Page 439 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

single chair, table, sofa, etagere or console had been left in
the state rooms of the Intendencia. His Excellency, though
twitching all over with rage, was restrained from bursting
into violence by a sense of his remoteness and isolation. His
heroic brother was very far away. Meantime, how was he
going to take his siesta? He had expected to find comfort
and luxury in the Intendencia after a year of hard camp life,
ending with the hardships and privations of the daring dash
upon Sulaco—upon the province which was worth more in
wealth and influence than all the rest of the Republic’s ter-
ritory. He would get even with Gamacho by-and-by. And
Senor Gamacho’s oration, delectable to popular ears, went
on in the heat and glare of the Plaza like the uncouth howl-
ings of an inferior sort of devil cast into a white-hot furnace.
Every moment he had to wipe his streaming face with his
bare fore-arm; he had flung off his coat, and had turned up
the sleeves of his shirt high above the elbows; but he kept on
his head the large cocked hat with white plumes. His ingen-
uousness cherished this sign of his rank as Commandante
of the National Guards. Approving and grave murmurs
greeted his periods. His opinion was that war should be
declared at once against France, England, Germany, and
the United States, who, by introducing railways, mining
enterprises, colonization, and under such other shallow
pretences, aimed at robbing poor people of their lands, and
with the help of these Goths and paralytics, the aristocrats
would convert them into toiling and miserable slaves. And
the leperos, flinging about the corners of their dirty white
mantas, yelled their approbation. General Montero, Gama-

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard