Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 2. CHAPTER TWO (continued)

"It is the most incredible, abominable use of power!" Captain
Mitchell declared in a loud voice. "And whatever your purpose,
you shall gain nothing from it, I can promise you."

The tall colonel, livid, with his coal-black ringlets and
moustache, crouched, as it were, to look into the eyes of the
short, thick-set, red-faced prisoner with rumpled white hair.

"That we shall see. You shall know my power a little better when
I tie you up to a potalon outside in the sun for a whole day." He
drew himself up haughtily, and made a sign for Captain Mitchell
to be led away.

"What about my watch?" cried Captain Mitchell, hanging back from
the efforts of the men pulling him towards the door.

Sotillo turned to his officers. "No! But only listen to this
picaro, caballeros," he pronounced with affected scorn, and was
answered by a chorus of derisive laughter. "He demands his
watch!" . . . He ran up again to Captain Mitchell, for the desire
to relieve his feelings by inflicting blows and pain upon this
Englishman was very strong within him. "Your watch! You are a
prisoner in war time, Mitchell! In war time! You have no rights
and no property! Caramba! The very breath in your body belongs to
me. Remember that."

"Bosh!" said Captain Mitchell, concealing a disagreeable
impression.

Down below, in a great hall, with the earthen floor and with a
tall mound thrown up by white ants in a corner, the soldiers had
kindled a small fire with broken chairs and tables near the
arched gateway, through which the faint murmur of the harbour
waters on the beach could be heard. While Captain Mitchell was
being led down the staircase, an officer passed him, running up
to report to Sotillo the capture of more prisoners. A lot of
smoke hung about in the vast gloomy place, the fire crackled,
and, as if through a haze, Captain Mitchell made out, surrounded
by short soldiers with fixed bayonets, the heads of three tall
prisoners--the doctor, the engineer-in-chief, and the white
leonine mane of old Viola, who stood half-turned away from the
others with his chin on his breast and his arms crossed.
Mitchell's astonishment knew no bounds. He cried out; the other
two exclaimed also. But he hurried on, diagonally, across the
big cavern-like hall. Lots of thoughts, surmises, hints of
caution, and so on, crowded his head to distraction.