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- feeling which the full-blooded African entertains for the adulterated
one. As for the steward, his manner, if not bespeaking much dignity of
self-respect, yet evidenced his extreme desire to please; which is
doubly meritorious, as at once Christian and Chesterfieldian.
Captain Delano observed with interest that while the complexion of the
mulatto was hybrid, his physiognomy was European—classically so.
“Don Benito,” whispered he, “I am glad to see this
usher-of-the-golden-rod of yours; the sight refutes an ugly remark once
made to me by a Barbadoes planter; that when a mulatto has a regular
European face, look out for him; he is a devil. But see, your steward
here has features more regular than King George’s of England; and yet
there he nods, and bows, and smiles; a king, indeed—the king of kind
hearts and polite fellows. What a pleasant voice he has, too?”
“He has, Señor.”
“But tell me, has he not, so far as you have known him, always proved a
good, worthy fellow?” said Captain Delano, pausing, while with a final
genuflexion the steward disappeared into the cabin; “come, for the
reason just mentioned, I am curious to know.”
“Francesco is a good man,” a sort of sluggishly responded Don Benito,
like a phlegmatic appreciator, who would neither find fault nor
flatter.
“Ah, I thought so. For it were strange, indeed, and not very creditable
to us white-skins, if a little of our blood mixed with the African’s,
should, far from improving the latter’s quality, have the sad effect of
pouring vitriolic acid into black broth; improving the hue, perhaps,
but not the wholesomeness.”
“Doubtless, doubtless, Señor, but”—glancing at Babo—“not to speak of
negroes, your planter’s remark I have heard applied to the Spanish and
Indian intermixtures in our provinces. But I know nothing about the
matter,” he listlessly added.
And here they entered the cabin.
The lunch was a frugal one. Some of Captain Delano’s fresh fish and
pumpkins, biscuit and salt beef, the reserved bottle of cider, and the
San Dominick’s last bottle of Canary.
As they entered, Francesco, with two or three colored aids, was
hovering over the table giving the last adjustments. Upon perceiving
their master they withdrew, Francesco making a smiling congé, and the
Spaniard, without condescending to notice it, fastidiously remarking to
his companion that he relished not superfluous attendance.
Without companions, host and guest sat down, like a childless married
couple, at opposite ends of the table, Don Benito waving Captain Delano
to his place, and, weak as he was, insisting upon that gentleman being
seated before himself.
The negro placed a rug under Don Benito’s feet, and a cushion behind
his back, and then stood behind, not his master’s chair, but Captain
Delano’s. At first, this a little surprised the latter. But it was soon
evident that, in taking his position, the black was still true to his
master; since by facing him he could the more readily anticipate his
slightest want.
“This is an uncommonly intelligent fellow of yours, Don Benito,”
whispered Captain Delano across the table.
“You say true, Señor.”
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