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NOSTROMO
his head, and did not recover his balance till the middle of
the room. Concealed behind the half-closed jalousies he listened to what went on below.
The envoy had already mounted, and turning to the morose offi cers 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 colonel. It has done
me much honour and gratifi cation to have seen you all, a fi ne
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 honour to salute you. There will be much dancing
to-night in Sulaco. Good-bye!»
But he reined in his horse and inclined his head sideways 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 colours rolled round their staff.
The intelligent old warrior, after enunciating in a dogmatic tone the general propositi on that the «world was full of
traitors», went on pronouncing deliberately a panegyric up on
Sotillo. He ascribed to him with leisurely emphasis every virtue under heaven, summing it all up in an absurd colloquialism current amongst the lower class of Occidentals (especially
about 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 beholding the fi nest body of offi cers in
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JOSEPH CONRAD
the Republic, men unequalled for valour 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 affi rmed, gravely, with conviction. «Men of many teeth».
The other wheeled his horse to face the portal resembling
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 orati on up on Pedro Montero, keeping a solemn countenance. He fl ourished his hand as if introducing him to their
notice. And when he saw every face set, all the eyes fi xed up on
his lips, he began to shout a sort of catalogue of perfections:
«Generous, valorous, affable, profound» – (he snatched off
his hat enthusiastically) – «a statesman, an invincible chief of
partisans –» He dropped his voice startlingly to a deep, hollow
note – «and a dentist».
He was off instantlyat a smart walk; the rigid straddle of
his legs, the turned-out feet, the stiff back, the rakish slant of
the sombrero above the square, motionless set of the shoulders expressing an infi nite, awe-inspiring impudence.
Upstairs, behind the jalousies, Sotillo did not move for
a long time. The audacity of the fellow appalled him. What were
his offi cers saying below? They were saying nothing. Complete
silence. He quaked. It was not thus that he had imagined himselfat that stage of the expedition. He had seen himself trium-
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phant, unquestioned, appeased, the idol of the soldiers, weighing in secret complacency the agreeable alternatives 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 up on him from every side. That rogue of a doctor had to come out with his information. 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 D on Carlos. He laughed aloud insanely. Ha! ha!
ha! ha! It was Pedrito Montero who would get the information.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! – and the silver. Ha!
Allat 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 reluctanceat the noti on of
proceeding to extremities.
He felt a reluctance – part of that unfathomable dread
that crept on all sides up on him. He remembered reluctantly,
too, the dilated eyes of the hide merchant, his contortions, his
loud sobs and protestations. It was not compassi on or even
mere nervous sensibility. The fact was that though Sotillo did
never for a moment believe 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 subject. Bah! A pretence.
Nothing but a pretence. He would know how to deal with that.
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JOSEPH CONRAD
He was working himself up to the right pitch of ferocity.
His fi ne 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 miserable
Hirsch, pushed in by several soldiers, found him frowning
awfully in a broad armchair, 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, stretched lifelessly on
the fl oor. 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 was forced to
hold up his head, by means of a bayonet-point prodding him
under the chin, his eyes had a vacant, trance-like stare, and
drops of perspirati on as big as peas were seen hailing down
the dirt, bruises, and scratches of his white face. Then they
stopped suddenly.
Sotillo lookedat him in silence. «Will you depart from your
obstinacy, you rogue?» he asked. Already a rope, whose one
end was fastened to Senor Hirsch’s wrists, had been thrown
over a beam, and three soldiers held the other end, waiting.
He made no answer. His heavy lower lip hung stupidly. Sotillo
made a sign. Hirsch was jerked up off his feet, and a yell of
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despair and agony burst out in the room, fi lled the passage of
the great buildings, rent the air outside, caused every soldier of
the camp along the shore to look up at the windows, started
some of the offi cers in the hall babbling excitedly, with shining eyes; others, setting their lips, looked gloomilyat the fl oor.
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,
refl ected from the water of the harbour, made an ever-running ripple of light high up on the wall. He screamed with
uplifted eyebrows and a wide-open mouth – incredibly wide,
black, enormous, full of teeth – comical.
In the still burning air of the windless afterno on he made
the waves of his agony travel as far as the O. S. N. Company’s
offi ces. 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 indoors with blanched cheeks. He had been
driven off the balcony several times during that afternoon.
