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NOSTROMO
But whatever was the reas on of that remark, disparaging and complimentaryat 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 harbour tomorrow; a whole six months’ working, D on Martin!» she cried in
dismay.
«Let it come down, then», breathed out Decoud, earnestly,
almost into her ear.
«But if the rumour 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 bloodthirsty, whatever great qualities their
brothers of the plain might have had. But then there was
that other sentimentalist, who attached a strangely idealistic
meaning to concrete facts. This stream of silver must be kept
fl owing north to return in the form of fi nancial backing from
the great house of Holroyd. Upat the mountain in the strong
room of the mine the silver bars were worth less for his purpose than so much lead, from whichat least bullets may be run.
Let it come down to the harbour, ready for shipment.
The next north-going steamer would carry it off for the very
salvati on of the San Tome mine, which had produced so much
treasure. And, moreover, the rumour was probably false, he remarked, with much convicti on in his hurried tone.
«Besides, senora», concluded Decoud, «we may suppress
it for many days. I have been talking with the telegraphist in
251
JOSEPH CONRAD
the middle of the Plaza Mayor; thus I am certain that we could
not have been overheard. 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 conversati on this very evening, 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 reas on –
even for the most political of reasons, you understand – his
Cargadores, 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?»
«Up on 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 could not tell you his reasons. He talked with his usual carelessness, which, if he had been anything
else but a comm on sailor, I would call a pose or an affectation».
Decoud, interrupting himself, lookedat Mrs. Gould
curiously.
«Up on the whole», he continued, «I suppose he expects
something to his advantage from it. You mustn’t forget that
he does not exercise his extraordinary power over the lower
classes without a certain amount of personal risk and without
a great profusi on 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 friendsat a dance, in a Posada kept by a Mexican just outside the walls, that he had come
252
NOSTROMO
here to make his fortune. I suppose he looks up on his prestige
as a sort of investment».
«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 Incorruptible».
«Ah! he belongs to the group of your proteges out there towards the harbour, Mrs. Gould. Muy bien. And Captain Mitchell calls him wonderful. I have heard no end of tales of his
strength, his audacity, his fi delity. No end of fi ne things. H’m!
incorruptible! It is indeed a name of honour for the Capataz of
the Cargadores of Sulaco. Incorruptible! Fine, but vague. However, I suppose he’s sensible, too. And I talked to him up on
that sane and practical assumption».
«I prefer to think him disinterested, and therefore trustworthy», Mrs. Gould said, with the nearest approach 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 corredor 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 up on
painted leaves of sandal-wood. «I had it in my pocket», he
murmured, triumphantly, «for a plausible pretext». He bowed
again. «Good-night, senora».
253
JOSEPH CONRAD
Mrs. Gould continued along the corredor away from her
husband’s room. The fate of the San Tome mine was lying
heavy up on 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 inspirati on 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 circumvallati on of precious metal, leaving her outside with her
school, her hospital, the sick mothers and the feeble old men,
mere insignifi cant 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!»
CHAPTER VII
It was part of what Decoud would have called his sane materialism that he did not believe in the possibility of friendship
between man and woman.
The one excepti on he allowed confi rmed, he maintained,
that absolute rule. Friendship was possible between brother
and sister, meaning by friendship the frank unreserve, as before another human being, of thoughts and sensations; all
the objectless and necessary sincerity of one’s innermost life
trying to re-act up on the profound sympathies of another
existence.
His favourite sister, the handsome, slightly arbitrary
and resolute angel, ruling the father and mother Decoud
in the fi rst-fl oor apartments of a very fi ne Parisian house,
was the recipient of Martin Decoud’s confi dences as to his
thoughts, actions, purposes, doubts, and even failures….
«Prepare our little circle in Paris for the birth of another
South American Republic. One more or less, what does it matter? They may come into the world like evil fl owers on a hotbed of rotten institutions; but the seed of this one has germinated in your brother’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 harbour, kept by an Ital-
255
JOSEPH CONRAD
ian called Viola, a protege of Mrs. Gould. The whole building,
which, for all I know, may have been contrived by a Conquistador farmer of the pearl fi shery three hundred years ago, is
perfectly silent. So is the plain between the town and the harbour; silent, but not so dark as the house, because the pickets of
Italian workmen guarding the railway have lighted little fi res
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 suppressed till late today. Its object, no doubt,
was loot, and that was defeated, as you may 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 energetic acti on 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 fi redat the mob
from the windows of the club, in company with some other
young men of position. Our object was to keep the Calle de
la Constituci on clear for the exodus of the ladies and children, who have taken refuge on board a couple of cargo ships
now in the harbour 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 fi ghting. It appears that he had fl ed, in company of a muleteer called Bonifacio, across the mountains from
the threats of Montero into the arms of an enraged mob.
