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

BECOMING AMERICA
REVOLUTIONARY AND EARLY NATIONAL PERIOD LITERATURE
Delano forever. Why decline the invitation to visit the sealer that evening? Or
was the Spaniard less hardened than the Jew, who refrained not from supping
at the board of him whom the same night he meant to betray? What imported all
those day-long enigmas and contradictions, except they were intended to mystify,
preliminary to some stealthy blow? Atufal, the pretended rebel, but punctual
shadow, that moment lurked by the threshold without. He seemed a sentry, and
more. Who, by his own confession, had stationed him there? Was the negro now
lying in wait?
The Spaniard behind—his creature before: to rush from darkness to light was
the involuntary choice.
The next moment, with clenched jaw and hand, he passed Atufal, and stood
unharmed in the light. As he saw his trim ship lying peacefully at anchor, and
almost within ordinary call; as he saw his household boat, with familiar faces in
it, patiently rising and falling, on the short waves by the San Dominick’s side; and
then, glancing about the decks where he stood, saw the oakum-pickers still gravely
plying their ngers; and heard the low, buzzing whistle and industrious hum of the
hatchet-polishers, still bestirring themselves over their endless occupation; and
more than all, as he saw the benign aspect of nature, taking her innocent repose
in the evening; the screened sun in the quiet camp of the west shining out like the
mild light from Abraham’s tent; as charmed eye and ear took in all these, with
the chained gure of the black, clenched jaw and hand relaxed. Once again he
smiled at the phantoms which had mocked him, and felt something like a tinge of
remorse, that, by harboring them even for a moment, he should, by implication,
have betrayed an atheist doubt of the ever-watchful Providence above.
There was a few minutes’ delay, while, in obedience to his orders, the boat
was being hooked along to the gangway. During this interval, a sort of saddened
satisfaction stole over Captain Delano, at thinking of the kindly oces he had that
day discharged for a stranger. Ah, thought he, after good actions one’s conscience
is never ungrateful, however much so the beneted party may be.
Presently, his foot, in the rst act of descent into the boat, pressed the rst round
of the side-ladder, his face presented inward upon the deck. In the same moment,
he heard his name courteously sounded; and, to his pleased surprise, saw Don
Benito advancing—an unwonted energy in his air, as if, at the last moment, intent
upon making amends for his recent discourtesy. With instinctive good feeling,
Captain Delano, withdrawing his foot, turned and reciprocally advanced. As he
did so, the Spaniard’s nervous eagerness increased, but his vital energy failed; so
that, the better to support him, the servant, placing his master’s hand on his naked
shoulder, and gently holding it there, formed himself into a sort of crutch.
When the two captains met, the Spaniard again fervently took the hand of the
American, at the same time casting an earnest glance into his eyes, but, as before,
too much overcome to speak.
I have done him wrong, self-reproachfully thought Captain Delano; his
apparent coldness has deceived me: in no instance has he meant to oend.
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