Bartleby the Scrivener: A Tale of Wall Street

BENITO CERENO 87
'
I am owner of all you see/ impatiently returned
Don Benito, '
except the main company of blacks, who
belonged to my late friend, Alexandro Aranda.'
As he mentioned this name, his air was heart-broken ;
his knees shook ;
his servant supported him.
Thinking he divined the cause of such unusual emotion,
to confirm his surmise, Captain Delano, after a pause,
'
said : And may I ask, Don Benito, whether— since
a while ago you spoke of some cabin — passengers the
friend, whose loss so afflicts you, at the outset of the
voyage accompanied
'
Yes.'
'
his blacks ?
'
But died of the fever ? '
*
Died of the fever. Oh, could I but •
Again quivering, the Spaniard paused.
'
Pardon me,' said Captain Delano lowly,
'
but I
think that, by a sympathetic experience, I conjecture,
Don Benito, what it is that gives the keener edge to
your grief.
It was once my hard fortune to lose, at sea,
a dear friend, my own brother, then supercargo. Assured
of the welfare of his spirit, its departure I could have
borne like a man ; but that honest eye, that honest
hand— both of which had so often met mine—and that
warm heart ; all, all— like scraps to the dogs — to throw
all to the sharks ! It was then I vowed never to have
for fellow-voyager a man I loved, unless, unbeknown to
him, I had provided every requisite, in case of a fatality,
for embalming his mortal part for interment on shore.
Were your friend's remains now on board this ship,
Don Benito, not thus strangely would the mention of his
name affect you.'
'
'
On board this ? ship echoed the Spaniard. Then,
with horrified gestures, as directed against some spectre,
he unconsciously fell into the ready arms of his attendant,
who, with a silent appeal toward Captain Delano, seemed