Bartleby the Scrivener: A Tale of Wall Street

BENITO CERENO 103
surveying the white faces, here and there sparsely mixed
in with the blacks, like stray white pawns venturously
involved in the ranks of the chessmen opposed.
While thinking which of them to select for his purpose,
he chanced to observe a sailor seated on the deck engaged
in tarring the. strap of a large block, a circle of blacks
squatted round him inquisitively eyeing the process.
The mean employment of the man was in contrast
with something superior in his figure. His hand, black
with continually thrusting it into the tar-pot held for
him by a negro, seemed not naturally allied to his
face, a face which would have been a very fine one but
for its haggardness. Whether this haggardness had
aught to do with criminality, could not be determined ;
since, as intense heat and cold, though unlike, produce
like sensations, so innocence and guilt, when, through
casual association with mental pain, stamping any visible
impress, use one seal— a hacked one.
Not again that this reflection occurred to Captain
Delano at the time, charitable man as he was. Rather
another idea. Because observing so singular a haggardness
combined with a dark eye, averted as in trouble
and shame, and then again recalling Don Benito's con-
fessed ill opinion of his crew, insensibly he was operated
upon by certain general notions which, while discon-
necting pain and abashment from virtue, invariably link
them with vice.
If, indeed, there be any wickedness on board this
ship, thought Captain Delano, be sure that man there
has fouled his hand in it, even as now he fouls it in
the pitch. I don't like to accost him. I will speak
to this other, this old Jack here on the windlass.
He advanced to an old Barcelona tar, in ragged red
breeches and dirty night-cap, cheeks trenched and
bronzed, whiskers dense as thorn hedges. Seated be-