looked on
without a word while some of his own servants came
out of the gate carrying Don Jose" Avellanos, who with
closed eyes and motionless features appeared perfectly
lifeless. His wife and Antonia walked on each side of
the improvised stretcher, which was put at once into
the carriage. The two women embraced; while from
the other side of the landau Father Corbelan's emissary,
with his ragged beard all streaked with gray, and high,
bronzed cheek-bones, stared, sitting upright in the
saddle. Then Antonia, dry-eyed, got in by the side
of the stretcher, and, after making the sign of the cross
rapidly, lowered a thick veil upon her face. The
servants and the three or four neighbors who had come
to assist, stood back, uncovering their heads. On the
box Ignacio, resigned now to driving all night (and to
having, perhaps, his throat cut before daylight), looked
back surlily over his shoulder.

396

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"Drive carefully." cried Mrs. Gould, in a tremulous
voice.

"Si, carefully, si. nina," he mumbled, chewing his
lips, his round leathery cheeks quivering. And the
landau rolled slowly out of the light

"I will see them as far as the fonl," said Charles
Gould to his wife. She stood on the edge of the
sidewalk with her hands clasped lightly, and nodded
to him as he followed after the carriage. And now the
windows of the Amarilla Club were dark. The last
spark of resistance had died out. Turning his head at
the corner, Charles Gould saw his wife crossing over to
their own gate in the lighted patch of the street. One of
their neighbors, a well-known merchant and land-owner
of the province, followed at her elbow, talking with great
gestures. As she passed in all the lights went out in the
street, which remained dark and empty from end to end.

The houses of the vast plaza were lost in the night.
High up, like a star, there was a small gleam in one of
the towers of the cathedral ; and the equestrian statue
gleamed pale against the black trees of the Alameda,
like a ghost of royalty haunting the scenes of revolution.
The rare prowlers they met ranged themselves against
the wall. Beyond the last houses the carriage rolled
noiselessly on the soft cushion of dust, and with a
greater obscurity a feeling of freshness seemed to fall
from the foliage of the trees bordering the country
road. The emissary from Hernandez's camp pushed
his horse close to Charles Gould.

"Caballero," he said, in an interested voice, "you
are he whom they call the King of Sulaco, the master of
the mine. Is it not so?"

397

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"Yes, I am the master of the mine," answered
Charles Gould.

The man cantered for a time in silence, then said: "I
have a brother, a sereno in your service in the San
Tome Valley. You have proved yourself a just man.
There had been no wrong done to any one since you
called upon the people to work in the mountains. My
brother says that no official of the government, no
oppressor of the Campo, had been seen on your side
of the stream. Your own officials do not oppress the
people in the gorge. Doubtless they are afraid of your
severity. You are a just man and a powerful one," he
added.

He spoke in an abrupt, independent tone, but evi-
dently he was communicative with a purpose. He told
Charles Gould that he had been a ranchero in one
of the lower valleys far south, a neighbor of Hernandez
in the old days and godfather to his eldest boy; one
of those who joined him in his resistance to the re-
cruiting raid which was the beginning of all their
misfortunes. It was he that, when his compadre had
been carried off, had buried his wife and children, mur-
dered by the soldiers.

"Si, senor," he muttered hoarsely, "I and two or
three others, the lucky ones left at liberty, buried them
all in one grave near the ashes of their ranch, under
the tree that had shaded its roof."

It was to him, too, that Hernandez came after he had
deserted, three years afterwards. He had still his
uniform on, with the sergeant's stripes on the sleeve
and the blood of his colonel upon his hands and breast.
Three troopers followed him of those who had. started

398

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

in pursuit t-ut had ridden on for liberty. And he tol<l

Hbarles Gould how he and a few friends, seeing those

soldiers, lay in ambush behind some rocks ready to pull

the trigger on them, when he recognized his compadre

and jumped up from cover shouting his name, because

me knew that Hernandez could not have been coming

Back on an errand of injustice and oppression. Those

Bhree soldiers, together with the party who lay behind

•he rocks, had formed the nucleus of the famous band.

and he, the narrator, had been the favorite lieutenant

W Hernandez for many, many years. He mentioned

proudly that the officials had put a price upon his head,

too; but it did not prevent it getting sprinkled with

gray upon his shoulders. And now he had lived

lontf enough to see his compadre made a general.

He had a burst of muffled laughter. " And now from

ers we have become soldiers. But look, caballero,

at those who made us soldiers and him a general ! Look

at these people!"

Ignacio shouted. The light of the carriage - lamps,
running along the nopal hedges that crowned the
bank on each side, flashed upon the scared faces of
people standing aside in the road, sunk deep, like an
English country lane, into the soft soil of the Campo.
They cowered; their eyes glistened very big for a
second; and then the light, running on, fell upon the
half-denuded roots of a big tree, on another stretch
of nopal hedge, caught up another bunch of faces
glaring back apprehensively. Three women — of whom
one was carrying a child — and a couple of men in civilian
dress — one armed with a sabre and another with a gun —
were grouped about a donkey carrying two bundles

399

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

tied up in blankets. Farther on Ignacio shouted
again to pass a carreta, a long wooden box on two
high wheels with the door at the back swinging open.
Some ladies in it must have recognized the white
mules, because they screamed out, "Is it you, Dona
Emilia?"

At the turn of the road the glare of a big fire filled
the short stretch vaulted over by the branches meeting
overhead. Near the ford of a shallow stream a road-
side rancho of woven rushes and a roof of grass had
been set on fire by accident, and the flames, roaring
viciously, lit up an open space blocked with horses,
mules, and a distracted, shouting crowd of people.
When Ignacio pulled up, several ladies on foot assailed
the carriage, begging Antonia for a seat. To their
clamor she answered by pointing silently to her
father.

"I must leave you here," said Charles Gould, in the
uproar. The flames leaped up sky-high, and in the
recoil from the scorching heat across the road the
stream of fugitives pressed against the carriage. A
middle-aged lady dressed in black silk, but with a
coarse manta over her head and a rough branch for a
stick in her hand, staggered against the front wheel.
Two young girls, frightened and silent, were clinging
to her arms. Charles Gould knew her very well.

"Misericordia! We are getting terribly bruised in
this crowd!" she exclaimed, smiling up courageously to
him. " We have started on foot. All our servants ran
away yesterday to join the democrats. We are going
to put ourselves under the protection of Father Cor-
belan, of your sainted uncle, Antonia. He has wrought

400

»mo: A Talc of the Seaboard

a mirai It- in tin- heart of a most merciless robber.
A miracle!"

She raised her voice gradually up to a scream as
she sv.ix lx>rne along l>v tin- |. unsure of people getting
out of the way of some carts coming up out of the fonl
at a gallop, with loud yells ami cracking of whip-
Great masses of sparks mingled with black smoke flew
over the road; the bamboos of the walls detonated in
the fire with the sound of an irregular fusillade. And
then the bright blaze sank suddenly, leaving only
i dusk crowded with aimless dark shadows drift-
in:; in contrary directions; the noise of voices seemed
to die away with the flame; and the tumult of heads,
arms, quarrelling and imprecations passed on fleeing
into the darkness.

"I must leave you now," repeated Charles Gould to
Antonia. She turned her head slowly and uncovered
her face. The emissary and compadre of Hernandez
pushed his horse close up.

" Has not the master of the mine any message to send
to Hernandez, the master of the Campo?"

The truth of the comparison struck Charles Gould
ily. In his determined purpose he held the mine,
and the indomitable bandit held the Campo by the
same precarious tenure. They were equals before the
lawlessness of the land. It was impossible to dis-
entangle one's activity from its debasing contacts. A
•ose-meshed net of crime and corruption lay upon
whole country. An immense and weary dis-
couragement sealed his lips for a time.

"You are a just man," urged the emissary of
Hernandez. "Look at those people who made my

401

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

compadre a general and have turned us all into soldiers.
Look at those oligarchs fleeing for life with only the
clothes on their backs. My compadre does not think
of that, but our followers may be wondering greatly,
and I would speak for them to you. Look, senor!
For many months now the Campo has been our own.
We need ask no man for anything; but soldiers must
have their pay to live honestly when the wars are over.
It is believed that your soul is so just that a prayer
from you would cure the sickness of every beast, like
the oration of the upright judge. Let me have so
words from your lips that would act like a cha
upon the doubts of our partida, where all are men."

"Do you hear what he says ?" Charles Gould said, in
English, to Antonia.

"Forgive us our misery!" she exclaimed, hurriedly.
"It is your character that is the inexhaustible treasure
which may save us all yet — your character, Carlos, not
your wealth. I entreat you to give this man your
word that you will accept any arrangement my uncle
may make with their chief. One word. He will
want no more."

On the site of the roadside hut there remained
nothing but an enormous heap of embers, throwing
afar a darkening red glow, in which Antonia's face
appeared deeply flushed with excitement. Charles
Gould, with only a short hesitation, pronounced the
required pledge. He was like a man who had vent-
ured on a precipitous path with no room to turn,
where the only chance of safety is to press forward.
At that moment he understood it thoroughly as he
looked down at Don Jose", stretched out, hardly breath-

402

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

!>y the side of the erect Antonia, vanquished in a
>ng struggle with the powers of moral darkness,
e stagnant depths breed monstrous crimes and
trous illusions. In a few words the emissary
Hernandez expressed his complete satisfaction.
.illy, Antonia lowered her veil, resisting the long-
ing to inquire about Decoud's escape. But Ignacio
leered morosely over his shoulder,
i "Take a good look at the mules, mi amo," he grum-
bled. " You shall never see them again."

/CHARLES GOULD turned towards the town.
\^^> Before him the jagged peaks of the vSierra came
out all black in the clear dawn. Here and there a
muffled lepero whisked round the corner of a grass-
grown street before the ringing hoofs of his horse.
Dogs barked behind the walls of the gardens; and with
the colorless light the chill of the snows seemed to fall
from the mountains upon the disjointed pavements
and the shuttered houses, with broken cornices and the
plaster peeling in patches between the flat pilasters
of the fronts. The daybreak struggled with the gloom
under the arcades on the plaza, with no signs of coun-
try people disposing their goods for the day's market
—piles of fruit, bundles of vegetables ornamented with
flowers, on low benches under enormous mat umbrel-
las— with no cheery early morning bustle of villagers,
women, children, and loaded donkeys. Only a few
scattered knots of revolutionists stood in the vast
space looking all one way from under their slouched
hats for some sign of news from Rincon. The largest
of those groups turned about like one man as Charles
Gould passed, and shouted, "Viva la libertad!" after
him in a menacing tone.

Charles Gould rode on and turned into the archway
of his house. In the patio, littered with straw, a
practicante, one of Dr. Monygham's native assistants,

404

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

sat on the ground with his back against the rim of the
fountain fingering a guitar discreetly, while two girls
of the lower class, standing up before him. shuffled
their feet a little and waved their arms, humming a
popular dance tune. Most of the wounded during the
two days of rioting had been taken away already by
their friends and relations, but several figures could
be seen sitting up, balancing their bandaged heads in
time to the music. Charles Gould dismounted. A
sleepy mozo coming out of the bakery door took hold
of the horse's bridle; the practicante endeavored to
conceal his guitar hastily ; the girls, unabashed, stepped
back smiling; and Charles Gould, on his way to the
staircase, glanced into a dark corner of the patio at
another group, a mortally wounded cargador with a
woman kneeling by his side. She mumbled prayers
rapidly, trying at the same time to force a piece of
orange between the stiffening lips of the dying man.

The cruel futility of things stood unveiled in the
levity and sufferings of that incorrigible people; the
cruel futility of lives and of deaths thrown away in the
vain endeavor to attain an enduring solution of the
problem. Unlike Decoud, Charles Gould could not
lightly a part in a tragic farce. It was tragic
enough for him, in all conscience, but he could see no
farcical element. He suffered too much under a con-
viction of irremediable folly. He was too severely
practical and too idealistic to look upon its terrible
humors with amusement, as Martin Decoud, the imag-
inative materialist, was able to do in the dry light
of his scepticism. To him, as to all of us, the com-
promises with his conscience appeared uglier than ever

405

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

in the light of failure. His taciturnity, assumed with a
purpose, had prevented him from tampering openly
with his thoughts, but the Gould Concession had
insidiously corrupted his judgment. He might have
known, he said to himself, leaning over the balustrade
of the corridor, that Ribierism could never come to
anything. The mine had corrupted his judgment
by making him sick of bribing and intriguing merely to
have his work left alone from day to day. Like his
father, he did not like to be robbed. It exasperated
him. He had persuaded himself that, apart from
higher considerations, the backing- up of Don Josh's
hopes of reform was good business. He had gone
forth into the senseless fray like his poor uncle, whose
sword hung on the wall of his study, had gone forth —
in the defence of the commonest decencies of organized
society. Only, his weapon was the wealth of the mine,
more far-reaching and subtle than an honest blade
of steel fitted into a simple brass guard.

More dangerous to the wielder, too, this weapon of
wealth, double-edged with the cupidity and misery of
mankind, steeped in all the vices of self-indulgence as
in a concoction of poisonous roots, tainting the very
cause for which it is drawn, always ready to turn awk-
wardly in the hand. There was nothing for it now but
to go on using it. But he promised himself to see it
shattered into small bits before he let it be wrenched
from his grasp.

After all, with his English parentage and English

up-bringing, he perceived that he was an adventurer in

Costaguana, the descendant of adventurers enlisted in a

foreign legion, of men who had sought fortune in a

x. 406

stromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

•evolutionary war, who had planned revolutions, who

t>elieved in revolutions. For all the uprightness of
•b character, he had something of an adventurer's

morality, which takes count of personal risk in the
ethical appraising of his action. He was prepared.

ed be, to blow up the whole San Tome" mountain
sky-high out of the territory of the republic. This
•solution expressed the tenacity of his character,
the remorse of that subtle conjugal infidelity through
which his wife was no longer the sole mistress of his
thoughts, something of his father's imaginative weak-
and something, too, of the spirit of a buccaneer
throwing a lighted match into the magazine rather
than surrender his ship.

Down below, in the patio, the wounded cargador had
breathed his last. The woman cried out once, and her

unexpected and shrill, made all the wounded sit up.
The practicante scrambled to his feet and, guitar in
hand, gazed steadily in her direction with elevated eye-
brows. The two girls, sitting now one on each side of
their wounded relative, with their knees drawn up
and long cigars between their lips, nodded at each
other significantly.

Charles Gould, looking down over the balustrade,
saw three men dressed ceremoniously in black frock-
coats, with white shirts, and wearing European round
enter the patio from the street. One of them,
head and shoulders taller than the two others, ad-
vanced with marked gravity, leading the way. This
was Don Juste Lopez, accompanied by two of his
friends, members of Assembly, coming to rail upon the
administrador of the San Tome* mine at this early hour.

407

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

They saw him, too, waved their hands to him urgently,
walking up the stairs as if in procession.

Don Juste, astonishingly changed by having shaved
off altogether his damaged beard, had lost with it nine-
tenths of his outward dignity. Even at that time of
serious preoccupation Charles Gould could not help
noting the revealed ineptitude in the aspect of the
man. His companions looked crestfallen and sleepy. •
One kept on passing the tip of his tongue over his
parched lips, the other's eyes strayed dully over the
tiled floor of the corridor, while Don Juste, standing alp,
little in advance, harangued the Senor Administrador of | .'
the San Tome mine. It was his firm opinion that forms
had to be observed. A new governor is always visited
by deputations from the cabildo, which is the municipal
council, from the consulado, the commercial board;
and it was proper that the Provincial Assembly should
send a deputation, too, if only to assert the existence of
parliamentary institutions. Don Juste proposed that
Don Carlos Gould, as the most prominent citizen of the
province, should join the Assembly's deputation. His
position was exceptional, his personality known through
the length and breadth of the whole republic. Official
courtesies must not be neglected, if they are gone
through with a bleeding heart. The acceptance of
accomplished facts may save yet the precious vestiges
of parliamentary institutions. Don Juste'fc eyes glow-
ed dully; he believed in parliamentary institutions —
and the convinced drone of his voice loslt itself in the
stillness of the house, like the deep buzzing of some
ponderous insect.

Charles Gould had turned round to listen patiently,
408

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

leaning his elbow on the balustrade. He shook his
hr.id a little, refusing, almost touched by the anxious
gaze of the President of the Provincial Assembly. It
was not Charles Gould's policy to make the San Tom6
mine a party to any formal proceedings.

"My advice, seflores, is that you should wait for
your fate in your houses. There is no necessity for you
to give yourselves up formally into Montero's hands.
Submission to the inevitable, as Don Juste calls it,
is all very well; but when the inevitable is called
Pedrito Montero there is no need to exhibit pointedly
the whole extent of your surrender. The fault of this
country is the want of measure in political life. Flat
acquiescence in illegality, followed by sanguinary re-
action— that, seflores, is not the way to a stable and
prosperous future."

Charles Gould stopped before the sad bewilderment
of the faces, the wondering, anxious glances of the
eyes. The feeling of pity for those men, putting all
their trust into words of some sort, while murder and
rapine stalked over the land, had betrayed him into
what seemed empty loquacity. Don Juste murmured:

"You are abandoning us, Don Carlos. . . . And yet,
parliamentary institutions — "

He could not finish from grief. For a moment he
put his hand over his eyes. Charles Gould, in his fear
of empty loquacity, made no answer to the charge. He
returned in silence their ceremonious bows. His taci-
turnity was his refuge. He understood that what
they sought was to get the influence of the San Tome"
mine on their side. They wanted to go on a concili-
ating errand to the victor, under the wing of the Gould

409

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Concession. Other public bodies — the cabildo, the
consulado — would be coming, too, presently, seek-
ing the support of the most stable, the most effective
force they had ever known to exist in their province.

The doctor, arriving with his sharp, jerky walk,
found that the master had retired into his own room
with orders not to be disturbed on any account. But
Dr. Monygham was not anxious to see Charles Gould
at once. He spent some time in a rapid examination
of his wounded. He gazed down upon each in turn,
rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger;
his steady stare met without expression their silently
inquisitive look. All these cases were doing well; but
when he came to the dead cargador he stopped a lit-
tle longer, surveying not the man who had ceased to
suffer, but the woman kneeling in silent contemplation
of the rigid face, with its pinched nostrils and a white
gleam in the imperfectly closed eyes. She lifted her
head slowly and said, in a dull voice:

"It is not long since he had become a cargador —
only a few weeks. His worship the capataz had ac-
cepted him after many entreaties."

"I am not responsible for the great capataz," mut-
tered the doctor, moving off.

Directing his course up-stairs towards the door of
Charles Gould's room, the doctor at the last moment
hesitated; then, turning away from the handle with a
shrug of his uneven shoulders, slunk off hastily along
the corridor in search of Mrs. Gould's camerista.

Leonarda told him that the senora had not risen yet.
The senora had given into her charge the girls belong-
ing to that Italian posadero. She, Leonarda, had put

410

A Tale of the Seaboard

•tern to bed in her own room. The fair x\r\ had <

-•If to sleep, hut the dark one. the biggest, had not,

Hosed her eyes yet. She sat up in bed clutching the

Wieets right up under her chin ami staring before her

like a little witch. Leonarda did not approve of the

i children being admitted to the house. She

made tln^ feeling clear by the indifferent tone in which

she imjuirel whether their mother was dead yet.

to the seflora, she must be asleep. Kver since she had

gone into her room after seeing the departure of Dofia

nia with her dying father, there had been no sound

behind her door.

The doctor, rousing himself out of profound reflec-

told her abruptly to call her mistress at once.

lobbied off to wait for Mrs. Gould in the sala. He

was very tired, but too excited to sit down. In this

great drawing-room, now empty, in which his withered

soul had been refreshed after many arid years and his

Hfcftcast spirit had accepted silently the toleration of

many side glances, he wandered hap-hazard among

the chairs and table, still Mrs Gould, enveloped in a

morning wrapper, came in rapidly.

" You know that I never approved of the silver being
away," the doctor began at once, as a preliminary
to the narrative of his night's adventures in association
with Captain Mitchell, the engineer-in-chief, and old
Viola at Sotillo's headquarters. To the doctor, with
ial conception of this political crisis, the re-
moval of the silver had seemed an irrational and ill-
ned measure. It was as if a general were sending
!»est part of his troops away on the eve of battle
u some recondite pretext. The whole lot of in-
.7 4"

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

gots might have been concealed somewhere where they
could have been got at for the purpose of staving off
the dangers which were menacing the security of the
Gould Concession. The administrador had acted as
if the immense and powerful prosperity of the mine
had been founded on methods of probity, on the sen?e
of usefulness. And it was nothing of the kind. The
method followed had been the only one possible. The
Gould Concession had ransomed its way through all
those years. It was a nauseous process. He quite
understood that Charles Gould had got sick of it, and
had left the old path to back up that hopeless attempt
at reform. The doctor did not believe in the reform of
Costaguana. And now the mine was back again in its
old path, with the disadvantage that henceforth it
had to deal not only with the greed provoked by its
wealth, but with the resentment awakened by the at-
tempt to free itself from its bondage to moral corrup-
tion. That was the penalty of failure. What made
him uneasy was that Charles Gould seemed to him to
have weakened at the decisive moment when a frank
return to the old methods was the only chance. Lis-
tening to Decoud's wild scheme had been a weakness.
The doctor flung up his arms, exclaiming, "Decoud!
Decoud!" He hobbled about the room with slight,
angry laughs. Many years ago both his ankles had
been seriously damaged in the course of a certain
investigation conducted in the castle of Sta. Marta by
a commission composed of military men. Their nomi-
nation had been signified to them unexpectedly, at the
dead of night, with scowling brow, flashing eyes, and
in a tempestuous voice, by Guzman Bento. The old

412

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

t, inadikMio.l l>y one of his sudden accesses of

n, mingled spluttering appeals to their fidelity

imprecations and horrible menaces. The cells

and casements of the castle on the hill had been already

filled with prisoners. The commission was charged now

with the task of discovering the iniquitous conspiracy

against the Citizen Savior of his Country.

Their dread of the raving tyrant translated itself
into a hasty ferocity of procedure. The Citizen Sav-
ior was not accustomed to wait. A conspiracy had
to be discovered. The court-yards of the castle re-
sounded witli the clanking of leg-irons, sounds of blows,
yells of pain ; and the commission of high officers la-
bored feverishly, concealing their distress and appre-
hensions from each other, and especially from their
secretary, Father Beron, an army chaplain, at that
time very much in the confidence of the Citizen- Sav-
ior. That priest was a big, round - shouldered man,
with an unclean-looking, overgrown tonsure on the
top of his flat head, of a dingy, yellow complexion,
softly fat, with greasy stains all down the front of his
lieutenant's uniform, and a small cross embroidered in
white cotton on his left breast. He had a heavy nose
and a pendent lip. Dr. Monygham remembered him
still. He remembered him against all the force of his
will striving its utmost to forget. Father Beron had
been adjoined to the commission by Guzman Bento
expressly for the purpose that his enlightened zeal
should assist them in their labors. Dr. Monygham
could by no manner of means forget the zeal of Father
Beron, or his face, or the pitiless, monotonous voice in
which he pronounced the words," Will you confess now ?"

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

This memory did not make him shudder, but it had
made of him what he was in the eyes of respectable
people, a man careless of common decencies, some-
thing between a clever vagabond and a disreputable
doctor. But not all respectable people would have
had the necessary delicacy of sentiment to understand
with what trouble of mind and accuracy of vision Dr.
Monygham, medical officer of the San Tome' mine, re-
membered Father Beron, army chaplain, and once a
secretary of a military commission. After all these
years Dr. Monygham, in his rooms at the end of the
hospital building in the San Tom£ gorge, remembered
Father Beron as distinctly as ever. He remembered
that priest at night, sometimes in his sleep. On such
nights the doctor waited for daylight with a candle
lighted, and walking the whole length of his two rooms
to and fro, staring down at his bare feet, his arms
hugging his sides tightly. He would dream of Father
Beron sitting at the end of a long, black table, behind
which, in a row, appeared the heads, shoulders, and
epaulettes of the military members, nibbling the feather
of a quill pen, and listening with weary and impatient
scorn to the protestations of some prisoner calling
Heaven to witness of his innocence, till he burst out:
"What's the use of wasting time over that miserable
nonsense!, Let me take him outside for a while."
And Father Beron would go outside after the clanking
prisoner, led away between two soldiers. Such inter-
ludes happened on many days, many times, with many
prisoners. When the prisoner returned he was ready
to make a full confession, Father Beron would declare,
leaning forward with that dull, surfeited look which

414

omo: A Tale of the Seaboard
•an be seen in the eyes of gluttonous persons after a

The priest's in.|uisitorial instincts suffered but little
from the want <>: .1 apparatus of the inquisition.

At no time of the worKl's history have men been at a
.loss how to inflict mental and bodily anguish upon
their fellow-creatures. This aptitude came to them
in the growing complexity of their passions and the
early refinement of their ingenuity. But it may safely
be said that primeval man did not go to the trouble
of inventing tortures. He was indolent and pure of
rt. He brained his neighbor ferociously with a
stone axe from necessity and without malice. The
stupidest mind may invent a rankling phrase or brand
the innocent with a cruel aspersion. A piece of string
and a ramrod, a few muskets in combination with a
length of hide rope, or even a simple mallet of heavy,
hard wood applied with a swing to human fingers or
to the joints of a human body, is enough for the in-
fliction of the most exquisite torture The doctor had
been a very stubborn prisoner, and, as a natural con-
sequence of that "bad disposition" (so Father Beron
called it), his subjugation had been very crushing and
complete. That is why the limp in his walk, the
twist of his shoulders, the scars on his cheeks were so
pr. .nounced. His confessions, when they came at last,
were very complete, too. Sometimes, on the nights
when he walked the floor, he wondered, grinding his
i with shame and rage, at the fertility of his im-
agination when stimulated by a sort of pain which
makes truth, honor, self-respect, and life itself matters
of little moment.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

And he could not forget Father Beron with his monot-
onous phrase, "Will you confess now?" reaching him
in an awful iteration and lucidity of meaning through
the delirious incoherence of unbearable pain. He
could not forget. But that was not the worst. Had
he met Father Beron in the street after all these years,
Dr. Monygham was sure he would have quailed before
him. This contingency was not to be feared now.
Father Beron was dead ; but the sickening certitude pre-
vented Dr. Monygham from looking anybody in the face.

Dr. Monygham had become, in a manner, the slave of
a ghost. It was obviously impossible to take his
knowledge of Father Beron home to Europe. When
making his extorted confessions to the military board
Dr. Monygham was not seeking- to avoid death. He
longed for it. Sitting half -naked for hours on the wet
earth of his prison, and so motionless that the spiders,
his companions, attached their webs to his matted hair,
he consoled the misery of his soul with acute reason-
ings that he had confessed to crimes enough for a sen-
tence of death — that they had gone too far with him
to let him live to tell the tale.

But, as if by a refinement of cruelty, Dr. Monygham
was left for months to decay slowly in the darkness of
his gravelike prison. It was no doubt hoped that it
would finish him off without the trouble of an execu-
tion; but Dr. Monygham had an iron constitution.
It was Guzman Bento who died, not by the knife-
thrust of a conspirator, but from a stroke of apoplexy,
and Dr. Monygham was liberated hastily. His fetters
were struck off by the light of a candle, which, after
months of gloom, hurt his eyes so much that he had

416

omo: A Talc of the Seaboard

>ver his face with his hands. He was raised up.
1! heart was beating violently with the fear of this
lif>rrty. When he tried to walk the extraordinary
lightness of his feet made him giddy, and he fell down.
stuks were thrust into his hands, and he was
pushed out of the passage. It was dusk; candles glim-
'mered already in the windows of the officers' quarters
round the court-yard, but the twilight sky dazed him
by its enormous and overwhelming brilliance. A thin
poncho hung over his naked, bony shoulders; the rags
of his trousers came down no lower than his knees, an
eighteen months' growth of hair fell in dirty-gray locks
on each side of his sharp cheek-bones. As he dragged
himself past the guard-room door one of the soldiers,
lolling outside, moved'by some obscure impulse, leaped
arc! with a strange laugh and rammed a broken
old straw hat on his head. And Dr. Monygham, after
having tottered, continued on his way. He advanced
one stick, then one maimed foot, then the other stick;
the other foot followed only a very short distance along
the ground, toilfully, as though it were almost too
heavy to be moved at all ; and yet his legs, under the
hanging angles of the poncho, appeared no thicker
than the two sticks in his hands. A ceaseless trembling
agitated his bent body, all his wasted limbs, his bony
!. the conical, ragged crown of the sombrero whose
ample, flat rim rested on his shoulders.

In such conditions of manner and attire did Dr.
Monygham go forth to take possession of his liberty.
; these conditions seemed to bind him indissolu-
bly to the land of Costaguana like an awful pro-
cedure of naturalization, involving him deep in the

•M7

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

national life, far deeper than any amount of success
and honor could have done. They did away with his
Europeanism; for Dr. Monygham had made for him-
self an ideal conception of his disgrace. It was a con-
ception eminently fit and proper for an officer and a
gentleman. Dr. Monygham, before he went out to
Costaguana, had been surgeon in one of her Majesty's
regiments of foot. It was a conception which took no
account of physiological facts or reasonable argu-
ments. But it was not stupid for all that. It was
simple. A rule of conduct resting mainly on severe
rejections is necessarily simple. Dr. Monygham's view
of what it behooved him to do was severe; it was an
ideal view insomuch that it was the imaginative
exaggeration of a correct feeling. It was also, in its
force, influence, and persistency, the view of an emi-
nently loyal nature.

There was a great fund of loyalty in Dr. Monygham's
nature. He had settled it all on Mrs. Gould's head.
He believed her worthy of every devotion. At the
bottom of his heart he felt an angry uneasiness be-
fore the prosperity of the San Tome' mine, because
its growth was robbing her of all peace of mind. Costa-
guana was no place for a woman of that kind. What
could Charles Gould have been thinking of when he
brought her out there? It was outrageous! And the
doctor had watched the course of events witli a grim
and distant reserve which, he imagined, his lamentable
history imposed upon him.

Loyalty to Mrs. Gould could not, however, leave
out of account the safety of her husband. The doctor
had contrived to be in town at the critical time be-

418

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

o he mistrustc.l Charles Gould. He considered

him hopelessly infect* 1 with the madness of revolu-

That is why lie hobbli-d in distress in the

.ing-room of th< i that morning.

timing, "Decoud! Decoud!" in a toned mournful

irritation.

Mrs. Gould, her color heightened and with glisten-
ing eyes, looked straight before her at the sudden enor-
mity of that disaster. The finger-tips of one hand
rested lightly on a low little table by her side, and the
arm trembled right up to the shoulder. The sun, which
s late upon Sulaco, issuing in all the fulness of its
power high up on the sky from behind the dazzling
snow-edge of Higuerota, had precipitated the deli-
cate, smooth, pearly gray ness of light, in which the
town lies steeped during the early hours, into sharp-
cut masses of black shade and spaces of hot, blind-
ing glare. Three long rectangles of sunshine fell
through the windows of the sala, while just across the
street the front of the Avellanos house appeared very
sombre in its own shadow seen through the flood of
light.

A voice said at the door, " What of Decoud ?"
It was Charles Gould. They had not heard him
coming along the corridor. His glance just glided over
his wife and struck full at the doctor.

"You have brought some news, doctor?"
Dr. Monygham blurted it all out at once, in the
rough. For some time alter he had done the admin-
istrador of the San Tome" mine remained looking at
him without a word. Mrs. Gould sank into a low
chair with her hands lying on her lap. A silence

419

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

reigned between those three motionless persons.
Then Charles Gould spoke:

"You must want some breakfast."

He stood aside to let his wife pass first. She caught
up her husband's hand and pressed it as she went out,
raising the handkerchief to her eyes. The sight of
her husband had brought Antonia's position to her
mind, and she could not contain her tears at the
thought of the poor girl. When she rejoined the two
men in the dining-room after having bathed her face,
Charles Gould was saying to the doctor across the
table:

"No; there does not seem any room for doubt."

And the doctor assented:

"No, I don't see myself how we could question that
wretched Hirsch's tale. It's only too true, I fear."

She sat down desolately at the head of the table
and looked from one to the other. The two men,
without absolutely turning their heads away, tried to
avoid her glance. The doctor even made a show of
being hungry. He seized his knife and fork and be-
gan to eat with emphasis, as if on the stage. Charles
Gould made no pretence of the sort; with his elbows
raised squarely he twisted both ends of his flaming
mustaches — they were so long that his hands wei
quite away from his face.

"I am not surprised," he muttered, abandoning his
mustaches and throwing one arm over the back of
his chair. His face was calm with that immobility of
expression which betrays the intensity of a mental
struggle. He felt that this accident had brought to
a point all the consequences involved in his line of

420

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

conduct, with its conscious and subconscious inten-
l, There must be an end now of this silent re-
serve, of that air of impenetrability behind which he
had been safeguarding his dignity. It was the least
ignoble form of dissembling forced upon him by that
parody of civilized institutions which offended his in-
telligence, his uprightness, and his sense of right. He
was like his father, He had no ironic eye. He was
not amused at the absurdities that prevail in this
world. They hurt him in his innate gravity. He felt
that the miserable death of that poor Decoud took
from him his inaccessible position of a force in the
background. It committed him openly unless he
wished to throw up the game; and that was impos-
sible. The material interests required from him the
sacrifice of his aloofness — perhaps his own safety, too.
And he reflected tha . s separationist plan had

not gone to the bottom with the lost silver.

The only thing that was not changed was his posi-
tion towards Mr. Holroyd. The head of the silver and
steel interests had entered into Costaguana affairs with
a sort of passion. Costaguana had become necessary
to his existence; in the San Tome" mine he had found
the imaginative satisfaction which other minds would
get from drama, from art, or from a risky and fascinat-
ing sport. It was a special form of the great man's
extravagance, sanctioned by a moral intention big
enough to flatter his vanity. Even in this aberration
of his genius he served the progress of the world.
Charles Gould felt sure of being understood with pre-
cision and judged with the indulgence of their common
passion. Nothing now could surprise or startle his

421

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

great man. And Charles Gould imagined himself
writing a letter to San Francisco in some such words:
"... The men at the head of the movement are dead
or have fled; the civil organization of the province is
at an end for the present; the Blanco party in Sulaco
has collapsed inexcusably, but in the characteristic
manner of this country. But Barrios, untouched in
Cayta, remains still available. I am forced to take up
openly the plan of a provincial revolution as the only
way of placing the enormous material interests in-
volved in the prosperity and peace of Sulaco in a posi-
tion of permanent safety. ..." That was clear. He
saw these words as if written in letters of fire upon
the wall at which he was gazing abstractedly.

Mrs. Gould watched his abstraction with dread. It
was a domestic and frightful phenomenon that dark-
ened and chilled the house for her like a thunder-cloud
passing over the sun. Charles Gould's fits of abstrac-
tion depicted the energetic concentration of a will
haunted by a fixed idea. A man haunted by a fixed
idea is insane. He is dangerous even if that idea is
an idea of justice; for may he not bring the heaven
down pitilessly upon a loved head ? The eyes of Mrs.
Gould, watching her husband's profile, filled with tears
again. And again she seemed to see the despair of
the unfortunate Antonia.

"What would I have done if Charley had been
drowned while we were engaged!" she exclaimed men-
tally, with horror. Her heart turned to ice while her
cheeks flamed up as if scorched by the blaze of a fu-
neral pyre consuming all her earthly affections. The
tears burst out of her eyes.

422

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

''Antonia will kill her ie cried out.

This i rv tell into the silence of the room with strange-
ly little effect. Only the doctor, crumbling up a piece
of bread, with his head inclined on one side, raised his
face, and the few long hairs sticking out of his shaggy
eyebrows stirred in a slight frown. Dr. Monygham
thought quite sincerely that Decoud was a singularly
unworthy object for any woman's affection. Then he
lowered his head again, with a curl of his lip and his
heart full of tender admiration for Mrs. Gould.

"She thinks of that girl," he said to himself; "she
thinks of the Viola children, she thinks of me, of the
wounded, of the miners — she always thinks of every-
body who is poor and miserable! But what will she
do if Charles gets the worst of it in this infernal scrim-
mage those confounded Avellanos have drawn him
into? No one seems to be thinking of her."

Charles Gould, staring at the wall, pursued his re-
flections subtly.

" I shall write to Holroyd that the San Tome" mine is
big enough to take in hand the making of a new state.
It 11 please him. It '11 reconcile him to the risk."

But was Barrios really available? Perhaps. But
he was inaccessible. To send off a boat to Cayta was
no longer possible, since Sotillo was master of the har-
bor and had a steamer at his disposal. And now,
with all the democrats in the province up and every
Campo township in a state of disturbance, where could
nd a man who would make his way successfully
overland to Cayta with a message, a ten days' ride at
• —a man of courage and resolution who would
avoid arrest or murder, and if arrested would faith-

423

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

fully eat the paper ? The capataz de cargadores would
have been just such a man. But the capataz of the
cargadores was no more.

And Charles Gould, withdrawing his eyes from the
wall, said, gently: "That Hirsch! What an extraor-
dinary thing! Saved himself by clinging to the anchor,
did he ? I had no idea that he was still in Sulaco. I
thought he had gone back overland to Esmeralda
more than a week ago. He came here once to talk
to me about his hide business and some other things.
I made it clear to him that nothing could be done."

