Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART SECOND: THE ISABELS 8. CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

"They are trying to make out where they are," said Decoud in a
whisper. Again he leaned over and put his fingers into the water.
"We are moving quite smartly," he informed Nostromo.

"We seem to be crossing her bows," said the Capataz in a cautious
tone. "But this is a blind game with death. Moving on is of no
use. We mustn't be seen or heard."

His whisper was hoarse with excitement. Of all his face there was
nothing visible but a gleam of white eyeballs. His fingers
gripped Decoud's shoulder. "That is the only way to save this
treasure from this steamer full of soldiers. Any other would
have carried lights. But you observe there is not a gleam to
show us where she is."

Decoud stood as if paralyzed; only his thoughts were wildly
active. In the space of a second he remembered the desolate
glance of Antonia as he left her at the bedside of her father in
the gloomy house of Avellanos, with shuttered windows, but all
the doors standing open, and deserted by all the servants except
an old negro at the gate. He remembered the Casa Gould on his
last visit, the arguments, the tones of his voice, the
impenetrable attitude of Charles, Mrs. Gould's face so blanched
with anxiety and fatigue that her eyes seemed to have changed
colour, appearing nearly black by contrast. Even whole sentences
of the proclamation which he meant to make Barrios issue from his
headquarters at Cayta as soon as he got there passed through his
mind; the very germ of the new State, the Separationist
proclamation which he had tried before he left to read hurriedly
to Don Jose, stretched out on his bed under the fixed gaze of his
daughter. God knows whether the old statesman had understood it;
he was unable to speak, but he had certainly lifted his arm off
the coverlet; his hand had moved as if to make the sign of the
cross in the air, a gesture of blessing, of consent. Decoud had
that very draft in his pocket, written in pencil on several loose
sheets of paper, with the heavily-printed heading,
"Administration of the San Tome Silver Mine. Sulaco. Republic of
Costaguana." He had written it furiously, snatching page after
page on Charles Gould's table. Mrs. Gould had looked several
times over his shoulder as he wrote; but the Senor Administrador,
standing straddle-legged, would not even glance at it when it was
finished. He had waved it away firmly. It must have been scorn,
and not caution, since he never made a remark about the use of
the Administration's paper for such a compromising document. And
that showed his disdain, the true English disdain of common
prudence, as if everything outside the range of their own
thoughts and feelings were unworthy of serious recognition.
Decoud had the time in a second or two to become furiously angry
with Charles Gould, and even resentful against Mrs. Gould, in
whose care, tacitly it is true, he had left the safety of
Antonia. Better perish a thousand times than owe your
preservation to such people, he exclaimed mentally. The grip of
Nostromo's fingers never removed from his shoulder, tightening
fiercely, recalled him to himself.