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- 2026-01-30T07:57:55.409Z
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- 4279
- text
- details more out of regard to common propriety, than from any
impression that weighty benefit to himself and his voyage was involved.
Soon, his manner became still more reserved. The effort was vain to
seek to draw him into social talk. Gnawed by his splenetic mood, he sat
twitching his beard, while to little purpose the hand of his servant,
mute as that on the wall, slowly pushed over the Canary.
Lunch being over, they sat down on the cushioned transom; the servant
placing a pillow behind his master. The long continuance of the calm
had now affected the atmosphere. Don Benito sighed heavily, as if for
breath.
“Why not adjourn to the cuddy,” said Captain Delano; “there is more air
there.” But the host sat silent and motionless.
Meantime his servant knelt before him, with a large fan of feathers.
And Francesco coming in on tiptoes, handed the negro a little cup of
aromatic waters, with which at intervals he chafed his master’s brow;
smoothing the hair along the temples as a nurse does a child’s. He
spoke no word. He only rested his eye on his master’s, as if, amid all
Don Benito’s distress, a little to refresh his spirit by the silent
sight of fidelity.
Presently the ship’s bell sounded two o’clock; and through the cabin
windows a slight rippling of the sea was discerned; and from the
desired direction.
“There,” exclaimed Captain Delano, “I told you so, Don Benito, look!”
He had risen to his feet, speaking in a very animated tone, with a view
the more to rouse his companion. But though the crimson curtain of the
stern-window near him that moment fluttered against his pale cheek, Don
Benito seemed to have even less welcome for the breeze than the calm.
Poor fellow, thought Captain Delano, bitter experience has taught him
that one ripple does not make a wind, any more than one swallow a
summer. But he is mistaken for once. I will get his ship in for him,
and prove it.
Briefly alluding to his weak condition, he urged his host to remain
quietly where he was, since he (Captain Delano) would with pleasure
take upon himself the responsibility of making the best use of the
wind.
Upon gaining the deck, Captain Delano started at the unexpected figure
of Atufal, monumentally fixed at the threshold, like one of those
sculptured porters of black marble guarding the porches of Egyptian
tombs.
But this time the start was, perhaps, purely physical. Atufal’s
presence, singularly attesting docility even in sullenness, was
contrasted with that of the hatchet-polishers, who in patience evinced
their industry; while both spectacles showed, that lax as Don Benito’s
general authority might be, still, whenever he chose to exert it, no
man so savage or colossal but must, more or less, bow.
Snatching a trumpet which hung from the bulwarks, with a free step
Captain Delano advanced to the forward edge of the poop, issuing his
orders in his best Spanish. The few sailors and many negroes, all
equally pleased, obediently set about heading the ship towards the
harbor.
While giving some directions about setting a lower stu’n’-sail,
suddenly Captain Delano heard a voice faithfully repeating his orders.
Turning, he saw Babo, now for the time acting, under the pilot, his
original part of captain of the slaves. This assistance proved
valuable. Tattered sails and warped yards were soon brought into some
trim. And no brace or halyard was pulled but to the blithe songs of the
inspirited negroes.
Good fellows, thought Captain Delano, a little training would make fine
sailors of them. Why see, the very women pull and sing too. These must
be some of those Ashantee negresses that make such capital soldiers,
I’ve heard. But who’s at the helm. I must have a good hand there.
He went to see.
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