Nostromo | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE

NOSTROMO A TALE OF THE SEABOARD

BY JOSEPH CONRAD

"So foul a sky clears not without a storm." - SHAKESPEARE

TO JOHN GALSWORTHY

AUTHOR'S NOTE
"NOSTROMO" is the most anxiously meditated of the longer novels which belong to the
period following upon the publication of the "Typhoon" volume of short stories.
I don't mean to say that I became then conscious of any impending change in my
mentality and in my attitude towards the tasks of my writing life. And perhaps there was
never any change, except in that mysterious, extraneous thing which has nothing to do
with the theories of art; a subtle change in the nature of the inspiration; a phenomenon for
which I can not in any way be held responsible. What, however, did cause me some
concern was that after finishing the last story of the "Typhoon" volume it seemed
somehow that there was nothing more in the world to write about.
This so strangely negative but disturbing mood lasted some little time; and then, as with
many of my longer stories, the first hint for "Nostromo" came to me in the shape of a
vagrant anecdote completely destitute of valuable details.
As a matter of fact in 1875 or '6, when very young, in the West Indies or rather in the
Gulf of Mexico, for my contacts with land were short, few, and fleeting, I heard the story
of some man who was supposed to have stolen single-handed a whole lighter-full of
silver, somewhere on the Tierra Firme seaboard during the troubles of a revolution.
On the face of it this was something of a feat. But I heard no details, and having no
particular interest in crime qua crime I was not likely to keep that one in my mind. And I
forgot it till twenty-six or seven years afterwards I came upon the very thing in a shabby
volume picked up outside a second-hand book-shop. It was the life story of an American
seaman written by himself with the assistance of a journalist. In the course of his
wanderings that American sailor worked for some months on board a schooner, the
master and owner of which was the thief of whom I had heard in my very young days. I
have no doubt of that because there could hardly have been two exploits of that peculiar
kind in the same part of the world and both connected with a South American revolution.
The fellow had actually managed to steal a lighter with silver, and this, it seems, only
because he was implicitly trusted by his employers, who must have been singularly poor
judges of character. In the sailor's story he is represented as an unmitigated rascal, a small
cheat, stupidly ferocious, morose, of mean appearance, and altogether unworthy of the
greatness this opportunity had thrust upon him. What was interesting was that he would

boast of it openly.
He used to say: "People think I make a lot of money in this schooner of mine. But that is
nothing. I don't care for that. Now and then I go away quietly and lift a bar of silver. I
must get rich slowly--you understand."
There was also another curious point about the man. Once in the course of some quarrel
the sailor threatened him: "What's to prevent me reporting ashore what you have told me
about that silver?"
The cynical ruffian was not alarmed in the least. He actually laughed. "You fool, if you
dare talk like that on shore about me you will get a knife stuck in