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NOSTROMO
Captain Mitchell was very nearly provoked to an answer. It
displeased him to be liberated insultingly; but want of sleep,
prolonged anxieties, a profound disappointment with the fatal
ending of the silver-saving business weighed up on his spirits. It was as much as he could do to conceal his uneasiness,
not about himself 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, grey 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 confi de in you very much, senor 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 moustache.
«Aha! But you love yourself», he said, encouragingly.
«If you leave them alone», the doctor said, looking with
the same lifeless stareat Sotillo’s handsome face, «they will betray themselves very soon. Meantime, I may try to make D on
Carlos speak?»
«Ah! senor 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 expres-
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JOSEPH CONRAD
sionless 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 appreciati on of rascality which, being conventional, 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 up on stupidity, moral stupidity. Nothing
that served his ends could appear to him really reprehensible. 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 rewardat all. He despised him, not as a man without
faith and honour, 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 undergone some modifi cation.
He no longer wished for a political career in Montero’s administration. He had always doubted the safety of that course.
Since he had learned from the chief engineer thatat daylight
most likely he would 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 reputati on 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 negotiatingat leisure. But in the face of facts
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NOSTROMO
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 hesitation.
«An army – an army crossed the mountains under Pedrito
already», he had repeated, unable to hide his consternation.
«If it had not been that I am given the news by a man of your
positi on 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
occupati on for a few hours longer, to let those whom fear impelled leave the town. In the general dismay there were families hopeful enough to fl y up on the road towards Los Hatos,
which was left open by the withdrawal of the armed rabble
under Senores Fuentes and Gamacho, to Rincon, with their
enthusiastic welcome for Pedro Montero. It was a hasty and
risky exodus, and it was said that Hernandez, occupying with
his band the woods about Los Hatos, was receiving the fugitives. That a good many people he knew were contemplating
such a fl ight had been well known to the chief engineer.
Father Corbelan’s efforts in the cause of that most pious
robber had not been altogether fruitless. The political chief of
Sulaco had yieldedat the last moment to the urgent entreaties of the priest, had signed a provisional nominati on appointing Hernandez a general, and calling up on him offi cially in
this new capacity to preserve order in the town. The fact is
that the political chief, seeing the situati on desperate, did not
care what he signed. It was the last offi cial document he signed
before he left the palace of the Intendencia for the refuge of
the O.S.N. Company’s offi ce. But even had he meant his act to
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JOSEPH CONRAD
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’s 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 offi ces of the Porvenir, 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 repressing the outbreak of the mob, andat last to sail out with the silver of the mine.
But Father Corbelan, escaping to Hernandez, had the document in his pocket, a piece of offi cial writing turning a bandit
into a general in a memorable last offi cial act of the Ribierist
party, whose watchwords were honesty, peace, and progress.
Probably neither the priest nor the bandit saw the irony of
it. Father Corbelan must have found messengers to send into
the town, for early on the second day of the disturbances there
were rumours 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
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NOSTROMO
seen such high buildings before. Before the cathedral he had
dismounted, 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 fi ngers pointing up the Calle de la Constitucion.
The horseman had gone on with only a glance of casual curiosity upwards to the windows of the Amarilla Clubat the corner. 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-fi re of Hernandez, was addressed to D on Jose, of
whose critical state the priest was not aware. Antonia read it,
and, after consulting Charles Gould, sent it on for the informati on of the gentlemen garrisoning the Amarilla Club. For
herself, her mind was made up; she would rejoin her uncle; she
would entrust the last day – the last hours perhaps – 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 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 defi ance of misfortune. It was grounded
in the belief in the man whom she loved.
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JOSEPH CONRAD
In his message the Vicar-General answered up on his head
for Hernandez’s fi delity. 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 fl ourishing
and stable conditi on is a matter of comm on knowledge now)
was for the fi rst time made public and used as an argument.
Hernandez, ex-bandit and the last general of Ribierist creation, was confi dent of being able to hold the tract of country
between the woods of Los Hatos and the coast range till that
devoted patriot, D on 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 Corbelan; there was no time to refl ect up on or to
controvert his statement; and if the discussi on started up on
the reading of that letter in the Amarilla Club was violent, it
was also shortlived. In the general bewilderment of the collapse some jumpedat the idea with joyful astonishment as
up on the amazing discovery of a new hope. Others became
fascinated by the prospect of immediate personal safety
for their women and children. The majority caughtat it as
a drowning man catchesat a straw. Father Corbelan was unexpectedly offering them a refuge from Pedrito Montero with
his llaneros allied to Senores Fuentes and Gamacho with
their armed rabble.
All the latter part of the afterno on an animated discussi on
went on in the big rooms of the Amarilla Club. Even those
members postedat the windows with rifl es and carbines to
guard the end of the street in case of an offensive return of
the populace shouted their opinions and arguments over their
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NOSTROMO
shoulders. As dusk fell D on Juste Lopez, inviting those caballeros who were of his way of thinking to follow him, withdrew
into the corredor, whereat a little table in the light of two
candles he busied himself in composing an address, or rather
a solemn declaration to be presented to Pedrito Montero by
a deputati on of such members of Assembly as had elected to
remain in town. His idea was to propitiate him in order to
save the format least of parliamentary institutions. Seated
before a blank sheet of paper, a goose-quill pen in his hand
and surged up on from all sides, he turned to the right and to
the left, repeating with solemn insistence –
«Caballeros, a moment of silence! A moment of silence! 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 pauses the excited grimacing of the faces would sink allat once into the stillness of
profound dejection.
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 leaving the doctor and the engineerat the Casa Viola, entered the town by the harbour gate, all
those that had meant to go were gone, and the others had barricaded themselves in their houses. In the whole dark street
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JOSEPH CONRAD
there was only one spot of fl ickering lights and moving fi gures,
where the Senor Administrador recognized his wife’s carriage
waitingat the door of the Avellanos’s house. He rode up, almost unnoticed, and looked on without a word while some of
his own servants came out of the gate carrying D on 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 putat 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 grey, 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 up on her face. The servants and
the three or four neighbours 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.
«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 ford», 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 headat the corner, Charles Gould saw his wife crossing over to their
own gate in the lighted patch of the street. One of their neigh-
398
NOSTROMO
bours, a well-known merchant and landowner of the province, followedat 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 cushi on 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?»
«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 has been no wrong
done to any one since you called up on the people to work in
the mountains. My brother says that no offi cial of the Government, no oppressor of the Campo, has been seen on your
side of the stream. Your own offi cials 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.
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JOSEPH CONRAD
He spoke in an abrupt, independent tone, but evidently
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 neighbour of Hernandez in the old days, and godfather to his eldest boy; one of those who joined him in his
resistance to the recruiting 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, murdered by
the soldiers.
«Si, senor», he muttered, hoarsely, «I and two or three others, the lucky ones leftat 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 up on his hands and breast. Three troopers followed him, of those who had started in pursuit but had ridden on for liberty. And he told Charles 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 he knew that Hernandez could not have been coming back on an errand of injustice and oppression. Those three
soldiers, together with the party who lay behind the rocks, had
formed the nucleus of the famous band, and he, the narrator,
had been the favourite lieutenant of Hernandez for many,
many years. He mentioned proudly that the offi cials had put
a price up on his head, too; but it did not prevent it getting
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