"He was afraid to start back on account of Her-
nandez being about," remarked the doctor.

"And but for him we might not have known any-
thing of what has happened," marvelled Charles Gould.

Mrs. Gould cried out:

"Antonia must not know! She must not be told.
Not now."

"Nobody's likely to carry the news," remarked the
doctor. " It's no one's interest. Moreover, the people
here are afraid of Hernandez as if he were the devil."
He turned to Charles Gould. " It's even awkward, be-
cause if you wanted to communicate with the refugees
you could find no messenger. When Hernandez was
ranging hundreds of miles away from here the Sulaco
populace used to shudder at the tales of him roasting
his prisoners alive."

"Yes," murmured Charles Gould, "Captain Mit-
chell's capataz was the only man in the town who had
seen Hernandez eye to eye. Father Corbelan employ-
ed him. He opened the communications first. It is
a pity that — "

424

omo : A Talc ot" the Seaboard

His voice was covered by the booming of the great
In 1! of the cathedral. Three single strokes, one after
UT. burst out explosively, dying away in deep
and mellow vibrations. And then all the bells in the
•wer of even' church, convent, or chapel in town, even
•lose that had remained shut up for years, pealed out
Bgether with a i rush. In this furious flood of metallic
uproar there was a power of suggesting images of
Erife and violence which blanched Mrs. Gould's cheek,
lio, who had been waiting at table shrinking
within himself, clung to the sideboard with chattering
teeth. It was impossible to hear yourself speak.

"Shut these windows!" Charles Gould yelled at him,
angrily. All the other servants, terrified at what they
for the signal of a general massacre, had rushed up-
, tumbling over each other, men and women, the
obscure and generally invisible population of the
ground floor on the four sides of the patio. The wom-
en screaming " Misericordia!" ran right into the room,
and, falling on their knees against the walls, began to
cross themselves convulsively. The staring heads of
men blocked the doorway in an instant — mozos from
-table, gardeners, nondescript helpers living on
crumbs of the munificent house — and Charles
Gould beheld all the extent of his domestic establish-
ment even to the gate-keeper. This was a half-para-
1 old man, whose long, white locks fell down to his
shoulders — an heirloom taken up by Charles Gould's
familial piety. He could remember Henry Gould, an
Englishman and Costaguanero of the second genera-
chief of the Sulaco province; he had been his \n r-
sonal mozo years and years ago, in peace and war; had

425

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

been allowed to attend his master in prison; had on
the fatal morning followed the firing squad, and,
peeping from behind one of the cypresses growing
along the wall of the Franciscan convent, had seen,
with his eyes starting out of his head, Don Enrique
throw up his hands and fall with his face in the dust.
Charles Gould noted particularly the big, patriarchal
head of that witness in the rear of the other servants.
But he was surprised to see a shrivelled old hag or
two of whose existence within the walls of his house
he had not been aware. They must have been the
mothers or even the grandmothers of some of his
people. There were a few children, too, more or less
naked, crying and clinging to the legs of their elders.
He had never before noticed any sign of a child in his
patio. Even Leonarda, the camerista, came in a
fright, pushing through, with her spoiled, pouting face
of a favorite maid, leading the Viola girls by the hand.
The crockery rattled on table and sideboard, and the
whole house seemed to sway in the deafening wave of
sound.

DURING the night the expectant populace had
taken possession of all the belfries in the town in
order to welcome Pedrito Montero, who was making
his entry after having slept the night in Rincon. And
first came straggling in through the land gate the
armed mob, of all colors, complexions, types, and states
of raggedness, calling themselves the Sulaco National
Guard, and commanded by Seflor Gamacho. Through
the middle of the street streamed, like a torrent of
rubbish, a mass of straw hats, ponchos, gun-barrels,
with an enormous green-and-yellow flag flapping in
their midst, in a cloud of dust, to the furious beating
of drums. The spectators recoiled against the walls
of the houses, shouting their i*ivns / Behind the rab-
ble could be seen the lances of the cavalry, the "army "
of Pedro Montero. He advanced between Senores
Fuentes and Gamacho, at the head of his Llaneros,
who had accomplished the feat of crossing the para-
mos of the Higuerota in a snow-storm. They rode
four abreast, mounted on confiscated Campo horses,
clad in the heterogeneous stock of road-side stores
they had looted hurriedly in their rapid ride through
the northern part of the province; for Pedro Montero
had been in a great hurry to occupy Sulaco. The
handkerchiefs knotted loosely around their bare throats
were glaringly new, and all the right sleeves of their
»8 4 »7

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

cotton shirts had been cut off close to the shoulder for
greater freedom in throwing the lazo. Emaciated
graybeards rode by the side of lean, dark youths,
marked by all the hardships of campaigning, with
scrips of raw beef twined round the crowns of their
hats and huge iron spurs fastened to their naked heels.
Those that in the passes of the mountain had lost
their lances had provided themselves with the goads
used by the Campo cattlemen — slender shafts of palm
fully ten feet long, with a lot of loose rings jingling
under the iron-shod point. They were armed with
knives and revolvers. A haggard fearlessness charac-
terized the expression of all these sun-blacked coun-
tenances ; they glared down haughtily with their scorch-
ed eyes at the crowd, or, blinking upward insolently,
pointed out to each other some particular head among
the women at the windows. When they had ridden
into the Plaza and caught sight of the equestrian
statue of the king dazzlingly white in the sunshine,
towering enormous and motionless above the surges
of the crowd, with its eternal gesture of saluting, a
murmur of surprise ran through their ranks. "What
is that saint in the big hat?" they asked each other.
They were a good sample of the cavalry of the plains
with which Pedro Montero had helped so much the
victorious career of his brother the general. The in-
fluence which that man, brought up in coast towns, ac-
quired in a short time over the plainsmen of the
republic can be ascribed only to a genius for treach-
ery of so effective a kind that it must have appeared
to those violent men, but little removed from a state
of utter savagery, as the perfection of sagacity and

428

• mo: A Talc ot" the Seaboard

:t«. The popular lore of all nations testifies th.it
duplicitv an«l < mining, together with bodily strength,
ijH.n, cvni more than courage, as heroic
yr primitive mankind. To overcome your ad-
•narv was the great alTair of life. Courage was taken
•r granted. Rut the use of intelligence awakened
Vender and respect. Stratagems, providing they did
•>t fail, were honorable; the easy massacre of an un-
•ispecting enemy evoked no feelings but those of
Badness, pride, and admiration. Not, perhaps, that
primitive men were more faithless than their descend-
Mts of to-day, but that they went straighter to their
aim and were more artless in their recognition of suc-
4bss as the only standard of morality.

We have changed since. The use of intelligence
awakens little wonder and less respect. But the
Hoorant and barbarous plainsmen engaging in civil
strife followed willingly a leader who often managed
to deliver their enemies bound, as it were, into their
hands. Pedro Montero had a talent for lulling his ad-
versaries into a sense of security. And as men learn
wisdom with extreme slowness, and are always ready
clieve promises that flatter their secret hopes,
Pedro Montero was successful time after time. Wheth-
er only a servant or some inferior official in the Costa-
Ma legation in Paris, he had rushed back to his
•:try directly he heard that his brother had emerged
Hbfn the obscurity of his frontier commandancia. He
had managed to deceive by his gift of plausibility the
chiefs of the Ribierist movement in the capital, and
even the acute agent of the San Tome" mine had failed
.nderstand him thoroughly. At once he had ob-
429

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

tained an enormous influence over his brother. They
were very much alike in appearance, both bald, with
bunches of crisp hair above their ears, arguing the
presence of some negro blood. Only Pedro was small-
er than the general, more delicate altogether, with an
apelike faculty for imitating all the outward signs of
refinement and distinction, and with a parrot-like tal-
ent for languages. Both brothers had received some
elementary instruction by the munificence of a great
European traveller, to whom their father had been a
body-servant during his journeys in the interior of
the country. In General Montero's case it enabled
him to rise from the ranks. Pedrito, the younger, in-
corrigibly lazy and slovenly, had drifted aimlessly
from one coast town to another, hanging about count-
ing-houses, attaching himself to strangers as a sort of
valet-de-place, picking up an easy and disreputable
living. His ability to read did nothing foi; him but
fill his head with absurd visions. His actions were
usually determined by motives so improbable in them-
selves as to escape the penetration of a rational person.
Thus, at first, the agent of the Gould Concession in
Sta. Marta had credited him with the possession of
sane views, and even with a restraining power over
the general's everlastingly discontented vanity. It
could never have entered his head that Pedrito Mon-
tero, lackey or inferior scribe, lodged in the garrets
of the various Parisian hotels where the Costaguana
legation used to shelter its diplomatic dignity, had
been devouring the lighter sort of historical works
in the French language, such, for instance, as the books
of Imbert de Saint Amand upon the Second Empire.

43°

^tromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

But I'« • Irito had been struck by the splendor of a
nit court, and had conceived the idea of an ex-
ist nice for himself where, like the Due de Morny, he
would associate the command of every pleasure with
•M conduct of political affairs and enjoy power su-
Bemely in every way. Nobody could have guessed
Bat. And yet this was one of the immediate causes
• the Monterist rev -hit ion. This will appear less
•credible by the reflection that the fundamental
Bases were the same as ever, rooted in the p»lr
immaturity of the people, in the indolence of the up-
Br classes and the mental darkness of the lower.

Pedrito Montero saw, in the elevation of his brother,
Be road wide open to his wildest imaginings. This
was what made the Monterist pronunciamiento so un-
Beventable. The general himself probably could have
been bought off, pacified with flatteries, despatched on
a diplomatic mission to Europe. It was his brother
who had egged him on from first to last. He wanted
to become the most brilliant statesman of South Amer-
ica. He did not desire supreme power. He would
been afraid of its labor and risk, in fact. Before
all, Pedrito Montero, taught by his Kuropean experi-
ence, meant to acquire a serious fortune for himself.
With this object in view he obtained from his brother,
on the very morrow of the successful battle, the per-
mission to push on over the mountains and take pos-
session of Sulaco. Sulaco was the land of future pros-
perity, the chosen land of material progress, the only
Btevince in the republic of interest to European cap-
^Hbts. Pedrito Montero, following the example of
the Due de Morny, meant to have his share of this pros-

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

perity. This is what he meant literally. Now his
brother was master of the country, whether as President,
Dictator, or even as Emperor — why not as an Emperor?
— he meant to demand a share in every enterprise — in
railways, in mines, in sugar estates, in cotton-mills, in
land companies, in each and every undertaking — as
the price of his protection. The desire to be on the
spot early was the real cause of the celebrated ride over
the mountains with some two hundred Llaneros, an
enterprise of which the dangers had not appeared at
first clearly to his impatience. Coming from a series
of victories, it seemed to him that a Montcro had only
to appear to be master of the situation. This illu-
sion had betrayed him into a rashness of which he was
becoming aware. As he rode at the head of his Lla-
neros he regretted that there were so few of them. The
enthusiasm of the populace reassured him. They
yelled "Viva Montero!" "Viva Pedrito!" In order J
make them still more enthusiastic, and from the nat-
ural pleasure he had in dissembling, he dropped the
reins on his horse's neck, and with a tremendous effect
of familiarity and confidence slipped his hands under
the arms of Senores Fuentes and Gamacho. In that
posture, with a ragged town mozo holding his horse
by the bridle, he rode triumphantly across the Plaza .s
to the door of the Intendencia. Its old, gloomy walls
seemed to shake in the acclamations that rent the air I :•
and covered the crashing peals of the cathedral bells. •:•

Pedro Montero, the brother of the general, dismount-
ed into a shouting and perspiring throng of enthusiasts m
whom the ragged Nationals were pushing back fiercely. '\
Ascending a few steps, he surveyed the large crowd

432

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

•ig at him ami tin- bullet-speckled walls of the
ite lightly veiled by a sunny haze of dust.
Tin- w«>rd " I'< )RVKNIR." in immense Murk capitals,
:;iting with broken windows, stared at him across
the vast space; and he thought with delight of the hour
of vengeam-e. because he was very sure of laying his
hands upon Decoud. On his left hand, Gamacho, big
and hot. wiping his hairy, wet face, uncovered a set of
yellow fangs in a grin of stupid hilarity. On his right,
r Fuentes, small and lean, looked on with coin-
ed lips. The crowd stared literally open-mouthed,
:n eager stillness, as though they had expected the
i guerrillero, the famous Pedrito, to begin scatter-
ing at once some sort of visible largesse. What he be-
gan was a speech. He began it with the shouted word
izens!" which reached even those in the middle of
the Plaza. Afterwards the greater part of the citizens
remained fascinated by the orator's action alone — his
tiptoeing, the arms flung above his head with the fists
clinched; a hand laid flat upon the heart; the silver
gleam of rolling eyes; the sweeping, pointing, embrac-
.resture?; a hand laid familiarly on Gamacho's
shoulder; a hand waved formally towards the little,
black-coated person of Senor Fuentes, advocate and
politician and a true friend of the people. The vivas
of those nearest to the orator, bursting out suddenly,
agated themselves irregularly to the confines of
rowd. like flames running over dry grass, and ex-
Aired in the opening of the streets. In the intervals,
over the swarming Plaza brooded a heavy silence, in
which the mouth of the orator went on opening and
shutting, and detached phrases — "The happiness of

433

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

the people," "Sons of the country," "The entire
world" (el mundo entiero) — reached even the packed
steps of the cathedral with a feeble, clear ring, thin as
the buzzing of a mosquito. But the orator struck his
breast ; he seemed to prance between his two supporters.
It was the supreme effort of his peroration. Then the
two smaller figures disappeared from the public
and the enormous Gamacho, left alone, advanced, rais-
ing his hat high above his head. Then he cove
himself proudly and yelled out, "Ciudadanos!"
dull roar greeted Senor Gamacho, ex-peddler of the
Campo, Commandante of the National Guards.

Up-stairs, Pedrito Montero walked about rapidly
from one wrecked room of the Intendencia to another,
snarling incessantly:

"What stupidity! What destruction!"

Senor Fuentes, following, would relax his taciturn
disposition to murmur:

"It is all the work of Gamacho and his Nationals;",
and then, inclining his head on his left shoulder, would
press together his lips so firmly that a little hollow
would appear at each corner. He had his nomination
for Political Chief of the town in his pocket and was
all impatience to enter upon his functions.

In the long audience-room, with its tall mirrors all
starred by stones, the hangings torn down and the
canopy over the platform at the upper end pulled to
pieces, the vast, deep muttering of the crowd and
the howling voice of Gamacho, speaking just below,
reached them through the shutters as they stood idly
in dimness and desolation.

"The brute!" observed his Excellency Don Pedro
434

>im> : A Talc of the Seaboard

Montero through clinched teeth. "We must contrive
as quickly as possible to send him and his Nationals

to fight Uernan

The new Ge"fe Politico only jerked his head sideways
and took a puff at his cigarette, in sign of his agreement
with this method for ridding the town of Gamacho and

.aconvenient rabble.

Pedrito Montero looked with disgust at the abso-
lutely bare floor and at the belt of heavy gilt picture-
frames running round the room, out of which the rem-
nants of torn and slashed canvases fluttered like dingy
rags.

U'e^arejifiLJiarbarians," he &aid.
This was what said his Excellency, the popular
: ito, the guerrillero skilled in the art of laying am-
ies, charged by his brother at his own demand with
the organization of Sulaco on democratic principles.
The night before, during the consultation with his par-
.s, who had come out to meet him in Rincon, he
had opened his intentions to Sefior Fuentes:

" \Ve shall organize a popular vote, by yes or no,

confiding the destinies of our beloved country to the

wisdom and valiance of my heroic brother, the in-

ible general. A plebiscite. Do you understand ?"

And Seflor Fuentes, puffing out his leathery cheeks,

ha. I inclined his head slightly to the left, letting a thin,

bluish jet of smoke escape through his pursed lips.

He had understood.

His Excellency was exasperated at the devastation.

Not a single chair, table, sofa, ttagtre, or console had

been left in the state rooms of the Intendencia. His

••llency, though twitching all over with rage, was

43$

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

restrained from bursting into violence by a sense of his
remoteness and isolation. His heroic brother was very
far away. Meantime, how was he going to take his
siesta? He had expected to find comfort and luxury
in the Intendencia after a year of hard camp-life, end-
ing with the hardships and privations of the daring dash
upon Sulaco — upon the province which was worth
more in wealth and influence than all the rest of the
republic's territory. He would get even with Gama-
cho by -and -by. And Senor Gamacho's oration, de-
lectable to popular ears, went on in the heat and glare
of the Plaza like the uncouth howlings of an inferior
sort of devil cast into a white-hot furnace. Every
moment he had to wipe his streaming face with his
bare forearm; he had flung off his coat and had turned
up the sleeves of his shirt high above the elbows, but he
kept on his head the large cocked hat with white plumes.
His ingenuousness cherished this sign of his rank as
Commandante of the National Guards. Approving and
grave murmurs greeted his periods. His opinion was
that war should be declared at once against France,
England, Germany, and the United States, who, by
introducing railways, mining enterprises, colonization,
and under such other shallow pretences aimed at rob-
bing poor people of their lands, and, with the help of
these Goths and paralytics, the aristocrats, would
convert them into toiling and miserable slaves. And
the leperos, flinging about the corners of their dirty
white mantas, yelled their approbation. General Mon-
tero, Gamacho howled with conviction, was the only
man equal to the patriotic task. They assented to
that, too.

436

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

The morning was wearing on; there were already
:ption, currents and eddies in the crowd.
«• were seeking the shade of the walls and under
tlu- t rrrs of the Alann : i Horsemen spurred through,
shouting; groups <>i -onilirems. set level on heads
against the vertical sun, were drifting away into the
Itreets, where the open doors of pulperias revealed an
enticing gloom resounding with the gentle tinkling of
guitars The National Guards were thinking of siesta,
and the eloquence of Gamacho, their chief, was ex-
:ed. Later on. when in the cooler hours of the
afternoon they tried to assemble again for further con-
sideration of public affairs, detachments of Montero's
dry camped on the Alameda charged them with-
out parley, at s{>eed, with long lances levelled at their
flying backs, as far as the ends of the streets. The
National Guards of Sulaco were surprised by this

• •eding, but they were not indignant. No Costa-
guanero had ever learned to question the eccentricities
of a military force. They were part of the natural
order of things. This must be, they concluded, some
kind of administrative measure, no doubt. But the
motive of it escaped their unaided intelligence, and
their chief and orator, Gamacho, Commandante of the
National Guard, was lying drunk and asleep in the
bosom of his family. His bare feet were upturned in
the shadows repulsively, in the manner of a cor;

• •loquent mouth had dropped open. His youngest
daughter, scratching her head with one hand, with the
other waved a green bough over his scorched and peel-
ing face.

THE declining sun had shifted the shadows from
west to east among the houses of the town. It
had shifted them upon the whole extent of the im-
mense Campo, with the white walls of its haciendas on
the knolls dominating the green distances; with its
grass-hatched ranchos crouching in the folds of ground
by the banks of streams; with the dark islands of clus-
tered trees on a clear sea of grass, and the precipitous
range of the Cordillera, immense and motionless,
emerging from the billows of the lower forests like the
barren coast of a land of giants. The sunset rays,
striking the snow-slope of Higuerota from afar, gave it
an air of rosy youth, while the serrated mass of distant
peaks remained black, as if calcined in the fiery ra-
diance. The undulating surface of the forests seemed
powdered with pale gold-dust; and away there, beyond
Rincon, hidden from the town by two wooded spurs,
the rocks of the San Tome gorge, with the flat wall of
the mountain itself crowned by gigantic ferns, took on
warm tones of brown and yellow, with red, rusty streaks
and the dark-green clumps of bushes rooted in crev-
ices. From the plain the stamp sheds and the houses
of the mine appeared dark and small, high up, like the
nests of birds clustered on the ledges of a cliff. The
zigzag paths resembled faint tracings scratched on the
wall of a cyclopean block-house. To the two serenos

438

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

of the mine on day fluty, strolling, carbine in hand
and watchful eyes, in the shade of the trees lining the
rn near the bridge, Don Pdpd, descending the path
fp>m the upper plateau, appeared no bigger than a
large beetle.

With his air of aimless, insect-like going to and fro
upon the face of the rock, Don Pdp6's figure kept on
ending steadily, and, when near the bottom, sank
at last behind the roofs of store-houses, forges, and
workshops. For a time the pair of serenos strolled
back and forth before the bridge, on which they had
stopped a horseman holding a large white envelope in
his hand. Then Don Pdpe", emerging in the village
street from among the houses, not a stone's-throw from
the frontier bridge, approached, striding in wide, dark
trousers tucked into boots, a white linen jacket, sabre
at his side and revolver at his belt. In this disturbed
time nothing could find the Sefior Gobernador with his
"boots off, as the saying is.

At a slight nod from one of the serenos, the man, a
messenger from the town, dismounted and crossed the
bridge, leading his horse by the bridle.

Don Pe'pe' received the letter from his other hand,
slapped his left side and his hips in succession, feel-
ing for his spectacle-case. After settling the heavy,
silver-mounted affair astride his nose and adjusting it
•ally behind his ears, he opened the envelope, hold-
ing it up at about a foot in front of his eyes. The paper
••ulled out contained some three lines of writing.
>oked at them for a long time. His gray mustache
moved slightly up and down, and the wrinkles, radiating
at the corners of his eyes, ran together. He nodded

439

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

serenely. " Bueno," he said. "There is no an-
swer."

Then, in his quiet, kindly way, he engaged in a cau-
tious conversation with the man, who was willing to
talk cheerily, as if something lucky had happened to
him recently. He had seen from a distance Sotillo's
infantry camped along the shore of the harbor on each
side of the custom - house. They had done no damage
to the buildings. The foreigners of the railway re-
mained shut up within the yards. They were no longer
anxious to shoot poor people. He cursed the foreign-
ers; then he reported Montero's entry and the rumors
of the town. The poor were going to be made rich
now. That was very good. More he did not know;
and, breaking into propitiatory smiles, he intimated
that he was hungry and thirsty. The old major di-
rected him to go to the alcalde of the first village. The
man rode off, and Don Pepe", striding slowly in the di-
rection of a little wooden belfry, looked over a hedge
into a little garden and saw Father Romkn sitting in a
white hammock slung between two orange -trees in
front of the presbytery.

An enormous tamarind shaded with its dark foliage
the whole white frame house. A young Indian girl,
with long hair, big eyes, and small hands and feet, car-
ried out a wooden chair, while a thin, old woman,
crabbed and vigilant, watched her all the time from the
veranda. Don P6p6 sat down in the chair and lighted
a cigar; the priest drew in an immense quantity of
snuff out of the hollow of his palm. On his reddish-
brown face, worn, hollowed as if crumbled, the eyes
fresh and candid, sparkled like two black diamonds.

440

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Don Pe'pe', in a mild and humorous voice, informed
Father Roman that Pcdrito Montero, by the hand of
Senor Fuentes, had asked him on what terms he would
surrender the mine in proper working order to a legally
constituted commission of patriotic citizens, escorted
by a small military force. The priest cast his eyes up
to heaven. However, Don Pe"pd continued, the mozo
who brought the letter said that Don Carlos Gould was
alive, and so far unmolested.

Father Roman expressed in a few words his thank-
fulness at hearing of the Seftor Administrador's safety.

The hour of oration had gone by in the silvery ring-
ing of a bell in the little belfry. The belt of forest clos-
ing the entrance of the valley stood like a screen be-
tween the low sun and the street of the village. At the
other end of the rocky gorge, between the walls of basalt
and granite, a forest-clad mountain, hiding all the range
from the San Tome* dwellers, rose steeply, lighted up
and leafy to the very top. Three small, rosy clouds
hung motionless overhead in the great depth of blue.
Knots of people sat in the street between the wattled
huts. Before the casa of the alcalde, the foremen of
the night-shift, already assembled to lead their men,
squatted on the ground in a circle of leather skull-caps,
and, bowing their bronze backs, were passing round
the gourd of mate*. The mozo from the town, having
fastened his horse to a wooden post before the door,
was telling them the news of Sulaco as the blackened
gourd of the decoction passed from hand to hand. The
e alcalde himself, in a white waist-cloth and a
flowered chintz gown with sleeves, open wide upon his
naked, stout person, with an effect of a gaudy bathing-

441

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

robe, stood by, wearing a rough beaver hat at the back
of his head, and grasping a tall staff with a silver knob
in his hand. These insignia of his dignity had been
conferred upon him by the administration of the mine,
the fountain of honor, of prosperity, and peace. He
had been one of the first immigrants into this valley;
his sons and sons-in-law worked within the mountain,
which seemed, with its treasures, to pour down the
thundering ore-shoots of the upper mesa the gifts of
well-being, security, and justice upon the toilers. He
listened to the news from the town with curiosity and
indifference, as if concerning another world than his
own. And it was true that they appeared to him so.
In a very few years the sense of belonging to a powerful
organization had been developed in these harassed,
half-wild Indians. They were proud of, and attached
to, the mine. It had secured their confidence and be-
lief. They invested it with a protecting and invincible
virtue, as though it were a fetish made by their own
hands, for they were ignorant, and in other respects
did not differ appreciably from the rest of mankind,
which puts infinite trust in its own creations It
never entered the alcalde's head that the mine could
fail in its protection and force. Politics were good
enough for the people of the town and the Campo. His
yellow, round face, with wide nostrils, and motionless in
expression, resembled a fierce full moon. He listened
to the excited vaporings of the mozo without misgiv-
ings, without surprise, without any active sentinic-nt
whatever.

Padre Roman sat dejectedly balancing himself, his
feet just touching the ground, his hands gripping the

442

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

edge of the hammock. With less confidence, but as
ignorant as his flock, he asked the major what did he
think was going to happen now.

Don Pe'pe', bolt upright in the chair, folded his hands
peacefully on the hilt of his sword, standing perpen-
dicular between his thighs, and answered that he did
not know. The mine could be defended against any
force likely to be sent to take possession. On the
other hand, from the arid character of the valley, when
the regular supplies from the Campo had been cut off,
the population of the three villages could be starved
into submission. Don Pe'pe' exposed these contingen-
cies with serenity to Father Roman, who, as an old
campaigner, was able to understand the reasoning of
a military man. They talked with simplicity and
directness. Father Roman was saddened at the idea
of his flock being scattered or else enslaved. He had
no illusions as to their fate, not from penetration, but
from long experience of political atrocities, which seem-
ed to him fatal and unavoidable in the life of a state.
The working of the usual public institutions presented
itself to him most distinctly as a series of calamities
overtaking private individuals and flowing logically
from one another through hate, revenge, folly, and
rapacity, as though they had been part of a divine dis-
pensation. Father Roman's clear-sightedness was
served by an uninformed intelligence; but his heart,
preserving its tenderness among scenes of carnage,
spoliation, and violence, abhorred these calamities the
more as his association with the victims was closer.
He entertained towards the Indians of the valley
feelings of paternal scorn. He had been marrying,

443

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

baptizing, confessing, absolving, and burying the
workers of the San Tome" mine with dignity and
unction for five years or more; and he believed in the
sacredness of these ministrations, which made them
his own in a spiritual sense. They were dear to his
sacerdotal supremacy. Mrs. Gould's earnest interest in
the concerns of these people enhanced their importance
in the priest's eyes, because it really augmented his
own. When talking over with her the innumerable
Marias and Bngidas of the villages, he felt his own hu-
manity expand. Padre Roman was incapable of fa-
naticism to an almost reprehensible degree. The Eng-
lish senora was evidently a heretic; but at the same
time she seemed to him wonderful and angelic. When-
ever that confused state of his feelings occurred to
him, while strolling, for instance, his breviary under
his arm, in the wide shade of the tamarind, he would
stop short to inhale, with a strong snuffling noise, a
large quantity of snuff, and shake his head profoundly.
At the thought of what might befall the illustrious
senora presently he became gradually overcome with
dismay. He voiced it in an agitated murmur. Even
Don P6p6 lost his serenity for a moment. He leaned
forward stiffly.

"Listen, padre. The very fact that those thieving
macaques in Sulaco are trying to find out the price of
my honor proves that Senor Don Carlos and all in the
Casa Gould are safe. As to my honor, that also is safe,
as every man, woman, and child knows. But the
negro Liberals who have snatched the town by surprise
do not know that. Bueno! Let them sit and wait.
While they wait they can do no harm."

444

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

And he regained his composure. He regained it
easily. !•• 'uiU-vrr happened liis honor of an old

•r of Pacz was safe. He had promised Ch
Gould that at the approach of an armed force he would
defend the gorge just long enough to give himself time
to destroy scientifically the whole plant, buildings, and
workshops of the mine with heavy charges of dynamite ;
block with ruins the main tunnel, break down the path-
ways, blow up the dam of the water-power, shatter the
famous Gould Concession into fragments, flying sky-
high out of a horrified world. The mine had got hold
of Charles Gould with a grip as deadly as ever it had
laid upon his father. But this extreme resolution had
seemed to Don Pe"pe the most natural thing in the
world. His measures had been taken with judgment.
Everything was prepared with a careful completeness.
And Don Pe'pe' folded his hands pacifically on his
sword-hilt and nodded at the priest. In his excite-
ment Father Roman had flung snuff in handfuls at his
face, and, all besmeared with tobacco, round-eyed,
and beside himself, had got out of the hammock to
walk about, uttering exclamations.

Don Pdpe" stroked his gray and pendent mustache,
whose fine ends hung far below the clean-cut line of
his jaw, and spoke with a conscious pride in his repu-
tation.

"So, padre, I don't know what will happen. But I
know that, as long as I am here, Don Carlos can speak
to that macaque, Pedrito Montero, and threaten
the destruction of the mine with perfect assurance
that he will be taken seriously. For people know
me."

445

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

He began to turn the cigar in his lips a little nervous-
ly, and went on:

" But that is talk — good for the politicos. I am a
military man. I do not know what may happen.
But I know what ought to be done: the mine should
march upon the town with guns, axes, knives tied up
to sticks — por Dios! That is what should be done.
Only—"

His folded hands twitched on the hilt. The cigar
turned faster in the corner of his lips.

"And who should lead but I? Unfortunately — ob-
serve — I have given my word of honor to Don Carlos
not to let the mine fall into the hands of these thieves.
In war — you know this, padre — the fate of battles is
uncertain, and whom could I leave here to act for me
in case of defeat? The explosives are ready. But it
would require a man of high honor, of intelligence, of
judgment, of courage, to carry out the prepared de-
struction— somebody I can trust with my honor as
I can trust myself; another old officer of Paez, for
instance; or — or — perhaps one of Paez's old chap-
lains would do."

He got up, long, lank, upright, hard, with his mar-
tial mustache and the bony structure of his face,
from which the glance of the sunken eyes seemed to
transfix the priest, who stood still, an empty wooden
snuff-box held upside-down in his hand, and glared
back, speechlessly, at the governor of the mine.

VII

AT about that time, in the Intendencia of Sulaco,
Charles Gould was assuring Pedrito Montero, who
ha«l sent a request for his presence there, that he
would never let the mine pass out of his hand for the
profit of a government who had robbed him of it.
The Gould Concession could not be resumed. His
father had not desired it. The son would never sur-
render it. He would never surrender it alive. And
once dead, where was the power capable of resuscitat-
ing such an enterprise in all its vigor and wealth out
of the ashes and ruin of destruction? There was no
such power in the country. And where was the skill
and capital abroad that would condescend to touch
such an ill-omened corpse? Charles Gould talked in
the impassive tone which had for many years served
to conceal his anger and contempt. He suffered. He
was disgusted with what he had to say. It was too
much like heroics. In him the strictly practical in-
stinct was in profound discord with the almost mystic-
view he took of his right. The Gould Concession was
symbolic of abstract justice. Let the heavens fall.
But since the San Tome* mine had developed into
world-wide fame his threat had enough force and effec-
tiveness to reach the rudimentary intelligence of Pedro
Montero, wrapped up as it was in the futilities of his-
torical anecdotes. The Gould Concession was a se-

447

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

nous asset in the country's finance, and, what was
more, in the private budgets of many officials as well.
It was traditional. It was known. It was staid. It
was credible. Every Minister of Interior drew a sal-
ary from the San Tomd mine. It was natural. And
Pedrito intended to be Minister of the Interior and
President of the Council in his brother's government.
The Due de Morny had occupied those high posts
during the Second French Empire with conspicuous
advantage to himself.

A table, a chair, a wooden bedstead had been pro-
cured for his Excellency, who, after a short siesta,
rendered absolutely necessary by the labors and the
pomps of his entry into Sulaco, had been getting hold
of the administrative machine by making appoint-
ments, giving orders, and signing proclamations.
Alone with Charles Gould in the audience-room, his
Excellency managed with his well-known skill to con-
ceal his annoyance and consternation. He had begun
at first to talk loftily of confiscation, but the want of
all proper feeling and mobility in the Sefior Adminis-
trador's features ended by affecting adversely his pow-
er of masterful expression. Charles Gould had re-
peated: "The government can certainly bring about
the destruction of the San Tome" mine if it likes; but
without me it can do nothing else." It was an alarm-
ing pronouncement, and well calculated to hurt the
sensibilities of a politician whose mind is bent upon the
spoils of victory. And Charles Gould said also that
the destruction of the San Tome" mine would cause the
ruin of other undertakings, the withdrawal of Euro-
pean capital, the withholding, most probably, of the

448

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

.ilment of the foreign loan. That stony fiend
of a man said all these things (which were accessible
to his Excellency's intelligence-) in a cold-blooded
manner which made one shudder.

A long course of reading historical works, light and
gossipy in tone, carried <>ut in garrets of Parisian
hotels, sprawling on an untidy bed, to the neglect of his
duties, menial or otherwise, had affected the manners
of Pedro Montero. Had he seen around him the
splendor of the old Intendencia — the magnificent hang-
ings, the gilt furniture ranged along the walls — had he
stood upon a dais on a noble square of red carpet, he
would have probably been very dangerous from a sense
of success and elevation. But in this sacked and de-
vastated residence, with the three pieces of common
furniture huddled up in the middle of the vast apart-
ment, Pedrito's imagination was subdued by a feeling
of insecurity and impermanence. That feeling, and
the firm attitude of Charles Gould, who had not once
so far pronounced the word " Excellency," dimin-
ished him in his own eyes. He assumed the tone of
an enlightened man of the world, and begged Charles
Gould to dismiss from his mind every cause for alarm.
He was now conversing, he reminded him, with the
brother of the master of the country, charged with a
reorganizing mission. The trusted brother of the
master of the country, he repeated. Nothing was
farther from the thoughts of that wise and patriotic
hero than ideas of destruction. " I entreat you, Don
Carlos, not to give way to your anti - democratic
prejudices," he cried, in a burst of condescending effu-
sion.

449

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Pedrito Montero surprised one at first sight by the
vast development of his bald forehead, a shiny yellow
expanse between the crinkly coal - black tufts of hair
without any lustre, the engaging form of his mouth,
and an unexpectedly cultivated voice. But his eyes,
very glistening, as if freshly painted on each side of his
hooked nose, had a round, hopeless, birdlike stare when
opened fully. Now, however, he narrowed them
agreeably, throwing his square chin up and speaking
with closed teeth slightly through the nose with what
he imagined to be the manner of a grand seigneur.

In that attitude he declared suddenly that the high-
est expression of democracy was Caesarism — the im-
perial rule based upon the direct popular vote. Caesar-
ism was conservative. It was strong. It recognized
the legitimate needs of democracy, which requires
orders, titles, and distinctions. They would be show-
ered upon deserving men. Caesarism was peace. It
was progressive. It secured the prosperity of a coun-
try. Pedrito Montero was carried away. Look at
what the Second Empire had done for France. It
was a regime which delighted to honor men of Don
Carlos's stamp. The Second Empire fell, but that
was because its chief was devoid of that military genius
which had raised General Montero to the pinnacle of
fame and glory. Pedrito elevated his hand jerkily to
help the idea of pinnacle of fame. "We shall have
many talks yet. We shall understand each other
thoroughly, Don Carlos!" he cried, in a tone of fellow-
ship. Republicanism had done its work. Imperial
democracy was the power of the future. Pedrito, the
guerrillero, showing his hand, lowered his voice forcibly.

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

A man singled out by his fellow-citizens for the hon-
i mrkiKime of El Rev de Sulaco could not but re-
ull recognition from an imperial democracy as
a great captain of industry and a person of weighty
« "uiisel. whose popular designation would be soon re-
"tl by a more solid title. "Eh, Don Carlos ? No!
What do you say? Conde de Sulaco, eh? — or mar-
quis . . ."

He ceased. The air was cool on the Plaza, where a
patrol of cavalry rode round and round without pene-
t rat ing into the streets, which resounded with shouts and
the strumming of guitars issuing from the open doors
of pulperias. The orders were not to interfere with
tin- enjoyments of the people. And above the roofs,
next to the perpendicular lines of the cathedral towers,
tin snowy curve of Higuerota blocked a large space
of darkening blue sky before the windows of the In-
terulencia. After a time Pedrito Montero, thrusting
his hand in the bosom of his coat, bowed his head with
•low dignity. The audience was over.

