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- be given by the captain. Yet at first the visitor was loth to ask it,
unwilling to provoke some distant rebuff. But plucking up courage, he
at last accosted Don Benito, renewing the expression of his benevolent
interest, adding, that did he (Captain Delano) but know the particulars
of the ship’s misfortunes, he would, perhaps, be better able in the end
to relieve them. Would Don Benito favor him with the whole story.
Don Benito faltered; then, like some somnambulist suddenly interfered
with, vacantly stared at his visitor, and ended by looking down on the
deck. He maintained this posture so long, that Captain Delano, almost
equally disconcerted, and involuntarily almost as rude, turned suddenly
from him, walking forward to accost one of the Spanish seamen for the
desired information. But he had hardly gone five paces, when, with a
sort of eagerness, Don Benito invited him back, regretting his
momentary absence of mind, and professing readiness to gratify him.
While most part of the story was being given, the two captains stood on
the after part of the main-deck, a privileged spot, no one being near
but the servant.
“It is now a hundred and ninety days,” began the Spaniard, in his husky
whisper, “that this ship, well officered and well manned, with several
cabin passengers—some fifty Spaniards in all—sailed from Buenos Ayres
bound to Lima, with a general cargo, hardware, Paraguay tea and the
like—and,” pointing forward, “that parcel of negroes, now not more than
a hundred and fifty, as you see, but then numbering over three hundred
souls. Off Cape Horn we had heavy gales. In one moment, by night, three
of my best officers, with fifteen sailors, were lost, with the
main-yard; the spar snapping under them in the slings, as they sought,
with heavers, to beat down the icy sail. To lighten the hull, the
heavier sacks of mata were thrown into the sea, with most of the
water-pipes lashed on deck at the time. And this last necessity it was,
combined with the prolonged detections afterwards experienced, which
eventually brought about our chief causes of suffering. When—”
Here there was a sudden fainting attack of his cough, brought on, no
doubt, by his mental distress. His servant sustained him, and drawing a
cordial from his pocket placed it to his lips. He a little revived. But
unwilling to leave him unsupported while yet imperfectly restored, the
black with one arm still encircled his master, at the same time keeping
his eye fixed on his face, as if to watch for the first sign of
complete restoration, or relapse, as the event might prove.
The Spaniard proceeded, but brokenly and obscurely, as one in a dream.
—“Oh, my God! rather than pass through what I have, with joy I would
have hailed the most terrible gales; but—”
His cough returned and with increased violence; this subsiding; with
reddened lips and closed eyes he fell heavily against his supporter.
“His mind wanders. He was thinking of the plague that followed the
gales,” plaintively sighed the servant; “my poor, poor master!”
wringing one hand, and with the other wiping the mouth. “But be
patient, Señor,” again turning to Captain Delano, “these fits do not
last long; master will soon be himself.”
Don Benito reviving, went on; but as this portion of the story was very
brokenly delivered, the substance only will here be set down.
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