Becoming America - An Exploration of American Literature from Precolonial to Post-Revolution, 2018a

BECOMING AMERICA
REVOLUTIONARY AND EARLY NATIONAL PERIOD LITERATURE
At these words the Spaniard turned upon the American one of his sudden,
staring, half-lunatic looks; then, relapsing into his torpor, answered, “Doubtless,
doubtless, Señor.”
Is it, thought Captain Delano, that this hapless man is one of those paper
captains I’ve known, who by policy wink at what by power they cannot put down? I
know no sadder sight than a commander who has little of command but the name.
“I should think, Don Benito,” he now said, glancing towards the oakum-picker
who had sought to interfere with the boys, “that you would nd it advantageous
to keep all your blacks employed, especially the younger ones, no matter at what
useless task, and no matter what happens to the ship. Why, even with my little
band, I nd such a course indispensable. I once kept a crew on my quarter-deck
thrumming mats for my cabin, when, for three days, I had given up my ship—mats,
men, and all—for a speedy loss, owing to the violence of a gale, in which we could
do nothing but helplessly drive before it.”
“Doubtless, doubtless,” muttered Don Benito.
“But,” continued Captain Delano, again glancing upon the oakum-pickers
and then at the hatchet-polishers, near by, “I see you keep some, at least, of your
host employed.”
“Yes,” was again the vacant response.
“Those old men there, shaking their pows from their pulpits,” continued Captain
Delano, pointing to the oakum-pickers, “seem to act the part of old dominies to the
rest, little heeded as their admonitions are at times. Is this voluntary on their part,
Don Benito, or have you appointed them shepherds to your ock of black sheep?”
“What posts they ll, I appointed them,” rejoined the Spaniard, in an acrid
tone, as if resenting some supposed satiric reection.
“And these others, these Ashantee conjurors here,” continued Captain Delano,
rather uneasily eying the brandished steel of the hatchet-polishers, where, in spots,
it had been brought to a shine, “this seems a curious business they are at, Don
Benito?”
“In the gales we met,” answered the Spaniard, “what of our general cargo was
not thrown overboard was much damaged by the brine. Since coming into calm
weather, I have had several cases of knives and hatchets daily brought up for
overhauling and cleaning.”
“A prudent idea, Don Benito. You are part owner of ship and cargo, I presume;
but none of the slaves, perhaps?”
“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 conrm his surmise,
Captain Delano, after a pause, said: “And may I ask, Don Benito, whether—since
awhile ago you spoke of some cabin passengers—the friend, whose loss so aicts
you, at the outset of the voyage accompanied his blacks?”
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