Charles Gould, on going out, passed his hand over
his forehead as if to disperse the mists of an oppres-
dream whose grotesque extravagance leaves be-
hind a subtle sense of bodily danger and intellectual
decay. In the passages and on the staircases of the
old palace Montero's troopers lounged about insolently,
smoking, and making way for no one; the clanking of
sabres and spurs resounded all over the building.
Three silent groups of civilians in severe black waited
in the main gallery, formal and helpless, a little hud-
dled up, each keeping apart from the others, as if
in the exercise of a public duty they had been over-

45 1

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

come by a desire to shun the notice of every eye.
These were the deputations waiting for their audience.
The one from the Provincial Assembly, more restless
and uneasy in its corporate expression, was overtopped
by the big face of Don Juste Lopez, soft and white,
with prominent eyelids and wreathed in impenetrable
solemnity as if in a dense cloud. The President of the
Provincial Assembly, coming bravely to save the last
shred of parliamentary institutions (on the English
model), averted his eyes from the administrador of the
San Tome" mine as a dignified rebuke of his little faith
in that only saving principle.

The mournful severity of that reproof did not affect
Charles Gould, but he was sensible to the glances of the
others directed upon him without reproach, as if only
to read their own fate upon his face. All of them had
talked, shouted, and declaimed in the great sala of the
Casa Gould. The feeling of compassion for those men,
struck with a strange impotence in the toils of moral
degradation, did not 'induce him to make a sign. He
suffered from his fellowship in evil with them too much.
He crossed the plaza unmolested. The Amarilla Club
was full of joyous ragamuffins. Their frowsy heads
protruded from every window, and from behind came
drunken shouts, the thumping of feet, and the twang-
ing of harps. Broken bottles strewed the pavement
below. Charles Gould found the doctor still in his
house.

Dr. Monygham came away from the crack in the
shutter through which he had been watching the
street.

" Ah ! You are back at last," he said, in a tone of re-
452

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

"I have I >een telling Mrs. Gould that you were
perfectly safe. I nit I was not by any means certain
tliat the fellow would have let you go."

" Neither was I," confessed Charles Gould, laying his
hat on the table.

u will have to take action."

The silence of Charles Gould seemed to admit that
this was the only course. This was as far as Charles
Gould was accustomed to go towards expressing his
intentions.

" I hope you did not warn Montero of what you
mean to do," the doctor said, anxiously.

" I tried to make him see that the existence of the
mine was bound up with my personal safety," con-
tinued Charles Gould, looking away from the doctor
and fixing his eyes upon the water-color sketch upon
the wall.

" He believed you ?" the doctor asked, eagerly.

"God knows!" said Charles Gould. "I owed it to
my wife to say that much. He is well enough informed.
He knows that I have Don Pdpe" there. Fuentes must
have told him. They know that the old major is per-
fectly capable of blowing up the San Tome* mine with-
out hesitation or compunction. Had it not been for
that I don't think I'd have left the Injendencia a free
man. He would blow everything up from loyalty
and from hate — from hate of these Liberals, as they
call themselves. Liberals! The words one knows so
well have a nightmarish meaning in this country.
Liberty — democracy — patriotism — government. All
of them have a flavor of folly and murder. Haven't
they, doctor? ... I alone can restrain Don Pe'pe'. If

453

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

they were to — to do away with me, nothing could pre-
vent him."

"They will try to tamper with him," the doctor sug-
gested, thoughtfully.

"It is very possible," Charles Gould said, very low,
as if speaking to himself, and still gazing at the sketch
of the San Tome gorge upon the wall. " Yes, I expect
they will try that." Charles Gould looked for the
first time at the doctor. "It would give me time,"
he added.

"Exactly," said Dr. Monygham, suppressing his ex-
citement. "Especially if Don Pepe" behaves diplo-
matically. Why shouldn't he give them some hope of
success? Eh? Otherwise you wouldn't gain so much
time. Couldn't he be instructed to — "

Charles Gould, looking at the doctor steadily, shook
his head, but the doctor continued, with a certain
amount of fire:

"Yes, to enter into negotiations for the surrender
of the mine. It is a good notion. You would mature
your plan. Of course I don't ask what it is. I don't
want to know. I would refuse to listen to you if you
tried to tell me. I am not fit for confidences."

"What nonsense!" muttered Charles Gould, with
displeasure.

He disapproved of the doctor's sensitiveness about
that far-off episode of his life. So much memory
shocked Charles Gould. It was like morbidness. And
again he shook his head. He refused to tamper with
the open rectitude of Don Pe"pe"'s conduct both from
taste and from policy. Instructions would have to
be either verbal or in writing. In either case they

454

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ran the risk of being intercepted. It was by no means
m that a messenger could reach the mine, and,
U-siiU's. there was no one to send. It was on the tip
of Charles's tongue to say that only the late capataz
of cargadores could have been employed with some
chance of success and the certitude of discretion. But
he did not say that. He pointed out to the doctor
that it would have been bad policy. Directly Don
Pe"p£ let it be supposed that he could be bought over,
the administrator*! personal safety and the safety of
his friends would become endangered. For there
would be then no reason for moderation. The incor-
ruptibility of Don Pe"p<$ was the essential and restrain-
ing thing. The doctor hung his head and admitted
that in a way it was so.

He couldn't deny to himself that the reasoning was
sound enough. Don Pe"pe"s usefulness consisted in
his unstained character. As to his own usefulness, he
reflected bitterly it was also in his own character. He
declared to Charles Gould that he had the means of
keeping Sotillo from joining his forces with Montero,
at least for the present.

" If you had had all this silver here," the doctor said,
"or even if it had been known to be at the mine, you
could have bribed Sotillo to throw off his recent Mon-
terism. You could have induced him either to go
away in his steamer or even to join you."

"Certainly not that last," Charles Gould declared,
firmly. "What could one do with a man like that
afterwards — tell me, doctor ? The silver is gone and I
am glad of it. It would have been an immediate and
strong temptation. The scramble for that visible

455

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

plunder would have precipitated a disastrous ending.
I would have had to defend it too. I am glad we've re-
moved it — even if it is lost. It would have been a
danger and a curse."

"Perhaps he is right," the doctor an hour later said,
hurriedly, to Mrs. Gould, whom he met in the corridor.
"The thing is done, and the shadow of the treasure
may do just as well as the substance. Let me try to
serve you to the whole extent of my evil reputation.
I am off now to play my game of betrayal with Sotillo
and keep him off the town."

She put out both her hands impulsively. "Dr.
Monygham, you are running a terrible risk," she whis-
pered, averting from his face her eyes full of tears for
a short glance at the door of her husband's room.
She pressed both his hands, and the doctor stood as if
rooted to the spot, looking down at her and trying to
twist his lips into a smile.

"Oh, I know you will defend my memory," he ut-
tered at last, and ran tottering down the stairs, across
the patio, and out of the house. In the street he kept
up a great pace with his smart hobbling walk, a case of
instruments under his arm. He was known for being
loco. Nobody interfered with him. From under the
seaward gate, across the dusty, arid plain interspersed
with low bushes, he saw, more than a mile away, the
ugly enormity of the custom-house and the two or
three other buildings which at that time constituted
the seaport of Sulaco. Far away to the south groves
of palm-trees edged the curve of the harbor shore.
The distant peaks of the Cordillera had lost their iden-
tity of clear-cut shapes in the steadily deepening blue of

45 6

Nostromo: A Talc ot the Seaboard

the eastern sky. The doctor walked briskly. A dark-
ling shadow seemed to fall upon him I'rom the zenith.
The sun had srt. For a time the snows of Higuerota
continued to glow with the reflected glory of the west.
The doctor, holding a straight course for the custom-
house, appeared loiu-ly, hopping among the dark bushes
like a tall bird with a broken wing.

Tints of purple, gold, and crimson were mirrored in
the clear water of the harbor. A long tongue of land,
straight as a wall, with the grass-grown ruins of the
fort making a sort of rounded green mound, plainly
•le from the inner shore, closed its circuit ; and be-
yond, the Placid Gulf repeated those splendors of
coloring on a greater scale with a more sombre mag-
nificence. The great mass of cloud filling the head
of the gulf had long, red smears among its convoluted
folds of gray and black, as of a floating mantle stained
with blood. The three Isabels, overshadowed and
clear-cut in a great smoothness confounding the sea
and sky, appeared suspended, purple-black, in the air.
The little wavelets seemed to be tossing tiny red sparks
upon the sandy beaches. The glassy bands of water
along the horizon gave out a fiery red glow, as if fire
and water had been mingled together in the vast bed
of the ocean.

At last the conflagration of sea and sky, lying em-
braced and asleep in a flaming contact upon the edge
of the world, went out. The red sparks in the water
vanished, together with the stains of blood in the black
mantle draping the sombre head of the Placid Gulf;
and a sudden breeze sprang up and died out after
rustling heavily the growth of bushes on the ruined

457

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

earthwork of the fort. Nostromo woke up from a
fourteen-hours' sleep and arose full length from his
lair in the long grass. He stood knee-deep among the
whispering undulations of the green blades, with the
lost air of a man just born into the world. Hand-
some, robust, and supple, he threw back his head, flung
his arms open, and stretched himself with a slow twist
of the waist and a leisurely growling yawn of white
I teeth ; as natural and free from evil in the moment of
i waking as a magnificent and unconscious wild beast.
1 Then, in the suddenly steadied glance fixed upon noth
y ing from under a forced frown, appeared the man.

VIII

A-TKR landing from his swim, Nostromo had
scrambled up, all dripping, into the main quad-
rangle of the old fort, and there, among ruined bits
«.i walls and rotting remnants of roofs and sheds, he
had slept the day through. He had slept in the shad-
ow of the mountains, in the white blaze of noon, in
the stillness and solitude of that overgrown piece of
land between the nearly closed oval of the harbor and
the spacious semicircle of the gulf. He lay as if dead.
A rey-zamuro, appearing like a tiny black speck in
the blue, stooped, circling prudently with a stealthi-
ness of flight startling in a bird of that great size.
The shadow of his pearly white body, of his black-
tipi>ed wings, fell on the grass no more silently than
he alighted himself on a hillock of rubbish within
three yards of that man lying as still as a corpse. He
stretched his bare neck, craned his bald head, loath-
some in the brilliance of varied coloring, with an air of
voracious anxiety towards the promising stillness of
that prostrate body. Then sinking his head deeply into
his soft plumage he settled himself to wait. The first
thing upon which Nostromo's eyes fell on waking was
this patient watcher for the signs of death and corrup-
tion. When the man got up the vulture hopped
away in great, sidelong, fluttering jumps. He lingered
*, 459

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

for a while morose and reluctant before he rose, circling
noiselessly with a sinister droop of beak and claws.

Long after he had vanished the capataz of the car-
gadores, lifting his eyes up to the sky, muttered, " I am
not dead yet."

Nostromo was some time, in regaining his hold on
the world. It had slipped from him completely in the
deep slumber of more than twelve hours. It had been
like a break of continuity in the chain of experience;
he had to find himself in time and space, to think of
the hour and the place of his return. It was a novelty.
He was one of those efficient sailors who generally
wake up from a dead sleep with their wits in complete
working order. The capataz of the cargadores had
been a good man on board ship. He had been a good
foremast-hand and a first-rate boatswain. From the
conditions of sea-life that sort of excellence brings no
prize but an exaggerated consciousness of one's value
and the confidence of one's superiors. The captain of
the Genoese ship from which he had deserted had
gone about tearing his gray hairs with grief and ex-
asperation. He did it very publicly, being an Italian
and unashamed of genuine emotions. He mingled
imprecations against ingratitude with words of regret
at his loss before the people on the wharf, before the
lightermen discharging the cargo; in the O.S.N. office
before Captain Mitchell, who was sympathetic in a
way, but considered him in the end an awful and ridic-
ulous nuisance and was glad to see his back for the
last time.

Nostromo, in close hiding in a back room of a pul-
peria for the three days before the ship sailed, heard of

460

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

• lamentations, threats, and curses apparently
unmoved. But he heard of them with satisfaction.
This was as it should be. He was a valuable man.

t U-tttT recognition could he expect ? His vanity

infinitely ami naively greedy, but his conceptions
were limited. Afterwards his success in the work he
[found on shore enlarged them in the direction of per-
sonal magnificence. This sailor led a public life in his
sphere. It became necessary to him. It was the
breath of his nostrils. And who can say that it was
'not genuine distinction. It was genuine because it
was based on something that was in him — his over-
weening vanity, which Decoud alone, thinking that he
would be of use politically, had taken the trouble to
find out. Each man must have some temperamental
sense by which to discover himself. With Nostromo
it was vanity of an artless sort. Without it he would
have been nothing. It called out his recklessness, his
industry, his ingenuity, and that disdain of the natives
which helped him so much upon the line of his work
and resembled an inborn capacity for command. It
made him appear incorruptible and fierce. It made
him happy also. He was disinterested with the un-
worldliness of a sailor, arising not so much from the
absence of mercenary instincts as from sheer igno-
rance and carelessness for to-morrow. He was pleased
with himself. It was not the cold, ferocious, and ideal-
self-conceit of a man of some northern race; it
was materialistic and imaginative. It was an unprac-

1 and warm sentiment, a picturesque development
of his character, the growth of an unsophisticated
sense of his individuality. It was immense. It was

461

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

fostered by Captain Mitchell's absurd pride in his
foreman, the varied use made of his handiness, and the
appreciative grunts and nods of the silent old Viola,
to whose exalted sentiments every sort of faithfulness
appealed greatly.

The capataz of the Sulaco cargadores had lived in
splendor and publicity up to the very moment, as it
were, when he took charge of the lighter containing the
treasure in silver ingots.

The last act he had performed in Sulaco was in com-
plete harmony with his vanity, and as such perfectly
genuine. He had given his last quarter-dollar to an old
woman moaning with the grief and fatigue of a dismal
search under the arch of the ancient gate. Performed
in obscurity and without witnesses, it had still the
characteristics of splendor and publicity, and was in
strict keeping with his reputation. But this awakening,
in solitude but for the watchful vulture, among the ruins
of the fort, had no such characteristics. His first con-
fused feeling was exactly this — that it was not in keep-
ing. It was more like the end of things. The neces-
sity of living concealed somehow, for God knows how
long, which assailed him on his return to conscious-
ness, made everything that had gone before for years
appear vain and foolish, like a flattering dream come
suddenly to an end.

He climbed the crumbling slope of the rampart and,
putting aside the bushes, looked upon the harbor. He
saw a couple of ships at anchor upon the sheet of water
reflecting the last gleams of light, and Sotillo's steamer
moored to the jetty. And behind the pale, long front
of the custom-house there appeared the extent of the

462

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

n, like a grove of thick timber on the plain, with a
gateway in front and the cupolas, towers, and mira-

rising nl)ove the trees, all dark, as if surremi'
ly t<> the nipht. The thought that it was no

i-r open to him to ride through the streets, recog-

! by every one, great and little, as he used to do

evening on his way to play monte in the posada

of the Mexican Domingo; or to sit in the place of honor,

•ling to songs and looking at dances, made it ap-
pear to him as a town that had no existence.

For a long time he gazed on, then let the parted

rs spring back, and crossing over to the other side
of the fort, surveyed the vaster emptiness of the great
gulf. The Isabels stood out heavily upon the narrow-
ing long band of red in the west, which gleamed low
between their black shapes; and the capataz thought of
Ibcoud alone there with the treasure. That man was

•nly one who cared whether he fell into the hands
of the Monterists or not, the capataz reflected bitterly.
And that merely would be an anxiety for his own sake.

> the rest, they neither knew nor cared. What
he had heard Giorgio Viola say once was very true.
Kind's, ministers, aristocrats, the rich in general, kept
the people in poverty and subjection ; they kept them
as they kept dogs, to fight and hunt for their service.

The darkness of the sky had descended to the line of
the horizon, enveloping the whole gulf, the islets, and
the lover of Antonia, alone with the treasure on the

t Isabel. The capataz of the cargadores, turning
his back on these things invisible and existing, sat down
and t«>ok his face between his fists. He felt the pirn h
of poverty for the first time in his life. To find him-

463

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

self without money after a run of bad luck at monte
in the low, smoky room of Domingo's posada, where
the fraternity of cargadores gambled, sang, and
danced of an evening; to remain with empty pockets
after a burst of public generosity to some peyne d'oro
girl or other (for whom he did not care) , had none of
the humiliation of destitution. He remained rich in
glory and reputation. But since it was no longer pos-
sible for him to parade the streets of the town and be
hailed with respect in the usual haunts of his leisure,
this sailor felt himself destitute indeed.

His mouth was dry. It was dry with heavy sleep
and extremely anxious thinking as it had never been
dry before. It may be said that Nostromo tasted the
dust and ashes of the fruit of life into which he had
bitten deeply in his hunger for praise. Without re-
moving his head from between his fists he tried to spit
before him — "Tfui" — and muttered a curse upon the
selfishness of all the rich people.

In this harbor, at the foot of immense mountains
that outlined their peaks among the kindled swarm
of stars; on this smooth, half - wild sheet of black
water, serene in its loneliness, whose future of crowded
prosperity was being settled not so much by the in-
dustry as by the fears, necessities and crimes of men
short-sighted in good and evil, the two solitary for-
eign ships had hoisted their riding - lights, according
to rule. But Nostromo gave no second look to the
harbor. Those two ships were present enough to his
mind. Either would have been a refuge. It would
have been no feat for him to swim off to them. One
of them was an Italian bark which had brought a cargo

464

Nostromu: A Tale of the Seaboard

of tiinU'r from 1'ujjet Sound for the railway. He
knew her iin-n, in his .|uahtv of foreman of all the work
doiu- in the harlx>r hi- had U-en ahle to oblige her
tain in some small matter relating to the filling of his
water-tanks. Bronzed, l>laek-whiskere<l, and stately.
with the impressive gravity of a man too powerful to
unbend, he had l>een invited more than once to drink
a glass of Italian vermouth in her cabin. It was well
known among ship-masters trading along the seaboard
that, as a matter of sound policy, the capataz of the
cargadores in Sulaco should be propitiated by small
eivilities, which he seemed to expect as his due. For
in truth, being implicitly trusted by Captain Mitchell,
he had, as sometx>dy said, the whole harbor in his
pocket. For the rest, an cxecllent fellow, quite straight-
forward, everybody agreed.

Since everything seemed lost in Sulaco (and that
was the feeling of his waking), the idea of leaving the
country altogether had presented itself to Nostromo.
In that ship they would have given him shelter and a
passage, and have landed him in Italy ultimately. At
that thought he had seen, like the beginning of another
dream, a vision of steep and tideless shores, with dark
pines on the heights and white houses low down near a
very blue sea. He saw the quays of a big port where
the coasting feluccas, with their lateen-sails outspread
like motionless wings, enter, gliding silently between
the end of long moles of squared blocks that project
angularly towards each other, hugging a cluster of
shipping, to the superb bosom of a hill covered with
palaces. He remembered these sights n^t without
sonic filial emotion, though he had been habitually and

465

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

severely beaten as a boy on one of these feluccas by his
uncle, a short-necked, -shaven Genoese with a deliber-
ate and distrustful manner, who (he firmly believed)
had cheated him out of his orphan's inheritance. But
it is mercifully decreed that the evils of the past should
appear but faintly in retrospect. Under the sense of
loneliness, abandonment, and failure, the idea of re-
turn to these things appeared tolerable. But what!
Return? With bare feet and head, with one check
shirt and a pair of cotton calzoneros for all worldly
possessions ?

The renowned capataz, his elbows on his knees and a
fist dug into each cheek, laughed with self-derision, as
he had spat with disgust, straight out before him into
the night. The confused and intimate impressions of
universal dissolution which beset a subjective nature
at any strong check to its ruling passion had a bitter-
ness approaching that of death itself. And no won-
der— with no intellectual existence or moral strain to
carry on his individuality, unscathed, over the abyss
left by the collapse of his vanity; for even that had
been simply sensuous and picturesque, and could not
exist apart from outward show. He was like many
other men of southern races in whom the complexity
of simple conceptions is much more apparent than
real. He was simple. He was as ready to become
the prey of any belief, superstition, or desire as a
child.

The facts of his situation he could appreciate like a
man with a distinct experience of the country. He
saw them clearly. He was as if sobered after a long
bout of intoxication. His fidelity had been taken

466

tromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

advantage of. He had persuaded the body of carga-
dores to side with the Blancos against the rest of the
!c; he had had interviews with Don Jose"; he had
been made use of by Father Corbelan for negotiating
with Hernandez; it was known that Don Martin De-
coinl hail admitted htm to a sort of intimacy so that he

[had been free of the offices of the Porrcnir. All these
things had flattered him in the usual way. What did
ire about their politics. Nothing at all. And at
the end of it all, Nostromo here and Nostromo there,
wlu-rr is Nostromo? Nostromo can do this and that;
\v<>rk all day and ride about at night — behold! he
found himself a marked Ribierist for any sort of ven-
geance Gamacho, for instance, would choose to take,
now the Montero party had, after all, mastered the
town. The Europeans had given up; the cabal-

ileros had given up. Don Martin had indeed ex-
plained it was only temporary; that he was going to
bring Barrios to the rescue. Where was that now —
with Don Martin (whose ironic manner of talk had al-
made the capataz feel vaguely uneasy) stranded
on the Great Isabel. Everybody had given up Even
Don Carlos had given up. The hurried removal of
the treasure out to sea meant nothing else than that.
The capataz de cargadores, in a revulsion of subjec- £
tiveness, exasperated almost to insajjjty, beheld all his i *rr
world without faith and courage. IK- had been be- I
-•d! 1

With the boundless shadows of the sea behind him.
out of his silence and immobility, facing the lofty
shapes of the lower peaks crowded around the white,
misty sheen of Higuerota, Nostromo laughed aloud

467

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

again, sprang abruptly to his feet and stood still. He
must go. But where?

"There is no mistake. They keep us and encourage
us as if we were dogs born to fight and hunt for them.
The vecchio is right," he said, slowly and scathingly.
He remembered old Giorgio taking his pipe out of his
mouth to throw these words over his shoulder at the
cafe* full of engine-drivers and fitters from the railway
workshops. This image fixed his wavering purpose.
He would try to find old Giorgio if he could. God
knows what might have happened to him! He made
a few steps, then stopped again and shook his head.
To the left and right, in front and behind him, the
scrubby bush rustled mysteriously in the darkness.

"Teresa was right, too," he added, in a low tone
touched with awe. He wondered whether she were
dead in her anger with him or still alive. As if in
answer to this thought, half of remorse and half of
hope, with a soft flutter and oblique flight, a big owl,
whose appalling cry — "Ya-acabo! Ya-acabo!" (It is
finished ! It is finished !) — announces calamity and
death in the popular belief, drifted vaguely, like a
large dark ball, across his path. In the downfall of
all the realities that made his force, he was affected
by the superstition and shuddered slightly. Signora
Teresa must have died, then. It could mean nothing
else. The cry of the ill-omened bird, the first sound he
was to hear on his return, was a fitting welcome for
his betrayed individuality. The unseen powers which
he had offended by refusing to bring a priest to a
dying woman were lifting up their voice against him.
She was dead- With admirable and human consist-

468

: A Tale of the Seaboard

ency he referred everything to himself. She had been
a woman of good counsel always. And the bereaved
oltl Giorgio remained stunned by his loss just as he
was likely to require the advice of his sagacity. The
blow would render the dreamy old man quite stupid
for a time.

As to Captain Mitchell, Nostromo, after the manner
of trusted subordinates, considered him as a person
fitted by education perhaps to sign papers in an office
and to give orders, but otherwise of no use whatever,
and something of a fool. The necessity of winding
round his little finger, almost daily, the pompous and
testy self-importance of the old seaman had grown
irksome with use to Nostromo. At first it had given
him an inward satisfaction. But the necessity of
overcoming small obstacles becomes wearisome to a
self-confident personality, as much by the certitude of
success as by the monotony of effort. He mistrusted
his superior's proneness to fussy action. That old
Englishman had no judgment, he said to himself. It
was useless to suppose that, acquainted with the true
state of the case, he would keep it to himself. He
would talk of doing impracticable things. Nostromo
feared him as one would fear saddling one's self with
some persistent worry. He had no discretion. He
would betray the treasure. And Nostromo had made
up his mind that the treasure should not be betrayed.

The word had fixed itself tenaciously in his unintelli-
gence. His imagination had seized upon the clear and
simple notion of betrayal to account for the dazed
feeling of enlightenment as to being done for, of hav-
ing inadvertently gone out of his existence on an issue

469

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

in which his personality had not been taken into ac-
count. A man betrayed is a man destroyed. Signora
Teresa (may God have her soul!) had been right. He
had never been taken into account. Destroyed ! Her
white form sitting up bowed in bed, the falling black
hair, the wide-browed, suffering face raised to him, the
anger of her denunciations, appeared to him now ma-
jestic with the awfulness of inspiration and of death.
For it was not for nothing that the evil bird had uttered
its lamentable shriek over his head. She was dead-
may God have her soul!

Sharing in the anti - priestly free thought of the
masses, his mind used the pious formula from the super-
ficial force of habit, but with a deep-seated sincerity.
The popular mind is incapable of scepticism; and that
incapacity delivers their helpless strength to the wiles
of swindlers and to the pitiless enthusiasms of leaders
inspired by visions of a high destiny. She was dead.
But would God consent to receive her soul ? She had
died without confession or absolution, because he had
not been willing to spare her another moment of his
time. His scorn of priests as priests remained; but,
after all, it was impossible to know whether what they
affirmed was not true. Power, punishment, pardon,
are simple and credible notions. The magnificent
capataz of cargadores, deprived of certain simple reali-
ties, such as the admiration of women, the adulation
of men, the admired publicity of his life, was ready to
feel the burden of sacrilegious guilt descend upon his
shoulders.

Bareheaded, in a thin shirt and drawers, he felt the
lingering warmth of the fine sand under the soles of his

47°

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

feet. Tl .v straiul gleamed far ahead in a long

curve, defining the outline of this wild side of the har-
bor. He flitted along the shore like a pursued shadow,
between the sombre palm-groves and the sheet of water
lying as still as death on his right hand. He strode
with headlong haste in the silence and solitude as
though he had forgotten all prudence and caution.
But he knew that on this side of the water he ran no
risk of discovery. The only inhabitant was a lonely,
silent, apathetic Indian in charge of the palniaries, who
brought sometimes a load of cocoa-nuts to the town for
sale. He lived without a woman in an open shed, with
a perpetual tire of dry sticks smouldering in front, near
an old canoe lying bottom up on the beach. He could
be easily avoided.

The barking of the dogs about that man's rancho
was the first thing that checked his speed. He had
forgotten the dogs. He swerved sharply and plunged
into the palm-grove as into a wilderness of columns
in an immense hall, whose dense obscurity seemed to
whisper and rustle faintly high above his head. He
traversed it, entered a ravine, climbed to the top of a
!> ridge free of trees and bushes.

From there, open and vague in the starlight, he saw
the plain between the town and the harbor. In the
woods above some night-bird made a strange drum-
ming noise. Below, beyond the palmaria on the
beach, the Indian's dogs continued to bark uproar-
iously. He wondered what had upset them so much,
and peering down from his elevation was surprised to
detect unaccountable movements of the ground below,
1 several oblong pieces of the plain had been in
47»

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

motion. Those dark, shifting patches, alternately
catching and eluding the eye, altered their place al-
ways away from the harbor with a suggestion of con-
secutive order and purpose. A light dawned upon
him. It was a column of infantry on a night march
towards the higher broken country at the foot of the
hills. But he was too much in the dark about every-
thing for wonder and speculation.

The plain had resumed its shadowy immobility.
He descended the ridge, and found himself in the open
solitude between the harbor and the town. Its spa-
ciousness, extended indefinitely by an effect of ob-
scurity, rendered more sensible his profound isolation.
His pace became slower. No one waited for him; no
one thought of him; no one expected or wished his
return. " Betrayed! Betrayed!" he muttered to him-
self. No one cared. He might have been drowned
by this time. No one would have cared — unless, per-
haps, the children, he thought to himself. But they
were with the English signora, and not thinking of
him at all.

He wavered in his purpose of making straight for
the Casa Viola. To what end? What could he ex-
pect there? His life seemed to fail him in all its de-
tails, even to the scornful reproaches of Teresa. He
was aware painfully of his reluctance. Was it that
remorse which she had prophesied with what he saw
now was her last breath ?

Meantime he had deviated from the straight course,
inclining by a sort of instinct to the left, towards the
jetty and the harbor, the scene of his daily labors.
The great length of the custom - house loomed up all

472

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

at once like the wall of a factory. Not a soul chal-
lenged his approach, and his curiosity became excited
as he passed cautiously towards the front by the un-
expected sight of two lighted windows.

They had the fascination of a lonely vigil kept by
some mysterious watcher up there, those two windows
shining dimly upon the harbor in the whole vast ex-
ti'tit of the abandoned building. The solitude could
almost be felt. A strong smell of wood smoke hung
about in a thin haze, which was faintly perceptible to
his raised eyes against the glitter of the stars. As he
advanced in the profound silence, the shrilling of in-
numerable cicalas in the dry grass seemed positively
deafening to his strained ears. Slowly, step by step,
he found himself in the great hall, sombre and full of
acrid smoke.

A fire built against the staircase had burned down
im potently to a low heap of embers. The hard wood
ha«l failed to catch; only a few steps at the bottom
smouldered, with a creeping glow of sparks defining
tlu-ir charred edges. At the top he saw a streak of
light from an open door. It fell upon the vast land-
ing, all foggy with a slow drift of smoke. That was
the room. He climbed the stairs, then checked him-
self, because he had seen within the shadow of a man
cast upon one of the walls. It was a shapeless, high-
shouldered shadow of somebody standing still, with a
lowered head out of his line of sight. The capataz,
remembering that he was totally unarmed, stepped
aside, and effacing himself upright in a dark corner,
waited with his eyes fixed on the door.

The whole enormous ruined barrack of a place, un-
473

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

finished, without ceilings under its lofty roof, was per-
vaded by the smoke swaying to and fro in the faint
cross - draughts playing in the obscurity of many
lofty rooms and barnlike passages. Once one of the
swinging shutters came against the wall with a single |
sharp crack, as if pushed by an impatient hand. A
piece of paper scurried out from somewhere, rustling j
along the landing. The man, whoever he was, did not •
darken the lighted doorway. Twice the capataz, ad-
vancing a couple of steps out of his corner, craned his I
neck in the hope of catching sight of what he would
be at so quietly in there. But every time he saw only
the distorted shadow of broad shoulders and bowed |
head. He was doing apparently nothing, and stirred
not from the spot, as though he were meditating — or,
perhaps, reading a paper. And not a sound issued
from the room.

Once more the capataz stepped back. He won-
dered who it was — some Monterist ? But he dreaded
to show himself. To discover his presence on shore,
unless after many days, would, he believed, endanger
the treasure. With his own knowledge possessing his
whole soul, it seemed impossible that anybody ii
Sulaco should fail to jump at the right surmise. Aft
a couple of weeks or so it would be different. Who
could tell he had not returned overland from some
port beyond the limits of the republic. The exist-
ence of the treasure confused his thoughts with a
peculiar sort of anxiety, as though his life had become
bound up with it. It rendered him timorous for a
moment before that enigmatic, lighted door. Devil
take the fellow ! He did not want to see him. There

474

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

would be nothing to learn from his face, known or
unknown. 1 .1 fool to waste his time there in

waiting.

ian five minutes after entering the place the
capataz began his retreat. He got away down the
stairs with perfect success, gave one upward look over
his shoulder at the light on the landing, and ran
stealthily across the hall. But at the very moment
he was turning out of the great door, with his mind
i upon escaping the notice of the man up-stairs,
somebody he had not heard coming briskly along the
front ran full into him. Both muttered a stifled ex-
clamation of surprise, and leaped back and stood
still, each indistinct to the other. Nostromo was
silent. The other man spoke first, in an amazed and
deadened tone.

"Who are you?"

Already Nostromo had seemed to recognize Dr.
Monygham. He had no doubt now. He hesitated
the space of a second. The idea of bolting without a
word presented itself to his mind. No use! An in-
explicable repugnance to pronounce the name by
which he was known kept him silent a little longer.
At last he said, in a low voice:
A cargador."

He walked up to the other. Dr. Monygham had re-
ceived a shock. He flung his arms up and cried out
his wonder aloud, forgetting himself before the marvel
of this meeting. Nostromo angrily warned him to
moderate his voice. The custom-house was not so
deserted as it looked to be. There was somebody in
the lighted room above.

475

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

There is no more evanescent quality in an accom-
plished fact than its wonderfulness. Solicited inces-
santly by the considerations affecting its fears and
desires, the human mind turns naturally away from
the marvellous side of events. And it was in the
most natural way possible that the doctor asked
this man whom, only two minutes before he believed
to have been drowned in the gulf:

"You have seen somebody up there? Have you?"

"No, I have not seen him."

"Then how do you know?"

" I was running away from his shadow when we
met."

"His shadow?"

"Yes. His shadow in the lighted room," said
Nostromo, in a contemptuous tone. Leaning back
with folded arms at the foot of the immense building,
he dropped his head, biting his lips slightly, and not
looking at the doctor. "Now," he thought to him-
self, "he will begin asking me about the treasure."

But the doctor's thoughts were concerned with an
event not as marvellous as Nostromo's reappearance,
but in itself much less clear. Why had Sotillo taken*
himself off, with his whole command, with this sudden-
ness and secrecy ? What did this move portend ?
However, it dawned upon the doctor that the man
up-stairs was one of the officers left behind by the dis-
appointed colonel to communicate with him.

"I believe he is waiting for me," he said.

"It is possible."

"I must see. Do not go away yet, capataz."

"Go away, where?" muttered Nostromo.
476

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Already the doctor had left him. He remained
leaning against the wall, staring at the dark water of
the harbor; the shrilling of cicalas filled his ears. An
invincible vagueness coming over his thoughts took
from them all power to determine his will.

"Capataz! Capataz!" the doctor's voice called
urgently from above.

The sense of betrayal and ruin floated upon his
sombre indifference as upon a sluggish sea of pitch.
But he stepped out from under the wall, and looking
up saw Dr. Monygham leaning out of a lighted window.

"Come up and see what Sotillo has done. You
need not fear the man up here."

He answered by a slight, bitter laugh. Fear a
man! The capataz of the Sulaco cargadores fear a
man! It angered him that anybody should suggest
such a thing. It angered him to be disarmed and
skulking and in danger because of the accursed treas-
ure, which was of so little account to the people who
had tied it round his neck. He could not shake off
the worry of it. To Nostromo the doctor represented
all these people. . . . And he had never even asked
after it. Not a word of inquiry about the most des-
perate undertaking of his life.

Thinking these thoughts, Nostromo passed again
through the cavernous hall, where the smoke was
considerably thinned, and went up the stairs, not so
warm to his feet now, towards the streak of light at
the top. The doctor appeared in it for a moment,
agitated and impatient.

"Come up! Come up!"

At the moment of crossing the doorway the capataz
477

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

experienced a shock of surprise. The man had not
moved. He saw his shadow in the same place. He
started, then stepped in with a feeling of being about
to slove a mystery.

It was very simple. For an infinitesimal fraction
of a second, against the light of two flaring and gut-
tering candles, through a blue, pungent, thin haze
which made his eyes smart, he saw the man standing,
as he had imagined him, with his back to the door,
casting an enormous and distorted shadow upon the
wall. Swifter than a flash of lightning followed the
impression of his constrained, toppling attitude — the
shoulders projecting forward, the head sunk low upon
the breast. Then he distinguished the arms behind
his back, and wrenched so terribly that the two clinch-
ed fists, lashed together, had been forced up higher
than the shoulder-blades. From there his eyes traced
in one instantaneous glance the hide rope going up-
ward from the tied wrists, over a heavy beam, and
down to a staple in the wall. He did not want to
look at the rigid legs, at the feet hanging down nerve-
lessly, with their bare toes some six inches above the
floor, to know that the man had been given the es-
trapade till he had swooned. His first impulse was
to dash forward and sever the rope at one blow. He
felt for his knife. He had no knife — not even a knife!
He stood quivering, and the doctor, perched on the
edge of the table, facing thoughtfully the cruel and
lamentable sight, his chin in his hand, uttered with-
out stirring:

"Tortured, and shot dead through the breast-
getting cold."

478

: A Talc of the Seaboard

Tins information calmed the capataz. One of the
candK-s tinkering in the socket went out. "Who did
this ?" he asked.

"Sotillo, I tell you. Who else? Tortured — of
course. But why si The doctor looked fixedly

at Nostromo, who shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"And, mark, shot suddenly, on impulse. It is evi-
dent. I wish I had his seer

Nostromo had advanced and stooped slightly to
look. "I seem to have seen that face somewhere,"
he muttered. " Who is he ?"

The doctor turned his eyes upon him again. " I
mav vet come to envying his fate. What do you
think of that, capataz? Eh?"

But Nostromo did not even hear these words.
Seizing the remaining light he thrust it under the
drooping head. The doctor sat oblivious, with a lost
gaze. Then the heavy iron candlestick, as if struck
out of Nostromo's hand, clattered on the floor.

" Hullo!" exclaimed the doctor, looking up with a
start. He could hear the capataz stagger against the
table and gasp. In the sudden extinction of the light
within, the dead blackness sealing the window-frames
became alive with stars to his sight.

"Of course, of course," the doctor muttered to him-
self, in English. "Enough to make him jump out of
his skin."

Nostromo's heart seemed to force itself into his
throat. His head swam. Hirsch! The man was
Hirsch! He held on tight to the edge of the table.

