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"
He
turned
again
to
his
pocket-book
,
glanced
back
through
the
pages
,
and
again
started
his
pencil
.
"
That
was
the
position
yesterday
,
after
the
Minerva
with
the
fugitive
President
had
gone
out
of
harbour
,
and
the
rioters
had
been
driven
back
into
the
side
lanes
of
the
town
.
I
sat
on
the
steps
of
the
cathedral
with
Nostromo
,
after
sending
out
the
cable
message
for
the
information
of
a
more
or
less
attentive
world
.
Strangely
enough
,
though
the
offices
of
the
Cable
Company
are
in
the
same
building
as
the
Porvenir
,
the
mob
,
which
has
thrown
my
presses
out
of
the
window
and
scattered
the
type
all
over
the
Plaza
,
has
been
kept
from
interfering
with
the
instruments
on
the
other
side
of
the
courtyard
.
As
I
sat
talking
with
Nostromo
,
Bernhardt
,
the
telegraphist
,
came
out
from
under
the
Arcades
with
a
piece
of
paper
in
his
hand
.
The
little
man
had
tied
himself
up
to
an
enormous
sword
and
was
hung
all
over
with
revolvers
.
He
is
ridiculous
,
but
the
bravest
German
of
his
size
that
ever
tapped
the
key
of
a
Morse
transmitter
.
He
had
received
the
message
from
Cayta
reporting
the
transports
with
Barrios
's
army
just
entering
the
port
,
and
ending
with
the
words
,
'
The
greatest
enthusiasm
prevails
.
'
I
walked
off
to
drink
some
water
at
the
fountain
,
and
I
was
shot
at
from
the
Alameda
by
somebody
hiding
behind
a
tree
.
But
I
drank
,
and
did
n't
care
;
with
Barrios
in
Cayta
and
the
great
Cordillera
between
us
and
Montero
's
victorious
army
I
seemed
,
notwithstanding
Messrs.
Gamacho
and
Fuentes
,
to
hold
my
new
State
in
the
hollow
of
my
hand
.
I
was
ready
to
sleep
,
but
when
I
got
as
far
as
the
Casa
Gould
I
found
the
patio
full
of
wounded
laid
out
on
straw
.
Lights
were
burning
,
and
in
that
enclosed
courtyard
on
that
hot
night
a
faint
odour
of
chloroform
and
blood
hung
about
.
At
one
end
Doctor
Monygham
,
the
doctor
of
the
mine
,
was
dressing
the
wounds
;
at
the
other
,
near
the
stairs
,
Father
Corbelan
,
kneeling
,
listened
to
the
confession
of
a
dying
Cargador
.
Mrs.
Gould
was
walking
about
through
these
shambles
with
a
large
bottle
in
one
hand
and
a
lot
of
cotton
wool
in
the
other
.
She
just
looked
at
me
and
never
even
winked
.
Her
camerista
was
following
her
,
also
holding
a
bottle
,
and
sobbing
gently
to
herself
.
"
I
busied
myself
for
some
time
in
fetching
water
from
the
cistern
for
the
wounded
.
Afterwards
I
wandered
upstairs
,
meeting
some
of
the
first
ladies
of
Sulaco
,
paler
than
I
had
ever
seen
them
before
,
with
bandages
over
their
arms
.
Not
all
of
them
had
fled
to
the
ships
.
A
good
many
had
taken
refuge
for
the
day
in
the
Casa
Gould
.
On
the
landing
a
girl
,
with
her
hair
half
down
,
was
kneeling
against
the
wall
under
the
niche
where
stands
a
Madonna
in
blue
robes
and
a
gilt
crown
on
her
head
.
I
think
it
was
the
eldest
Miss
Lopez
;
I
could
n't
see
her
face
,
but
I
remember
looking
at
the
high
French
heel
of
her
little
shoe
.
She
did
not
make
a
sound
,
she
did
not
stir
,
she
was
not
sobbing
;
she
remained
there
,
perfectly
still
,
all
black
against
the
white
wall
,
a
silent
figure
of
passionate
piety
.
I
am
sure
she
was
no
more
frightened
than
the
other
white-faced
ladies
I
met
carrying
bandages
.
One
was
sitting
on
the
top
step
tearing
a
piece
of
linen
hastily
into
strips
--
the
young
wife
of
an
elderly
man
of
fortune
here
.
She
interrupted
herself
to
wave
her
hand
to
my
bow
,
as
though
she
were
in
her
carriage
on
the
Alameda
.
The
women
of
our
country
are
worth
looking
at
during
a
revolution
.
The
rouge
and
pearl
powder
fall
off
,
together
with
that
passive
attitude
towards
the
outer
world
which
education
,
tradition
,
custom
impose
upon
them
from
the
earliest
infancy
.
I
thought
of
your
face
,
which
from
your
infancy
had
the
stamp
of
intelligence
instead
of
that
patient
and
resigned
cast
which
appears
when
some
political
commotion
tears
down
the
veil
of
cosmetics
and
usage
.
"
In
the
great
sala
upstairs
a
sort
of
Junta
of
Notables
was
sitting
,
the
remnant
of
the
vanished
Provincial
Assembly
.
Don
Juste
Lopez
had
had
half
his
beard
singed
off
at
the
muzzle
of
a
trabuco
loaded
with
slugs
,
of
which
every
one
missed
him
,
providentially
.
And
as
he
turned
his
head
from
side
to
side
it
was
exactly
as
if
there
had
been
two
men
inside
his
frock-coat
,
one
nobly
whiskered
and
solemn
,
the
other
untidy
and
scared
.
"
They
raised
a
cry
of
'
Decoud
!
Don
Martin
!
'
at
my
entrance
.
I
asked
them
,
'
What
are
you
deliberating
upon
,
gentlemen
?
'
There
did
not
seem
to
be
any
president
,
though
Don
Jose
Avellanos
sat
at
the
head
of
the
table
.
They
all
answered
together
,
'
On
the
preservation
of
life
and
property
.
'
'
Till
the
new
officials
arrive
,
'
Don
Juste
explained
to
me
,
with
the
solemn
side
of
his
face
offered
to
my
view
.
It
was
as
if
a
stream
of
water
had
been
poured
upon
my
glowing
idea
of
a
new
State
.
There
was
a
hissing
sound
in
my
ears
,
and
the
room
grew
dim
,
as
if
suddenly
filled
with
vapour
.
"
I
walked
up
to
the
table
blindly
,
as
though
I
had
been
drunk
.
'
You
are
deliberating
upon
surrender
,
'
I
said
.
They
all
sat
still
,
with
their
noses
over
the
sheet
of
paper
each
had
before
him
,
God
only
knows
why
.
Only
Don
Jose
hid
his
face
in
his
hands
,
muttering
,
'
Never
,
never
!
'
But
as
I
looked
at
him
,
it
seemed
to
me
that
I
could
have
blown
him
away
with
my
breath
,
he
looked
so
frail
,
so
weak
,
so
worn
out
.
Whatever
happens
,
he
will
not
survive
.
The
deception
is
too
great
for
a
man
of
his
age
;
and
has
n't
he
seen
the
sheets
of
'
Fifty
Years
of
Misrule
,
'
which
we
have
begun
printing
on
the
presses
of
the
Porvenir
,
littering
the
Plaza
,
floating
in
the
gutters
,
fired
out
as
wads
for
trabucos
loaded
with
handfuls
of
type
,
blown
in
the
wind
,
trampled
in
the
mud
?
I
have
seen
pages
floating
upon
the
very
waters
of
the
harbour
.
It
would
be
unreasonable
to
expect
him
to
survive
.
It
would
be
cruel
.
