Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 12. CHAPTER TWELVE (continued)

His frown deepened as, in the early morning, he watched the
stone-masons go off to the Great Isabel, in lighters loaded with
squared blocks of stone, enough to add another course to the
squat light-tower. That was the rate of the work. One course per
day.

And Captain Fidanza meditated. The presence of strangers on the
island would cut him completely off the treasure. It had been
difficult and dangerous enough before. He was afraid, and he was
angry. He thought with the resolution of a master and the cunning
of a cowed slave. Then he went ashore.

He was a man of resource and ingenuity; and, as usual, the
expedient he found at a critical moment was effective enough to
alter the situation radically. He had the gift of evolving safety
out of the very danger, this incomparable Nostromo, this "fellow
in a thousand." With Giorgio established on the Great Isabel,
there would be no need for concealment. He would be able to go
openly, in daylight, to see his daughters--one of his
daughters--and stay late talking to the old Garibaldino. Then in
the dark . . . Night after night . . . He would dare to grow rich
quicker now. He yearned to clasp, embrace, absorb, subjugate in
unquestioned possession this treasure, whose tyranny had weighed
upon his mind, his actions, his very sleep.

He went to see his friend Captain Mitchell--and the thing was
done as Dr. Monygham had related to Mrs. Gould. When the project
was mooted to the Garibaldino, something like the faint
reflection, the dim ghost of a very ancient smile, stole under
the white and enormous moustaches of the old hater of kings and
ministers. His daughters were the object of his anxious care.
The younger, especially. Linda, with her mother's voice, had
taken more her mother's place. Her deep, vibrating "Eh, Padre?"
seemed, but for the change of the word, the very echo of the
impassioned, remonstrating "Eh, Giorgio?" of poor Signora Teresa.
It was his fixed opinion that the town was no proper place for
his girls. The infatuated but guileless Ramirez was the object of
his profound aversion, as resuming the sins of the country whose
people were blind, vile esclavos.