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

BECOMING AMERICA
REVOLUTIONARY AND EARLY NATIONAL PERIOD LITERATURE
seen; though it’s true he rather exceeds any other. But as a nation—continued he
in his reveries—these Spaniards are all an odd set; the very word Spaniard has a
curious, conspirator, Guy-Fawkish twang to it. And yet, I dare say, Spaniards in the
main are as good folks as any in Duxbury, Massachusetts. Ah good! last “Rover”
has come.
As, with its welcome freight, the boat touched the side, the oakum-pickers,
with venerable gestures, sought to restrain the blacks, who, at the sight of three
gurried water-casks in its bottom, and a pile of wilted pumpkins in its bow, hung
over the bulwarks in disorderly raptures.
Don Benito, with his servant, now appeared; his coming, perhaps, hastened by
hearing the noise. Of him Captain Delano sought permission to serve out the water,
so that all might share alike, and none injure themselves by unfair excess. But
sensible, and, on Don Benito’s account, kind as this oer was, it was received with
what seemed impatience; as if aware that he lacked energy as a commander, Don
Benito, with the true jealousy of weakness, resented as an aront any interference.
So, at least, Captain Delano inferred.
In another moment the casks were being hoisted in, when some of the eager
negroes accidentally jostled Captain Delano, where he stood by the gangway; so,
that, unmindful of Don Benito, yielding to the impulse of the moment, with goodnatured
authority he bade the blacks stand back; to enforce his words making use
of a half-mirthful, half-menacing gesture. Instantly the blacks paused, just where
they were, each negro and negress suspended in his or her posture, exactly as the
word had found them—for a few seconds continuing so—while, as between the
responsive posts of a telegraph, an unknown syllable ran from man to man among
the perched oakum-pickers. While the visitor’s attention was xed by this scene,
suddenly the hatchet-polishers half rose, and a rapid cry came from Don Benito.
Thinking that at the signal of the Spaniard he was about to be massacred,
Captain Delano would have sprung for his boat, but paused, as the oakum-pickers,
dropping down into the crowd with earnest exclamations, forced every white and
every negro back, at the same moment, with gestures friendly and familiar, almost
jocose, bidding him, in substance, not be a fool. Simultaneously the hatchetpolishers
resumed their seats, quietly as so many tailors, and at once, as if nothing
had happened, the work of hoisting in the casks was resumed, whites and blacks
singing at the tackle.
Captain Delano glanced towards Don Benito. As he saw his meagre form in
the act of recovering itself from reclining in the servant’s arms, into which the
agitated invalid had fallen, he could not but marvel at the panic by which himself
had been surprised, on the darting supposition that such a commander, who,
upon a legitimate occasion, so trivial, too, as it now appeared, could lose all selfcommand,
was, with energetic iniquity, going to bring about his murder.
The casks being on deck, Captain Delano was handed a number of jars and
cups by one of the steward’s aids, who, in the name of his captain, entreated
him to do as he had proposed—dole out the water. He complied, with republican
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