"But he was hiding in the lighter," he almost
shouted. His voice fell. " In the lighter, and — and — "

479

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"And Sotillo brought him in," said the doctor.
"He is no more startling to you than you were to me.
What I want to know is how he induced some com-
passionate soul to shoot him."

"So Sotillo knows — " began Nostromo, in a more
equable voice.

"Everything!" interrupted the doctor.

The capataz was heard striking the table with his
fist. "Everything? What are you saying, there?
Everything? Knows everything? It is impossible!
Everything?"

"Of course. What do you mean by impossible ? I
tell you I have heard this Hirsch questioned last
night, here, in this very room. He knew your name,
Decoud's name, and all about the loading of the sil-
ver. . . . The lighter was cut in two. He was grovel-
ling in abject terror before Sotillo, but he remembered
that much. What do you want more ? He knew least
about himself. They found him clinging to their an-
chor. He must have caught at it just as the lighter
went to the bottom."

"Went to the bottom?" repeated Nostromo, slowly.
' ' Sotillo believes that ? Bueno !"

The doctor, a little impatiently, was unable to
imagine what else could anybody believe. Yes, So-
tillo believed that the lighter was sunk, and the capa-
taz of the cargadores, together with Martin Decoud
and perhaps one or two other political fugitives, had
been drowned.

" I told you well, Senor Doctor," remarked Nostromo,
at that piont, "that Sotillo did not know everything."

"Eh? What do you mean ?"
480

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

" He did not know I was not dead."

"Neither did we."

"And you did not care — none of you caballeros on
the wharf — once you got off a man of flesh and blood
like yourselves on a fool's business that could not end
well."

' You forget, capataz, I was not on the wharf. And
I did not think well of the business. So you need not
taunt me. I tell you what, man, we had but little
leisure to think of the dead. Death stands near be-
hind us all. You were gone."

" I went, indeed!" broke in Nostromo. " And for the
sake of what — tell me?"

"Ah! that is your own affair," the doctor said,
roughly. "Do not ask me."

Their flowing murmurs paused in the dark. Perched
on the edge of the table with slightly averted faces,
they felt their shoulders touch, and their eyes remain-
ed directed towards an upright shape nearly lost in
the obscurity of the inner part of the room, that with
projecting head and shoulders, in ghastly immobility,
seemed intent on catching every word.

"Muy bien," Nostromo muttered, at last. "So be
it. Teresa was right. It is my own affair."

"Teresa is dead," remarked the doctor, absently,
while his mind followed a new line of thought sug-
gested by what might have been called Nostromo's
return to life. "She died, the poor woman."

"Without a priest?" the capataz asked, anxiously.

" What a question ! Who could have got a priest
for her last night?"

"May God have her soul!" ejaculated Nostromo,
481

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

with a gloomy and hopeless fervor which had no time
to surprise Dr. Monygham before, reverting to their
previous conversation, he continued in a sinister tone,
"Si, Senor Doctor. As you were saying, it is my own
affair. A very desperate affair."

"There are no two men in this part of the world that
could have saved themselves by swimming, as you
have done," the doctor said, admiringly.

And again there was silence between those two
men. They were both reflecting, and the diversity of
their natures made their thoughts, born from their
meeting, swing afar from each other. The doctor, im-
pelled to risky action by his loyalty to the Goulds,
wondered with thankfulness at the chain of accident
which had brought that man back where he would be
of the greatest use in the work of saving the San Tome
mine. The doctor was loyal to the mine. It presented
itself to his fifty -years-old eyes in the shape of a little
woman in a soft dress with a long train, with a head
attractively overweighted by a great mass of fair hair,
and the delicate preciousness of her inner worth, par-
taking of a gem and a flower, revealed in every atti-
tude of her person. As the dangers thickened round
the San Tom6 mine, this illusion acquired force, per-
manency, and authority. It claimed him at last!
This claim, exalted by a spiritual detachment from
the usual sanctions of hope and reward, made Dr.
Monygham's thinking, acting individuality extremely
dangerous to himself and to others, all his scruples
vanishing in the proud feeling that his devotion was
the only thing that stood between an admirable wom-
an and a frightful disaster.

48?

Nostromo ; A Talc of the Seaboard

1 1 was a sort of intoxication which made him utterly
indifferent to Decoud's fate, but left his wits perfectly
dear tor the .IJIJTI •> iation of Decoud's political idea.
It was a good idea, and Barrios was the only instru-
ment of its realization. The doctor's soul, withered
and struck by the shame of a moral disgrace, became
implacable in the expansion of its tenderness. Nos-
tromo's return was providential. He did not think
of him humanely, as of a fellow-creature just escaped
from the jaws of death. The capataz for him was
the only possible messenger to Cayta. The very man.
The doctor's misanthropic mistrust of mankind (the
bitterer because based on personal failure) did not
lift him sufficiently above common weaknesses. He
was under the spell of an established reputation.
Trumpeted by Captain Mitchell, grown in repetition,
and fixed in general assent, Nostromo's faithfulness
had never been questioned by Dr. Monygham as a
furt. It was not likely to be questioned now he stood
in desperate need of it himself. Dr. Monygham was
human; he accepted the popular conception of the
capataz's incorruptibility simply because no word or
fact had ever contradicted a mere affirmation. It
seemed to be a part of the man, like his whiskers or
his teeth. It was impossible to conceive him other-
wise. The question was whether he would consent
to go on such a dangerous and desperate errand. The
doctor was observant enough to have become aware
from the first of something peculiar in the man's tem-
per. He was no doubt sore about the loss of the
silver.

"It will be necessary to take him into my fullest
483

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

confidence," he said to himself, with a certain acute-
ness of insight into the nature he had to deal with.

On Nostromo's side the silence had been full of
black irresolution, anger, and mistrust. He was the
first to break it, however.

" The swimming was no great matter," he said. " It
is what went before — and what comes after that —

He did not quite finish what he meant to say, break-
ing off short, as though his thought had butted against
a solid obstacle. The doctor's mind pursued its own
schemes with Machiavellian subtlety. He said, as
sympathetically as he was able:

"It is unfortunate, capataz. But no one would
think of blaming you. Very unfortunate. To begin
with, the treasure ought never to have left the moun-
tain. But it was Decoud who — However, he is
dead. There is no need to talk of him."

"No," assented Nostromo, as the doctor paused,
"there is no need to talk of dead men. But I am not
dead yet."

"You are all right. Only a man of your intrepidity
could have saved himself."

In this Dr. Monygham was sincere. He esteemed
highly the intrepidity of that man, whom he valued
but little, being disillusioned as to mankind in general
because of the particular instance in which his own
manhood had failed. Having had to encounter single-
handed during his period of eclipse many physical
dangers, he was well aware of the most dangerous
element common to them all — of the crushing, para-
lyzing sense of human littleness, which is what really
defeats a man struggling with natural forces, alone.

484

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

far from the eyes of his fellows. He was eminently
(it to appreciate the mental image he made for him-
self of the capataz, after hours of tension and anxiety
precipitated suddenly into an abyss of waters and
darkness, without earth or sky, and confronting it not
only with an undismayed mind but with sensible suc-
cess. Of course the man was an incomparable swim-
mer, that was known; but the doctor judged that this
instance testified to a still greater intrepidity of spirit.
It was pleasing to him; he augured well from it for
the success of the arduous mission with which he
meant to intrust the capataz, so marvellously re-
stored to usefulness. And in a tone vaguely gratified
he observed:

"It must have been terribly dark!"

"It was the worst darkness of the Golf o," the
capataz assented, briefly. He was mollified by what
seemed a sign of some faint interest in such things as
had befallen him, and , dropped a few descriptive
phrases with an affected and curt nonchalance. At
that moment he felt communicative. He expected
the continuance of that interest which, whether ac-
cepted or rejected, would have restored to him his
personality — the only thing lost in that desperate
affair. But the doctor, engrossed by a desperate ad-
venture of his own, was terrible in the pursuit of his
idea. He let an exclamation of regret escape him.

" I could almost wish you had shouted and shown a
light

This unexpected utterance astounded the capataz
by its character of cold-blooded atrocity. It was as
much as to say: "I wish you had shown vourself a

485

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

coward; I wish you had had your throat cut for your
pains." Naturally he referred it to himself, whereas
it related only to the silver, being uttered simply and
with many mental reservations. Surprise and rage
rendered him speechless, and the doctor pursued, prac-
tically unheard by Nostromo, whose stirred blood was
beating violently in his ears:

"For I am convinced Sotillo in possession of the
silver would have turned short round and made for
some small port abroad. Economically it would have
been wasteful, but still less wasteful than having it
sunk. It was the next best thing to having it at
hand in some safe place and using part of it to buy
up Sotillo. But I doubt whether Don Carlos would
have ever made up his mind to it. He is not fit for
Costaguana, and that is a fact, capataz."

The capataz had mastered the fury that was like a
tempest in his ears in time to hear the name of Don
Carlos. He seemed to have come out of it a changed
man — a man who spoke thoughtfully in a soft and even
voice.

"And would Don Carlos have been content if I had
surrendered this treasure?"

"I should not wonder if they were all of that way
of thinking now," the doctor said, grimly. "I was
never consulted. Decoud had it his own way. Their
eyes are opened by this time, I should think. I for
one know that if that silver turned up this- moment
miraculously ashore, I would give it to Sotillo. And
as things stand I would be approved."

"Turned up miraculously," repeated the capataz,
very low; then raised his voice. "That, senor, would

486

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

be a greater miracle than any saint could per-
form."

"I believe you, capataz," said the doctor, dryly.
lie went on to develop his view of Sotillo's dangerous
influence upon the situation. And the capataz, lis-
tening as if in a dream, felt himself of as little account
as the iiulistiiu t. motionless shape of the dead man
whom he saw upright under the beam, with his air of
listening also, disregarded, forgotten, like a terrible
:iple of neglect.

"Is it for an unconsidered and foolish whim that
they came to me, then ?" he interrupted, suddenly.
" Had I not done enough for them to be of some ac-
count, por Dios? Is it that the hombres finos — the
gentlemen — need not think as long as there is a man
of the people ready to risk his body and soul? Or,
perhaps, we have no souls — like dogs."

"There was Decoud, too, with his plan," the doctor
reminded him again.

"Si! An«l the rich man in San Francisco who had
something to do with that treasure, too — what do I
know? No! I have heard too many things. It
seems to me that everything is permitted to the rich."

"I under land, capataz," the doctor began.

"What capataz?" broke in Nostromo, in a forcible
but even voice. "The capataz is undone, destroyed.
There is n<> /-. Oh no! You will find the

capataz no more."

"Come, this is childish," remonstrated the doctor;
and the other calmed down suddenly.

" I have been indeed like a little child," he muttered.

And as his eyes met again the shape of the murdered
487

Nostromo A Tale of the Seaboard

man suspended in his awful immobility, which seemed
the uncomplaining immobility of attention, he asked,
wondering gently:

"Why did Sotillo give the estrapade to this pitiful
wretch ? Do you know ? No torture could have been
worse than his fear. Killing I can understand. His
anguish was intolerable to behold. But why should
he torment him like this? He could tell no more."

"No. He could tell nothing more. Any sane man
would have seen that. He had told him everything.
But I tell you what it is, capataz; Sotillo would not
believe what he was told. Not everything."

" What is it he would not believe ? I cannot under-
stand."

"I can, because I have seen the man. He refuses
to believe that the treasure is lost."

"What?" the capataz cried out, in a discomposed
tone.

"That startles you — eh?"

"Am I to understand, senor," Nostromo went on,
in a deliberate and, as it were, watchful tone, "that
Sotillo thinks the treasure has been saved by some
means?"

"No! no! That would be impossible," said the
doctor, with conviction ; and Nostromo emitted a grunt
in the dark. "That would be impossible. He thinks
that the silver was no longer in the lighter when she
was sunk. He has convinced himself that the whole
show of getting it away to sea is a mere sham got up
to deceive Gamacho and his Nationals, Pedrito Mon-
tero, Senor Fuentes, our new Gefe" Politico, and him-
self, too. Only, he says, he is no such fool."

488

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

" Hut he is devoid of sense. He is the greatest im-
becile that ever called himself a colonel in this country
of evil," growled Nostromo.

" He is no more unreasonable than many sensible
men," sai<l the doctor. "He has convinced himself
that the treasure can be found because he desires pas-
sionately to possess himself of it. And he is also afraid
of his officers turning upon him and going over to
Pedrito, whom he has not the courage either to fight
or trust. Do you see that, capataz? He need fear
no desertion as long as some hope remains of that
enormous plunder turning up. I have made it my
business to keep this very hope up."

"You have!" the capataz de cargadores repeated
cautiously. "Well, that is wonderful. And how long
do you think you are going to keep it up ?"

"As long as I can."

44 What does that mean ?"

44 1 can tell you exactly. As long as I live," the doc-
tor retorted, in a stubborn voice. Then in a few
words he described the story of his unrest and the
circumstances of his release. " I was going back to
that silly scoundrel when we met," he concluded.

Nostromo had listened with profound attention.
i have made up your mind, then, to a speedy
death," he muttered through his clinched teeth.

"Perhaps! my illustrious capataz," the doctor said,
testily. " You are not the only one here who can look
an ugly death in the face."

"No doubt," mumbled Nostromo, loud enough to
be overheard. "There may be even more than two
fools in this place. Who knows ?"

489

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"And that is my affair," said the doctor, curtly.

"As taking out the accursed silver to sea was my
affair," retorted Nostromo. "I see. Bueno! Each
of us has his reasons. But you were the last man I
conversed with before I started, and you talked to me
as if I were a fool."

Nostromo had a great distaste for the doctor's sar-
donic treatment of his great reputation. Decoud's
faintly ironic recognition used to make him uneasy;
but the familiarity of a man like Don Martin w;
flattering, whereas the doctor was a nobody. H
could remember him a penniless outcast slinking about
the streets of Sulaco without a single friend or ac-
quaintance till Don Carlos Gould took him into the
service of the mine.

"You may be very wise," he went on, thoughtfully,
staring into the obscurity of the room pervaded by the
grewsome enigma of the tortured and murdered
Hirsch. "But I am not such a 'fool as when I started.
I have learned one thing since, and that is that you
are a dangerous man."

Dr. Monygham was too startled to do more than
exclaim :

"What is it you say?"

"If he could speak he would say the same thing,"
pursued Nostromo, with a nod of his shadowy head sil-
houetted against the starlit window.

"I do not understand you," said Dr. Monygham,
faintly.

"No? Perhaps if you had not confirmed Sotillo in
his madness he would have been in no haste to give
the estrapade to that miserable Hirsch."

490

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

The doctor started at the suggestion. But his de-
riling all his sensibilities, had left his heart
led against remorse and pity. Still, for complete
relief, he felt the necessity of repelling it loudly and
contemptuously.

"Bah! You dare to tell me that, with a man like
Sotillo. I confess I did not give a thought to Hirsch.
If I had it would have been useless. Anybody can
see that the luckless wretch was doomed from the
moment he caught hold of the anchor. He was doom-
ed, I tell you! Just as I myself am doomed — most
probably."

This is what Dr. Monygham said in answer to Nos-
tromo's remark, which was plausible enough to prick
his conscience. He was not a callous man. But the
necessity, the magnitude, the importance of the task
he had taken upon himself dwarfed all merely humane
considerations. He had undertaken it in a fanatical
spirit. He did not like it. To lie, to deceive, to cir-
cumvent even the basest of mankind was odious to
him. It was odious to him by training, instinct, and
tradition. To do these things in the character of a
traitor was abhorrent to his nature and terrible to his
feelings. He had made that sacrifice in a spirit of
abasement. He had said to himself, bitterly: " I am
the only one fit for that dirty work." And he believed
this. He was not subtle. His simplicity was such
that though he had no sort of heroic idea of seeking
death, the risk, deadly enough, to which he exposed
himself had a sustaining and comforting effect. To
that spiritual state the fate of Hirsch presented itself
as part of the general atrocity of things. He consid-
*. 49 »

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

ered that episode practically. What did it mean ?
Was it a sign of some dangerous change in Sotillo's de-
lusion ? That the man should have been killed like this
was what the doctor could not understand.

"Yes. But why shot?" he murmured to himself.

Nostromo kept very still.

T^VISTRACTED between doubts and hopes, dis-
\^s iiiaved by the sound of bells pealing out the ar-
rival of Pedrito Montero, Sotillo had spent the morn-
ing in I ..ittling with his thoughts — a contest to which
IB was unequal from the vacuity of his mind and the
Bolence of his passions. Disappointment, greed, an-
ger, and fear made a tumult in the colonel's breast
louder than the din of l>ells in the town. Nothing he
•ftd planned had come to pass. Neither Sulaco nor
me silver of the mine had fallen into his hands. He
had performed no military exploit to secure his posi-
•pn, and had obtained no enormous booty to make
off with. Pedrito Montero, either as friend or foe,
filled him with dread. The sound of bells maddened
him.

Imagining at first that he might be attacked at once,
he had made his battalion stand to arms on the shore.
He walked to and fro all the length of the room, stop-
ping sometimes to gnaw the finger-tips of his right
Bud with a lurid sideway glare fixed on the floor;
•fcn with a sullen, repelling glance all round, he would
resume his tramping in savage aloofness. His hat,
'•whip, sword, and revolver were lying on the
t.iHe. His officers, crowding the window giving the
•iew of the town gate, disputed among themselves the
wse of his field-glass, bought last year on long credit

493

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

from Anzani. It passed from hand to hand, and the
possessor for the time being was besieged by anxious
inquiries.

"There is nothing; there is nothing to see," he would
repeat, impatiently.

There was nothing. And when the picket in the
bushes near the Casa Viola had been ordered to fall back
upon the main body, no stir of life appeared on the
stretch of dusty and arid land between the town and
the waters of the port. But late in the afternoon a
horseman issuing from the gate was made out riding
up fearlessly. It was an emissary from Senor Fuentes.
Being all alone he was allowed to come on. Dismount-
ing at the great door he greeted the silent bystanders
with cheery impudence and begged to be taken up at
once to the "muy valiente" colonel.

Senor Fuentes, on entering upon his functions of
Ge"fe" Politico, had turned his diplomatic abilities to
getting hold of the harbor as well as of the mine. The
man he pitched upon to negotiate with Sotillo was a
notary public whom the revolution had found languish-
ing in the common jail on a charge of forging docu-
ments. Liberated by the mob along with the other
" victims of Blanco tyranny," he had hastened to
offer his services to the new government.

He set out determined to display much zeal and
eloquence in trying to induce Sotillo to come into town
alone for a conference with Pedrito Montero. Noth-
ing was further from the colonel's intentions. The
mere fleeting idea of trusting himself into the famous
Pedrito's hands had made him feel unwell several
times. It was out of the question — it was madness.

494

[Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

id to put himself in open hostility was madness, too.
It would render impossible a systematic search for
tli.it treasure, for that wealth of silver which he seemed
feel somewhere about, to scent somewhere near.
Jut where? Where? Heavens! Where? Oh! why
id he allowed that doctor to go ? Imbecile that he
,-.t But no! It was the only right course, he re-
••'1, distractedly, while the messenger waited down-
chatting agreeably to the officers. It was in that
[scoundrelly doctor's true interest to return with ]
Hve information. But what, if anything, stopped
[him? A general prohibition to leave the town, for
•stance! There would be patrols!

The colonel, seizing his head in his hands, turned
Aon himself as if struck with vertigo. A flash of
•ftvcn inspiration suggested to him an expedient not
unknown to European statesmen when they wish to
delay a difficult negotiation. Booted and spurred,
•e scrambled into the hammock with undignified
Bite. His handsome face had turned yellow with
•e strain of weighty cares. The ridge of his shapely
Bose had grown sharp ; the audacious nostrils appeared
mean and pinched. The velvety, caressing glance of
•s fine eyes seemed dead and even decomposed, for
Wtese almond-shaped, languishing orbs had become
•appropriately bloodshot with much sinister sleep-
•ftness. He addressed the surprised envoy of Sefior
Fwntcs in a deadened, exhausted voice. It came
pathetically feeble from under a vast pile of ponchos
which buried his elegant person right up to the black
mustaches, uncurled, pendent, in sign of bodily pros-
tration and mental incapacity. Fever, fever — a heavy

495

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboan

fever had overtaken the "muy valiente" colonel. A
wavering wildness of expression caused by the pass-
ing waves of a slight colic which had declared itself
suddenly, and the rattling teeth of repressed panic had
a genuineness which impressed the envoy. It was a
cold fit. The colonel explained that he was unable to
think, to listen, to speak. With an appearance of
superhuman effort the colonel gasped out that he was
not in a state to return a suitable reply or to execute
any of his Excellency's orders. But, to-morrow! To-
morrow! Ah! to-morrow. Let his Excellency Don 1
Pedro be without uneasiness. The brave Esmeralda I.
regiment held the harbor, held — And closing his
eyes he rolled his aching head like a half-del:rious in-
valid under the inquisitive stare of the envoy, who I
was obliged to bend down over the hammock in or-
der to catch the painful and broken accents. Mean-
time, Colonel Sotillo trusted that his Excellency's hu-
manity would permit the doctor, the English doctor,
to come out of town with his case of foreign reme-
dies to attend upon him. He begged anxiously
worship the caballero now present for the grace of
looking in as he passed the Casa Gould, and informing
the English doctor, who was probably there, that his
services were immediately required by Colonel Sotillo,
lying ill of fever in the custom - house. Immediately.
Most urgently required. Awaited with extreme im- I *'
patience. A thousand thanks. He closed his eyes I r
wearily and would not open them again, lying per-
fectly still, deaf, dumb, insensible, overcome, van- I
quished, crushed, annihilated by the fell disease.
But as soon as the other had shut after him the
496

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

1 1"« ir of the landing, the colonel leaped out with a fling
of both feet in an avalanche of woollen coverings. His
spurs having become entangled in a perfect welter of
ponchos, he nearly pitched on his head, and did not re-
cover his balance till the middle of the room. Con-
cealed behind the half-closed jalousies he listened to
what went on below.

The envoy had already mounted, and turning to the
morose officers occupying the great doorway , took off
his hat formally.

"Caballeros," he said, in a very loud tone, "allow
me to recommend you to take great care of your colo-
nel. It has done me much honor and gratification to
have seen you all, a fine body of men exercising the
soldierly virtue of patience in this exposed situation,
where there is much sun and no water to speak of,
while a town full of wine and feminine charms is ready
to embrace you for the brave men you are. Caballeros,
I have the honor to salute you. There will be much
dancing to-night in Sulaco. Good-bye!"

But he reined in his horse and inclined his head side-
way on seeing the old major step out, very tall and
meagre in a straight, narrow coat coming down to his
ankles, as it were the casing of the regimental colors
rolled round their staff.

The intelligent old warrior, after enunciating in a
dogmatic tone the general proposition that the "world
was full of traitors," went on pronouncing deliberately
a panegyric upon Sotillo. He ascribed to him with
leisurely emphasis every virtue under heaven, sum-
ming it all up in an absurd colloquialism current
among the lower class of Occidentals (especially about

497

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Esmeralda). "And," he concluded, with a sudden
rise in the voice, "a man of many teeth — ' hombre de
muchos dientes.' Si, senor. As to us," he pursued,
portentous and impressive, "your worship is behold-
ing the finest body of officers in the republic, men un-
equalled for valor and sagacity, ' y hombres de muchos
dientes.' '

"What? All of them?" inquired the disreputable
envoy of Senor Fuentes, with a faint, derisive smile.

"Todos. Si, senor," the major affirmed gravely,
with conviction. "Men of many teeth."

The other wheeled his horse to face the portal re-
sembling the high gate of a dismal barn. He raised
himself in his stirrups, extended one arm. He was
a facetious scoundrel, entertaining for these stupid
Occidentals a feeling of great scorn natural in a native
from the central provinces. The folly of Esmeraldians
especially aroused his amused contempt. He began
an oration upon Pedro Montero, keeping a solemn
countenance. He flourished his hand as if introduc-
ing him to their notice. And when he saw every face
set, all the eyes fixed upon his lips, he began to shout
a sort of catalogue of perfections: "Generous, valor-
ous, affable, profound (he snatched off his hat enthu-
siastically)— a statesman, an invincible chief of parti-
sans— " he dropped his voice startlingly to a deep,
hollow note — "and a dentist."

He was off instantly at a smart walk; the rigid strad-
dle of his legs, the turned-out feet, the stiff back, the
rakish slant of the sombrero above the square, motion-
less set of the shoulders expressing an infinite, awe-
inspiring impudence.

498

Kostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Up-stairs, behind the jalousies, Sotillo did not move
;g time. The an f the feliow appalled

him. What were Irs officers saying below? They
were saying nothing. Complete silence. He quaked.
It was n<>t thus that he had imagined himself at that
stage of the expedition. He had seen himself trium-
phant, unquestioned, appeased, the idol of the soldiers,
hing in secret complacency the agreeable alterna-
of power and wealth open to his choice. Alas!
how different! Distracted, restless, supine, burning
with fury or frozen with terror, he felt a dread as
fathomless as the sea creep upon him from every side.
That rogue of a doctor had to come out with his infor-
mation. That was clear. It would be of no use to him
— alone. He could do nothing with it. Malediction!
The doctor would never come out. He was probably
under arrest already, shut up together with Don Carlos.
Hi- laughed aloud insanely. Ha! ha! ha! ha! It was
Pedrito Montero who would get the information. Ha!
ha! ha! ha! — and the silver. Ha!

All at once, in the midst of the laugh, he became
motionless and silent as if turned into stone. He, too,
had a prisoner. A prisoner who must, must know the
real truth. He would have to be made to speak.
And Sotillo, who all that time had not quite forgotten
Hirsch, felt an inexplicable reluctance at the notion
of proceeding to extremities.

He felt a reluctance — part of that unfathomable
dread that crept on all sides upon him. He remembered
reluctantly, too, the dilated eyes of the hide-merchant,
his contortions, his loud sobs and protestations. It
was not compassion or even mere nervous sensibility.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

The fact was that though he never for a moment be-
lieved his story — he could not believe it ; nobody could
believe such nonsense — yet those accents of despairing
truth impressed him disagreeably. They made him
feel sick. And he suspected, also, that the man might
have gone mad with fear. A lunatic is a hopeless sub-
ject. Bah! A pretence. Nothing but a pretence.
He would know how to deal with that.

He was working himself up to the right pitch of
ferocity. His fine eyes squinted slightly; he clapped
his hands ; a barefooted orderly appeared noiselessly —
a corporal, with his bayonet hanging on his thigh and
a stick in his hand.

The colonel gave his orders, and presently the miser-
able Hirsch, pushed in by several soldiers, found him
frowning awfully in a broad arm-chair, hat on head,
knees wide apart, arms akimbo, masterful, imposing,
irresistible, haughty, sublime, terrible.

Hirsch, with his arms tied behind his back, had been
bundled violently into one of the smaller rooms. For
many hours he remained apparently forgotten, stretch-
ed lifelessly on the floor. From that solitude, full of
despair and terror, he was torn out brutally, with kicks
and blows, passive, sunk in hebetude. He listened to
threats and admonitions, and afterwards made his usual
answers to questions, with his chin sunk on his breast,
his hands tied behind his back, swaying a little in
front of Sotillo, and never looking up. When he wat
forced to hold up his head, by means of a bayonet
point prodding him under the chin, his eyes had a va-
cant, trancelike stare, and drops of perspiration as big
as peas were seen hailing down the dirt, bruises,

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

•cratches of his white face. Then they stopped sud-
den lv

tillo looked at him in silence. "Will you depart
from your obstinacy, you rogue?" he asked. Already
a rope, whose one end was fastened to Seflor Hirsch's
wrists, had been thrown over a beam, and three soldiers
lu 1 I the other end, waiting. He made no answer.
His heavy lower lip hung stupidly. Sotillo made a
sign. He was jerked up off his feet, and a yell of de-
spair and agony burst out in the room, filled the pas-
sage of the great building, rent the air outside, caused
every soldier of the camp along the shore to look up
at the windows, started some of the officers in the hall
>ling excitedly, with shining eyes; others, setting
their lips, looked gloomily at the floor.
[ Sotillo, followed by the soldiers, had left the room.
The sentry on the landing presented arms. Hirsch
went on screaming all alone behind the half-closed
jalousies, while the sunshine, reflected from the water
of the harbor, made an ever-running ripple of light
high up on the wall. He screamed with uplifted eye-
brows and a wide open mouth — incredibly wide, black,
enormous, full of teeth — comical.

In the still burning air of the windless afternoon he
ma«le the waves of his agony travel as far as the O.S.N.
Company's offices. Captain Mitchell on the balcony,
trying to make out what went on generally, had heard
him faintly but distinctly, and the feeble and appalling
sound lingered in his ears after he had retreated in-
doors with blanched cheeks. He had been driven off
the balcony several times during that afternoon.

Sotillo, irritable, moody, walked restlessly about,
501

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

held consultations with his officers, gave contradictory
orders in this shrill clamor pervading the whole empty
edifice. Sometimes there would be long and awful
silences. Several times he had entered the torture-
chamber, where his sword, horsewhip, revolver, and
field-glass were lying on the table, to ask with forced
calmness, "Will you speak the truth now? No? I
can wait." But he could not afford to wait much
longer. That was just it. Every time he went in and
came out with a slam of the door, the sentry on the
landing presented arms and got in return a black,
venomous, unsteady glance, which, in reality, saw
nothing at all, being merely the reflection of the soul
within — a soul of gloomy hatred, irresolution, avarice,
and fury.

The sun had set when he went in once more. A
soldier carried in two lighted candles and slunk out,
shutting the door without noise.

"Speak, thou Jewish child of the devil! The silver!
The silver, I say! Where is it? Where have you
foreign rogues hidden it ? Confess or —

A slight quiver passed up the taut rope from the
racked limbs, but the body of Senor Hirsch, enterpris-
ing business man from Esmeralda, hung under the
heavy beam perpendicular and slient, facing the colo-
nel awfully. The inflow of the night air, cooled by
the snows of the Sierra, spread gradually a delicious
freshness through the close heat of the room.

"Speak — thief — scoundrel — picaro — or —

Sotillo had seized the horsewhip, and stood with his
arm lifted up. For a word, for one little word, he felt
he would have knelt, cringed, grovelled on the floor

502

>mo: A Talc of the Seaboard

re the drowsy, conscious stare of those fixed eye-
balls starting out of the grimy, dishevelled head that
j>cd very still with its mouth closed askew. The
Atonel ground his teeth and struck. The rope vi-
brated leisurely to the blow, like the long string of a
iuluin starting from a rest. Hut n<> swinging mo-
was imparted to the body of Seflor Hirsch, the
well-known hide-merchant of the coast. With a con-
vulsive effort of the twisted arms it leaped up a few
inches, curling upon itself like a fish on the end of a
Sefmr Hirs. li's }i. flung back on his

straining throat; his chin trembled. For a moment
.the rattle of his chattering teeth pervaded the vast,
shadowy room, where the candles made a patch of
light round the two flames burning side by side. And
•s Sotillo, staying his raised hand, waited for him to
k, with a sudden flash of a grin and a straining
forward of the wrenched shoulders, he spat violently
into his face.

The uplifted whip fell, and the colonel sprang back
with a low cry of dismay, as if aspersed by a jet of
:!y venom. Quick as thought he snatched up his
revolver and fired twice. The report and the con-
cussion of the shots seemed to throw him at once from
>vernable rage into idiotic stupor. He stood with
Mrooping jaw and stony eyes. What had he done?
Sangre de Dios! what had he done? He was basely
•^palled at his impulsive act, sealing forever these
H;K from which so much was to be extorted. What
could he say ? How could he explain ? Ideas of head-
long flight somewhere, anywhere, passed through his
mind; even the craven and absurd notion of hiding

5<>3

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

under the table occurred to his cowardice. It was
too late; his officers had rushed in tumultuously, in a
great clatter of scabbards, clamoring with astonish-
ment and wonder. But since they did not imme-
diately proceed to plunge their swords into his breast,
the brazen side of his character asserted itself. Pass-
ing the sleeve of his uniform over his face he pull*
himself together. His truculent glance turned slowlj
here and there checked the noise where it fell; anc
the stiff body of the late Senor Hirsch, merchant, aft
swaying imperceptibly, made a half turn and came
a rest in the midst of awed murmurs and uneasy
shuffling.

A voice remarked loudly, "Behold a man who wil
never speak again." And another, from the back ro\
of faces, timid and pressing, cried out:
"Why did you kill him, mi coronel?"
"Because he has confessed everything," answere
Sotillo, with the hardihood of desperation. He felt
himself cornered. He brazened it out on the strength
of his reputation with very fair success. His hearers
thought him very capable of such an act. They were
disposed to believe his flattering tale. There is no
credulity so eager and blind as the credulity of covet-
ousness, which, in its universal extent, measures the
moral misery and the intellectual destitution of man-
kind. Ah! he had confessed everything, this factious
Jew, this bribon. Good! Then he was no longer
wanted. A sudden dense guffaw was heard from the
senior captain — a big-headed man, with little round
eyes and monstrously fat cheeks which never moved.
The old major, tall and fantastically ragged, like a

504

: A Tale of the Seaboard

scarecrow, walked round the body of the late S«nor
h. muttering to himself with ineffable compla-
cency that like this there was no need to guard against
future treacheries of that rastrero. The others
1. shifting from foot to foot and whispering short
remarks to each other.

Sotillo buckled on his sword and gave curt, peremp-
•» hasten the retirement decided upon in
the afternoon. Sinister, impressive, his wide som-
brero pulled tight down upon his eyebrows, he march-
ed first through the door in such disorder of mind that
he forgot utterly to provide for Dr. Monygham's pos-
sible return. As they trooped out after him, one or
two looked back hastily at the late Senor Hirsch, mer-
chant of Esmeralda, left swinging rigidly at rest, alone
with the two burning candles. In the emptiness of
the room the burly shadow of head and shoulders on
the wall had an air of life.

Below the troops fell in silently, and moved off by
companies without drum or trumpet. The old scare-
major commanded the rear-guard; but the party
he left behind with orders to fire the custom-house
(and "burn the carcass of the treacherous Jew where
it hung") failed somehow in their haste to set the stair-
case properly alight. The body of the late Senor
Hirsch dwelt alone for a time in the dismal solitude
of the vast unfinished building, resounding weirdly
with sudden slams and clicks of doors and latches,
with rustling scurries of torn papers, and the tremu-
lous sighs that at each gust of wind passed under the
hi^'h roof. The light of the two candles burning be-
to re the perpendicular and breathless immobility of

50$

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

the late Senor Hirsch threw a gleam afar over land and
water, like a signal in the night. He remained to
startle Nostfomo by his presence, and to puzzle Dr.
Monygham by the mystery of his atrocious end.

"But why shot?" the doctor again asked himself,
audibly. This time he was answered by a dry laugh
from Nostromo.

"You seem much concerned at a very natural thing,
Senor Doctor. I wonder why ? It is very likely that
before long we shall all get shot one after another, if not
by Sotillo, then by Pedrito, or Fuentes, or Gamacho.
And we may even get the estrapade, too, or worse —
quien sabe? — with your pretty tale of the silver you
put into Sotillo's head."

"It was in his head already," the doctor protested.
"I only — "

"Yes. And you only nailed it there so that the
devil himself — "

"That is precisely what I meant to do," caught up
the doctor.

" That is what you meant to do ? Bueno ! It is as
say. You are a dangerous man ."

Their voices, which, without rising, had been gro\
ing quarrelsome, ceased suddenly. The late Seik
Hirsch, erect and shadowy against the stars, seemed to
be waiting, attentive, in impartial silence.

But Dr. Monygham had no mind to quarrel with
Nostromo. At this supremely critical point of Su-
laco's fortunes it was borne upon him at last that this
man was really indispensable, more indispensable
than ever the infatuation of Captain Mitchell, his
proud discoverer, could conceive; far beyond what

506

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

Decoud's best dry raillery about " my illustrious friend,
the unique capataz de cargadores," had ever invented.
The fellow was unique. He was not "one in a thou-
sand." He was absolutely the only one. The doctor
surrendered. There was something in the genius of
that Genoese seaman which dominated the destinies
of great enterprises and of many people, the fortunes
of Charles Gould, the fate of an admirable woman.
At this last thought the doctor had to clear his throat
before he could speak.

In a completely changed tone he pointed out to
the capataz that, to begin with, he personally ran no
great risk. As far as everybody knew, he was dead.
It was an enormous advantage. He had only to keep
out of sight in the Casa Viola, where the old Garibal-
; dino was known to be alone with his dead wife. The
servants had all run away. No one would think of
searching for him there — or anywhere else on earth,
for that matter.

"That would be very true," Nostromo spoke up,
bitterly, "if I had not met you."

For a time the doctor kept silent. "Do you mean
to say that you think I may give you away ?" he asked,
in an unsteady voice. "Why? Why should I do
that?"

1 What do I know? Why not? To gain a day,
perhaps. It would take Sotillo a day to give me the
estrapade, and try some other things, perhaps, before
he puts a bullet through my heart — as he did to that
poor wretch here. Why not?"

