 | CHAPTER TWO Nostromo: a Tale of the Seaboard / Joseph Conrad |  |
2. CHAPTER TWO
CAPTAIN MITCHELL, pacing the wharf, was asking
himself the same question. There was always the doubt
whether the warning of the Esmeralda 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 advantageous to his Company,
too, which would have lost a valuable freight if the
treasure had been left ashore to be confiscated. The
pleasure of disappointing the Monterists was also very
great. Authoritative by temperament 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 honour, sir, and the pleasure
of saving from a cruel death, deferred too much to his
Congress. It was a mistake — a distinct mistake, sir."
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
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 happened
during that time, and the powerful emotions he
experienced, acquired a comic 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 Señor Martin Decoud,
an agreeable, wealthy, and well-informed young
gentleman, would have been jeopardized through his
falling into the hands of his political enemies. Captain
Mitchell also admitted that in his solitary 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 comprehensible
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 my mind's 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 inhabitants
during their civil 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,
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 Avellanos,
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 attention, 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 rest in 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 stumble
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 Esmeralda
could not possibly take place before daylight, owing
to the difficulty of navigating the gulf. The mosquitoes
bit like fury. We have been infested here with mosquitoes
before the late improvements; a peculiar harbour
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 myself from
being eaten up alive than from any real relish for the
weed. Then, sir, when perhaps for the twentieth time
I was approaching my watch to the lighted end in order
wanted yet ten minutes to midnight, I heard the splash
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 harbour 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 circumstance
highly agreeable, I should think, to the mosquitoes,
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 victim of
on the part of Sotillo. Something utterly inconceivable,
sir; more like the proceedings of a maniac than the
action of a sane man, however lost to all sense of honour
and decency. But Sotillo was furious at the failure of
his thievish scheme."
In this Captain Mitchell was right. Sotillo was indeed
infuriated. Captain Mitchell, however, had not
been arrested at once; a vivid curiosity induced him to
remain on the wharf (which is nearly four hundred feet
long) to see, or rather hear, the whole process of disembarkation.
Concealed by the railway truck used
for the silver, which had been run back afterwards to
the shore end of the jetty, Captain Mitchell saw the
small detachment thrown forward, pass by, taking
different directions upon the plain. Meantime, the
troops were being landed and formed into a column,
whose head crept up gradually so close to him that he
made it out, barring nearly the whole width of the
shuffling, murmuring, clinking sounds ceased, and the
whole mass remained for about an hour motionless 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
bugle call, followed by a stir and a rattling of arms, and a
murmuring noise that ran right up the column. Near
by a loud voice directed hurriedly, "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 he 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 rearguard comes
along," answered the voice. The whole column
streamed 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
Finally he lapsed into dignified silence. With a hollow
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 Mitchell
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 as if the world were coming to an end.
The long building was surrounded by troops, which
were already piling arms by companies and preparing
to pass the night lying on the ground in their ponchos
with their sacks under their heads. Corporals moved
with swinging lanterns posting sentries all round the
walls wherever there was a door or an opening. Sotillo
was taking his measures to protect his conquest as if
it had indeed contained the treasure. His desire to
make his fortune at one audacious stroke of genius had
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
statement of Hirsch, which was so absolutely fatal to his
hopes, could by no means be admitted. It is true, too,
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 saying
is, to make head or tail of it. On the bridge of the
steamer, directly after his rescue, Sotillo and his officers,
the wretched man time to collect such few wits as remained
to him. He ought to have been quieted,
soothed, and reassured, whereas he had been roughly
handled, cuffed, shaken, and addressed in menacing
tones. His struggles, his wriggles, his attempts to get
down on his knees, followed by the most violent efforts
to break 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 to suspect
the sincerity of every great passion. His 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 hochwohlgeboren
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 Esmeralda,
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 improbability
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 moment
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
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 darkness
under the high pitch of the roof. The thick shutters
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-
weight of sand. Sheets of grey coarse official paper
bestrewed the floor. It must have been a room occupied
by some higher official of the Customs, because
a large leathern armchair stood behind the table,
with other high-backed chairs scattered about. A net
hammock was swung under one of the beams — for the
official's afternoon siesta, no doubt. A couple of
candles stuck into tall iron candlesticks gave a dim
reddish light. The colonel's hat, sword, and revolver
lay between them, and a couple of his more trusty
officers lounged gloomily against the table. The
colonel threw himself into the armchair, and a big
negro with a sergeant's stripes on his ragged sleeve,
kneeling down, pulled off his boots. Sotillo's ebony
moustache contrasted violently with the livid colouring
of his cheeks. His eyes were sombre and as if sunk very
far into his head. He seemed exhausted by his perplexities,
languid 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-
headed, 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
know — and directly the problem of how best to make
him talk to the point presented itself to his mind. The
resentment 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
well as the quick reflection of Sotillo that this was an
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 Señor Mitchell!" he cried,
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
familiarly 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, watching 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 temperament was
of that sort that he experienced an ardent desire to beat
him; just as formerly when negotiating with 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
stumbled more than once, and had been dragged along
for some distance before he could regain his stride.
