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Nostromo, by Joseph Conrad

PART THIRD - THE LIGHTHOUSE - CHAPTER II

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_ 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 events which followed surpassed his
imagination. To 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 Senor 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, the dangers of the gentlemen of the Amarilla Club,
who 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 to see the time, and
observing with surprise that it 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 wharf, only a
very few yards from him. Then the low, 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 be
taken at once before their commanding officer. 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, in their impatience and excitement, would not give 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 this story, with his Jewish cunning, to put him
entirely 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, bareheaded, 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 could tell him, if he
chose, everything he wished to 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 Senor 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 shall be made to pay for this."
He had certainly 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 soldiers, picking up from the
floor the rifles they had 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 was fond of jewels, gold trinkets, of personal
adornment. 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 Tome 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 party to
stealing it. It was stolen from the Government. 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 royalty and the Custom House permit of
embarkation, 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 very breath in your body belongs to
me. Remember 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 at the very
moment of being thrust head foremost 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 Senor 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 and insulting charge? he
asked himself. But his 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
talking in there with the door open, and no doubt they 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! 'Senor 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! All this took less than
five minutes, and then I ran down 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 Tome 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 Jose 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. _

Read next: PART THIRD - THE LIGHTHOUSE: CHAPTER III

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