The doctor swallowed with difficulty. His throat
had gone dry in a moment. It was not from indigiia-

507

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

tion. The doctor, pathetically enough, believed that
he had forfeited the right to be indignant with any
one — for anything. It was simple dread. Had the
fellow heard his story by some chance? If so, there
was an end of his usefulness in that direction. The
indispensable man escaped his influence because of
that indelible blot which made him fit for dirty work.
A feeling as of sickness came upon him. He would
have given anything to know, but he dared not clear
up the point. The fanaticism of his devotion, fed on
the sense of his abasement, hardened his heart in sad-
ness and scorn.

"Why not, indeed?" he re-echoed sardonically.
"Then the safe thing for you is to kill me on the
spot. I would defend myself. But you may just as
well know I am going about unarmed."

"For Dios!" said the capataz, passionately. "Yo
find people are all alike. All dangerous. All betray-
ers of the poor who are your dogs."

"You do not understand — " began the doctor,
slowly.

"I understand you all!" cried the other, with a vio-
lent movement as shadowy to the doctor's eyes as the
persistent immobility of the late Senor Hirsch. "A
poor man among you has got to look after himself. I
say that you do not care for those that serve you. Look
at me! After all these years, suddenly, here I find
myself like one of these curs that bark outside the
walls — without a kennel or a dry bone for my teeth.
Caramba!" But he relented with a contemptuous
fairness. "Of course," he went on, quietly, "I do not
suppose that you would hasten to give me up to Sotillo.

508

•stromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

for example. It is not that. It is that I am nothing!
'.only — " He swung his arm downward. "Noth-
ing to any one," he repeated.

The doctor breathed freely. " Listen, capataz," he
said, stretching out his arm almost affectionately tow-
ards Nostromo's shoulder. " I am going to tell you a
very simple thing. You are safe because you are
needed. I would not give you away for any conceiv-
able reason, because I want you."

In the dark, Nostromo bit his lip. He had heard
enough of that. He knew what that meant. No
more of that for him. But he had to look after him-
self now, he thought. And he thought, too, that it
would not be prudent to part in anger from his com-
panion. The doctor, admitted to be a great healer,
lui'l. among the populace of Sulaco, the reputation of
being an evil sort of man. It was based solidly on his
personal appearance, which was strange, and on his
rough, ironic manner — proofs visible, sensible, and in-
controvertible of the doctor's malevolent disposition.
And Nostromo was of the people. So he only grunted
incredulously.

" You, to speak plainly, are the only man," the doc-
tor pursued. "It is in your power to save this town
and . . . everybody from the destructive rapacity of
men who — "

" No, seftor," said Nostromo, sullenly. " It is not in
my power to get the treasure back for you to give up
to Sotillo, or Pedrito, or Gamacho. What do I know ?"

"Nobody expects the impossible," was the answer.

"You have said it yourself — nobody," muttered
Nostromo, in a gloomy, threatening tone.

509

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

But Dr. Monygham, full of hope, disregarded the
enigmatic words and the threatening tone. To their
eyes, accustomed to obscurity, the late Senor Hirsch,
growing more distinct, seemed to have come nearer.
And the doctor lowered his voice in exposing his
scheme as though afraid of being overheard.

He was taking the indispensable man into his full-
est confidence. Its implied flattery and suggestion of
great risks came with a familiar sound to the capataz.
His mind, floating in irresolution and discontent, recog-
nized it with bitterness. He understood well that the
doctor was anxious to save the San Tome" mine from
annihilation. He would be nothing without it. It
was his interest. Just as it had been the interest of
Senor Decoud, of the Blancos, and of the Europeans
to get his cargadores on their side. His thought be-
came arrested upon Decoud. What would happen to
him?

Nostromo's prolonged silence made the doctor un-
easy. He pointed out, quite unnecessarily, that
though for the present he was safe, he could not live
concealed forever. The choice was between accept-
ing the mission to Barrios, with all its dangers and
difficulties, and leaving Sulaco by stealth, ingloriously,
in poverty.

"None of your friends could reward you and protect
you just now, capataz. Not even Don Carlos himself."

" I would have none of your protection and none of
your rewards. I only wish I could trust your courage
and your sense. When I return in triumph, as you
say, with Barios, I may find you all destroyed. You
have the knife at your throat now."

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

It was the doctor's turn to remain silent in the con-
templation of horrible contingencies.

1, we would trust your courage and your sense.
And you, too, have a knife at your throat."

"Ah! And whom am I to thank for that? What
are your politics and your mines to me — your silver
and your constitutions — your Don Carlos this and Don
Jose* that—"

"I don't know," burst out the exasperated doctor.
"There are innocent people in danger whose IntU-
finger is worth more than you or I and all the Ribi<
together. I don't know. You should have asked
yourself before you allowed Decoud to lead you into
all this. It was your place to think like a man, but if
you did not think then, try to act like a man now.
Did you imagine Decoud cared very much for what
would happen to you?"

"No more than you care for what will happen to
me," muttered the other.

"No. I care for what will happen to you as little
as I care for what will happen to myself."

" And all this because you are such a devoted Ribie-
rist?" Nostromo said, in an incredulous tone.

"All this because I am such a devoted Ribierist,"
repeated Dr. Monygham, grimly.

Again Nostromo, gazing abstractedly at the body of
the late Sefior Hirsch, remained silent, thinking that
the doctor was a dangerous person in more than one
sense. Tt was impossible to trust him.

"Do you speak in the name of Don Carlos?" he
asked at last.

"Yes, I do," the doctor said, loudly, without hesi-

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

tation. " He must come forward now. He must,"
he added, in a mutter which Nostromo did not catch.

"What did you say, senor?"

The doctor started. "I say that you must be true
to yourself, capataz. It would be worse than folly to
fail now."

"True to myself," repeated Nostromo. "How do
you know that I would not be true to myself if I told
you to go to the devil with your propositions?"

"I do not know. Maybe you would," the doctor
said, with a roughness of tone intended to hide the
sinking of his heart and the faltering of his voice. " All
I know is that you had better get away from here.
Some of Sotillo's men may turn up here looking for me."

He slipped off the table, listening intently. The
capataz, too, stood up.

"Suppose I went to Cayta, what would you do
meantime?" he asked.

" I would go to Sotillo directly you had left — in the
way I am thinking of."

"A very good way — if only that engineer -in -chief
consents. Remind him, senor, that I looked after the
rich old Englishman who pays for the railway, and that
I saved the lives of some of his people that time when a
gang of thieves came from the south to wreck one of
his pay -trains. It was I who discovered it all, at the
risk of my life, by pretending to enter into their plans.
Just as you are doing with Sotillo."

"Yes. Yes, of course. But I can offer him better
arguments," the doctor said, hastily. " Leave it to me."

"Ah, yes! True. I am nothing."

"Not at all. You are everything."
5"

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

moved a few paces towards the door. Be-
hind them the late Seflor Hirsch preserved the immo-
Inhtv <>i

"That will be all right. I know what to say to the
engineer." pursued the doctor, in a low tone. "My
ulty will he with Sotillo."

And Dr. Monygham stopped short in the doorway
as if intimidated by the difficulty. He had made
the sacrifice of his life. He considered this a fitting
• rtunity. But he did not want to throw his ln«-
away too soon. In Ins quality of betrayer of Don
Carlos's confidence, he would have ultimately to indi-
cate the hiding-place of the treasure. That would be
the end of his deception, and the end of himself as well,
at the hands of the infuriated colonel. He wanted to
delay him to the very last moment, and he had been
racking his brains to invent some place of concealment
at once plausible and difficult of access.

He imparted his trouble to Nostromo, and concluded:

"Do you know what, capataz? I think that when
the time comes and some information must be given,
I shall indicate the Great Isabel. That is the best
place I can think of. What is the matter?"

A low exclamation had escaped Nostromo. The
doctor waited, surprised, and after a moment of pro-
found silence heard a thick voice stammer out. " Utter
folly," and stop with a gasp.

"I do not see it."

"Ah! You do not see it," began Nostromo, scath-
ingly, gathering scorn as he went on. "Three men in
half an hour would see that no ground had been dis-
turbed anywhere on that island. Do you think that

5'3

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

such a treasure can be buried without leaving traces
of the work — eh, Senor Doctor? Why, you would
not gain half a day more before having your throat cut
by Sotillo. The Isabel! What stupidity! What
miserable invention. Ah! you are all alike, you fine
men of intelligence. All you are fit for is to betray
men of the people into undertaking deadly risks for
objects that you are not even sure about. If it comes
off you get the benefit. If not, then it does not mat-
ter. He is only a dog. Ah ! Madre de Dios, I would—
He shook his fists above his head.

The doctor was overwhelmed at first by this fierce,
hissing vehemence.

"Well, it seems to me on your own showing that
the men of the people are no mean fools too," he said,
sullenly. "No, but come. You are so clever. Have
you a better place?"

Nostromo had calmed down as quickly as he had
flared up.

"I am clever enough for that," he said, quietly, al-
most with indifference. "You want to tell him of a
hiding-place vast enough to take days in ransacking —
a place where a treasure of silver ingots can be buried
without leaving a sign on the surface."

"And close at hand," the doctor put in.

"Just so, senor. Tell him it is sunk."

"This has the merit of being the truth," the doctor
said, contemptuously. "He will not believe it."

"You tell him that it is sunk where he may hope to
lay his hands on it, and he will believe you quick
enough. Tell him it has been sunk in the harbor in
order to be recovered afterwards by divers. Tell him

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

you found out that I had orders from Don Carlos Gould
to lower the cases quietly overl>oard somewhere in a
liiu- U-tween the end of the jetty and the entrance.
• lepth is not too great there. He has no divers,
1'Ut he has a ship, boats, ropes, chains, sailors — of a
sort. Let him fish for the silver. Let him set hi .
fools to drag backward and forward and crosswise
while he sits and watches till his eyes drop out of his
head."

"Really, this is an admirable idea," muttered the
doctor.

"Si. You tell him that, and see whether he will not
believe you! He will spend days in rage and torment
— and still he will believe. He will have no thought
for anything else. He will not give up till he is driven
off — why, he may even forget to kill you. He shall
neither eat nor sleep. He — "

"The very thing! The very thing!" the doctor re-
peated in an excited whisper. "Capataz, I begin to
believe that you are a great genius in your way."
Nostromo had paused; then began again in a changed
tone, sombre, speaking to himself as though he had
forgotten the doctor's existence.

"There is something in a treasure that fastens upon
a man's mind. He will pray and blaspheme and still
persevere, and will curse the day he ever heard of it,
and will let his last hour come upon him unawares,
still believing that he missed it only by a foot. He
will see it every time he closes his eyes. He will never
forget it till he is dead — and even then — Doctor, did
you ever hear of the miserable gringos on Azuera, that
cannot die? Ha! ha! Sailors like myself. There is

5»S

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

no getting away from a treasure that once fastens upon
your mind."

" You are a devil of a man, capataz. It is the most
plausible thing."

Nostromo pressed his arm.

' ' It will be worse for him than thirst at sea or hun-
ger in a town full of people. Do you know what that
is ? He shall suffer greater torments than he inflicted
upon that terrified wretch who had no invention.
None! none! Not like me. I could have told Sotillo
a deadly tale for very little pain."

He laughed wildly and turned in the doorway tow-
ards the body of the late Senor Hirsch, an opaque long
blotch in the semi-transparent obscurity of the room
between the two tall parallelograms of the windows
full of stars.

"You man of fear!" he cried. "You shall be
avenged by me — Nostromo. Out of my way, doctor!
Stand aside — or, by the suffering soul of a woman dead
without confession, I will strangle you with my two
hands."

He bounded downward into the black, smoky hall.
With a grunt of astonishment Dr. Monygham threw
himself recklessly into the pursuit. At the bottom of
the charred stairs he had a fall, pitching forward on
his face with a force that would have stunned a spirit
less intent upon a task of love and devotion. He was
up in a moment, jarred, shaken, with a strange im-
pression of the terrestrial globe having been flung at
his head in the dark. But it wanted more than that
to stop Dr. Monygham's body, possessed by the ex-
altation of self-sacrifice; a reasonable exaltation, de-

>tromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

ined not whatever advantage chance put

A. iv He ran with headlong, tottering sv.
ness, his arms going like a windmill in his effort to
liis balance <>n his rrippled feet. He lost his hat;
the tails of 1m opi-n gaberdine Hew behind him. He
had no mind to lose sight of the indispensable man.
Hut it was a long time, and a long way from the custom-
house, before he managed to seize his arm from behind,
roughly, out of breath.

Stop! Are you mad?"

Already Nostromo was walking slowly, his head
drooping, as if checked in his pace by the weariness of
>lution.

"What is that to you? Ah! I forgot you want me
for something. Always. Siempre, Nostromo."

" What do you mean by talking of strangling me?"
panted the doctor.

" What do I mean ? I mean that the king of the
devils himself has sent you out of this town of cowards
and talkers to meet me to-night of all the nights of
my life."

Under the starry sky the Albergo d' Italia Una
emerged, black and low, breaking the dark level of the
plain. Nostromo stopped altogether.

"The priests say he is a tempter, do they not?" he
added, through his clinched teeth.

" My good man, you rave. The devil has nothing to
do with this. Neither has the town, which you may
call by what name you please. But Don Carlos Gould
is neither a coward nor an empty talker. You will
admit that?" He waited. "Well?"

"Could I see Don Carlos?"
5»7

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"Great Heavens! No! Why? What for?" ex-
claimed the doctor in agitation. "I tell you it is mad-
ness. I will not let you go into the town for any-
thing."

" I must."

"You must not," hissed the doctor, fiercely, almost
beside himself with the fear of the man doing away
with his usefulness for an imbecile whim of some sort.
" I tell you you shall not. I would rather — "

He stopped at loss for words, feeling fagged out,
powerless, holding on to Nostromo 's sleeve, absolute-
ly for support after his run.

"I am betrayed," muttered the capataz to himself;
and the doctor, who overheard the last word, made an
effort to speak calmly.

"That is exactly what would happen to you. You
would be betrayed."

He thought with a sickening dread that the man
was so well known that he could not escape recogni-
tion. The house of the Senor Administrador was be-
set by spies, no doubt. And even the very servants
of the casa were not to be trusted." "Reflect capa-
taz," he said, impressively. . . . "What are you laugh-
ing at?"

" I am laughing to think that if somebody that did
not approve of my presence in town, for instance —
you understand, Senor Doctor — if somebody were to
give me up to Pedrito, it would not be beyond my
power to make friends even with him. It is true.
What do you think of that?"

"You are a man of infinite resource, capataz," said
Dr. Monygham, dismally. " I recognize that. But the

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

town is full of talk about you; and those few car-
gadores that are not in hiding with the railway people
have been shouting 'Viva Montero1 on the Plaza all
day."

"My poorjrargadores," muttered Nostromo. "fip-
trayeqll BetravecTr*' " '

I undelrstan<nthat on the wharf you were pretty
free in laying about you with a stick among your poor
cargadores," the doctor said, in a grim tone, which
showed that he was recovering from his exertions.
"Make no mistake. Pedrito is furious at Senor Ri-
l.iera's n-srue and at having lost the pleasure of shoot-
ing Decoud. Already there are rumors in the town of
the treasure having been spirited away. To have
missed that does not please Pedrito either; but let me
tell you that if you had all that silver in your hand
for your ransom it would not save you."

Turning swiftly, and catching the doctor by the
shoulders, Nostromo thrust his face close to his.

"Maladetta! You follow me speaking of the tre.-is
ure. You have sworn my ruin. You were the last
man who looked upon me before I went out with it.
And Sidoni, the engine-driver, says you have an evil
eye."

"He ought to know. I saved his broken leg for
him last year," the doctor said, stoically. He felt on
his shoulders the weight of these hands famed among
the populace for snapping thick ropes and bending
horseshoes. "And to you I offer the best means of
saving yourself — let me go — and of retrieving your
great reputation. You boasted of making the capataz
of cargadores famous from one end of America to the

5'9

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

other about this wretched silver. But I bring you a
better opportunity — let me go, hombre!"

Nostromo released him abruptly, and the doctor
feared that the indispensable man would run off again.
But he did not. He walked on slowly. The doctor
hobbled by his side till, within a stone's-throw from the
Casa Viola, Nostromo stopped again.

Silent in inhospitable darkness, the Casa Viola
seemed to have changed its nature ; his home appeared
to repel him with an air of hopeless and inimical mys-
tery. The doctor said:

"You will be safe there. Go in, capataz."

"How can I go in?" Nostromo seemed to ask him-
self in a low, inward tone. "She cannot unsay what
she said, and I cannot undo what I have done."

" I tell you it is all right. Viola is all alone in there.
I looked in as I came out of the town. You will be
perfectly safe in that house till you leave it to make
your name famous on the Campo. I am going now
to arrange for your departure with the engineer-in-
chief, and I shall bring you news here long' before day-
break."

Dr. Monygham, disregarding or perhaps fearing to
penetrate the meaning of Nostromo's silence, clapped
him lightly on the shoulder, and, starting off with his
smart lame walk, vanished utterly at the third or
fourth hop in the direction of the railway-track. Ar-
rested between the two wooden posts for people to fast-
en their horses to, Nostromo did not move, as if he
too had been planted solidly in the ground. At the
end of half an hour he lifted his head to the deep bay-
ing of the dogs at the railway-yards, which had burst

INostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

out suddenly , tumultuous and deadened as if coming
from under the plain. That lame doctor with the

ad got there pretty fast.
Step by step Nostromo approached the Albergo

ilia Una. which he had never known so lightless,
so silent, before. The door, all black in the pale wall.
stood open as he had left it twenty -four hours before,
when he had nothing to hide from the world. He re-

ied before it, irresolute, like a fugitive, like a man
betrayed. Poverty, misery, starvation! Where had
he heard these words ? The anger of a dying woman

prophesied that fate for his folly. It looked as if
it would come true very quickly. And the leperos
would laugh — she had said. Yes, they would laugh
if they knew that the capataz de cargadores was at
the mercy of the mad doctor whom they could remem-
IKT. only a few years ago, buying cooked food from a
stall on the Plaza for a copper coin — like one of them-
selves.

At that moment the notion of seeking Captain Mit-
chell passed through his mind. He glanced in the
direction of the jetty and saw a small gleam of light
in the O.S.N. Company's building. The thought of
lighted windows was not attractive. Two lighted
windows had decoyed him into the empty custom-
house, only to fall into the clutches of that doctor.
No! He would not go near lighted windows again on
that night. Captain Mitchell was there. And what
could he be told ' That doctor would worm it all out
of him as if he were a child.

On the threshold he called out "Giorgio!" in an
undertone. Nobody answered. H« stepped in. "Ola!

521

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

viejo! Are you there?" ... In the impenetrable dark-
ness his head swam with the illusion that the obscurity
of the kitchen was as vast as the Placid Gulf, and that
the floor dipped forward like a sinking lighter. "Oik!
viejo!" he repeated falteringly, swaying where he
stood. His hand, extended to steady himself, fell
upon the table. Moving a step forward, he shifted
it, and felt a box of matches under his fingers. He
fancied he had heard a quiet sigh. He listened for a
moment, holding his breath; then, with trembling
hands, tried to strike a light.

The tiny piece of wood flamed up quite blindingly
at the end of his fingers, raised above his blinking
eyes. A concentrated glare fell upon the leonine white
head of old Giorgio against the black fireplace — showed
him leaning forward in a chair in staring immobility,
surrounded, overhung, by great masses of shadow, his
legs crossed, his cheek in his hand, an empty pipe in
the corner of his mouth. It seemed hours before he
attempted to turn his face; at the very moment the
match went out, and he disappeared, overwhelmed by
the shadows, as if the walls and roof of the desolate
house had collapsed upon his white head in ghostly
silence.

Nostromo heard him stir and utter dispassionately
the words:

"It may have been a vision."

"No," he said, softly. "It is no vision, old man."

A strong chest voice asked very loud in the dark:

"Is that you I hear, Giovann' Battista?"

"Si, viejo. Steady. Not so loud."

After his release by Sotillo, Giorgio Viola, attended
522

:<[Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

to tin- vi-ry door by the good-natured engineer-in-
chii-i, had re-rtiUTfl his house, which he had been
«• almost at tlic very moment of his wife's
i. All was still. The lamp above was burning,
nearly called out to her by name; and the thought
that no call from him would ever again evoke the an-
r of her voice made him drop heavily into the chair
with a loud groan, wrung out by the pain, as of a

Made piercing his breast.

The rest of the night he made no sound. The dark-
turned to gray, and on the colorless, clear, glassy
n the jagged sierra stood out flat and opaque, as
:t out of paper.

The enthusiastic and severe soul of Giorgio Viola,
"sailor, champion of oppressed humanity, enemy of
Kings, and, by the grace of Mrs. Gould, hotel-keeper
-niluco harbor, had descended into the open
abyss Hi" desolation among the shattered vestiges of
;.ast. He remembered his wooing between two
campaigns, a single short week in the season of gather-
ing olives. Nothing approached the grave passion of
that time but the deep, passionate sense of his bereave-
ment. He discovered all the extent of his dependence
uj">n the silenced voice of that woman. It was her
• that he missed. Abstracted, busy, lost in in-
1 contemplation, he seldom looked at his wife in
•• later years. The thought of his girls was a mat-
>f concern, not of consolation. It was her voice
that he wouKl miss. And he remembered the other
fluid — the little boy who died at sea. Ah! a man
would have been something to lean upon. And, alas!
even Gian* Battista — he of whom and of Linda his

5*3

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

wife had spoken to him so anxiously before she drop*
ped off into her last sleep on earth, he on whom she
had called aloud to save the children just before she
died — even he was dead!

And the old man, bent forward, his head in his hand,
sat through the day in immobility and solitude. He
never heard the brazen roar of the bells in town.
When it ceased, the earthenware filter in the corner of
the kitchen kept on its swift musical drip, drip into
the vast, porous jar below.

Towards sunset he got up, and with slow move-
ments disappeared up the narrow staircase. His bulk
filled it ; and the rubbing of his shoulders made a small
noise as of a mouse running behind the plaster of a
wall. While he remained up there the house was as
dumb as a grave. Then, with the same faint rubbing
noise, he descended. He had to catch at the chairs
and tables to regain his seat. He seized his pipe off the
high mantel of the fireplace — but made no attempt to
reach the tobacco — thrust it empty into the corner of
his mouth, and sat down again in the same staring
pose. The sun of Pedrito's entry into Sulaco, the last
sun of Senor Hirsch's life, the first of Decoud's solitude
on the Great Isabel, passed over the Albergo d'ltalia
Una on its way to the west. The tinkling drip, drip
of the filter had ceased, the lamp up-stairs had burned
itself out, and the night beset Giorgio Viola and his
dead wife with its obscurity and silence that seemed
invincible till the capataz de cargadores, returning
from the dead, put them to flight with the sputter and
flare of a match.

"Si, viejo. It is me. Wait."
524

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Nostromo, after barricading the door and closing
hutters carefully, groped upon a shelf for a candle,
and lit it.

Old Viola had risen. He followed with his eyes in
the dark the sounds made by Nostromo. The light
disclosed him standing without support, as if the mere
presence of that man who was loyal, brave, incorrupti-
ble, who was all his son would have been, were enough
for the support of his decaying strength.

He extended his hand, grasping the briar-wood pipe,
whose bowl was charred on the edge, and knitted his
bushy eyebrows heavily at the light.

" You have returned," he said, with shaky dignity.
"Ah! Very well! I—"

He broke off. Nostromo, leaning back against the
table, his arms folded on his breast, nodded at him
slightly.

"You thought I was drowned! No! The best dog
of the rich, of the aristocrats, of these fine men who
can only talk and betray the people, is not dead yet."

The Garibaldino, motionless, seemed to drink in the
sound of the well-known voice. His head moved
slightly once as if in sign of approval; but Nostromo
saw clearly that the old man understood nothing of
the words. There was no one to understand; no one
he could take into the confidence of Decoud's fate, of
his own, into the secret of the silver. That doctor was
an enemy of the people — a tempter. . . .

Old Giorgio's heavy frame shook from head to foot
with the effort to overcome his emotion at the sight of
that man, who had shared the intimacies of his do-
mestic life as though he had been a grown-up son.

525

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"She believed you would return," he said, solemnly.

Nostromo raised his head.

"She was a wise woman. How could I fail to come
back — ?"

He finished the thought mentally: "Since she has
prophesied for me an end of poverty, misery, and star-
vation." These words of Teresa's anger, from the
circumstances in which they had been uttered, like the
cry of a soul prevented from making its peace with
God, stirred the obscure superstition of personal fort-
une from which even the greatest genius among men
of adventure and action is seldom free. They reigned
over Nostromo's mind with the force of a potent male-
diction. And what a curse it was, that which her
words had laid upon him! He had been orphaned so
young that he could remember no other woman whom
he called mother. Henceforth there would be no enter-
prise in which he would not fail. The spell was work-
ing already. Death itself would elude him now . . .
He said, violently :

"Come, viejo! Get me something to eat. I am
hungry! Sangre de Dios! The emptiness of my belly
makes me light-headed."

With his chin dropped again upon his bare breast
above his folded arms, barefooted, watching from un-
der a gloomy brow the movements of old Viola forag-
ing among the cupboards, he seemed as if indeed fallen
under a curse — a ruined and sinister capataz.

Old Viola walked out of a dark corner, and, without
a word, emptied upon the table out of his hollowed
palms a few dry crusts of bread and half a raw onion.

While the capataz began to devour this beggar's
526

tromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

I fare, taking up with stony-eyed voracity piece after

e lying by his side, the (J.mUiIdmo went off, and

•Matting down in another corner, filled an earthenware

with red wine out of a wicker-covered demijohn.

i a familiar gesture, as when serving customer

!Jhe cafe, he had thrust his pipe between his teeth to

hi-; hands free.

The capataz drank greedily. A slight flush deep-
eiu-d the bronze of his cheek. Before him, Viola,
with a turn of his white and massive head towards the
staircase, took his empty pipe out of his mouth and

ounced slowly:

"After the shot was fired down here, which killed
is surely as if the bullet had struck her oppressed
hr.trt, she called upon you to save the children. Upon
you, Gian' Battista."

capataz looked up.

"Did she do that, padrone? To save the children!
are with the English senora, their rich benefac-
Hey? old man of the people. Thy benefac-
..."

I am old," muttered Giorgio Viola. "An English-
woman was allowed to give a bed to Garibaldi lying
wounded in prison. The greatest man that ever
lived. A man of the people, too — a sailor. I may
let another keep a roof over my head. Si ... I am
old. I may let her. Life lasts too long sometimes."
\nd she herself may not have a roof over her
head before many days are out unless I ... What do
you say ? Am I to keep a roof over her head ? Am
I to try — and save all the Blancos together with
her?"

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"You shall do it," said old Viola, in a strong voice.
"You shall do it as my son would have ..."

"Thy son, viejo! . . . There never has been a man
like thy son. Ha, I must try. . . . But what if it were
only a part of the curse to lure me on ... And so she
called upon me to save — and then — ?"

"She spoke no more," The heroic follower of Gari-
baldi, at the thought of the eternal stillness and silence
fallen upon the shrouded form stretched out on the
bed up-stairs, averted his face and raised his hand to
his furrowed brow. "She was dead before I could
seize her hands," he stammered out pitifully.

Before the wide eyes of the capataz, staring at the
doorway of the dark staircase, floated the shape of the
Great Isabel, like a strange ship in distress, freighted
with enormous wealth and the solitary life of a man.
It was impossible for him to do anything. He could
only hold his tongue, since there was no one to trust.
The treasure would be lost, probably — unless Decoud
. . . And his thought came abruptly to an end. He
perceived that he could not imagine in the least what
Decoud was likely to do.

Old Viola had not stirred. And the motionless cap-
ataz dropped his long, soft eyelashes, which gave to
the upper part of his fierce, black-whiskered face a
touch of feminine ingenuousness. The silence had
lasted for a long time.

"God rest her soul," he murmured gloomily.

Til 1C next day was quiet in the morning, except
for the faint sound of firing to the northward, in
n of Los Hatos. Captain Mitchell had

:ied to it from his balcony anxiously. The phrase,
" In my delicate position as the only consular agent
then in the port, everything, sir, everything was a
just cause for anxiety." had its place in the more or

stereotyped relation of the "historical events"
whirh for the next few years was at the service of

nguished strangers visiting Sulaco. The mention
of the dignity and neutrality of the flag, so difficult to
preserve in his position, "right in the thick of these
events between the lawlessness of that piratical villain
Sotillo and the more regularly established but scarcely
less atrocious tyranny of his Excellency Don Pedro
Montero," came next in order. Captain Mitchell was
not the man to enlarge upon mere dangers much.
But he insisted that it was a memorable day. On that
towards dusk, he had seen "that poor fellow of
mine — Nostromo. The sailor whom I discovered, and,
I may say, made. sir. The man of the famous ride to
Cavta, sir. An historical event, sir!"

Regarded by the O.S.N. Company as an old and
faithful servant, Captain Mitchell was allowed to at-
tain the term of his usefulness in ease and dignity at
the head of the enormousl extended service. The

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

augmentation of the establishment, with its crowds of
clerks, an office in town, the old office in the harbor,
the division into departments — passenger, cargo, light-
erage, and so on — secured a greater leisure for his last
years in the regenerated Sulaco, the capital of the
Occidental Republic. Liked by the natives for his
good-nature and the formality of his manner, self-
important and simple, known for years as a "friend
of our country," he felt himself a personality of mark
in the town. Getting up early for a turn in the mar-
ket-place while the gigantic shadow of Higuerota was
still lying upon the fruit and flower stalls piled up with
masses of gorgeous coloring, attending easily to cur-
rent affairs, welcomed in houses, greeted by ladies
on the Alameda, with his entry into all the clubs and
a footing in the Casa Gould, he led his privileged old
bachelor, man-about-town existence with great com-
fort and solemnity. But on mail-boat days he was
down at the harbor office at an early hour, with his
own gig, manned by a smart crew in white and blue,
ready to dash off and board the ship directly she
showed her bows between the harbor heads.

And it would be into the harbor office that he
would lead some privileged passenger he had brought
off in his own boat, and invite him to take a seat for
a moment while he signed a few papers. And Captain
Mitchell, seating himself at his desk, would keep on
talking hospitably:

"There isn't much time if you are to see everything
in a day. We shall be off in a moment. We'll have
lunch at the Amarilla Club, though I belong also to
the Anglo-American — mining - engineers and business

53°

>mo: A 'I'ule of the Seaboard

. don't you know — and to the Mirliflores as well,
a new club — English, French, Italians, all sorts — lively
young fellows mostly, who wanted to pay a compli-
t to an old resident, sir. But we'll lunch at the
•i!!.i Int. T« • -i you, I fancy. Real thing of the
5 try. Men of the first families. The President of
Occidental Republic himself belongs to it, sir.
old bishop with a broken nose in the patio. Re-
markable piece of statuary, I believe. Cavaliere Par-
>'tti — you know Parrochetti, the famous Italian
sculptor — was working here for two years — thought
highly <>f our old bishop . . . There! I am very
much at your service now."

Inflexible, proud of his experience, penetrated by
the sense of historical importance of men, events, and
buildings, he talked pompously in jerky periods, with
slight indicating sweeps of his short, thick arm, letting
nothing "escape the attention" of his privileged cap-

" Lots of building going on, as you observe. Be-
fore the Separation it was a plain of burned grass
smothered in clouds of dust, with an ox-cart track to
our jetty. Nothing more. This is the harbor gate,
uresque, is it not ? Formerly the town stopped
short there. We enter now the Calle de la Constitu-
cion. Observe the old Spanish houses. Great dignity.
Eh? I suppose it's just as it was in the time of the
viceroys, except for the pavement. Wood blocks
now. Sulaco National Bank there, with the sentry
boxes each side of the gate. Casa Avellanos this side,
with all the ground-floor windows shuttered. A won-
derful woman lives there — Miss Avellanos — the beau-

53'

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

tiful Antonia. A character, sir! A historical woman!
Opposite — Casa Gould. Noble gateway. Yes, the
Goulds of the original Gould Concession, that all the
world knows of now. I hold seventeen of the thou-
sand-dollar shares in the Consolidated San Tome mines.
All the poor savings of my lifetime, sir, and it will be
enough to keep me in comfort to the end of my days
at home when I retire. I got in on the ground-floor,
you see. Don Carlos, great friend of mine. Seven-
teen shares — quite a little fortune to leave behind one,
too. I have a niece — married a parson — most worthy
man, incumbent of a small parish in Sussex; no end of
children. I was never married myself. A sailor should
exercise self-denial. Standing under that very gate-
way, sir, with some young engineer-fellows, ready to
defend that house where we had received so much
kindness and hospitality, I saw the first and last
charge of Pedrito's Llaneros upon Barrios's troops, who
had just taken the harbor gate. They could not stand
the new rifles brought out by that poor Decoud. It
was a murderous fire. In a moment the street be-
came blocked with a mass of dead men and horses.
They never came on again."

And all day Captain Mitchell would talk like this to
his more or less willing victim:

"The Plaza. I call it magnificent. Twice the area
of Trafalgar Square."

From the very centre, in the blazing sunshine, he
pointed out the buildings.

"The Intendencia, now President's Palace — Cabildo.
where the Lower Chamber of Parliament sits. You
notice the new houses on that side of the Plaza ? Com-

tromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

-i Anzani, a great general store, like those co-
operative tilings at h«mie. old Anzani was mun!

the National Guards in front of his safe. It was
even for that specific crime that the deputy Gamacho,
commanding the Nationals, a blood-thirsty and savage
brute, was executed publicly by garrote upon the
sentence of a court-martial ordered l.y Barrios. An-
zani's nephews converted the business into a company.
All that side of the Plaza had been burned ; used to be
colonnaded before. A terrible fire, by the light of which
I saw the last of the fighting, the Llaneros flying, the
Nationals throwing their arms down, and the miners
of San Tome", all Indians from the Sierra, rolling by
like a torrent to the sound of pipes and cymbals, green
flags flying, a wild mass of men in white ponchos and
green hats, on foot, on mules, on donkeys. The
miners, sir, had marched upon the town, Don Pe'pe'
leading on his black horse, and their very wives in the
rear on burros, screaming encouragement, sir, and
beating tambourines. I remember one of these women
had a green parrot seated on her shoulder, as calm as
a bird of stone. Such a sight, sir, will never be seen
again. They had just saved their Sefior Administra-
dor; for Barrios, though he ordered the assault at once,
at night too, would have been too late. Pedrito Mon-
tero had Don Carlos led out to be shot — like his uncle
many years ago — and then, as Barrios said afterwards,
'Sulaco would not have been worth fighting for.'
Sulaco without the Concession was nothing; and there
were tons and tons of dynamite distributed all over
the mountain with detonators arranged, and an old
priest, Father Roman, standing by to annihilate the

533

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

San Tome" mine at the first news of failure. Don
Carlos had made up his mind not to leave it behind,
and he had the right men to see to it, too."

Thus Captain Mitchell would talk in the middle of
the Plaza, holding over his head a white umbrella with
a green lining; but inside the cathedral, in the dim
light, with a faint scent of incense floating in the cool
atmosphere and here and there a kneeling female fig-
ure, black or all white, with a veiled head, his lowered
voice became solemn and impressive.

"Here," he would say, pointing to a niche in the
wall of the dusky aisle, "you see the bust of Don Jose*
Avellanos, 'Patriot and Statesman,' as the inscription
says, 'Minister to Courts of England and Spain, etc.,
etc., died in the woods of Los Hatos, worn out with his
life-long struggle for Right and Justice, at the dawn of
the New Era.' A fair likeness. Parrochetti's work
from some old photographs and a pencil - sketch by
Mrs. Gould. I was well acquainted with that dis-
tinguished Spanish- American of the old school, a true
Hidalgo, beloved by everybody who knew him. The
marble medallion in the wall, in the antique style,
representing a veiled woman seated with her hands
clasped loosely over her knees, commemorates that un-
fortunate young gentleman who sailed out with Nos-
tromo on that fatal night, sir. See, 'To the memory
of Martin Decoud, his betrothed Antonia Avellanos.'
Frank, simple, noble. There you have that lady, sir,
as she is. An exceptional woman. Those who thought
she would give way to despair were mistaken, sir.
She has been blamed in many quarters for not having
taken the veil. It was expected of her. But Dona

534

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

Antonia is not the stuff they make nuns of. Bishop

Corbelan, her uncle, lives with lier in the Corbelan

:: -house. He is a fierce sort of priest, everlastingly

worrying the government about the old church - lands

and convents. I believe they think a lot of him in

Rome. Now let us go to the Amarilla Club, just

^s the Plaza, to get some lunch."

rectly outside the cathedral, on the very top of

the noble flight of steps, his voice rose pompously, his

arm found again its sweeping gesture.

\-nir, over there on that first floor, above those
French plate-glass shop-fronts; our biggest daily.
Conservative, or, rather, I should say, Parliamentary.
We have the Parliamentary party here of which the
actual Chief of the State, Don Juste Lopez, is the head ;
a very sagacious man, I think. A first-rate intellect,
sir. The Democratic party in opposition rests mostly,
I am sorry to say, on these socialistic Italians, sir,
with their secret societies, camorras, and such like.
There are lots of Italians settled here on the railway
lands, dismissed navvies, mechanics, and so on, all along
the trunk-line. There are whole villages of Italians
on the Campo. And the natives, too, are being drawn
into these ways . . . American bar? Yes. And over
there you can see another. New-Yorkers mostly fre-
quent that one — Here we are at the Amarilla.
Observe the bishop at the foot of the stairs to the
right as we go in."