Sotillo, irritable, moody, walked restlessly about, held
consultations with his offi cers, gave contradictory orders in
this shrill clamour pervading the whole empty edifi ce. Sometimes there would be long and awful silences. Several times
he had entered the torture-chamber where his sword, horsewhip, revolver, and fi eld-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,
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JOSEPH CONRAD
and got in return a black, venomous, unsteady glance, which,
in reality, saw nothingat all, being merely the refl ecti on 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, enterprising business
man from Esmeralda, hung under the heavy beam perpendicular and silent, facing the colonel awfully. The infl ow 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 riding-whip, and stood with his arm
lifted up. For a word, for one little word, he felt he would have
knelt, cringed, grovelled on the fl oor before the drowsy, conscious stare of those fi xed eyeballs starting out of the grimy,
dishevelled head that drooped very still with its mouth closed
askew. The colonel ground his teeth with rage and struck.
The rope vibrated leisurely to the blow, like the long string of
a pendulum starting from a rest. But no swinging moti on was
imparted to the body of Senor Hirsch, the well-known hide
merchant on the coast. With a convulsive effort of the twisted arms it leaped up a few inches, curling up on itself like
a fi sh on the end of a line. Senor Hirsch’s head was fl ung
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NOSTROMO
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
fl ames burning side by side. And as Sotillo, staying his raised
hand, waited for him to speak, with the sudden fl ash 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 deadly venom.
Quick as thought he snatched up his revolver, and fi red
twice. The report and the concussi on of the shots seemed to
throw himat once from ungovernable rage into idiotic stupor.
He stood with drooping jaw and stony eyes. What had he done,
Sangre de Dios! What had he done? He was basely appalledat his impulsive act, sealing for ever these lips from which so
much was to be extorted. What could he say? How could he explain? Ideas of headlong fl ight somewhere, anywhere, passed
through his mind; even the craven and absurd noti on of hiding under the table occurred to his cowardice. It was too late;
his offi cers had rushed in tumultuously, in a great clatter of
scabbards, clamouring, with astonishment and wonder. But
since they did not immediately proceed to plunge their swords
into his breast, the brazen side of his character asserted itself.
Passing the sleeve of his uniform over his face he pulled himself together, His truculent glance turned slowly here and
there, checked the noise where it fell; and the stiff body of
the late Senor Hirsch, merchant, after swaying imperceptibly,
made a half turn, and came to a rest in the midst of awed murmurs and uneasy shuffl ing.
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JOSEPH CONRAD
A voice remarked loudly, «Behold a man who will never
speak again». And another, from the back row of faces, timid
and pressing, cried out –
«Why did you kill him, mi colonel?»
«Because he has confessed everything», answered Sotillo,
with the hardihood of desperation. He felt himself cornered.
He brazened it out on the strength of his reputati on with
very fair success. His hearers thought him very capable of such
an act. They were disposed to believe his fl attering tale. There
is no credulity so eager and blind as the credulity of covetousness, which, in its universal extent, measures the moral misery and the intellectual destituti on of mankind. Ah! he had
confessed everything, this fractious 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 scarecrow,
walked round the body of the late Senor Hirsch, muttering to
himself with ineffable complacency that like this there was no
need to guard against any future treacheries of that scoundrel.
The others stared, shifting from foot to foot, and whispering
short remarks to each other.
Sotillo buckled on his sword and gave curt, peremptory orders to hasten the retirement decided up on in the afternoon.
Sinister, impressive, his sombrero pulled right down up on his
eyebrows, he marched fi rst through the door in such disorder of
mind that he forgot utterly to provide for Dr. Monygham’s possible return. As the offi cers trooped out after him, one or two
looked back hastilyat the late Senor Hirsch, merchant from Es-
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meralda, left swinging rigidlyat 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 scarecrow major
commanded the rearguard; but the party he left behind with
orders to fi re the Custom House (and «burn the carcass of
the treacherous Jew where it hung») failed somehow in their
haste to set the staircase properly alight. The body of the late
Senor Hirsch dwelt alone for a time in the dismal solitude of
the unfi nished building, resounding weirdly with sudden
slams and clicks of doors and latches, with rustling scurries of
torn papers, and the tremulous sighs thatat each gust of wind
passed under the high roof. The light of the two candles burning before the perpendicular and breathless immobility of
the late Senor Hirsch threw a gleam afar over land and water,
like a signal in the night. He remained to startle Nostromo 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 concernedat 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 –»
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JOSEPH CONRAD
«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 I say. You are
a dangerous man».
Their voices, which without rising had been growing quarrelsome, ceased suddenly. The late Senor 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 Sulaco’s fortunes it was borne
up on himat last that this man was really indispensable, more
indispensable than ever the infatuati on of Captain Mitchell,
his proud discoverer, could conceive; far beyond what Decoud’s
best dry raillery about «my illustrious friend, the unique Capataz de Cargadores», had ever intended. The fellow was unique.
He was not «one in a thousand». 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 Garibaldino was known to be alone – with his dead
wife. The servants had all run away. No one would think of
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