With his recovered breath his indignation seemed to
madden him. He jumped up, crimson, all his white
hair bristling, his eyes glaring vengefully, and shook
violently the flaps of his ruined waistcoat before the
disconcerted Sotillo. "Look! Those uniformed thieves
of yours downstairs have robbed me of my watch."
The old sailor's aspect was very threatening. Sotillo
saw himself cut off from the table on which his sabre and
revolver were lying.
"I demand restitution and apologies," Mitchell
thundered at him, quite 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 within. The
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
downstairs, before being taken into Sotillo's presence,
Captain Mitchell had been relieved of his watch and
chain; but at the colonel's clamour it was produced
quickly enough, a corporal bringing it up, carried carefully
in the palms of his joined hands. Sotillo snatched
it, and pushed the clenched fist from which it dangled
close to Captain Mitchell's face.
"Now then! You arrogant Englishman! You dare
to call the soldiers of the army thieves! Behold your
watch."
He flourished his fist as if aiming blows at the prisoner's
nose. Captain Mitchell, helpless as a swathed
infant, looked anxiously at the sixty-guinea gold half-
chronometer, presented to him years ago by a Committee
of Underwriters for saving a ship from total loss
by fire. Sotillo, too, seemed to perceive its valuable
appearance. He became silent suddenly, stepped aside
to the table, and began a careful examination in the
light of the candles. He had never seen anything so
fine. His officers closed in and craned their necks behind
his back.
He became so interested that for an instant he forgot
his precious prisoner. There is always something
childish in the rapacity of the passionate, clear-minded,
Southern races, wanting in the misty idealism of the
Northerners, who at the smallest encouragement dream
of nothing less than the conquest of the earth. Sotillo
After a moment he turned about, and with a commanding
gesture made all his officers fall back. He laid
down the watch on the table, then, negligently, pushed
his hat over it.
"Ha!" he began, going up very close to the chair.
"You dare call my valiant soldiers of the Esmeralda
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, amongst whom there
was an approving murmur. The older major was
moved to declare —
"Si, mi colonel. 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 treacherous
attempt to get possession of my revolver to shoot
me while I was trying to treat you with 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. His
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 amongst the hairs.
Sotillo advanced one leg and put his arms akimbo.
"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 Tomé 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
Aha! you think I do not know what I 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 State. Did
you not know that the silver belongs to the Republic 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 Sotillo
had already got his information about the lighter, he had
not captured it. That was clear. In his outraged
heart, Captain Mitchell had resolved that nothing
would induce him to say a word while he remained so
disgracefully bound, but his desire to help the escape 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 advances." For all his pomposity in social
intercourse, Captain Mitchell could meet the realities of
life in a resolute and ready spirit. Now he had got over
the first 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."