And the lunch would begin and terminate its lavish
and leisurely course at a little table in the gallery,
Captain Mitchell nodding, bowing, getting up to speak
for a moment to different officials in black clothes,

535

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

merchants in jackets, officers in uniform, middle-aged
caballeros from the Campo — sallow, little, nervous
men, and fat, placid, swarthy men, and Europeans or
North Americans of superior standing, whose faces
looked very white among the majority of dark com-
plexions and black, glistening eyes.

Captain Mitchell would lay back in the chair, cast-
ing around looks of satisfaction, and tender over the
table a case full of thick cigars.

"Try a weed with your coffee. Local tobacco.
The black coffee you get at the Amarilla, sir, you
don't meet anywhere in the world. We get the bean
from a famous cafeteria in the foot-hills, whose owner
sends three sacks every year as a present to his fel-
low-members, in remembrance of the fight against Ga-
macho's Nationals, carried on from this very window
by the caballeros. He was in town at the time, and
took part, sir, to the bitter end. It arrives on three
mules — not in the common way, by rail; no fear! —
right into the patio, escorted by mounted peons in
charge of the mayoral of his estate, who walks up-stairs,
booted and spurred, and delivers it to our committee
formally with the words, ' For the sake of those fallen
on the 3d of May.' We call it Tres de Mayo coffee.
Taste it."

Captain Mitchell, with an expression as though
making ready to hear a sermon in a church, would lift
the tiny cup to his lips. And the nectar would be
sipped to the bottom during a restful silence in a cloud
of cigar-smoke.

" Look at this man in black just going out," he would
begin, leaning forward hastily. "This is the famous

536

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

Hernandez, Minister of War. The Times' special cor-
•ndent, who wrote that striking series of letters
calling the Occidental Republic the 'Treasure House
of the World,' gave a whole article to him and the
force he has organized — the renowned Carabineers of
the Campo."

Captain Mitchell's guest, staring curiously, would see
a figure in a long -tailed black coat walking gravely,
with downcast eyelids in a long, composed face, a
brow furrowed horizontally, a pointed head, whose
gray hair, thin at the top, combed down carefully on
all sides and rolled at the ends, fell low on the neck
and shoulders. This, then, was the famous bandit of
whom Europe had heard with interest. He put on a
high-crowned sombrero with a vast flat brim; a rosary
of wooden beads was twisted about his right wrist.
And Captain Mitchell would proceed:

"The protector of the Sulaco refugees from the
rage of Pedrito. As general of cavalry with Barrios
he distinguished himself at the storming of Tonoro,
where Seflor Fuentes was killed with the last remnant
of the Monterists. He is the friend and humble ser-
vant of Bishop Corbelan. Hears three masses every
day. I bet you he will step into the cathedral to say
a prayer or two on his way home to his siesta."

He took several puffs at his cigar in silence; then,
in his best important manner pronounced:

"The Spanish race, sir, is prolific of remarkable
characters in every rank of life. ... I propose we go
now into the billiard-room, which is cool, for a quiet
chat. There's never anybody there till after five. I
could tell you episodes of the Separationist revolution

537

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

that would astonish you. When the great heat's o^
we'll take a turn on the Alameda."

The programme went on relentless, like a law of
nature. The turn on the Alameda was taken with
slow steps and stately remarks.

"All the great world of Sulaco here, sir," Captain
Mitchell bowed right and left with no end of formality ;
then with animation, "Dona Emilia, Mrs. Gould's
carriage. Look. Always white mules. The kindest,
most gracious woman the sun ever shone upon. A
great position, sir — a great position. First lady in
Sulaco — far before the President's wife. And worthy
of it." He took off his hat; then, with a studied
change of tone, added, negligently, that the man in
black by her side, with a high white collar and a
scarred, snarly face, was Dr. Monygham, inspector of
state hospitals, chief medical officer of the Consolidated
San Tome* mines. "A familiar of the house. Ever-
lastingly there. No wonder. The Goulds made him.
Very clever man and all that, but I never liked him.
Nobody does. I can recollect him limping about the
streets in a check shirt and native sandals with a
watermelon under his arm — all he would get to eat
for the day. A big-wig now, sir, and as nasty as ever.
However. . . . There's no doubt he has played his
part fairly well at the time. He saved us all from
the deadly incubus of Sotillo, where a more particular
man might have failed — "

His arm went up.

"The equestrian statue that used to stand on the
pedestal over there has been removed. It was an an-
achronism," Captain Mitchell commented obscurely.

538

OHIO: A Tale of the Seaboard

"There is some talk of replacing it by a marble shaft
.:ncmorative of Separation, with angels of peace at
the four corners, and a bronze Justice holding an even
balance, all gilt, on the top. Cuvaliere Parrochetti
was asked to make a design, which you can see framed
under glass in the municipal sala. Names are to be
engraved all round the base. Well, they could do
no better than l>egin with the name of Nostromo.
las done for Separation as much as anybody else,
and," added Captain Mitchell, "has got less than
many others by it — when it comes to that." He drop-
ped onto a stone scat under a tree, and tapped in-
vitingly at the place by his side. "He carried to
Harrios the letters from Sulaco which decided the
general to evacuate Cayta for a time, and come to
our help here by sea. The transports were still in
harbor, fortunately. Sir, I did not even know that
my capataz de cargadores was alive. I had no idea.
It was Dr. Monygham who came upon him, by chance,
in the custom-house, evacuated an hour or two before
by the wretched Sotillo. I was never told; never
given a hint, nothing — as if I were unworthy of con-
fidence. Monygham arranged it all. He went to the
railway - yards and got admission to the engineer-in-
chief, who, for the sake of the Goulds as much as for
anything else, consented to let an engine make a dash
down the line, one hundred and eighty miles, with
Nostromo aboard. It was the only way to get him
away. In the construction camp at the rail - head
he obtained a horse, arms, some clothing, and started
alone on that marvellous ride — four hundred miles in
six days, through a disturbed country, ending by the

539

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

feat of passing through the Monterist lines outside
Cayta. The history of that ride, sir, would make a
most exciting book. He carried all our lives in his
pocket. Devotion, courage, fidelity, intelligence were
not enough. Of course, he was perfectly fearless and
incorruptible. But a man was wanted that would
know how to succeed. He was that man, sir. On
the $th of May, being practically a prisoner in the
harbor office of my company, I suddenly heard the
whistle of an engine in the railway - yards, a quarter
of a mile away. I could not believe my ears. I
made one jump onto the balcony, and beheld a loco-
motive under a great head of steam run out of the
yard gates, screeching like mad, enveloped in a white
cloud, and then, just abreast of old Viola's inn, check
almost to a stand-still. I made out, sir, a man — I
couldn't tell who — dash out of the Albergo d'ltalia
Una, climb into the cab, and then, sir, that engine
seemed positively to leap clear of the house, and was
gone in the twinkling of an eye, as you blow a candle
out, sir! There was a first-rate driver on the foot-
plate, sir, I can tell you. They were fired heavily upon
by the National Guards in Rincon and one other place.
Fortunately the line had not been torn up. In four
hours they reached the construction camp. Nostromo
had his start. . . . The rest you know. You've got only
to look round you. There are people on this Alameda
that ride in their carriages, or even are alive at all
to-day, because years ago I engaged a runaway Ital-
ian sailor for a foreman of our wharf simply on the
strength of his looks. And that's a fact. You can't
get over it, sir. On the i7th of May, just twelve days

540

Nostrumo : A Talc of the Seaboard

r I saw the man from the Casa Viola get on the

nc and wondered what it meant, Barrios's trans*
ts were entering this liarN»r, and the 'Treasure

;>e of the World,' as the Times man calls Sulaco in
his \x>o\i, was saved intact for civilization — for a great
future, sir. Pedrito, with Hernandez on the west

the San Tome" miners pressing on the land gate,
was not able to oppose the landing. He had been

mg messages to Sotillo for a week to join him.
Sotillo done so there would have been massacres
and proscription that would have left no man or
woman of position alive. But that's where Dr. Monyg-
liain comes in Sotillo, blind and deaf to everything,
stuck on board his steamer watching the dragging for
silver, which he believed to be sunk at the bottom of
the harbor They say that for the last three days he
was out of his mind, raving and foaming with disap-
pointment at getting nothing, flying about the deck
and yelling curses at the boats with the drags, ordering
them in. and then suddenly stamping his foot and
crying out, 'And yet it is there! I see it! I feel it!'"
" He was preparing to hang Dr. Monygham (whom
he had on board) at the end of the after-derrick, when
the first of Barrios's transports, one of our own ships at
that, steamed right in, and, ranging close alongside,
opened a small-arm fire without as much preliminaries
as a hail. It was the completest surprise in the world,
sir. They were too astounded at first to bolt below.
Men were falling right and left like ninepins. It's a
miracle that Monygham, standing on the after-hatch
with the rope already round his neck, escaped being
riddled through and through like a sieve. He told

54i

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

me since that he had given himself up for lost, and
kept on yelling with all the strength of his lungs:
' Hoist a white flag! Hoist a white flag!' Suddenly an
old major of the Esmeralda regiment, standing by,
unsheathed his sword with a shriek: 'Die, perjured
traitor!' and ran Sotillo clean through the body, just
before he fell himself shot through the head."

Captain Mitchell stopped for a while.

"Begad, sir! I could spin you a yarn for hours.
But it's time we started off to Rincon. It would not
do for you to pass through Sulaco and not see the
lights of the San Tome" mine, a whole mountain ablaze
like a lighted palace above the dark Campo. It's a
fashionable drive. . . . But let me tell you one little
anecdote, sir; just to show you. A fortnight or more
later, when Barrios, declared generalisimo, was gone
in pursuit of Pedrito away south, when the Provisional
Junta, with Don Juste Lopez at its head, had promul-
gated the new Constitution, and our Don Carlos Gould
was packing up his trunks bound on a mission to San
Francisco and Washington (the United States, sir,
were the first great power to recognize the Occidental
Republic) — a fortnight later, I say, when we were
beginning to feel that our heads were still on our
shoulders, if I may express myself so, a prominent
man, a foreigner, a large shipper by our line, came to
see me on business, and, says he, the first thing: 'I
say, Captain Mitchell, is that fellow (meaning Nostromo)
still the capataz of your cargadores, or not ?' ' What's
the matter?' says I. 'Because, if he is, then I don't
mind ; I send and receive a good lot of cargo by your
ships; but I have observed him several days loafing

542

stromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

about the wharf, anil just now he stopped me as cool
as you i t for a cigar. Now, you

know, my cigars are rather special, and I can't get
them so easily as all that.' I hope you stretched a
point,' I said, very gently. 'Why, yes; but it's a
confounded nuisance. The fellow's everlastingly cadg-
ing for smokes.' Sir, I turned my eyes away, and
then asked, 'Weren't you one of the prisoners in the
cabildo?' 'You know very well I was, and in chains,
too,' says he. 'And under a fine of fifteen thousand
dollars?' He colored, sir, because it got about that
he fainted from fright when they came to arrest him,
anil then behaved before Fucntes in a manner to make
the very policianos, who had dragged him there by
the hair of his head, smile at his cringing. 'Yes,' he
says, in a sort of shy way. 'Why?' 'Oh, nothing.
Y<>u stood to lose a tidy bit,' says I, even if you saved
your life. . . . But what can I do for you ?f He never
even saw the point. Not he. And that's how the
world wags, sir."

He rose a little stiffly, and the drive to Rii
would be taken with only one philosophical remark,
uttered by the merciless cicerone, with his eyes fixed
upon the lights of San Tome", that seemed suspended
in the dark night between earth and heaven.

"A great power, this, for good and evil, sir. A
great power."

And the dinner of the Mirliflores would be eaten,
excellent as to cooking, and leaving upon the travel-
ler's mind an impression that there were in Sulaco
many pleasant, able young men with salaries appar-
ently too large for their discretion, and among them

543

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

a few, mostly Anglo-Saxon, skilled in the art of, as the
saying is, "taking a rise" out of his kind host.

With a rapid, jingling drive to the harbor in a two-
wheeled machine (which Captain Mitchell called a
curricle) behind a fleet and scraggy mule beaten all
the time by an obviously Neapolitan driver, the cycle
would be nearly closed before the lighted-up offices
of the O.S.N. Company, remaining open so late be-
cause of the steamer. Nearly — but not quite.

"Ten o'clock. Your ship won't be ready to leave
till half-past twelve, if by then. Come in for a brandy-
and-soda and one more cigar."

And in the superintendent's private room the priv-
ileged passenger by the Ceres or Juno or Pallas, stun-
ned and as it were annihilated mentally by a sudden
surfeit of sights, sounds, names, facts, and complicated
information imperfectly apprehended, would listen
like a tired child to a fairy tale; would hear a voice,
familiar and surprising in its pompousness, tell him,
as if from another world, how there was "in this very
harbor" an international naval demonstration which
put an end to the Costaguana-Sulaco War. How the
United States cruiser Powhatan was the first to sa-
lute the Occidental flag — white, with a wreath of
green laurel in the middle encircling a yellow amarilla
flower. Would hear how General Montero, in less
than a month after proclaiming himself Emperor of
Costaguana, was shot dead (during a solemn and pub-
lic distribution of orders and crosses) by a young ar-
tillery officer, the brother of his then mistress.

"The abominable Pedrito, sir, fled the country,"
the voice would say. And it would continue: "A cap-

544

Nostromu : A Talc of the Seaboard

of one of our ships told me lately that he recog-
nized Pedrito the gucrrillero, arrayed in purple slippers
and a velvet smo king-cap with a gold tassel, keeping
a disorderly house in one of the southern ports."

"Abominable Pedrito! Who the devil was he?"
would wonder the distinguished bird of passage, hov-
ering on the confines of waking and sleep with reso-
lutely open eyes and a faint but amiable curl upon
his lips, from between which stuck out the eighteenth
or twentieth cigar of that memorable day.

" He appeared to me in this very room like a haunt-
ing ghost, sir" — Captain Mitchell was talking of his
Nostromo with true warmth of feeling and a touch of
wistful pride. "You may imagine, sir, what an effect
it produced on me. He had come round by sea with
Barrios, of course. And the first thing he told me
after I became fit to hear him was that he had picked
up the lighter's boat floating in the gulf I He seemed
quite overcome by that circumstance. And a re-
markable enough circumstance it was, when you re-
member that it was then sixteen days since the sink-
ing of the silver. At once I could see he was another
man. He stared at the wall, sir, as if there had been
a spider or something running about there. The loss
of the silver preyed on his mind. The first thing he
asked me about was whether Dofla Antonia had heard
yet of Decoud's death. His voice trembled. I had
to tell him that Dofla Antonia, as a matter of fact,
was not then back in town yet. Poor girl! And just
as I was making ready to ask him a thousand ques-
tions, with a sudden, 'Pardon me, seflor,' he cleared
out of the office altogether. I did not see him again

545

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

for three days. I was terribly busy, you know. It
seems that he wandered about in and out of the town,
and on two nights turned up to sleep in the barracoons
of the railway people. He seemed absolutely indif-
ferent to what went on. I asked him on the wharf,
'When are you going to take hold again, Nostromo?
There will be plenty of work for the cargadores pres-
ently.'

"'Senor,' says he, looking at me in a slow, inquisi-
tive manner, ' would it surprise you to hear that I am
too tired to work just yet ? And what work could I do
now? How can I look my cargadores in the face after
losing a lighter?'

"I begged him not to think any more about the
silver, and he smiled. A smile that went to my heart,
sir. 'It was no mistake,' I told him. 'It was a fatal-
ity. A thing that could not be helped.' 'Si, si!' he
said, and turned away. I thought it best to leave
him alone for a bit to get over it. Sir, it took him
years, really, to get over it. I was present at his inter-
view with Don Carlos. I must say that Gould is
rather a cold man. He had learned to keep a tight
hand on his feelings, dealing with thieves and rascals,
in constant danger of ruin for himself and wife for so
many years, that it had become a second nature.
They looked at each other for a long time. Don
Carlos asked what he could do for him, in his quiet,
reserved way.

'"My name is known from one end of Sulaco to the
other,' he said, as quiet as the other. 'What more can
you do for me ?' That was all that passed on that occa-
sion. Later on, however, there was a very fine coasting

546

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

schooner for sale, and Mrs. Gould and I put our heads
together to get her bought and presented to him. It
done, but he paid all the price back within the
three years. Business was booming all along this
sea hoard, sir. Moreover, that man alway rded

/erything except in saving the silver. Poor Dofta
>nia, fresh from her terrible experiences in the
woods of Los Matos, had an interview with him, too.
.ted to hear about Decoud: what they said, what
di<l, what they thought up to the last on that
fatal night. Mrs. Gould told me his manner was per-
quietness and sympathy. Miss Avellanos
• i into tears only when he told her how Decoud
had happened to say that his plan would be a glori-
ous success. . . . And there's no doubt, sir, that it is.
It is a success."

The cycle was about to close at last. And while the
privileged passenger, shivering with the an-

ticipations of his berth, forgot to ask himself, " What
on earth Decoud's plan could be?" Captain Mitchell
was saying, "Sorry we must part so soon. Your in-
telligent interest made this a pleasant day to me I
shall see you now on board. You had a glimpse of the
'Treasure House of the World.' A very good name
that." And the cockswain's voice at the door, an-
nouncing that the gig was ready, closed the cycle.

Nostromo had, indeed, found the lighter's boat, which
he had left on the Great Isabel with Decoud, floating
empty far out in the gulf. He was then on the bridge
of the first of Barrios's transjx>rts. and within an hour's
steaming from Sulaco. Barrios, always delighted with
a feat of daring and a good judge of courage, had

547

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

taken a great liking to the capataz. During all the
passage round the coast the general kept Nostromo
near his person, addressing him frequently in that
abrupt and boisterous manner which was the sign of
his high favor.

Nostromo's eyes were the first to catch, wide on the
bow, the tiny, elusive dark speck which, alone with
the forms of the three Isabels right ahead, appeared
on the flat, shimmering emptiness of the gulf. There
are times when no fact should be neglected as insignif-
icant; a small boat so far from the land might have
had some meaning worth finding out. At a nod of
consent from Barrios the transport swept out of her
course, passing near enough to ascertain that no one
manned the little cockle-shell. It was merely a com-
mon small boat gone adrift with her oars in her. But
Nostromo, to whose mind Decoud had been insistently
present for days, had long before recognized with ex-
citement the dinghy of the lighter.

There could be no question of stopping to pick up
that thing. Every minute of time was momentous
with the lives and future of a whole town. The head
of the leading ship, with the general on board, fell off
to her course. Behind her, the fleet of transports,
scattered haphazard over a mile or so in the offing,
like the finish of an ocean race, pressed on, all black
and smoking on the western sky.

"Mi general," Nostromo's voice rang out, loud but
quiet, from behind a group of officers, "I should like
to save that little boat. For Dios, I know her. She
belongs to my company."

"And, por Dios," guffawed Barrios, in a noisy, good-
548

Nostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

humored voice, "you belong to me. I am going to
make ;i captain of cavalry out of you directly we get
within sight of a horse again."

"I can swim far better than I can ride, mi general,"
cried Nostromo, pushing through to the rail with a set
stare in his eyes. " Let me — "

"Let you? What a conceited fellow that is," ban-
tered the general, jovially, without even looking at
him. "Let him go! Ha! ha! ha! He wants me to
admit that we cannot take Sulaco without him! Ha!
ha! ha! Would you like to swim off to her, my son?'

A tremendous shout from one end of the ship to the
other stopped his guffaw. Nostromo had leaped over-
board; and his black head bobbed up faraway already
from the ship. The general muttered an appalled
"Cielo! Sinner that I am!" in a thunderstruck tone.
One anxious glance was enough to show him that
Nostromo was swimming with perfect ease; and then
he thundered terribly, "No! no! We shall not stop
to pick up this impertinent fellow. Let him drown —
that mad capataz!"

Nothing short of main force would have kept Nos-
tromo from leaping overboard. That empty boat,
coming out to meet him mysteriously, as if rowed by
an invisible spectre, exercised the fascination of some
sign, of some warning, seemed to answer in a startling
and enigmatic way the persistent thought of a treas-
ure and of a man's fate. He would have leaped if
there had been death in that half-mile of water. It
was as smooth as a pond, and for some reason sharks
are unknown in the Placid Gulf, though on the other
side of the Punta Mala the coast-line swarms with them.

549

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

The capataz seized hold of the stern and blew with
force. A queer, faint feeling had come over him while
he swam. He had to get rid of his boots and coat in
the water. He hung on for a time, regaining his
breath. In the distance the transports, more in a
bunch now, held on straight for Sulaco with their air
of friendly contest, of nautical sport, of a regatta; and
the united smoke of their funnels drove like a thin,
sulphurous fog-bank right over his head. It was his
daring, his courage, his act that had set these ships
in motion upon the sea, hurrying on to save the lives
and fortunes of the Blancos, the taskmasters of the
people; to save the San Tome" mine; to save the chil-
dren.

With a vigorous and skilful effort he clambered over
the stern. The very boat! No doubt of it; no doubt
whatever. It was the dinghy of the lighter No. 3 —
the dinghy left with Martin Decoud on the Great
Isabel so that he should have some means to help him-
self if nothing could be done for him from the shore.
And here she had come out to meet him, empty and
inexplicable. What had become of Decoud? The
capataz made a minute examination. He looked for
some scratch, for some mark, for some sign. All he
discovered was a brown stain on the gunwale abreast
of the thwart. He bent his face over it and rubbed
hard with his ringer. Then he sat down in the stern-
sheets, passive, with his knees close together and legs
aslant.

Streaming from head to foot, with his hair and whis-
kers hanging lank and dripping, and a lustreless stare
fixed upon the bottom boards, the capataz of the

550

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Sulaco cargadores resembled a drowned corpse come

up i' rum tin* bottom to idle away the sunset hour in a

itement of his adventurous ride,

the excitement of the return in time, of achievement,
of success, all this excitement centred round the as-
sociated ideas of the great treasure and of the only
other man who knew of its existence, had departed
from him. To the very last moment he had been
cudgelling his brains as to how he could manage to
visit the (ireat Isabel without loss of time and un-
detertfl. For the idea of secrecy had come to be
connected with the treasure so closely that even to
I'arri«). himself he had refrained from mentioning the
tence of Decoud and of the silver on the island.
The letters he carried to the general, however, made
brief mention of the loss of the lighter, as having its
bearing upon the situation in Sulaco. In the circum-
the one - eyed tiger - slayer, scenting battle
from afar, had not waste*! his time in making inquiries
from the messenger. In fact, Barrios, talking with
Nostromo, assumed that both Don Martin Devoinl and
the ingots of San Tome" were lost together, and Nos-
tromo, not questioned directly, had kept silent, u
the influence of some indefinable form of resentment
and distrust. Let Don Martin speak of everything
with his own lips — was what he told himself mentally.
And now, with the means of gaining the Great
• •I thrown thus in his way at the earliest possible
moment, his excitement had departed, as when the
soul takes flight, leaving the Ixxly inert upon an earth
it knows no more. Nostromo did not seem to know
the gulf. For a long time even his eyelids did not

55'

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

flutter once upon the glazed emptiness of his stare.
Then, slowly, without a limb having stirred, without
a twitch of muscle or quiver of an eyelash, an expres-
sion, a living expression, came upon the still features,
deep thought crept into the empty stare — as if an out-
cast soul, a quiet, brooding soul, finding that untenanted
body in its way, had come in stealthily to take posses-
sion.

The capataz frowned; and in the immense stillness
of sea, islands, and coast, of cloud forms on the sky
and trails of light upon the water, the knitting of that
brow had the emphasis of a powerful gesture. Noth-
ing else budged for a long time, then the capataz shook
his head and again surrendered himself to the universal
repose of all visible things. Suddenly he seized the oars,
and with one movement made the dinghy spin round,
head-on to the Great Isabel. But before he began to
pull he bent once more over the brown stain on the
gunwale.

"I know that thing," he muttered to himself, with a
sagacious jerk of the head. "That's blood."

His stroke was long, vigorous, and steady. Now
and then he looked over his shoulder at the Great
Isabel, presenting its low cliff to his anxious gaze like
an impenetrable face. At last the stem touched the
strand. He flung rather than dragged the boat up
the little beach. At once, turning his back upon the
sunset, he plunged with long strides into the ravine,
making the water of the stream spurt and fly upward
at every step, as if spurning its shallow, clear, murmur-
ing spirit, with his feet. He wanted to save every
moment of daylight.

552

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

A mass of earth, grass, and smashed bushes had
M down very naturally from above upon the cavity
under the leaning tree. Decoud had attended to the
ealment of the silver as instructed, using the spade
with some intelligence. But Nostromo's half-smile of
Bproval changed into a scornful curl of the lip by the
Hht of the spade itself flung there in full view, as if
in utter carelessness or sudden panic, giving away the
whole thing. Ah! They were all alike in their folly,
th'.> ^e hotnbres jinos that invented laws and governments
and barren tasks for the people.

The capataz picked up the spade, and with the feel
of the handle in his palm the desire of having a look
at the horse-hide boxes of treasure came upon him
suddenly. In a very few strokes he uncovered the
Bges and corners of several; then, clearing away more
earth, became aware that one of them had been slashed
with a knife.

He exclaimed at that discovery in a stifled voice,

1 ropped on his knees with a look of irrational ap-

cnsion over one shoulder, then over the other.

The stiff hide had closed, and he hesitated before

fee pushed his hand through the long slit and felt

the ingots inside. There they were. One, two, three.

Fes, four gone. Taken away. Four ingots. But

who? Decoud? Nobody else. And why? For what

purpose? For what cursed fancy ? Let him explain.

Four ingots carried off in a boat, and — blood!

In the face of the open gulf, the sun, clear, uncloud-
ed, unaltered, plunged into the waters in a grave
and untroubled mystery of self-immolation consum-
mated far from all mortal eyes, with an infinite

553

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

majesty of silence and peace. Four ingots short! —
and blood!

The capataz got up slowly.

" He might simply have cut his hand," he muttered.
"But, then—"

He sat down on the soft earth, unresisting, as if he
had been chained to the treasure, his drawn-up legs
clasped in his hands with an air of hopeless submission, ;
like a slave set on guard. Once only he lifted his
head smartly ; the rattle of hot musketry fire had reach-
ed his ears, like pouring from on high a stream of dry
peas upon a drum. After listening for a while, he said, j
half aloud :

" He will never come back to explain."

And he lowered his head again.

"Impossible!" he muttered, gloomily.

The sounds of firing died out. The loom of a great
conflagration in Sulaco flashed up red above the coast,
played on the clouds at the head of the gulf, seemed
to touch with a ruddy and sinister reflection the forms
of the three Isabels. He never saw it, though he
raised his head.

"But, then, I cannot know," he pronounced dis-
tinctly, and remained silent and staring for hours.

He could not know. Nobody was to know. As
might have been supposed, the end of Don Martin
Decoud never became a subject of speculation for any
one except Nostromo. Had the truth of the facts been
known, there would always ha*e remained the ques-
tion, Why? Whereas the version of his death at the
sinking of the lighter had no uncertainty of motive.
The young apostle of Separation had died striving for

554

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

his idea by an ever-lamented accident. But the
truth was that he died from solitude, the enemy known
but to few on this earth, and whom only the sinij
of us are fit to withstand. The brilliant Costaguanero
of the boulevards had died from solitude and want
of faith in himself and others.

For some good and valid reasons beyond mere hu-
man comprehension, the sea-birds of the gulf shun
the Isabels. The rocky head of Azaera is their haunt,
whose stony levels and chasms resound with their wild
and tumultuous clamor, as if they were forever <juar-
relling over the legendary treasure.

At the end of his first day on the Great Isabel, De-
coud, turning in his lair of coarse grass, under the shade
of a tree, said to himself:

" I have not seen as much as one single bird all day."

And he had not heard a sound, either, all day, hut
that one now of his own muttering voice. It had been
a day of absolute silence — the first he had known in
his life. And he had not slept a wink. Not for all
these wakeful nights and the days of fighting, plan-
ning, talking; not for all that last night of danger and
hard physical toil upon the gulf, had he been able to
close his eyes for a moment. And yet from sunrise
to sunset he had been lying prone on the ground,
either on his back or on his face.

He stretched himself, and with slow steps descended
into the gully to spend the night by the side of the
silver. If Nostromo returned — as he may have done
at any moment — it was there that he would look first:
and night would, of course, be the proper time for an
attempt to communicate. He remembered with pro-

555

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

found indifference that he had not eaten anything
yet since he had been left alone on the island.

He spent the night open-eyed, and when the day
broke he ate something with the same indifference.
The brilliant "Son Decoud," the spoiled darling of
the family, the lover of Antonia and journalist of
Sulaco, was not fit to grapple with himself single-
handed. Solitude from mere outward condition of
existence becomes very swiftly a state of soul in which
the affectations of irony and scepticism have no place.
It takes possession of the mind, and drives forth the
thought into the exile of utter unbelief. After three
days of waiting for the sight of some human face,
Decoud caught himself entertaining a doubt of his
own individuality. It had merged into the world of
cloud and water, of natural forces and forms of nat-
ure. In our activity alone do we find the sustaining
illusion of an independent existence as against the
whole scheme of things of which we form a helpless
part. Decoud lost all belief in the reality of his action
past and to come. On the fifth day an immense
melancholy descended upon him palpably. He re-
solved not to give himself up hopelessly to those peo-
ple in Sulaco, who had beset him, unreal and terrible,
like jibbering and obscene spectres. He saw himself
struggling feebly in their midst, and Antonia, gigantic
and lovely like an allegorical statue, looking on with
scornful eyes at his weakness.

Not a living being, not a speck of distant sail, ap-
peared within the range of his vision; and, as if to
escape from this solitude, he absorbed himself in his
melancholy. The vague consciousness of a misdirect-

556

omo: A Tale of the Seaboard

d life Kiven up to impulses, whose memory left a bit-
tastc in his mouth, was the first moral sentiment
If his manhood. But at the sanu- tune he felt no re-
horse. What should In- lie had recognized

l.o other virtue than intelligence, and had erected pas-
lions into duties. Hoth his intelligence and Impassion
swallowed up easily in this great unbroken s«H-
•le of waiting without faith. Sleeplessness had rob-
in his will of all energy, for he had not slept seven
•ors in the seven days. His sadness was the sadness
l sceptical mind. He beheld the universe as a suc-
•fesion of incomprehensible images. Nostromo was
•ad. Everything had failed ignominiously. He no
Inger dared to think 01" Antonia. She had not sur-
ved. But if she survived he could not face her.
Lnd all exertion seemed senseless.

On the tenth day, after a night spent without even
(dozing off once (it had occurred to him that Antonia
Icould not possibly have ever loved a being so impal-
pable as himself), the solitude appeared like a great
jvoid, and the silence of the gulf like a tense, thin
cord to which he hung suspended by both hands, with-
|out fear, without surprise, without any sort of emotion
whatever. Only towards the evening, in the com-
parative relief of coolness, he began to wish that this
cord would snap. He imagined it snapping with a
report as of a pistol — a sharp, full crack. And that
would be the end of him. He contemplated that
eventuality with pleasure, because he dreaded the
•tepless nights in which the silence, remaining un-
broken in the shape of a cord to which he hung with
both hands, vibrated with senseless phrases, always

557

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

the same but utterly incomprehensible, about Nos-
tromo, Antonia, Barrios, and proclamations mingled
into an ironical and senseless buzzing. In the day-
time he could look at the silence like a still cord stretch-
ed to breaking-point, with his life, his vain life, sus- i
pended to it like a weight.

"I wonder whether I would hear it snap before I
fell," he asked himself.

The sun was two hours above the horizon when he
got up, gaunt, dirty, white-faced, and looked at it I
with his red-rimmed eyes. His limbs obeyed him yet
slowly, as if full of lead, but without tremor; and the
effect of that physical condition gave to his move-
ments an unhesitating, deliberate dignity. He acted
as if accomplishing some sort of rite. He descended
into the gully; for the fascination of all that silver,
with its potential power, survived alone outside of
himself. He picked up the belt with the revolver, that
was lying there, and buckled it round his waist. The
cord of silence could never snap on the island. It
must let him fall and sink into the sea, he thought.
And sink! He was looking at the loose earth cover-
ing the treasure. In the sea! His aspect was that of
a somnambulist. He lowered himself down on his
knees slowly and went on grubbing with his fingers
with industrious patience till he uncovered one of the
boxes. Without a pause, as if doing some work done
many times before, he slit it open and took four ingots
which he put in his pockets. He covered up the ex-
posed box again and step by step came out of the
gully. The bushes closed after him with a swish.

It was on the third day of his solitude that he had
558

Kostromo : A Talc of the Seaboard

(ragged the dinghy near the water with an idea of
towing away somewhere, tmt had desisted partly at
[.he whisper of lingering hope that Nostromo would
irn, partly from conviction of utter usclessness of
effort. Now she wanted only a slight shove to be
afloat. He had eaten a little every day after the
Bit, and had some muscular strength left yet. Tak-
up the oars slowly, he pulled away from the cliff
•the Great Isabel, that stood behind him warm with
Bnshine, as if with the heat of life, bathed in a ru h
from head to foot as if in a radiance of hope and
He pulled straight towards the setting sun.
•ben the gulf had grown dark, he ceased rowing and
png the sculls in. The hollow clatter they made m
(falling was the loudest noise he had ever heard in his
•e. It was a revelation. It seemed to recall him
from far away. Actually the thought, "Perhaj- I
•ay sleep to-night," passed through his mind. But
he did not believe it. He believed in nothing; and he
remained sitting on the thwart.

The dawn from behind the mountains put a gleam
into his unwinking eyes. After a clear daybreak the
sun appeared splendidly above the peaks of the range.
The great gulf burst into a glitter all around the l>oat;
and in this glory of merciless solitude the silence ap-
peared before him, stretched taut like a dark, thin
string.

His eyes looked at it while, without haste, he shifted
his seat from the thwart to the gunwale. They look-
ed at it fixedly, while his hand, feeling about his w.
unbuttoned the flap of the leather case, drew the re-
volver, cocked it, brought it forward pointing at his

559

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

breast, pulled the trigger, and, with convulsive force,
sent the still smoking weapon hurling through the air.
His eyes looked at it while he fell forward and hung
with his breast on the gunwale and the fingers of his
right hand hooked under the thwart. They looked —

"It is done," he stammered out, in a sudden flow of
blood. His last thought was: "I wonder how that
capataz died." The stiffness of the fingers relaxed,
and the lover of Antonia Avellanos rolled overboard
without having heard the cord of silence snap aloud
in the solitude of the Placid Gulf, whose glittering sur-
face remained untroubled by the fall of his body.

A victim of the disillusioned weariness which is the
retribution meted out to intellectual audacity, the
brilliant Don Martin Decoud, weighted by the bars of
San Tome" silver, disappeared without a trace, swal-
lowed up in the immense indifference of things. His
sleepless, crouching figure was gone from the side of
the San Tome" silver; and for a time the spirits of good
and evil that hover near every concealed treasure of
the earth might have thought that this one had been
forgotten by all mankind. Then, after a few days,
another form appeared striding away from the setting
sun to sit motionless and awake in the narrow black
gully all through the night, in nearly the same pose,
in the same place in which had sat that other sleepless
man who had gone away forever so quietly in a small
boat, about the time of sunset. And the spirits of
good and evil that hover about a forbidden treasure
understood well that the silver of San Tome" was pro-
vided now with a faithful and lifelong slave.

The magnificent capataz de cargadores, victim of
560

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

the disenchanted vanity which is the reward of auda-
cious action, sat in the weary pose of a hunted outcast
through a night of sleeplessness as tormenting as any
known to Decoud. his companion in the most desperate
affair of his life. And he wondered how Decoud had
: Hut he knew the part he had played himself.
' a woman, then a man, abandoned each in their
last extremity, for the sake of this accursed treasure.
It was paid for by a soul lost and by a vanished life.
The blank stillness of awe was succeeded by a gust of
immense pride. There was no one in the world but
Gian* Battista Fidanza, captain de cargadores, the in
corruptible and faithful Nostromo, to pay such a price.

He had made up his mind that nothing should be
allowed now to rob him of his bargain. Nothing.
Decoud had died. But how ? That he was dead he
had not a shadow of a doubt. But four ingots? . . .
What for? Did he mean to come for more — some
other time?

The treasure was putting forth its latent power.
It troubled the clear mind of the man who had paid
the price. He was sure that Decoud was dead. The
island seemed full of that whisper. Dead! Gone!
And he caught himself listening for the swish of bushes
and the splash of the footfalls in the bed of the brook.
Dead! The talker, the novio of Dona Antonia!

"Ha!" he murmured, with his head on his knees,
under the livid clouded dawn breaking over the lib-
erated Sulaco and upon the gulf as gray as ashes. "It
is to her that he will fly. To her that he will fly!"

And four ingots! Did he take them in revenge, to
cast a spell, like the angry woman who had prophesied

$6.

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

remorse and failure, and yet had laid upon him the
task of saving the children? Well, he had saved the
children. He had defeated the spell of poverty and
starvation. He had done it all alone — or perhaps
helped by the devil. Who cared ? He had done it,
betrayed as he was, saving by the same stroke the San
Tome" mine, which appeared to him hateful and im-
mense, lording it by its vast wealth over the valor,
the toil, the fidelity of the poor, over war and peace,
over the labors of the town, the sea, and the Campo.

