Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART FIRST: THE SILVER OF THE MINE 8. CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

The reception of the first consignment of San Tome silver for
shipment to San Francisco in one of the O.S.N. Co.'s mail-boats
had, of course, "marked an epoch" for Captain Mitchell. The
ingots packed in boxes of stiff ox-hide with plaited handles,
small enough to be carried easily by two men, were brought down
by the serenos of the mine walking in careful couples along the
half-mile or so of steep, zigzag paths to the foot of the
mountain. There they would be loaded into a string of two-wheeled
carts, resembling roomy coffers with a door at the back, and
harnessed tandem with two mules each, waiting under the guard of
armed and mounted serenos. Don Pepe padlocked each door in
succession, and at the signal of his whistle the string of carts
would move off, closely surrounded by the clank of spur and
carbine, with jolts and cracking of whips, with a sudden deep
rumble over the boundary bridge ("into the land of thieves and
sanguinary macaques," Don Pepe defined that crossing); hats
bobbing in the first light of the dawn, on the heads of cloaked
figures; Winchesters on hip; bridle hands protruding lean and
brown from under the falling folds of the ponchos. The convoy
skirting a little wood, along the mine trail, between the mud
huts and low walls of Rincon, increased its pace on the camino
real, mules urged to speed, escort galloping, Don Carlos riding
alone ahead of a dust storm affording a vague vision of long ears
of mules, of fluttering little green and white flags stuck upon
each cart; of raised arms in a mob of sombreros with the white
gleam of ranging eyes; and Don Pepe, hardly visible in the rear
of that rattling dust trail, with a stiff seat and impassive
face, rising and falling rhythmically on an ewe-necked
silver-bitted black brute with a hammer head.

The sleepy people in the little clusters of huts, in the small
ranches near the road, recognized by the headlong sound the
charge of the San Tome silver escort towards the crumbling wall
of the city on the Campo side. They came to the doors to see it
dash by over ruts and stones, with a clatter and clank and
cracking of whips, with the reckless rush and precise driving of
a field battery hurrying into action, and the solitary English
figure of the Senor Administrador riding far ahead in the lead.