Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard
by Joseph Conrad
Part Third: The Lighthouse
DIRECTLY the cargo
boat had slipped away from the wharf and got lost in the darkness of the
harbour the Europeans of Sulaco separated, to prepare for the coming of the
Monterist regime, which was approaching 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 defended
on the first day of the riot, standing open to the four winds of heaven.
Their men had conducted themselves 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. Amongst the
cries of the mob not the least loud had been the cry of death to foreigners.
It was, indeed, a lucky circumstance for Sulaco that the relations of those
imported workmen with the people of the country had been uniformly bad from
Doctor 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.
Algarrobe 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. Several 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 harbour?" 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 railway. You approve me, Gould?"
"Absolutely," said Charles Gould's impassive voice, high up and
outside the dim parallelogram of light falling on the road through the open
With Sotillo expected from one side, and Pedro Montero from the other, the
engineer-in-chief's 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 Gamacho.
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 communicated to them
the intelligence from the Construction Camp as to Pedro Montero. The brother
of the victorious general, he had assured them, could be expected at Sulaco
at any time now. This news (as he anticipated), when shouted out of the
window by Senor 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 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 harbour 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 hopelessly. Now the parties must be left to
"Costaguana for the Costaguaneros," interjected the doctor,
sardonically. "It is a fine country, and they have raised a fine crop
of hates, vengeance, murder, 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
Charles Gould rode on, and the engineer-in-chief followed the doctor
"That man is calmness personified," he said, appreciatively,
dropping on a bench, and stretching his well-shaped legs in cycling
stockings nearly across the doorway. "He must be extremely sure of
"If that's all he is sure of, then he is sure of nothing," 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." The candle,
half-consumed and burning dimly with a long wick, lighted up from below his
inclined face, whose expression affected by the drawn-in cicatrices in the
cheeks, had something vaguely unnatural, an exaggerated remorseful
bitterness. As he sat there he had the air of meditating upon sinister
things. The engineer-in-chief gazed at him for a time before he protested.
"I really don't see that. For me there seems to be nothing else.
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 unfavourable criticism. There could be no doubt of
his intelligence; 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 before, 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 Dictator.
Afterwards his story was not so clear. It lost itself amongst 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. The doctor made no 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 Dona Emilia had taken up
the mad English doctor, when it became apparent that for all his savage
independence he could be tamed by kindness. 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 to point to mere recklessness of judgment, the bravado of
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 amongst the conspirators. Nobody pretended
to believe that whisper; the whole story of the Great Conspiracy was
hopelessly involved and obscure; it is 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 punished 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 Albergo 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, appreciated the moral influence of
the old Garibaldino upon his countrymen. His austere, old-world
Republicanism had a severe, soldier-like standard of faithfulness and duty,
as if the world were a battlefield where men had to fight for the sake of
universal love and brotherhood, instead of a more or less large share of
"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 Doctor Monygham, with a toss
of his heavy head towards the narrow staircase. "Every living soul has
cleared out, and Mrs. Gould took the girls away just now. It might not be
over-safe 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 harbour," 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 cordial to me at
the Goulds' and at the club. How that man'll 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
executions." 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 regretfully, then said--
"I think we shall be able to mount you in the morning, doctor. Our
peons have recovered some of our stampeded horses. By riding hard and taking
a wide circuit by Los Hatos 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
anybody at all compromised. I only wish the railway was as difficult to
"Am I compromised?" Doctor Monygham brought out slowly after a
"The whole Gould Concession is compromised. It could not have remained
for ever 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 indefinitely 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 understood that as well as I do,
doctor. He was in the position 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 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 logical 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 draft of a
proclamation, and talking very well for two hours about his plan of action.
He had arguments which should have appeared solid enough if we, members of
old, stable political and national organizations, were not startled by the
mere idea of a new State evolved like this out of the head of a scoffing
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
three or four miles outside the harbour; and, as Mitchell says, Nostromo is
the sort of seaman to make the best of his opportunities." Here the
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 Rey 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 Sta. Marta I was
struck by the way all those journalists, demagogues, members of Congress,
and all those generals and judges cringed before a sleepy-eyed advocate
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 Costaguana had inoculated him with the local faith in "pronunciamientos."
All at once he began to talk, like an expert revolutionist, of the
instrument ready to hand in the intact army at Cayta, which could be 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
nothing 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 Tome mine with
the preservation of the Gould Concession in the spirit of his compact with
Holroyd. Holroyd is another uncommon man. They understand each other's
imaginative side. One is thirty, the other nearly sixty, and they have been
made for each other. To be a millionaire, 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 is better. One's time on earth is an uncertain
quantity, 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 themselves. I
begin to believe that the only solid thing about them is the spiritual value
which everyone 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 going
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 Napoleon of railways, no such word in your dictionary?"
"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 murmur of two voices, one faint and broken,
the other deep and gentle answering it, and in its graver tone covering the
The two men remained still and silent till the murmurs 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 he 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 engineer. "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. Marta. 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
harbour for the O.S.N. Company with great ability. He knows how to make
himself obeyed, foreigner though he is. It is true that the Cargadores 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
warmly 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 dismissed that consideration from our minds. Moreover,
Decoud was going. There have been occasions when the Capataz has been more
"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 harbour.
I suppose he obtains some--how do you say that?--some spiritual value for
his labours, 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 else
but a 'tramposo' of the commonest sort, a petty pedlar of the Campo, till he
managed to get enough goods on credit from Anzani to open a little store in
the wilds, and got 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 Isleno. He might have been a Cargador on the O. S. N.
wharf had he not (the posadero of Rincon is ready to swear it) murdered a
pedlar 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
clenched 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 is a man of birth and education--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 sickly fear of that ruffian was the most
rejoicing sight imaginable."
He got up and went to the door to look out towards the harbour. "All
quiet," he said; "I wonder if Sotillo really means to turn up