Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART FIRST: THE SILVER OF THE MINE 8. CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

An enormous national flag of Costaguana, diagonal red and yellow,
with two green palm trees in the middle, floated lazily at the
mainmast head of the Juno. A multitude of fireworks being let off
in their thousands at the water's edge in honour of the President
kept up a mysterious crepitating noise half round the harbour.
Now and then a lot of rockets, swishing upwards invisibly,
detonated overhead with only a puff of smoke in the bright sky.
Crowds of people could be seen between the town gate and the
harbour, under the bunches of multicoloured flags fluttering on
tall poles. Faint bursts of military music would be heard
suddenly, and the remote sound of shouting. A knot of ragged
negroes at the end of the wharf kept on loading and firing a
small iron cannon time after time. A greyish haze of dust hung
thin and motionless against the sun.

Don Vincente Ribiera made a few steps under the deck-awning,
leaning on the arm of Senor Avellanos; a wide circle was formed
round him, where the mirthless smile of his dark lips and the
sightless glitter of his spectacles could be seen turning amiably
from side to side. The informal function arranged on purpose on
board the Juno to give the President-Dictator an opportunity to
meet intimately some of his most notable adherents in Sulaco was
drawing to an end. On one side, General Montero, his bald head
covered now by a plumed cocked hat, remained motionless on a
skylight seat, a pair of big gauntleted hands folded on the hilt
of the sabre standing upright between his legs. The white plume,
the coppery tint of his broad face, the blue-black of the
moustaches under the curved beak, the mass of gold on sleeves and
breast, the high shining boots with enormous spurs, the working
nostrils, the imbecile and domineering stare of the glorious
victor of Rio Seco had in them something ominous and incredible;
the exaggeration of a cruel caricature, the fatuity of solemn
masquerading, the atrocious grotesqueness of some military idol
of Aztec conception and European bedecking, awaiting the homage
of worshippers. Don Jose approached diplomatically this weird
and inscrutable portent, and Mrs. Gould turned her fascinated
eyes away at last.

Charles, coming up to take leave of Sir John, heard him say, as
he bent over his wife's hand, "Certainly. Of course, my dear
Mrs. Gould, for a protege of yours! Not the slightest
difficulty. Consider it done."