- end_line
- 3747
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:55.409Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3681
- text
- compromise.
Yes, this is a strange craft; a strange history, too, and strange folks
on board. But—nothing more.
By way of keeping his mind out of mischief till the boat should arrive,
he tried to occupy it with turning over and over, in a purely
speculative sort of way, some lesser peculiarities of the captain and
crew. Among others, four curious points recurred:
First, the affair of the Spanish lad assailed with a knife by the slave
boy; an act winked at by Don Benito. Second, the tyranny in Don
Benito’s treatment of Atufal, the black; as if a child should lead a
bull of the Nile by the ring in his nose. Third, the trampling of the
sailor by the two negroes; a piece of insolence passed over without so
much as a reprimand. Fourth, the cringing submission to their master,
of all the ship’s underlings, mostly blacks; as if by the least
inadvertence they feared to draw down his despotic displeasure.
Coupling these points, they seemed somewhat contradictory. But what
then, thought Captain Delano, glancing towards his now nearing
boat—what then? Why, Don Benito is a very capricious commander. But he
is not the first of the sort I have seen; though it’s true he rather
exceeds any other. But as a nation—continued he in his reveries—these
Spaniards are all an odd set; the very word Spaniard has a curious,
conspirator, Guy-Fawkish twang to it. And yet, I dare say, Spaniards in
the main are as good folks as any in Duxbury, Massachusetts. Ah good!
At last “Rover” has come.
As, with its welcome freight, the boat touched the side, the
oakum-pickers, with venerable gestures, sought to restrain the blacks,
who, at the sight of three gurried water-casks in its bottom, and a
pile of wilted pumpkins in its bow, hung over the bulwarks in
disorderly raptures.
Don Benito, with his servant, now appeared; his coming, perhaps,
hastened by hearing the noise. Of him Captain Delano sought permission
to serve out the water, so that all might share alike, and none injure
themselves by unfair excess. But sensible, and, on Don Benito’s
account, kind as this offer was, it was received with what seemed
impatience; as if aware that he lacked energy as a commander, Don
Benito, with the true jealousy of weakness, resented as an affront any
interference. So, at least, Captain Delano inferred.
In another moment the casks were being hoisted in, when some of the
eager negroes accidentally jostled Captain Delano, where he stood by
the gangway; so, that, unmindful of Don Benito, yielding to the impulse
of the moment, with good-natured authority he bade the blacks stand
back; to enforce his words making use of a half-mirthful, half-menacing
gesture. Instantly the blacks paused, just where they were, each negro
and negress suspended in his or her posture, exactly as the word had
found them—for a few seconds continuing so—while, as between the
responsive posts of a telegraph, an unknown syllable ran from man to
man among the perched oakum-pickers. While the visitor’s attention was
fixed by this scene, suddenly the hatchet-polishers half rose, and a
rapid cry came from Don Benito.
Thinking that at the signal of the Spaniard he was about to be
massacred, Captain Delano would have sprung for his boat, but paused,
as the oakum-pickers, dropping down into the crowd with earnest
exclamations, forced every white and every negro back, at the same
moment, with gestures friendly and familiar, almost jocose, bidding
him, in substance, not be a fool. Simultaneously the hatchet-polishers
resumed their seats, quietly as so many tailors, and at once, as if
nothing had happened, the work of hoisting in the casks was resumed,
whites and blacks singing at the tackle.
- title
- Chunk 12