The sun lit up the sky behind the peaks of the Cor-
dillera. The capataz looked down for a time upon
the fall of loose earth, stones, and smashed bushes con-
cealing the hiding-place of the silver.

" I must grow rich very slowly," he meditated aloud.

SULACO outstripped Nostromo's prudence, grow-
ing rich swiftly on the hidden treasures of the
earth, hovered over by the anxious spirits of good and
evil, torn out by the laboring hands of the people. It
was like a second youth, like a new life, full of prom-
ise, or unrest, of toil, scattering lavishly its wealth to
the four corners of an excited world. Material changes
swept along in the train of material interests. And
other changes more subtle, outwardly unmarked, af-
fected the minds and hearts of the workers. Captain
Mitchell had gone home to live on his savings invested
in the San Tome" mine; and Dr. Monygham had grown
older, with his head steel-gray and the unchanged ex-
^ion of his face, living on the inexhaustible treas-
ure of his devotion drawn upon in the secret of his
heart like a store of unlawful wealth.

The Inspector- General of State Hospitals (whose
maintenance is a charge upon the Gould Concession),
Official Adviser on Sanitation to the Municipality.
Chief Medical Officer of the San Tome" Consolidated
Mines (whose territory, containing gold, silver, copper,
lead, cobalt, extends for miles along the foot-hills of
the Cordillera), had felt poverty-stricken, miserable,
and starved during the prolonged visit the Goulds
paid to Europe and the United States of America.
Intimate of the casa, proved friend, a bachelor with-

563

Nostromo: A Tale ot the Seaboard

out ties and without establishment (except of the pro-
fessional sort), he had been asked to take up his quar-
ters in the Gould house. In the eighteen months of
their absence these familiar rooms, recalling at every
glance the woman to whom he had given all his loyal-
ty, had grown intolerable. As the day approached
for the arrival of the mail-boat Hermes (the latest ad-
dition to the O.S.N. Company's splendid fleet), the
doctor hobbled about more vivaciously, snapped more
sardonically at simple and gentle, out of sheer nervous-
ness.

He packed up his modest trunk with speed, with
fury, with enthusiasm, and saw it carried out past the
old porter at the gate of the Casa Gould with delight,
with intoxication; then, as the hour approached, sit-
ting alone in the great landau behind the white mules,
a little sideways, his drawn-up face positively venom-
ous with the effort of self-control, and holding a pair
of new gloves in his left hand, he drove to the harbor.

His heart dilated within him so when he saw the
Goulds on the deck of the Hermes that his greetings
were reduced to a casual mutter. Driving back to
town, all three were silent. And in the patio the doc-
tor, in a more natural manner, said:

"I'll leave you now to yourselves. I'll call to-mor-
row, if I may?"

"Come to lunch, dear Dr. Monygham, and come
early," said Mrs. Gould, in her travelling-dress and her
veil down, turning to look at him at the foot of the
stairs; while at the top of the flight the Madonna, in
blue robes, and the Child on her arm, seemed to wel-
come her with an aspect of pitying tenderness.

564

omo: A Talc of the Seaboard

" Don't expect to find me at home," Charles Gould
| warned him. "I'll be off early, to the mine."

After lunch, Dona Kmilia and the Scnor Doctor came
£powly through the inner gateway of the patio. The
large gardens of the Casa Gould, surrounded l>y high
walls, and the mi-tile slopes of neighl*>ring roofs, lay
•pen before them, with masses of shade under the
Kees and level surfaces of sunlight upon the lawns.
A triple row of old orange-trees surrounded the whole.
Barefooted, brown gardeners, in snowy white shirts
and wide calzoneras, dotted the grounds, squatting
flower-beds, passing between the trees, dragging
slender india-rubber tubes across the gravel of the
[paths; and the fine jets of water crossed each other in
graceful curves, sparkling in the sunshine with a slight
Battering noise upon the bushes and an effect of show-
ered diamonds upon the grass.

Dona Emilia, holding up the train of a clear dress,
walked by the side of Dr. Monygham, in a Ion

k coat and severe black bow on an immaculate
shirt-front. Under a shady clump of trees, where
stood scattered little tables and wicker easy-chairs,
Mrs. Gould sat down in a low and ample seat.

"Don't go yet," she said to Dr. Monygham, who
was unable to tear himself away from the spot. His
chin nestling within the points of his collar, he devour-
ed her stealthily with his eyes, which, luckily, were
round and hard like clouded marbles, and incapable
of disclosing his sentiments. His pitying emotions
at the marks of time upon the face of that woman,
tin- air of frailty and weary fatigue that had settled
•toon the eyes and temples of the "never-tired senora"

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

(as Don Pe'pe' years ago used to call her with admira-
tion), touched him almost to tears. "Don't go yet.
To-day is all my own," Mrs. Gould urged gently.
"We are not back yet officially. No one will come.
It's only to-morrow that the windows of the Casa
Gould are to be lit up for a reception."

The doctor dropped into a chair.

"Giving a tertulia?" he said, with a detached air.

"A simple greeting for all the kind friends who care
to come."

"And only to-morrow?"

" Yes. Charles would be tired out after a day at the
mine, and so I — It would be good to have him to
myself for one evening on our return to this house I
love. It has seen all my life."

"Ah, yes!" snarled the doctor, suddenly. "Women
count time from the marriage feast. Didn't you live
a little before?"

"Yes; but what is there to remember? There were
no cares."

Mrs. Gould sighed. And as two friends, after a long
separation, will revert to the most agitated period of
their lives, they began to talk of the Sulaco revolu-
tion. It seemed strange to Mrs. Gould that people
who had taken part in it seemed to forget its memory
and its lesson.

"And yet," struck in the doctor, "we who played
our part in it had our reward. Don Pepe", though
superannuated, still can sit a horse. Barrios is drink-
ing himself to death in jovial company away some-
where on his fundacion beyond the Bolson de Tonoro.
And the heroic Father Roman — I imagine the old

566

ostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Mowing up systematically the San Tomd mine,
jttering a pious t \< I nn.ition at every bang, and tak-
n^ up hamlfuls of snuff between the explosions — the
i'adre Romhn says that he is not afraid of th<-
"inarm Holroyd's missionaries can do to his flock, as
"long as //.- is alive."

Mrs. Gould shuddered a little at the allusion to the
estnu tion that had come so near to the San Tome*
linr.

"Ah, but you, old friend?"
" I did the work I was fit for."
"You faced the most cruel dangers of all. Some-
jthing more than death."

"No, Mrs. Gould! Only death — by hanging. And
1 1 am rewarded beyond my deserts."

Noticing Mrs. Gould's gaze fixed upon him, he

ed his eyes.

"I've made my career — as you see," said the In-
Bector-General of State Hospitals, taking up lightly
the lapels of his superfine black coat. The doctor's
self-respect, marked inwardly by the almost complete
•feappcarance from his dreams of Father Heron, ap-
peared visibly in what, by contrast with former care-
••ness, seemed an immoderate cult of personal ap-
•Mrance. Carried out within severe limits of form
and color, and in perpetual freshness, this change of
•pparel gave to Dr. Monygham an air at the same
time professional and festive; while his gait and the
unchanged crabbed character of his face acquin.l

:t ;i startling force of incongruity,
i " Yes," he went on. " We all had our rewards — the
engineer-in-chief, Captain Mitchell—"

567

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"We saw him," interrupted Mrs. Gould, in her
charming voice. "The poor old man came up from
the country on purpose to call upon us in our hotel
in London. He comported himself with great dignity,
but I fancy he regrets Sulaco. He rambled feebly
about 'historical events' till I felt I could have a cry."

"H'm," grunted the doctor; "getting old, I suppose.
Even Nostromo is getting older — though he is not
changed. And, speaking of that fellow, I wanted to
tell you something — "

For some time the house had been full of murmurs,
of agitation. Suddenly the two gardeners, busy with
rose-trees at the side of the garden arch, fell upon their
knees with bowed heads on the passage of Antonia
Avellanos, who appeared walking beside her uncle.

Invested with the red hat after a short visit to Rome,
where he had been invited by the Propaganda, Father
Corbelan, missionary to the wild Indians, conspirator,
friend and patron of Hernandez the robber, advanced
with big, slow strides, gaunt, and leaning forward,
with his powerful hands knotted behind his back.
The first Cardinal-Archbishop of Sulaco had preserved
his fanatical and morose air — the aspect of a chaplain
of bandits. It was believed that his unexpected eleva-
tion to the purple was a counter move to the Protes-
tant invasion of Sulaco organized by the Holroyd
Missionary Fund. Antonia, the beauty of her face as
if a little blurred, her figure slightly fuller, advanced
with her light walk and her high serenity, smiling from
a distance at Mrs. Gould. She had brought her uncle
over to see dear Emilia, without ceremony, just for a
moment before the siesta.

568

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

When all were seated again, Dr. Monygham. who
•ad come to dislike lie .irtily everybody who approached
Mrs. Gould with an . intimacy, kept aside, pretending
•-• lo>t in profound meditation. A louder phrase
of Antonia made him lift his head.

" How can we abandon, groaning under oppression,
nose who have been our countrymen only a few years
jo, who arc our countrymen now?" Miss Avcllanos
was saying. " How can we remain blind, and deaf,
And without pity to the cruel wrongs suffered by our
brothers? There is a remedy."

"Annex the rest of Costaguana to the order and
Prosperity of Sulaco," snapped the doctor. "There
il no other remedy."

" I am convinced, Senor Doctor," Antonia said, with
the earnest calm of invincible resolution, "that this
was from the first poor Martin's intention."
I "Yes, but the material interests will not let you
leopard ize their development for a mere idea of pity
and justice," the doctor muttered grumpily. "And
it is just as well, perhaps."

The Cardinal-Archbishop straightened up his gaunt,
bony frame.

"We have worked for them; we have made them;
Ibese material interests of the foreigners," the last
of the Corbelans uttered in a deep, denunciatory
tone.

"And without them you are nothing," cried the
doctor from the distance. "They will not let you."

"Let them beware, then, lest the people, prevented
from their aspirations, should rise and claim their
share of the wealth and their share of the power," the

569

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

popular Cardinal-Archbishop of Sulaco declared sig
nificantly, menacingly.

A silence ensued, during which his eminence stared
frowning at the ground, and Antonia, graceful and
rigid in her chair, breathed calmly in the streng1.li of
her convictions. Then the conversation took a social
turn, touching on the visit of the Goulds to Europe.
The Cardinal -Archbishop, when in Rome, had suffered
from neuralgia in the head all the time. It was the
climate— the bad air.

When uncle and niece had gone away, with the ser- .
vants again falling on their knees, and the old porter,-^
who had known Henry Gould, almost totally blin<
and impotent now, creeping up to kiss his Eminence':
extended hand, Dr. Monygham, looking after them
pronounced the one word:

" Incorrigible!"

Mrs. Gould, with a look upward, dropped wearil
on her lap her white hands flashing with the gold am
stones of many rings.

"Conspiring. Yes!" said the doctor. "The last
the Avellanos and the last of the Corbelans are con-
spiring with the refugees from Sta. Marta that floe!
here after every revolution. The Cafe Lambroso at th<
corner of the Plaza, is full of them; you can hear thei
chatter across the street like the noise of a parrot-housi
They are conspiring for the invasion of Costagui
And do you know where they go for strength, for th
necessary force? To the secret societies among im
migrants and natives, where Nostromo — I should sa
Captain Fidanza — is the great man. What gives hi
that position? Who can say? Genius? He h

570

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

genius. He is greater with the populace than <
he was before. It was as if he had some secret power;
some mysterious mea: - p u,> his influence. He

holds conferences with the Archbishop, M in these old
days which you and I remember. Barrios is useless.
But for a military head they have the pious Hernandez.
And they may raise the country with the new cry of
the wealth for the people."

"Will there be never any peace? Will there be no
rest?" Mrs. Gould whispei " I thought that we —

"No!" interrupted the doctor. " JJiSSfijsjjojjjacc
and rest JaJfrfc, development of material intereST \
Tlu-y have thru- l.iv. nd their juftici Bat it i fottoa-
ed on expediency, and is inhuman; it is without r«
tude. without the continuity and the force that can be
found only in a moral pnn< iple. Mrs. Gould, the
time approaches when all th^t UveGould Concession
stands^foT^S'hall wejgli_ag, people as

l;h<r~b^rbarjsn3~CTuelty, and mi«;rule~t lew year?"'

How can you say that, Dr. Monygham?" she cried
out, as if hurt in the most sensitive place of her soul.

" I can say what is true," the doctor insisted ol
nately. "It '11 weigh as heavily, and provoke resent-
ment, bloodshed, and vengeance, because the men have
grown different. Do you think that now the mine
would march upon the town to save their SeAor Ad-
nunistrador? l>o you think that?"

She pressed the backs of her entwined hands on her
eyes and murmured hoj>clesslv:

•* Is it that we have worked for, then ?"

The doctor lowered his head. He could follow her
„ 57i

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

silent thought. Was it for that that her life had been
robbed of all the intimate felicities of daily affection
which her tenderness needed as the human body needs
air to breathe? And the doctor, indignant with
Charles Gould's blindness, hastened to change the con-
versation.

"It is about Nostromo that I wanted to talk to you.
Ah, that fellow has some continuity and force. Noth-
ing will put an end to him. But never mind that.
There's something inexplicable going on — or perhaps
only too easy to explain. You know, Linda is prac-
tically the lighthouse-keeper of the Great Isabel light.
The Garibaldino is too old now. His part is to clean
the lamps and to cook in the house; but he can't get
up the stairs any longer. The black-eyed Linda sleeps
all day and watches the light all night. Not all day,
though. She is up towards five in the afternoon,
when our Nostromo, whenever he is in the harbor
with his schooner, comes out on his courting visit, pull-
ing in a small boat."

"Aren't they married yet?" Mrs. Gould asked.
"The mother wished it, as far as I can understand,
while Linda was yet quite a child. When I had the
girls with me for a year or so during the war of separa-
tion, that extraordinary Linda used to declare quite
simply that she was going to be Gian' Battista's
wife."

"They are not married yet," said the doctor, curtly.
"I have looked after them a little."

"Thank you, dear Dr. Monygham," said Mrs. Gould;
and under the shade of the big trees her little, even
teeth gleamed in a youthful smile of gentle malice.

572

: A Talc of the Seaboard

•pie don't know how really good you are. You
will not let them know, as if on purpose to annoy
me, who have put my faith in your good heart long
ago."

The doctor, with a lifting up of his upper Up, as
though he were longing to bite, bowed stiffly in his
chair. With the utter absorption of a man to wh<>in
love comes late, not as a most splendid of illusions,
but like an enlightening and priceless misfortune, the
sight of that woman (of whom he had been deprived
for about eighteen months) suggested ideas of adora-
tion, of kissing the hem of her robe. And this exeat
of feeling translated itself naturally by an augmented
grimness of speech.

"I am afraid of being overwhelmed by too much
gratitude. However, these people interest me. I
went out several times to the Great Isabel light to
look after old Giorgio."

He did not tell Mrs. Gould that it was because he
found there, in her absence, the relief of an atmosphere
of congenial sentiment in old Giorgio *s austere ad-
miration of the English signora — the benefactress; in
black-eyed Linda's voluble, ^torrential, passionate af-
fection for "our Dona Emilia — that angel"; in the
white-throated, fair Giselle's adoring upward turn of
the eyes, which then glided towards him with a side-
long, half-arch, half-candid glance, which made the
doctor exclaim to himself, mentally, "If I weren't
what I am, old and ugly, I would think the sly minx
is making eyes at me. And perhaps she is. I dare
say she would make eyes at anybody." Dr. Monyg-
ham said nothing of this to Mrs. Gould, the provi-

573

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

dence of the Viola family, but reverted to what he
called "our great Nostromo."

"What I wanted to tell you is this: Our great Nos-
tromo did not seem to take much notice of the old
man and the children for some years. It's true, too,
that he was away on his coasting voyages certainly
ten months out of the twelve. He was making his
fortune, as he told Captain Mitchell once. He seems
to have done uncommonly well. It was only to be
expected. He is a man full of resource, full of con-
fidence in himself, ready to take chances and risks of
every sort. I remember being in Mitchell's office one
day, when he came in with that calm, grave air he
always carries everywhere. He had been away trading
in the Gulf of California, he said, looking straight past
us at the wall, as his manner is, and was glad to see
on his return that a light -house was being built on the
cliff of the Great Isabel. Very glad, he repeated.
Mitchell explained that it was the O.S.N. Company who
was building it for the convenience of the mail ser-
vice, on his own advice. Captain Fidanza \vas good
enough to say that it was excellent advice. I re-
member him twisting up his mustaches and looking
all round the cornice of the room before he proposed
that old Giorgio should be made the keeper of that
light."

" I heard of this. I was consulted at the time,"
Mrs. Gould said. "I doubted whether it would be
good for these girls to be shut up on that island as if
in a prison."

"The proposal fell in with the old Garibaldino's
humor. As to Linda, any place was lovely and de-

574

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

tightful enough for her as long as it was Nostromo '«
suggestion. She could wait for her Gian' Battista't
good pleasure there as well as anywhere else. My
opinion is that she was always in love with that grave
and incorruptible capataz. Moreover, both father
and sister were anxious to get Giselle away from the
attentions of a certain Ramirez."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Gould, interested. "Ramirez?
What sort of man is that?"

"Just a mozo of the town. His father was a car-
gador. As a lanky boy he ran about the wharf in
till Nostromo took him up and made a man of
him When he got a little older he put him into a
lighter, and very soon gave him charge of the No. 3
boat — the boat which took the silver away, Mrs.
Gould. Nostromo selected that lighter for the v.
because she was the best sailing and the strongest
boat of all the company's fleet. Young Ramirez was
one of the five cargadores entrusted with the removal
of the treasure from the custom-house on that famous
night. As the boat he had charge of was sunk, Nos-
tromo, on leaving the company's service, recommend-
ed him to Captain Mitchell for his successor. He had
trained him in the routine of work perfectly, and thus
Mr. Ramirez, from a starving waif, becomes a man
and the capataz of the Sulaco cargadores."

"Thanks to Nostromo," said Mrs. Gould, with warm
approval.

"Thanks to Nostromo," repeated Dr. Monygham.
"Upon my word, the fellow's power frightens roe
when I think of it. That our poor old Mitchell was
only too glad to appoint somebody trained to the

575

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

work, who saved him trouble, is not surprising. What
is wonderful is the fact that the Sulaco cargadores
accepted Ramirez for their chief, simply because such
was Nostromo's good pleasure. Of course he is not
a second Nostromo, as he fondly imagined he would
be; but still, the position was brilliant enough. It
emboldened him to make up to Giselle Viola, who,
you know, is the recognized beauty of the town. The
old Garibaldino, however, took a violent dislike to
him. I don't know why. Perhaps because he was
not a model of perfection like his Gian* Battista, the
incarnation of the courage, the fidelity, the honor of
'the people.' Signer Viola does not think much of
Sulaco natives. Both of them, the old Spartan and
that tall, white-faced Linda, with her red mouth and
coal-black eyes, were looking rather fiercely after the
fair one. Ramirez was warned off. Father Viola, I
am told, threatened him with his gun once."

"But what of Giselle herself?" asked Mrs. Gould.

"She's a bit of a flirt, I believe," said the doctor.
"I don't think she cared much one way or another.
Of course she likes men's attentions. Ramirez was
not the only one, let me tell you, Mrs. Gould. There
was one engineer, at least, on the railway staff who got
warned off with a gun, too. Old Viola does not allow
any trifling with his honor. He has grown uneasy
and suspicious since his wife died. He was very
pleased to remove his youngest girl away from the
town. But look what happens, Mrs. Gould. Rami-
rez, the honest lovelorn swain, is forbidden the island.
Very well. He respects the prohibition, but natural-
ly turns his eyes frequently towards the Great Isabel.

576

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

<?ems as though he had been in the habit of gazing
late at night upon the light. And during these senti-
mental vigils he discovers that Nostromo, Captain
inza that is, returns very late from his visits to
the Violas. As late as midnight at time

The doctor paused and stared meaningly at Mrs.
Gould.

"Yes. But I don't understand," she began, look-
ing puzzled.

" Now comes the strange part," went on Dr. Monyg-
ham. "Viola, who is king on his island, will allow
no visitor on it after dark. Even Captain Pidanza
has got to leave after sunset, when Linda has gone up
to tend the light. And Nostromo goes a«vay obedi-
ently. It is well known. Hut what happens after-
wards? What does he do in the gulf between half-
past six and midnight ? He has been seen more than
once at that late hour pulling quietly into the harbor.
Ramirez is devoured by jealousy. He dared not ap-
proach old Viola; but he plucked up courage to rail
I.niila about it one Sunday morning as she came on
the main-land to hear mass and visit her mother's
grave. There was a scene on the wharf, which, as a
matter of fact, I witnessed. It was early morning.
IK must have been waiting for her on purpose. I
was there by the merest chance, having been called to
an urgent consultation by the doctor of the German
gunboat in the harbor. She poured wrath, scorn, and
flame upon Ramirez, who seemed out of his mind. It
was a strange sight, Mrs. Gould: the long jetty, with
this raving cargador in his crimson sash and the girl
all in black, at the end; the early Sunday morning

577

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

quiet of the harbor in the shade of the mountains;
nothing but a canoe or two moving between the ships
at anchor and the German gunboat's gig coming to
take me off. I am sure she was taken by surprise; I
am sure it was news to her. She passed me within a
foot. I noticed her wild eyes. I called out 'Linda!'
She never heard me; she never saw me. But I looked
at her face. It was awful in its anger and wretched-
ness."

Mrs. Gould sat up, opening her eyes very wide.

"What do you mean, Dr. Monygham? Do you
mean to say that you suspect the younger sister?"

" Quien sabe ! Who can tell," said the doctor, shrug-
ging his shoulders like a born Costaguanero. "Rami-
rez came up to me on the wharf. He reeled — he
looked insane. He took his head into his hands. He
had to talk to some one — simply had to. Of course,
for all his mad stare he recognized me. People know
me well here. I have lived too long among them to
be anything else but the evil-eyed doctor, who can
cure all the ills of the flesh and bring bad luck by a
glance. He came up to me. He tried to be calm.
He tried to make it out that he wanted merely to
warn me against Nostromo. It seems that Captain
Fidanza at some secret meeting or other had denounced
me as the worst enemy of all the poor — of the people.
It's very possible. He honors me with his undying
dislike. And a word from the great Fidanza may be
quite enough to send some fool's knife into my back.
The sanitary commission I preside over is not in favor
with the populace. 'Beware of him, Senor Doctor!
Destroy him, Senor Doctor!' Ramirez hissed right into

578

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

face. And then he broke out: 'That man.' he
•u-red, 'has cast a spell upon loth these girls.'
•<> himself, he had said too much. He must run
away now — run away and hide somewhere. II-
moaned tender exclamations uUmt the girl, and then
railed her names that cannot be repeated. If he
thought she could be made to love him by any means,
he would carry her off from the Islam 1. Oft — into
the woods. But it was no good. . . . He strode
away, flourishing his arms above his head. Then I
noticed an old negro, who had been sitting behind a
pile of cases, fishing from the wharf. He wound up
his lines and slunk away at once. But he must have
heard something, and must have talked, too, because
some of the old Garibaldino's railway friends. I sup-
pose, warned him against Ramirez. At any rate, the
father has been warned. But Ramirez has disappear-
ed from the town."

" I feel I have a duty towards these girls," s.ii-1 Mrs.
Gould, uneasily. "Is Nostromo in Sulaco now?"

" He is, since last Sunday."

" He ought to be spoken to — at once."

"Who will dare speak to him? Even the love-mad
Ramirez runs away before the mere shadow of Captain
Fidanza."

"I can. I will," Mrs. Gould declared. "A word
will be enough for a man like Nostromo."

The doctor smiled sourly.

" He must end this situation which lends itself to —
I can't believe it of that child," pursued Mrs. Gould.

"He's very attractive," muttered the doctor,
gloomily.

579

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

"He'll see it, I am sure. He must put an end to
all this by marrying Linda at once," pronounced the
first lady of Sulaco with immense decision.

Through the garden gate emerged Basilio, grown
fat and sleek, with an elderly hairless face, wrinkles
at the corners of his eyes, and his jet-black, coarse
hair plastered down smoothly. Stooping carefully
behind an ornamental clump of bushes, he put down
with precaution a small child he had been carrying
on his shoulders — his own and Leonarda's last born.
The pouting, spoiled camerista and the head mozo
of the Casa Gould had been married for some years
now.

He remained squatting on his heels for some time,
gazing fondly at his offspring, which returned his stare
with imperturbable gravity ;' then, solemn and re-
spectable, walked down the path.

"What is it, Basilio?" asked Mrs. Gould.

"A telephone came through from the office of the
mine. The master remains to sleep at the mountain
to-night."

Dr. Monygham had got up and stood looking away.
A profound silence reigned for a time under the shade
of the biggest trees in the lovely gardens of the Casa
Gould.

"Very well, Basilio," said Mrs. Gould. She watch-
ed him walk away along the path, step aside behind a
flowering bush, and reappear with the child seated on
his shoulders. He passed through the gateway be-
tween the garden and the patio with measured steps,
careful of his light burden.

The doctor, with his back to Mrs. Gould, contem-
580

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

plated a flower l»ed away in the sunshine. People be-
1 u- v nl him scornful and soured. The truth of
nature ion i u.l m his capacity for passion and in
UK tmn.hty <>; his temperament. What he lacked
the polished callousness of men of the world, the
callousness from which springs an easy tolerance for
one's self and others; the tolerance wide as poles
asunder from true sympathy and human compassion.
This want of callousness accounted for his sardonic
turn of mind and his biting speeches.

In profound silence, and glaring viciously at the
brilliant flowcr-bcd, Dr. Monygham poured mental
imprecations on Charles Gould's head. Behind him
the immobility of Mrs. Gould added to the grace of
her seated figure the charm of art, of an attitude
caught and interpreted forever. Turning abruptly,
the doctor took his K

Mrs. Gould leaned hack in the shade of the big
trees planted in a circle. She leaned back with her
eyes closed and her white hands lying idle on the
arms of her seat. The half-light under the thick man
of leaves brought out the youthful prettincss of her
face; made the clear light fabrics and white lace of her
dress appear luminous. Small and dainty, as if radi-
ating a light of her own in the deep shade of the
interlaced boughs, she resembled a good fairy, weary
with a long career of well-doing, touched by the with-
ering suspicion of the uselcssness of her labors, the
powerlessness of her magic.

Had anybody asked her of what she was thinking,
alone in the garden of the casa, with her husband at
the mine and the house closed to the itreet like an

581

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

empty dwelling, her frankness would have had to
evade the question. It had come into her mind that
for life to be large and full it must contain the care
of the past and of the future in every passing mo-
ment of the present. Our daily work must be done
to the glory of the dead, and for the good of those
who come after. She thought that, and sighed with-
out opening her syes — without moving at all. Mrs.
Gould's face became set and rigid for a second, as if
to receive, without flinching, a great wave of loneli-
ness that swept over her head. And it came into her
mind, too, that no one would ever ask her with solici-
tude what she was thinking of. No one. No one,
but perhaps the man who had just gone away. No;
no one who could be answered with careless sincerity
in the ideal perfection of confidence.

The word "incorrigible" — a word lately pronounced
by Dr. Monygham — floated into her still and sad im-
mobility. Incorrigible in his devotion to the great
silver mine was the Senor Administrador! Incorrigible
in his hard, determined service of the material interests
to which he had pinned his faith in the triumph of
order and justice. Poor boy! She had a clear vision
of the gray hairs on his temples. He was perfect-
perfect. What more could she have expected? It
was a colossal and lasting success; and love was only a
short moment of forgetfulness, a short intoxication,
whose delight one remembered with a sense of sad-
ness, as if it had been a deep grief lived through.
There was something inherent in the necessities of
successful action which carried with it the moral deg-
radation of the idea. She saw the San Tome" moun-

582

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

tain hanging over the Campo, over the whole land,
feared, hated, wealthy, more soulless than any tyrant.
more pitiless and autocratic than the worst govern-
ment, ready to crush innumerable lives in the ex-
pansion of its greatness. He did not see it. He could
not see it. It was not his fault. He was perfect,
perfect; but she would never have him to herself.
or; not for one short hour altogether to herself
in this old Spanish house she loved so well! Incor-
rigible, the last of the Corbel an s. the last of the
Avellanos, the doctor had said; but she saw clearly
the San Tome! mine possessing, consuming, burning up
the life of the last of the Costaguana Goulds; ma
ing the energetic spirit of the son as it had mastered
the lamentable weakness of the father. A terrible
success for the last of the Goulds. The last! She
luul hoped for a long, long time, that perhaps — But
no! There were to l>e no more. An immense deso-
lation. the dread of her own continued life, descended
upon the first latly of Sulaco. With a prophet

herself surviving alone the dev : •
y un^ idj •'. '•: life, ol l«>ve, of work a!' • « 1:1 tl.r
TieaMiiv House of the \V. rM Tl.e profound, blind,

suffering expression of a painful dream settled on her
face with its closed eyes. In the indistinct voice of
an unlucky sleeper, lying passive in the toils of a
merciless nightmare, she stammered out aimlessly the
words:

Material interests."

XII

X TOSTROMO had been growing rich very slowly.

1 \l It was an effect of his prudence. He could com-
mand himself even when thrown off his balance. And
to become the slave of a treasure with full self-knowl-
edge is an occurrence rare and mentally disturbing.
But it was also in a great part because of the diffi-
culty of converting it into a form in which it could
become available. The mere act of getting it away
from the island piecemeal, little by little, was sur-
rounded by difficulties, by the dangers of imminent
detection. He had to visit the Great Isabel in secret,
between his voyages along the coast, which were the
ostensible source of his fortune. The crew of his own
schooner were to be feared as if they had been spies
upon their dreaded captain. He did not dare stay
too long in port. When his coaster was unloaded
he hurried away on another trip, for he feared arous-
ing suspicion even by a day's delay. Sometimes dur-
ing a week's stay, or more, he could only manage one
visit to the treasure. And that was all. A couple of
ingots. He suffered through his fears as much as
through his prudence. To do things by stealth hu-
miliated him. And he suffered most from the concen-
tration of his thought upon the treasure; as thought
becomes concentrated, his unblemished reputation ap-
peared more vividly as a matter of life and death.

584

Nostromo: A Tale »t* the Seaboard

A transgression, a crime, entering a man's existence.
cats it up like a malignant growth, consumes it like a
fever. Nosttomo had lost his T*mr«»- th»»

of all his qualities

e et t nimscll

and often cursed the si ver of San Tomd. His cour-

age, his magnificence, hi.s leisure, his work, every-
thing was as before, only everything was a sham.
But the treasure was real. He clung to it with a more
tenacious mental grip. But he hated the feel of the
ingots. Sometimes, after putting away a couple of
them in his cabin — the fruit of a secret night expe-
dition to the Great Isabel — he would look fixedly at
his fingers, as if surprised they had left no stain on
his skin.

He had found means of disposing of the silver bars
in distant ports. The necessity to go far afield made
his coasting voyages long, and caused his visits to
the Viola household to be rare and far between. He
was fated to have his wife from there. He had said
so once to Giorgio himself. But the Garibaldino had
put the subject aside with a majestic wave of his
hand, clutching a smouldering black briar-root pipe.
There was plenty of time; he was not the man to
force his girls upon anybody.

As time went on, Nostromo discovered his prefer-
ence for the younger of the two. They had some pro-
found similarities of nature, which must exist for com-
plete confidence and understanding, no matter what
outward differences of temperament there may be to
exercise their own fascination of contrast. His wife
would have to know his secret, or else life would be
impossible. He was attracted by Giselle, with her

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

candid gaze and white throat, pliable, silent, fond of
excitement under her quiet indolence; whereas Linda,
with her intense, passionately pale face, energetic,
all fire and words, touched with gloom and scorn, a
chip of the old block, true daughter of the austere
republican, but with Teresa's voice, inspired him with
a deep-seated mistrust. Moreover, the poor girl could
not conceal her love for Gian' Battista. He could see
it would be violent, exacting, suspicious, uncompromis-
ing— like her soul. Giselle, by her fair but warm
beauty, by the surface placidity of her nature holding
a promise of submissiveness, by the charm of her girlish
mysteriousness, excited his passion and allayed his
fears as to the future.

His absences from Sulaco were long. On returning
from the longest of them, he made out lighters loaded
with blocks of stone lying under the cliff of the Great
Isabel; cranes and scaffolding above; workmen's fig-
ures moving about, and a small light-house already
rising from its foundations on the edge of the cliff.

At this unexpected, undreamed-of, startling sight,
he thought himself lost irretrievably. What could save
him from detection now? Nothing! He was struck
with amazed dread at this turn of chance, that would
kindle a far-reaching light upon the only secret spot
of his life, whose very essence, value, reality, consisted
in its reflection from the admiring eyes of men. All
of it but that; and that was beyond common com-
prehension, something that stood between him and
the power that hears and gives effect to the evil words
of curses. It was dark. Not every man had such a
darkness. And they were going to put a light there.

586

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

A light. He saw it shining upon disgrace, poverty,
hntempt. Somebody was sure to Perhaps

somebody had already . . .

incomparable Nostromo, the capataz, the re-
Kected and feared Captain Fidanza, the unquestioned
•fcftcle of secret societies, a republican like old Giorgio,
and a revolutionist at heart (but in another manner),
•was on the point of jumping overl>oard from the deck
of his own schooner. That man, subjective almo

;uty. looked suicide deliberately in the face. But
he never lost his head. He was checked by the thought
that tins was no escape. He imagined himself dead,
and the disgrace, the shame going on. Or. rather,
pr»perly speaking, he could not imagine himself dead.
He was possessed too strongly by the sense of his own
tence, a thing of infinite duration in its changes, to
grasp the notion of finality. The earth goes on forever.
And he was courageous. It was a corrupt courage,
but it was as good for his purposes as the other kind
He sailed close to the cliff of the Great Isabel, throw-
i penetrating glance from the deck at the mouth
of the ravine, tangled in an undisturbed growth of
bushes. He sailed close enough to exchange hails
with the workmen, shading their eyes on the edge of
the sheer drop of the cliff, "overhung by the jib-head of
a powerful crane. He perceived that none of them
had any occasion even to approach the ravine where
the silver lay hidden, let alone to enter it. In the
harl)or he learned that no one slept on the island. The
laboring gangs returned to port every evening, singing
chorus songs, in the empty lighters towed by a harbor
tug. For the moment he had nothing to fear.
* 587

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

But afterwards? he asked himself. Later on, when
a keeper came to live in the cottage that was being
built some hundred and fifty yards back from the low
light-tower, and four hundred or so from the dark,
shaded, jungly ravine, containing the secret of his
safety, of his influence, of his magnificence, of his
power over the future, of his defiance of ill-luck, of
every possible betrayal from rich and poor alike — what
then? He could never shake off the treasure. His
audacity, greater than that of other men, had welded
that vein of silver into his life. And the feeling of fear-
ful and ardent subjection, the feeling of his slavery —
so irremediable and profound that often in his thoughts
he compared himself to the legendary gringos, neither
dead nor alive, bound down to their conquest of un-
lawful wealth on Azuera — weighed heavily on the in-
dependent Captain Fidanza, owner and master of a
coasting schooner, whose smart appearance and fab-
ulous good luck in trading were so well known along
the western seaboard of a vast continent.

Fiercely whiskered and grave, a shade less supple in
his walk, the vigor and symmetry of his powerful
limbs lost in the vulgarity of a brown tweed suit,
made by Jews in the slums of London and sold by
the clothing department of the Compania Anzani,
Captain Fidanza was seen in the streets of Sulaco at-
tending to his business, as usual, that trip. And, as
usual, he allowed it to get about that he had made a
great profit on his cargo. It was a cargo of salt fish,
and Lent was approaching. He was seen in tram-
cars going to and fro between the town and the harbor;
he talked with people in a cafe" or two in his measured,

588

[Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

Heady voice. Captain Pidanzn was sent. The gen-
eration that would know nothing of the famous ride
| to Cayta was not born yet.

Nostromo, the miscalled capataz de cargadores, had
•ide for himself, un«lcr his rightful name, another
•fetblic existence, hut modified by the new conditions.
•88 pu-tuivsque, more difficult to keep up in the in-
Htoased size and varied population of Sulaco, the pro-
gressive capital of the Occidental RepuMio.

Captain Fidanza, unpicturesque. but always a little
faysterious, was recognized quite sufficiently under the
npfty glass and iron roof of the Sulaco railway-station
He took a local train, and got out in Rincon, where he
visited the widow of the cargador who had died of his
wounds (at the dawn of the New Era. like Don Jose"
ijfkvellanos) in the patio of the Casa Gould. He con-
•ented to sit down and drink a glass of cool lemonade
in the hut, while the woman, standing up, poured a
perfect torrent of words to which he did not listen.
<>ft some money with her, as usual. The orphaned
children, growing up and well schooled, calling him
uncle, clamored for his blessing. He gave that, too;
and in the doorway paused for a moment to look at
the flat face of the San Tom£ mountain with a faint
frown. This slight contraction of his bronzed brow
casting a marked tinge of severity upon his usual un-
bending expression, was observed at the lodge which
.{.tended — but went away before the banquet. He
wore it at the meeting of some good comrades, Italians
and Occidentals, assembled in his honor under the
•residency of an indigent, sickly, somewhat hunch-
backed little photographer, with a white face, and a

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

magnanimous soul dyed crimson by a blood-thirsty
hate of all capitalists, oppressors of the two hemi-
spheres. The heroic Giorgio Viola, old revolutionist,
would have understood nothing of his opening speech ;
and Captain Fidanza, lavishly generous as usual to
some poor comrades, made no speech at all. He had
listened, frowning, with his mind far away, and walked
off unapproachable, silent, like a man full of cares.

