, except for the faint sound of firing to
the northward, in the direction of Los Hatos. Captain Mitchell had listened to
it from his balcony anxiously. The phrase, »In my delicate position as the only
consular agent then in the port, everything, sir, everything was a just cause
for anxiety,« had its place in the more or less stereotyped relation of the
historical events which for the next few years was at the service of
distinguished strangers visiting Sulaco. The mention of the dignity and
neutrality of the flag, so difficult to preserve in his position, »right in the
thick of these events between the lawlessness of that piratical villain Sotillo
and the more regularly established but scarcely less atrocious tyranny of his
Excellency Don Pedro Montero,« came next in order. Captain Mitchell was not the
man to enlarge upon mere dangers much. But he insisted that it was a memorable
day. On that day, towards dusk, he had seen »that poor fellow of mine -
Nostromo. The sailor whom I discovered, and, I may say, made, sir. The man of
the famous ride to Cayta, sir. An historical event, sir!«
    Regarded by the O.S.N. Company as an old and faithful servant, Captain
Mitchell was allowed to attain the term of his usefulness in ease and dignity at
the head of the enormously extended service. The augmentation of the
establishment, with its crowds of clerks, an office in town, the old office in
the harbour, the division into departments - passenger, cargo, lighterage, and
so on - secured a greater leisure for his last years in the regenerated Sulaco,
the capital of the Occidental Republic. Liked by the natives for his good nature
and the formality of his manner, self-important and simple, known for years as a
friend of our country, he felt himself a personality of mark in the town.
Getting up early for a turn in the market-place while the gigantic shadow of
Higuerota was still lying upon the fruit and flower stalls piled up with masses
of gorgeous colouring, attending easily to current affairs, welcomed in houses,
greeted by ladies on the Alameda, with his entry into all the clubs and a
footing in the Casa Gould, he led his privileged old bachelor, man-about-town
existence with great comfort and solemnity. But on mail-boat days he was down at
the Harbour Office at an early hour, with his own gig, manned by a smart crew in
white and blue, ready to dash off and board the ship directly she showed her
bows between the