Sotillo, 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
hey? Can you? No. Then the silver has been removed
illegally, and the guilty shall be made to suffer,
unless it is produced within five days from this." He
gave orders for the prisoner to be unbound and locked
up in one of the smaller rooms downstairs. He walked
about the room, moody and silent, till Captain Mitchell,
with each of his arms held by a couple of men, stood up,
shook himself, and stamped his feet.
"How did you like to be tied up, Mitchell?" he asked,
derisively.
"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
moustache, 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
little better when I tie you up to a potalon outside in the
sun for a whole day." He drew himself up haughtily,
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 Englishman
was very strong within him. "Your watch! You
are a prisoner in war time, Mitchell! In war time!
You have no rights and no property! Caramba! The
that."
"Bosh!" said Captain Mitchell, concealing a disagreeable
impression.
Down below, in a great hall, with the 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 harbour 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
away from the others with his chin on his breast and his
arms crossed. Mitchell's astonishment knew no
bounds. He cried out; the other two exclaimed also.
But he hurried on, diagonally, across the big cavern-
like hall. Lots of thoughts, surmises, hints of caution,
and so on, crowded his head to distraction.
"Is he actually keeping you?" shouted the chief
engineer, whose single eyeglass glittered in the firelight.
An officer from the top of the stairs was shouting
urgently, "Bring them all up — all three."
In the clamour of voices and the rattle of arms, Captain
Mitchell made himself heard imperfectly: "By
heavens! the fellow has stolen my watch."
The engineer-in-chief on the staircase resisted the
pressure long enough to shout, "What? What did you
say?"
"My chronometer!" Captain Mitchell yelled violently
through 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
room 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. Captain
Mitchell staggered for a few steps, then sat down on the
earthen floor with his back to the wall. Nothing, not
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 weaknesses
and absurdities, was constitutionally incapable
of entertaining for any length of time a fear of his personal
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 Señor
Hirsch; that sort of imagination which adds the blind
terror of bodily suffering and of death, envisaged 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, 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 Sotillo 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 why this preposterous
thoughts mainly clung around the astounding 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 fact, the reverse was the case.
"How in the name of all that's marvellous did that
confounded fellow get wind of the affair?" was the first
question he asked directly after the bang, clatter, and
flash 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. Monygham's
voice stopped muttering curses in English and Spanish.
"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
two prisoners of Sotillo, with their heads nearly touching,
began to exchange confidences.
"Yes," the doctor related in a low tone to Captain
Mitchell's vehement curiosity, "we have been nabbed
in old Viola's place. It seems that one of their pickets,
commanded by an officer, pushed as far as the town
gate. They had orders not to enter, but to bring along
every soul they could find on the plain. We had been
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 fire-place, and
I went upstairs to have a look. I hadn't heard any
sound from there for a long time. Old Viola, as soon 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! 'Señor 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 recess right out in front of the fireplace.
The soldier, no less startled, up with his rifle
and pulls the trigger, deafening and singeing the engineer,
but in his flurry missing 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 children, Gian' Battista! Save the children!'
I have it in my 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!
to see what was the matter. It was no use thinking of
any resistance. 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 downstairs
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 considerable
distance, the Garibaldino, who was walking by my side,
suddenly said, 'I have buried many men on battlefields
on this continent. The priests talk of consecrated
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, candles, 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 undertone
as if talking to himself."
"Yes, yes," interrupted Captain Mitchell, impatiently.
"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 these 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 eyes march on with the
Italians to the railway yards. 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 for ever 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 catastrophe
to follow the doctor's narrative with attention.
The doctor had taken up an attitude of perfect
ignorance, 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 upstairs rooms to
be close at hand. Then the doctor, keeping up his
character of a man not admitted to the inner councils of
the San Tomé 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
José 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
the table wrote down the questions and the answers, the
others, lounging about the room, listened attentively,
puffing at their long cigars and keeping their eyes on the
doctor. But at that point Sotillo ordered everybody
out.
| CHAPTER TWO Nostromo: a Tale of the Seaboard / Joseph Conrad | |