His frown deepened as, in the early morning, he
watched the stone-masons go off to the Great Isabel
in lighters loaded with squared blocks of stone, enough
to add another course to the squat light-tower. That
was the rate of the work. One course per day.

And Captain Fidanza meditated. The presence of
strangers on the island would cut him completely off
the treasure. It had been difficult and dangerous
enough before. He was afraid, and he was angry,
lie thought with the resolution of a master and the
cunning of a cowed slave. Then he went ashore.

He was a man of resource and ingenuity; and, as
usual, the expedient he found at a critical moment was
effective enough to alter the situation radically. He
had the gift of evolving safety out of the very danger,
this incomparable Nostromo, this "fellow in a thou-
sand." With Giorgio established on the Great Isabel,
there would be no need for concealment. He would
be able to go openly, in daylight, to see his daughters
— one of his daughters — and stay late talking to the
old Garibaldino. Then in the dark . . . Night after
night . . . He would dare to grow rich quicker now.
He yearned to clasp, embrace, absorb, subjugate in
unquestioned possession this treasure, whose tyranny

590

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

weighed tr mind, 1 :;is very

II- his friend Captain Mitchell — and the

thin ' -ham had related to Mrs.

'd. When the ; to the dari-

baldino. something like the fain' the dim

ghost of a very aneient sin:' under the white

and enormous i the old hater of kings

and ministers. His daughters wen' the <
anxi The your ly. Linda, with

her mot'

Her deep, vibrating " Kh, pa :ned. hut lor the

change of the word, -of the

nst rating " Kh. ' I :iora T« i

It was his fixed opinion that the town was no proper
for his girls. The infatuated t>ut guileless Rami-
his jinjfounil aversion, as reMim-
of the country ,.

•vnfroni' ''aptain Fidanx.a

found t!

His '. d not j.il

him lino had ntertam

the : >n what. MS girls.

And Cajitaii: ]»lease his ]>oor

•), with that of inspiration which only true

rinally a|>i>ointe<I Limla Viola

lit.

" The light
" It bel"' I've t!,

the only thing Nostromo — a man worth his weight

S9»

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

in gold, mind you — had ever asked me to do for
him."

Directly his schooner was anchored opposite the
new custom-house, with its sham air of a Greek tem-
ple, flat-roofed, with a colonnade, Captain Fidanza
went pulling his small boat out of the harbor, bound
for the Great Isabel, openly in the light of a declining
day, before all men's eyes, with a sense of having mas-
tered the fates. He must establish a regular position.
He would ask him for his daughter now. He thought
of Giselle as he pulled. Linda loved him, perhaps,
but the old man would be glad to keep the eldest, who
was like a daughter and wife in one.

He did not pull for the narrow strand where he had
landed with Decoud, and afterwards alone on his first
visit to the treasure. He made for the beach at the
other end, and walked up the regular and gentle slope
of the wedge-shaped island. Giorgio Viola, whom
he saw from afar sitting on a bench under the
front wall of the cottage, lifted his arm slightly to
his loud hail. He walked up. Neither of the girls ap-
peared.

"It is good here," said the old man, in his austere,
far-away manner.

Nostromo nodded; then, after a short silence:

"You saw my schooner pass in not two hours ago?
Do you know why I am here before, so to speak, my
anchor has fairly bitten into the ground of this port
of Sulaco?"

"You are welcome like a son," the old man de-
clared, quietly, staring away upon the sea.

"Ah! thy son. I know. I am what thy son would
592

Nostromo: A Talc ot the Seaboard

have la-en. It :. irell, . :• : • [1 < >od wel-

ii, 1 lia\ :. you tor — "

A sudden dread eame upon tlr
ible Xoslromo. lie dared n<>t u
•nind. The slight pause only imparted a marked

mty to the changed end ot tlie pi,:
" l;or my wife!" ... 11
" It is time you — "

The Garibaldino arrested him with an
arm. "Tliat was left for you to ju

He j^ot up s) id, um li

Teresa'.-, death, thie'.

ful chest. He tunu-d hi • id ..died

out in his strong voi
" Linda."

Ib • '::arp and faint from within; and

the appalled Xostromo stood u- :ned

mute, ijazini; at the door. He

1 of bein^ rt'fusfd the ^'irl h..
refusal eould stand ln-tween him and a woman he

but the shininj.; of the ;

before him, claiming his all' that

could not l«e v,ram laid. H . neither

! nor alive, like t:

iul to the unlawful:.

He :ul. He

afra; 'ii^.

•m.^ up

Li ln-r, U:i<! .\(jthin^

1 alter the ;

but her blac-k t .tt'h ami

all the light of the low sun in a tlaming spark within

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

the black depths, covered at once by the slow descent
of heavy eyelids.

"Behold thy husband, master, and benefactor."
Old Viola's voice resounded with a force that seemed
to fill the whole gulf.

She stepped forward with her eyes nearly closed,
like a sleep-walker in a beatific dream.

Nostromo made a superhuman effort. "It is time,
Linda, we two were betrothed," he said, steadily, in
his level, careless, 'unbending tone.

She put her hand into his offered palm, lowering her
head, dark with bronze glints, upon which her father's
hand rested for a moment.

"And so the soul of the dead is satisfied."

This came from Giorgio Viola, who went on talking
for a while of his dead wife; while the two, sitting side
by side, never looked at each other. Then the old
man ceased; and Linda, motionless, began to speak.

"Ever since I felt I lived in the world, I have lived
for you alone, Gian' Battista. And that you knew!
You knew it ... Battistino."

She pronounced the name exactly with her mother's
intonation. A gloom as of the grave covered Nos-
tromo's heart.

"Yes. I knew," he said.

The heroic Garibaldino sat on the same bench bow-
ing his hoary head, his old soul dwelling alone with
its memories, tender and violent, terrible and dreary —
all alone on the earth full of men.

And Linda, his best-loved daughter, was saying, "I
was yours ever since I can remember. I had only to
think of you for the earth to become empty to my

594

Nostromo: A Talc of the Seaboard

I could see no one -

I u ; be-

long t» \ OU, ai; i J 0« Id Olfl live in it,

her low, vibratn.

other things to say — torUiriru man at

ht-r side. Her niurnuir ran on anlt-nt and voluble.
liil not ,vith

an altar-rloth sh< l-miik-rin^ in ln-r hands, and

• d in front of thi-m, sik-n; air, \viti

j^laiu i- and a taint Mini- the

:iO.

Tht- rvcwiii: .11. Th> the

edge of a jiurpk- -

;lit- background of clouds tilling I

the krulf, I'on- the lantern red ami s^knvin^, like a live
ember kindled by tin lent

and demure, raised ' ; nne

to hide ner.

Suildenly Linda r
her
brain reeled. When

i shoot '

" \\
" '\'« '

He gl >\ T

then, in :o of

• ! The

old r too."

595

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

He turned to Giselle, with a change to austere ten-
derness.

"And you, little one, pray not to the God of priests
and slaves, but to the God of orphans, of the oppressed,
of the poor, of little children, to give thee a man like
this one for a husband."

His hand rested heavily for a moment on Nostro-
rno's shoulder; then he went in. The hopeless slave
of the San Tome* silver felt at these words the venom-
ous fangs of jealousy biting deep into his heart. He
was appalled by the novelty of the experience, by its
force, by its physical intimacy. A husband! A hus-
band for her! And yet it was natural that Giselle
should have a husband at some time or other. . He
had never realized that before. In discovering that
her beauty could belong to another he felt as though
he could kill this one of old Giorgio's daughters also.
He muttered moodily:

"They say you love Ramirez."

She shook her head without looking at him. Cop-
pery glints rippled to an,d fro on the wealth of her gold
hair. Her smooth forehead had the soft, pure sheen
of a priceless pearl in the splendor of the sunset, min-
gling the gloom of starry spaces, the purple of the sea
and the crimson of the sky in a magnificent stillness.

"No," she said, slowly. "I never loved him. I
think I never . . . He loves me — perhaps."

The seduction of her slow voice died out of the air,
and her raised eyes remained fixed on nothing, as if
indifferent and without thought.

"Ramirez told you he loved you?" asked Nostromo,
restraining himself.

596

Nostromo: A laic oi ti. .; hoard

\h! once — on<
"The miserable . . . ila !"

He had jump. if stung by a gadfly, and

stood before her mute with anger.

"Miserieonha Ihvma! You, too, Gian' I
Poor wretch that 1 am!" She lamei. If in in-

:<>us tones. " I told Linda, and
!ed. Am 1 to live blind, dumb, and deaf in this
world? And she told father, who took d
and cleaned it. Poor Ramirez ! Then ;,<
she told you."

He looked at her. II< ;»on the

hollow of her white .vhich had the mvn.

charm of things young, palpitatin
this the child he had know;
It dawned upon him that in th.

really seen very little — nothing — of her. Nothing.
She had come into the world like a thing unknown.
She had come upon him una .
— a frightful danger. The r.

determination that ! iled hii: the

perils of this life added i!

of h: n. She, in him

the song of running water, the tinkln; Sell,

continu-

"And bet u me

into this captivity to ti • 'th-

ing else. Skv and

hair shall turn gray in this tedioi: ;

H i out loudh :im

like a caress. She lam»: ..ding ur.

597

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

sciously, like a flower its perfume in the coolness of
the evening, the indefinable seduction of her person.
Was it her fault that nobody ever had admired Linda ?
Even when they were little, going out with their
mother to mass, she remembered that people took no
notice of Linda, who was fearless, and chose instead to
frighten her, who was timid, with their attention. It
was her hair like gold, she supposed.

He broke out:

"Your hair like gold, and your eyes like violets, and
your lips like the rose; your round arms, your white
throat."

Imperturbable in the indolence of her pose, she
blushed deeply all over to the roots of her hair. She
was not conceited. She was no more self-conscious
than a flower. But she was pleased. And perhaps
even a flower loves to hear itself praised. He glanced
down, and added, impetuously:

"Your little feet!"

Leaning back against the rough stone wall of the
cottage, she seemed to bask languidly in the warmth
of the rosy flush. Only her lowered eyes glanced at
her little feet.

"And so you are going at last to marry our Linda.
She is terrible. Ah! now she will understand better
since you have told her you love her. She will not be
so fierce."

"Chica!" said Nostromo, "I have not told her any-
thing."

"Then make haste. Come to-morrow. Come and
tell her, so that I may have some peace from her
scolding, and — perhaps — who knows ..."

598

Nostromo: A Talc of" the Seaboard

"Be allowed • your ! .-h? Is

that it? You .

"Mercy of God! 1
she said, unmoved. " \\

. . . Who is .ily, in i

and gloom of the cl< If, witli

in the west like a hot bar ol

the entrance of a world sonil • the

magnificent capataz de cargadores ha
quests of love and wealth.

"Listen, Giselle," he said, in meastr
will tell no word of love to your sister. Do you
to know wlr

"Alas! I could not understand pcrhaj nni.

ivs you are not like <>t1

had ever understood you pr will

be surprised yet ... Oh! sain1

Sh her emt-:

of her face, then let it fall on her lap.

,iy t'n.m

the dark column of tin- II the

long shaft of light, kindled 1.

•i a hnrixon of pi:-
^elle Viola, with her

:. and her li'
in white Stockings :md !•'.:> k sl-j-p.-rs. •

tranquil

fatal to the gathering dusk. rm of he:

the promising ir

out into the night o1 i rulf like a f :

intoxicating fragranc

599

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

impregnating the air. The incorruptible Nostromo
breathed her ambient seduction in the tumultuous
heaving of his breast. Before leaving the harbor he
had thrown off the store clothing of Captain Fidanza,
for greater ease in the long pull out to the islands.
He stood before her in the red sash and check shirt as
he used to appear on the company's wharf — a Medi-
terranean sailor come ashore to try his luck in Costa-
guana. The dusk of purple and red enveloped him
too — close, soft, profound, as no more than fifty yards
from that spot it had gathered evening after evening
about the self-destructive passion of Don Martin De-
coud's utter scepticism, flaming up to death in soli-
tude.

"You have got to hear," he began at last, with per-
fect self-control. "I shall say no word of love to
your sister, to whom I am betrothed from this even-
ing, because it is you that I love. It is you!"

The dusk let him see yet the tender and voluptuous
smile that came instinctively upon her lips, shaped for
love and kisses, freeze hard in the drawn, haggard
lines of terror. He could not restrain himself any
longer. While she shrank from his approach her arms
went out to him, abandoned and regal in the dignity
of her languid surrender. He held her head in his two
hands, and showered rapid kisses upon the upturned
forehead, that gleamed smooth, like white satin, in the
purple dusk. Masterful and tender, he was entering
slowly upon the fulness of his possession. And he per-
ceived that she was crying. Then the incomparable
capataz, the man of careless loves, became gentle and
caressing, like a woman to the grief of a child. He

600

\ Pale i t he

murmur.

: her his

•
It had :. :ving-n -

•

zling and the an •

In tin- ing

like a cataclysm, i! vrafl in mine In

some gleam of reason survived. 11< the

world in their e:: But she sa:

pering i: ;r:

"God of mercy! What will become of me — here —
—between this sky and t
!a — I see her

:enly relaxed at tlu- sound
• one approurhing tl.

ling on the whit' the

•

of fear l>efi>re my poor sister Lin
to Giovanni — my lover'
been mad! I cannot in

>ther men! I will n -nly

elf! But w!
iel, frightful thii.

Released, she hung her head, let fall her ha:
altar-cloth,
. from them, gleamii

" Prom fe u ng my 1 N'ot-

"You knew that you had my soul! You know
60 1

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

everything! It was made for you! But what could
stand between you and me? What? Tell me!" she
repeated, without impatience, in superb assurance.

"Your dead mother," he said, very low.

"Ah! . . . Poor mother! She has always . . . She
is a saint in heaven now, and I cannot give you up to
her. No, Giovanni. Only to God alone. You were
mad — but it is done. Oh ! what have you done ? Gio-
vanni, my beloved, my life, my master, do not leave
me here in this grave of clouds. You cannot leave
me now! You must take me away — at once — this in-
stant — in the little boat. Giovanni, carry me off to-
night, from my fear of Linda's eyes, before I have to
look at her again."

She nestled close to him. The slave of the San
Tome silver felt the weight as of chains upon his limbs,
a pressure as of a cold hand upon his lips. He strug-
gled against the spell.

"I cannot." he said. "Not yet. There is some-
thing that stands between us two and the freedom of
the world."

She pressed her form closer to his side with a subtle
and naive instinct of seduction.

"You rave, Giovanni — my lover!" she whispered
engagingly. " What can there be ? Carry me off — in
thy very hands — to Dona Emilia — away from here.
1 am not very heavy."

It seeine<l as though she expected him to lift her up

n Ins two palms. She had lost the notion of

all impossibility. Anything could happen on this

night of wonder. As he made no movement, she al-

most cried aloud:

602

Nostromo : A Talc ot tl< ini

" i •

then

•
•

min

t still. '
umi<
a g

•

ed d
b

her

•

i ungov-
frn.ii

Then
ed on •

:ie spell s as

king a 1:

kness ot

fall

whc;

ice.
" 1

gave him an ir sense of frce-

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

dom ; they cast a spell stronger than the accursed spell
of the treasure; they changed his weary subjection to
that dead thing into an exulting conviction of his pow-
er. He would cherish her, he said, in a splendor as
great as Dona Emilia's. The rich lived on wealth
stolen from the people, but he had taken from the rich
nothing — nothing that was not lost to them already
by their folly and their betrayal. For he had been
betrayed — he said — deceived, tempted. She believed
him. . . . He had kept the treasure for purposes of re-
venge; but now he cared nothing for it. He cared
only for her. He would put her beauty in a palace on
a hill crowned with olive-trees — a white hill above a
blue sea. He would keep her there like a jewel in a
casket. He would get land for her — her own land
fertile with vines and corn — to set her little feet upon.
He embraced them. . . . He had already paid for it all
with the soul of a woman and the life of a man. . . .
The capataz de cargadores tasted the supreme in-
toxication of his generosity. He flung the mastered
treasure superbly at her feet in the impenetrable dark-
ness of the gulf, in the darkness defying — as men said
— the knowledge of God and the wit of the devil. But
jir.h first — ne warned hp.r.

She listened as if in a trance. Her fingers stirred in
his hair. He got up from his knees reeling, weak,
empty, as though he had flung his soul away.

"Make haste, then," she said. "Make haste, Gio-
vanni, my lover, my master, for I will give thee up to
no one but God. And I am afraid of Linda."

He guessed at her shudder, and swore to do his best.
He trusted the courage of her love. She promised to

604

Nostromo : A i >cah..ard

be !

hill above a blue sea. T!

stni

"Not that! Not th;i' vd at

the spell of
so many people, tallii .vith un

e. Not ' It was

too dangero1; " I forbid thee to her,

deadening cauti

He IKL re of

the unlawful like

a figure of silver.

ale lips. His s<>ul 'lic-<l within him at tl.
of himself creeping in pr< .vith

the smell of earth, igc in I1.

•>ing in, determir. >sc that numbe'i

breast, and creeping out uled with silver, with

his ears alert It must be done on this

night — that work of a craven sla
He stooped low, pressed the hem of her skirt to his
lips, with a muttered

"Tell him I would • iddenly

from her, silent, without as muci otfall in the

dark night.

She sat still, her h< lolently against the

wall, and her little ! •• hite sto .d black

slippers crossed over each other. O
ing out, eem to be surprised at the iniellig-

;uch as she had vaguely : she was full

60$

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

of inexplicable fear now — fear of everything and every-
body, except of her Giovanni and his treasure. But
that was incredible.

The heroic Garibaldino accepted Nostromo's abrupt
departure with a sagacious indulgence. He remem-
bered his own feelings, and exhibited a masculine pene-
tration of the true state of the case.

" Va bene. Let him go. Ha! ha! No matter how
fair the woman, it galls a little. Liberty, liberty.
There's more than one kind! He has said the great
word, and son Gian' Battista is not tame." He seem-
ed to be instructing the motionless and scared Giselle.
... "A man should not be tame," he added dogmati-
cally out the doorway. Her stillness and silence seem-
ed to displease him. "Do not give way to the en-
viousness of your sister's lot," he admonished her, very
grave, in his deep voice.

Presently he had to come to the door again to call
in his younger daughter. It was late. He shouted her
name three times betore she even moved her head.
Left alone, she had become the helpless prey of aston-
ishment. She walked into the bedroom she shared
with Linda like a person profoundly asleep. That
aspect was so marked that even old Giorgio, spectacled,
raising his eyes from the Bible, shook his head as she
shut the door behind her.

She walked right across the room without looking
at anything, and sat down at once by the open window.
Linda, stealing down from the tower in the exuber-
ance of her happiness, found her with a lighted candle
at her back, facing the black night full of sighing gusts
of wind and the sound of distant showers — a true

606

Nostmmo: A Talc of the Sealu

wile 1 She • the

open >or.

•nothing in her immobility wl.
cd Linda in tin her ; an

•

in h> ,-rcd

:it
,;irl that : walk

•

Not 'hint,' in

her head to was beating

" Do :

. of the

whose soul waa
dead within him
with

607

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

"You have come back to carry me off. It is well!
Open thy arms, Giovanni, my lover. I am coming."

His prudent footsteps stopped, and, with his eyes
glistening wildly, he spoke in a harsh voice:

"Not yet. I must grow rich slowly." ... A threat-
ening note came into his tone. "Do not forget that
you have a thief for your lover."

"Yes! Yes!" she whispered hastily. "Come near-
er! Listen! Do not give me up, Giovanni! Never,
never! ... I will be patient! ..."

Her form drooped consolingly over the low casement
towards the slave of the unlawful treasure. The light
in the room went out, and, weighted with silver, the
magnificent capataz clasped her round her white neck
in the darkness of the gulf as a drowning man clutches
at a straw.

Ol
ha-

•

• than usual. Tl.
before he landol <>n the
witli

in a

the window <

.n her hands, and In-!
tranquil'

tor with

at him very 1

T:
in t!

He approached then, and, looking through the win-
dow into the bedroom for fear of being detected by
Linda returning there for some reason, he said, mov-
ing only his lips:

"You love me?"

"More than my life." She went on with her em-
broidery under his contemplating gaze, and continued
to speak, looking at her work, " Or I could not live. I
could not, Giovanni. For this life is like death. Oh,
Giovanni, I shall perish if you do not take me away."

He smiled carelessly. "I will come to the window
when it's dark," he said.

"No, don't, Giovanni. Not to-night. Linda and
father have been talking together for a long time to-
day."

" What about?"

"Ramirez, I fancy I heard. I do not know. I am
afraid. I am always afraid. It is like dying a thou-
sand times a day, Your love is to me like your treas-
ure to you. It is there, but I can never get enough
of it."

He looked at her very still. She was beautiful.

re had grown within him. He had two mas-

•]<>w. Hut she was incapable of sustained emotion.

n what she said, but she slept placidly

at night. When she saw him she flamed up alw;

n i>nly an increased taciturnity marked the change
in her. She was afraid of betraying herself. She

pain, of bodily harm, of sharp words, of facing
anger, and witnessing pain. For her soul was light and
tender with a pagan sincerity in its impulses. She
murmured:

610

A I i the -

Sin- ceased

illness ai
II

" I shall ;.'

fingr- ngherga

him.

She waited f><;

i with 1;
unn twn

•
And iaid

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

nothing of his cares to "Son Gian' Battista." It was
a touch of senile vanity. He wanted to show that he
was equal yet to the task of guarding alone the honor
of his house.

Nostromo went away early. As soon as he had
disappeared, walking towards the beach, Linda stepped
over the threshold and, with a haggard smile, sat down
by the side of her father.

Ever since that Sunday when the infatuated and
desperate Ramirez had waited for her on the wharf
she had no doubts whatever. The jealous ravings of
that man were no revelation. They had only ii
with precision, as with a nail driven into her heart,
that sense of unreality and deception which, instead
of bliss and security, she had found in her intercourse
with her promised husband. She had passed on,
pouring indignation and scorn upon Ramirez; but
that Sunday she nearly died of wretchedness and
shame, lying on the carved and lettered stone of
Teresa's grave, subscribed for l>v the engine-drivers
and the fitters of the railway workshops, in sign of their
respect for the hero of Italian unity. Old Viola had
not been able to carry out his desire of burying his
wife in the sea; and Linda wept upon the stone.

The gratuitous outrage appalled her. If he wished
to break her heart — well and good. Everything was
permitted to Gian' Battista. But why trample upon
the pieces? why seek to humiliate her spirit? Aha!
He could not break that. She dried her tears. And
le! Giselle! The little one that, ever since she
could toddle, had always clung to her skirt for pro-
tection. What duplicity! But she could not help it

612

\ I f the

•i there was a man in the case the poor

'•If.

the win' >elle

Ready to fanr \n a

'
alive, I.:

She cann

•
her n

him from tip

up her mind ' When

he h

<x>d

le him n

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

several nights past instead of reading — or only sitting,
with Mrs. Gould's silver spectacles on his nose, before
the open Bible — he had been prowling actively all
about the island with his old gun, on watch over his
honor.

Linda, laying her thin, brown hand on his knee,
tried to soothe his excitement. Ramirez was not in
Sulaco. Nobody knew where he wras. He was gone.
His talk of what he would do meant nothing.

"No," the old man interrupted. "But son Gian'
Battista told me — quite of himself — that the coward-
ly esclavo was drinking and gambling with the rascals
of Zapiga, over there on the north side of the gulf. He
may get some of the worst scoundrels of that scoun-
drelly town of negroes to help him in his attempt upon
the little one. . . . But I am not so old. No!"

She argued earnestly against the probability of any
attempt being made; and at last the old man fell silent,
chewing his white mustache. Women had their ob-
stinate notions which must be humored — his poor wife
was like that, and Linda resembled her mother. It
was not seemly for a man to argue. "Maybe. May-
be," he mumbled.

She was by no means easy in her mind. She loved
Nostromo. She turned her eyes upon Giselle, sitting
at a distance, with something of maternal tenden
and the jealous rage of a rival outraged in her defeat.
Then she rose and walked over to her.
." she said, roughly.

The invincible candor of the gaze raised up all vio-
let and dew, : her rage ami admiration. She
had beautiful eyes — the chica — this vile thing of white

614

No \ I of the Sc;i

she

came empty, gazing
fear

-rt.

.vill

" \Vh.L-

Weil. lias

ikin^' ah. nit -Aiti.
: him.

body

This could :
IKT aw.s

To B]
begi

Lr
to light up. She ui

;ly up tl

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

increasing load of shameful fetters. No; she could
not throw it off. No; let Heaven dispose of these two.
And moving about the lantern, filled with twilight and
the sheen of the moon, with careful movements she
lighted the lamp. Then her arms fell along her body.

"And with our mother looking on," she murmured.
"My own sister — the chica!"

The whole refracting apparatus, with its brass fit-
tings and rings of prisms, glittered and sparkled like
a dome-shaped shrine of diamonds, containing not a
lamp, but some splendid flame, dominating the sea.
And Linda, the keeper, in black, with a pale face,
drooped low in a wooden chair, alone with her jealousy,
far above the shames and passions of the earth. A
strange, dragging pain, as if somebody were pulling her
about brutally by her dark hair with bronze glints,
made her put her hands up to her temples. They
would meet. They would meet. And she knew
where, too. At the window. The sweat of anguish
fell in drops on her checks, while the moonlight in
the offing closed as if with a colossal bar of silver the
entrance of the Placid Gulf — the sombre cavern of
clouds and stillness in the surf -fretted seaboard.

Linda Viola stood up suddenly with a finger on her

lip. He loved neither her nor her sister. The whole

thing seemed so objectless as to frighten her, and also

her some hope. Why did he not carry her off?

What prevented him ? He was incomprehensible.

What were they waiting for? For what end were

these two lying and deceiving? Not for the ends of

their love. There was no such thing. The hope of

lining him for herself made her break her vow of

616

\ I . i •! the ard

rouH'l t ;

hut

rum

•
•
Linii with 1

•

The '

'
'

•
•

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

He did not offer to move an inch, to advance a
single step. He stood there, rugged and unstirring,
like a statue of an old man guarding the honor of his
house. Linda removed her trembling hand from his
arm, firm and steady like an arm of stone, and, with-
out a word, advanced into the blackness of the shade.
She saw a stir of formless shapes on the ground, and
stopped short. A murmur of despair and tears grew
louder to her strained hearing.

"I entreated you not to come to-night. Oh, my
Giovanni! And you promised. Oh! Why — why did
you come, Giovanni?"

It was her sister's voice. It broke on a sob. And
the voice of the resourceful capataz de cargadores,
master and slave of the San Tome" treasure, who had
been caught unawares by old Giorgio while stealing
across the open towards the ravine to get some more
silver, answered, careless and cool, but sounding start -
lingly weak from the ground:

"It seemed as though I could not live through the
night without seeing thee once more — my star, my
little flower."

The brilliant tertulia was just over, the last guests

had depart oil, and the Senor Administrador had gone

is room already, when Dr. Monygham, who had

beer 1 in the evening but had not turned up,

arrived, driving along the wood-Mock pavement under

lectric-lamps of the deserted Calle de la Coni-titu-

and found the great gateway of the casa still

open.

He limited in, stumped up the stairs, and found the
618

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seabo

• turning off the

it the lights," commanded the d<

•i the S<
cillar:

rts for an

' :i thr Wo-

with t < xasper.i

whirh nude hi:

hr M. :

r thr weight ni .<
'

Mitrhell used to dest i

•

mood a:

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

the sight of the doctor, standing there all alone among
the groups of furniture, recalled to her emotional
memory her unexpected meeting with Martin Decoud ;
she seemed to hear in the silence the voice of that man,
dead miserably so many years ago, pronounce the
words, "Antonia lost her fan here." But it was the
doctor's voice that spoke, a little altered by his ex-
citement. She remarked his shining eyes.

" Mrs. Gould, you are wanted. Do you know what
has happened ? You remember what I told you yes-
terday about Nostromo. Well, it seems that a lancha,
a decked boat, coming from Zapiga, with four negroes
in her, passing close to the Great Isabel, was nailed
from the cliff by a woman's voice — Linda's, as a mat-
ter of fact — commanding them (it's a moonlight night)
to go round to the beach and take up a wounded man
to the town. The patron (from whom I've heard all
this), of course, did so at once. He told me that when
they got round to the low side of the Great Isabel
they found Linda Viola waiting for them. They fol-
lowed her; she led them under a tree not far from the
cottage. There they found Nostromo lying on the
ground with his head in the younger girl's lap, and
father Viola standing some distance off leaning on his
gun. Under Linda's direction they got a table out
of the cottage for a stretcher, after breaking off the
legs. They are here, Mrs. Gould. I mean Nostromo
and — and Giselle. The negroes brought him in to the
first-aid hospital near the harbor. He made the at-
tendant send for me. But it is not me he wants to
see — it is you, Mrs. (iould! It is you."

"M<-'" \vliisjirn-d Mrs. (iould, shrinking a little.
620

Nostrumo: A I .1 1 r t>f the

" He
thin

,-r —

Prank-
thai

•hr trutli fn>ni her hushaml :il)i>ut t:

Iful.

" \ .

•

leath — "
"The point

'
621

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

The doctor remained still, in a submissive, disap-
pointed silence. At last he ventured, very low:

"And there is that Viola girl, Giselle. What are we 5
to do? It looks as though father and sister had — "

Mrs. Gould admitted that she felt in duty bound to
do her best for these girls.

"I have a volante here," the doctor said. "If you
don't mind getting into that — "

He waited, all impatience, till Mrs. Gould reappeared,
having thrown over her dress a gray cloak with a deep
hood.

It was thus that, cloaked and monastically hooded
over her evening costume, this woman, full of endur-
ance and compassion, stood by the side of the bed on
which the splendid capataz de cargadores lay stretch-
ed out motionless on his back. The whiteness of
sheets and pillows gave a sombre and energetic relief
to his bronzed face, to the big, dark, nervous hands,
so good on a tiller, upon a bridle, and on a trigger,
lying open and idle upon a white coverlet.

"She is innocent," the capataz was saying in a
deep and level voice, as though afraid that a louder
word would break the slender hold his spirit still kept
upon his body. " She is innocent. It is I alone. But
no matter. For these things I would answer to no
man or woman alive."

lie paused. Mrs. Gould's face, very white within
the shadow of the hood, bent over him with an invin-
cil.k- and dn-ary sadness. And the low sobs of Giselle
Viola, kneeling at the end of the bed, her gold hair with
MIS loose and scattered over the capataz's
hardly troubled the silence of the room.
622

A Talc of the .ird

lint th.

. I !.

• •
the

ium-

•

N'o! It ;

•: was

i that a

full. Aivl !
Pica

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

the treasure with four ingots missing? They would
have said I had purloined them. The doctor would
have said that. Alas! it holds me yet!"

Mrs. Gould bent low, fascinated — cold with appre-
hension.

"What became of Don Martin on that night, Nos-
tromo?"

"Who knows? I wondered what would become of
me. Now I know. Death was to come upon me un-
awares. He went away! He betrayed me. And you
think I have killed him! You are all alike, you fine
people. The silver has killed me. It has held me.
It holds me yet. Nobody knows where it is. But
you are the wife of Don Carlos, who put it into my
hands and said, 'Save it on your life.' And when I
returned, and you all thought it was lost, what do I
hear ? It was nothing of importance. Let it go. Up,
Nostromo, the faithful, and ride away to save us, for
dear life!"

"Nostromo," Mrs. Gould whispered, bending very
low, "I, too, have hated the idea of that silver from
the bottom of my heart."

"Marvellous! — that one of you should hate the
wealth that you know so well how to take from Un-
hands of the poor. The world rests upon the poor, as
old Giorgio says. You have been always good to the
poor. But there is something accursed in wealth.
>ra, shall 1 tell you where the treasure is? To you
alone. . . . Shining! Incorruptible!"

A pained, involuntary reluctance lingered in his tone,
in his eyes, plain to the woman with the genius of
sympathetic intuition. She averted her glance from

624

i : the Seaboard

i
nc miss*

'
•

•i his
You have x<>t the word «

•
The li^ht

• of I >t

•

>ved wr

nan
un-

" I

• m withi- '•!. Th*

\\}£ '

ing han

un-
htcr of old Viola, ti

Nostromo ; A Tale of the Seaboard

lican, the hero without a stain. Slowly, gradually, as
a withered flower droops, the head of the girl, who
would have followed a thief to the end of the world,
rested on the shoulder of Dona Emilia, the first lady
of Sulaco, the wife of the Senor Administrador of the
San Tome mine. And Mrs. Gould, feeling her sup-
pressed sobbing, nervous and excited, had the first
and only moment of cynical bitterness in her life. It
was worthy of Dr. Monygham himself.

"Console yourself, child. Very soon he would have
forgotten you for his treasure."

"Senora, he loved me. He loved me," Giselle whis-
pered, despairingly. " He loved me as no one had ever
been loved before."

" I have been loved too," Mrs. Gould said, in a severe
tone.

Giselle clung to her convulsively. "Oh, senora, but
you shall live adored to the end of your life," she sob-
bed out.

Mrs. Gould kept an unbroken silence till the car-
riage arrived. She helped in the half-fainting girl.
After the doctor had shut the door of the landau, she
leaned over to him.

"You can do nothing?" she whispered.

"No, Mrs. Gould. Moreover, he won't let us touch
him. It does not matter. I just had one look. . . .
UseK

Hut he promised to see old Viola and the otlu ••
that very night. He could get the police-boat to take
him «>it' to the island. He remained in the street. I
ing after the landau rolling away slowly behind the
white mules.

626

itromo: A Talc of the I .ird

—an accident to Cap-
new

s - the

B with t

with his kn-
H«-

'»• wharf', h.i.i ! to a

mortally wound-

want

The i in-

'
ID >mo roll

mat

• •

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard

broken by short shudders testifying to the most atro-
cious sufferings.

Dr. Monygham, going out in the police-galley to the
islands, beheld the glitter of the moon upon the gulf
and the high black shape of the Great Isabel sending
a shaft of light afar from under the canopy of clouds.

"Pull easy," he said, wondering what he would find
there. He tried to imagine Linda and her father, and
dicovered a strange reluctance within himself. "Pull
easy," he repeated.

From the moment he fired at the thief of his honor,
Giorgio Viola had not stirred from the spot. He stood,
his old gun grounded, his hand grasping the barrel
near the muzzle. After the lancha carrying off Nos-
tromo forever from her had left the shore, Linda,
coming up, stopped before him. He did not seem to
be aware of her presence, but when, losing her forced
calmness, she cried out:

"Do you know whom you have killed?" he an-
swered :

"Ramirez, the vagabond."

White, and staring insanely at her father, Linda
laughed in his face. After a time he joined her faintly
in a deep-toned and distant echo of her peals. Then
•opped, and the old man spoke as if startled:

" He eried out in son Gian' Battista's voice."

The gun fell from his opened hand, but the arm re-
mained extended for a moment as if still supported.
Linda seized it roughly.

" You are too old to understand. Come into the
house,"

628

\ I : (he Seaboard

• •
" In

l.m<! i him in:

" When-
pen-

which h
1 with tli
Lin.:

She could • him. I :

with terror and wit:

him. IK- woul-1 never 01

i With d

Linda

•• r .1 a

Behind his chair '

Nostromo : A Tale of the Seaboard

without noise. Suddenly she started for the door.
He heard her move.

" Where are you going?" he asked.
"To the light," she answered, turning round to look
at him balefully.

"The light! ' Si— duty."

Very upright, white-haired, leonine, heroic in his
absorbed quietness, he felt in the pocket of his red
shirt for the spectacles given him by Dona Emilia.
He put them on. After a long period of immobility
he opened the book, and from on high looked through
the glasses at the small print in double columns. A
rigid, stern expression settled upon his features with a
slight frown, as if in response to some gloomy thought
of unpleasant sensation. But he never detached his
from the book while he swayed forward, gently,
gradually, till his snow-white head rested upon the
opi-n pages. A wooden clock ticked methodically on
the whitewashed wall, and growing slowly cold the
Garibaldino lay alone, rugged, undecayed, like an old
oak uprooted by a treacherous gust of wind.

The light of the Great Isabel burned peacefully

ie lost treasure of the San Tomd mine. Into

the Muish sheen of a night without stars the lantern

im of yellow light towards the far horizon.

vck upon the shining panes, l.n
•••hing in the outer gallery, rested her head on the
rail. The moon, drooping in the western board, look-

r radiantly.

B.-1..W. at the foot of the cliff, the regular splash of
from a passing boat ceased, and Dr. Monygham
stood up in the stern-sheets.

630

•

"Linda1" h<
" Lii.

i from ':

Lin* i ..
light of the lantern with her ar

all her fidelity, her
:nto on-

tm, pul!

itest, tl

of all. In that tm
1 to rin i to

iark gu'

i c • •»• ceo 1/1 ^o

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

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