Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 8. CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

He climbed the crumbling slope of the rampart, and, putting aside
the bushes, looked upon the harbour. He saw a couple of ships at
anchor upon the sheet of water reflecting the last gleams of
light, and Sotillo's steamer moored to the jetty. And behind the
pale long front of the Custom House, there appeared the extent of
the town like a grove of thick timber on the plain with a gateway
in front, and the cupolas, towers, and miradors rising above the
trees, all dark, as if surrendered already to the night. The
thought that it was no longer open to him to ride through the
streets, recognized by everyone, great and little, as he used to
do every evening on his way to play monte in the posada of the
Mexican Domingo; or to sit in the place of honour, listening to
songs and looking at dances, made it appear to him as a town that
had no existence.

For a long time he gazed on, then let the parted bushes spring
back, and, crossing over to the other side of the fort, surveyed
the vaster emptiness of the great gulf. The Isabels stood out
heavily upon the narrowing long band of red in the west, which
gleamed low between their black shapes, and the Capataz thought
of Decoud alone there with the treasure. That man was the only
one who cared whether he fell into the hands of the Monterists or
not, the Capataz reflected bitterly. And that merely would be an
anxiety for his own sake. As to the rest, they neither knew nor
cared. What he had heard Giorgio Viola say once was very true.
Kings, ministers, aristocrats, the rich in general, kept the
people in poverty and subjection; they kept them as they kept
dogs, to fight and hunt for their service.

The darkness of the sky had descended to the line of the horizon,
enveloping the whole gulf, the islets, and the lover of Antonia
alone with the treasure on the Great Isabel. The Capataz, turning
his back on these things invisible and existing, sat down and
took his face between his fists. He felt the pinch of poverty for
the first time in his life. To find himself without money after a
run of bad luck at monte in the low, smoky room of Domingo's
posada, where the fraternity of Cargadores gambled, sang, and
danced of an evening; to remain with empty pockets after a burst
of public generosity to some peyne d'oro girl or other (for whom
he did not care), had none of the humiliation of destitution. He
remained rich in glory and reputation. But since it was no longer
possible for him to parade the streets of the town, and be hailed
with respect in the usual haunts of his leisure, this sailor felt
himself destitute indeed.