256
NOSTROMO
«The Capataz of Cargadores, that Italian sailor of whom
I have written to you before, has saved him from an ignoble
death. That man seems to have a particular talent for being on
the spot whenever there is something picturesque to be done.
«He was with meat four o’clock in the morningat the offi ces of the Porvenir, where he had turned up so early in order to
warn me of the coming trouble, and also to assure me that he
would keep his Cargadores on the side of order. When the full
daylight came we were looking togetherat the crowd on foot
and on horseback, demonstrating on the Plaza and shying
stonesat 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 up on Sulaco, for it has fi rst to
climb above the mountains. In that clear morning 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 diffi culties 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 stranger, whose animal had fallen. I was set
up onat once as a hated aristocrat, and was only too glad to
get into the club, where D on Jaime Berges (you may remember him visitingat our house in Paris some three years ago)
257
JOSEPH CONRAD
thrust a sporting gun into my hands. They were already fi ring 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 fl oor amongst
the packs of cards scattered suddenly as the caballeros rose
from their game to open fi re up on the mob. Most of the young
men had spent the nightat the club in the expectati on of some
such disturbance. In two of the candelabra, on the consoles,
the candles were burning down in their sockets. A large ir on
nut, probably stolen from the railway workshops, fl ew 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 fl ung in a corner.
I have a vague recollecti on of D on Jaime assuring me hastily that the fellow had been detected putting pois on into
the dishesat supper. But I remember distinctly he was shrieking for mercy, without stoppingat all, continuously, and so absolutely disregarded that nobody even took the trouble to gag
him. The noise he made was so disagreeable that I had half
a mind to do it myself. But there was no time to waste on such
trifl es. I took my placeat one of the windows and began fi ring.
«I didn’t learn till later in the afterno on whom it was that
Nostromo, with his Cargadores and some Italian workmen as
well, had managed to save from those drunken rascals. That
man has a peculiar talent when anything striking to the imaginati on has to be done. I made that remark to him afterwards
when we met after some sort of order had been restored 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
258
NOSTROMO
it dawned up on me that perhaps this man’s vanity has been
satiated by the adulati on of the comm on people and the confi dence of his superiors!»
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-grey mare. He had led his
body of Cargadores splendidly all day long. He looked fatigued. I don’t know how I looked. Very dirty, I suppose. But
I suppose I also looked pleased. From the time the fugitive
President had been got off to the S. S. Minerva, the tide of success had turned against the mob. They had been driven off
the harbour, 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 colouring from the fact of two Deputies to the Provincial Assembly, Senores Gamacho and Fuentes,
both from Bolson, putting themselvesat 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 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 were doing. They are prudent gentlemen. In the Assembly they called themselves Moderates, and opposed every en-
259
JOSEPH CONRAD
ergetic measure with philanthropic pensiveness.At the fi rst
rumours of Montero’s victory, they showed a subtle change of
the pensive temper, and began to defy poor D on Juste Lopez in his Presidential tribune with an effrontery to which
the poor man could only respond by a dazed smoothing of
his beard and the ringing of the presidential bell. Then, when
the downfall of the Ribierist cause became confi rmed beyond
the shadow of a doubt, they have blossomed into convinced
Liberals, acting together 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 of 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-fi ghter,
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 understanding for
a truce, in order, they have the impudence to say, that the noble cause of Liberty ‘should not be stained by the criminal excesses of Conservative selfi shness!’ As I came out to sit with
Nostromo on the cathedral steps the club was busy considering a proper reply in the principal room, littered with exploded cartridges, with a lot of broken glass, blood smears,
candlesticks, and all sorts of wreckage on the fl oor. 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 stati on on
one side of the Plaza, and Nostromo, whose Cargadores were
260
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