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3 -- DON BENITO'S STORY
The visitor's curiosity was roused to learn the particulars of
those mishaps which had brought about such absenteeism, with its
consequences; because, though deriving some inkling of the voyage from
the wails which at the first moment had greeted him, yet of the
details no clear understanding had been had. The best account would,
doubtless, be given by the captain. Yet at first the visitor was
loth to ask it, unwilling to provoke some distant rebuff. But plucking
up courage, he at last accosted Don Benito, renewing the expression of
his benevolent interest, adding, that did he (Captain Delano) but know
the particulars of the ship's misfortunes, he would, perhaps, be
better able in the end to relieve them. Would Don Benito favour him
with the whole story?
Don Benito faltered; then, like some somnambulist suddenly
interfered with, vacantly stared at his visitor, and ended by
looking down on the deck. He maintained this posture so long, that
Captain Delano, almost equally disconcerted, and involuntarily
almost as rude, turned suddenly from him, walking forward to accost
one of the Spanish seamen for the desired information. But he had
hardly gone five paces, when with a sort of eagerness Don Benito
invited him back, regretting his momentary absence of mind, and
professing readiness to gratify him.
While most part of the story was being given, the two captains
stood on the after part of the main-deck, a privileged spot, no one
being near but the servant.
"It is now a hundred and ninety days," began the Spaniard, in
his husky whisper, "that this ship, well officered and well manned,
with several cabin passengers -- some fifty Spaniards in all -- sailed
from Buenos Ayres bound to Lima, with a general cargo, Paraguay tea
and the like -- and," pointing forward, "that parcel of Negroes, now not
more than a hundred and fifty, as you see, but then numbering over
three hundred souls. Off Cape Horn we had heavy gales. In one
moment, by night, three of my best officers, with fifteen sailors,
were lost, with the main-yard; the spar snapping under them in the
slings, as they sought, with heavers, to beat down the icy sail. To
lighten the hull, the heavier sacks of mata were thrown into the
sea, with most of the water-pipes lashed on deck at the time. And this
last necessity it was, combined with the prolonged detentions
afterwards experienced, which eventually brought about our chief
causes of suffering. When --"
Here there was a sudden fainting attack of his cough, brought
on, no doubt, by his mental distress. His servant sustained him, and
drawing a cordial from his pocket placed it to his lips. He a little
revived. But unwilling to leave him unsupported while yet
imperfectly restored, the black with one arm still encircled his
master, at the same time keeping his eye fixed on his face, as if to
watch for the first sign of complete restoration, or relapse, as the
event might prove.
The Spaniard proceeded, but brokenly and obscurely, as one in a
dream.
-- "Oh, my God! rather than pass through what I have, with joy I
would have hailed the most terrible gales; but --"
His cough returned and with increased violence; this subsiding,
with reddened lips and closed eyes he fell heavily against his
supporter.
"His mind wanders. He was thinking of the plague that followed the
gales," plaintively sighed the servant; "my poor, poor master!"
wringing one hand, and with the other wiping the mouth. "But be
patient, Senor," again turning to Captain Delano, "these fits do not
last long; master will soon be himself."
Don Benito reviving, went on; but as this portion of the story was
very brokenly delivered, the substance only will here be set down.
It appeared that after the ship had been many days tossed in
storms off the Cape, the scurvy broke out, carrying off numbers of the
whites and blacks. When at last they had worked round into the
Pacific, their spars and sails were so damaged, and so inadequately
handled by the surviving mariners, most of whom were become
invalids, that, unable to lay her northerly course by the wind,
which was powerful, the unmanageable ship for successive days and
nights was blown northwestward, where the breeze suddenly deserted
her, in unknown waters, to sultry calms. The absence of the
water-pipes now proved as fatal to life as before their presence had
menaced it. Induced, or at least aggravated, by the more than scanty
allowance of water, a malignant fever followed the scurvy; with the
excessive heat of the lengthened calm, making such short work of it as
to sweep away, as by billows, whole families of the Africans, and a
yet larger number, proportionally, of the Spaniards, including, by a
luckless fatality, every officer on board. Consequently, in the
smart west winds eventually following the calm, the already rent sails
having to be simply dropped, not furled, at need, had been gradually
reduced to the beggar's rags they were now. To procure substitutes for
his lost sailors, as well as supplies of water and sails, the
captain at the earliest opportunity had made for Baldivia, the
southermost civilized port of Chili and South America; but upon
nearing the coast the thick weather had prevented him from so much
as sighting that harbour. Since which period, almost without a crew,
and almost without canvas and almost without water, and at intervals
giving its added dead to the sea, the San Dominick had been
battle-dored about by contrary winds, inveigled by currents, or
grown weedy in calms. Like a man lost in woods, more than once she had
doubled upon her own track.
"But throughout these calamities," huskily continued Don Benito,
painfully turning in the half embrace of his servant, "I have to thank
those Negroes you see, who, though to your inexperienced eyes
appearing unruly, have, indeed, conducted themselves with less of
restlessness than even their owner could have thought possible under
such circumstances."
Here he again fell faintly back. Again his mind wandered: but he
rallied, and less obscurely proceeded.
"Yes, their owner was quite right in assuring me that no fetters
would be needed with his blacks; so that while, as is wont in this
transportation, those Negroes have always remained upon deck -- not
thrust below, as in the Guineamen -- they have, also, from the
beginning, been freely permitted to range within given bounds at their
pleasure."
Once more the faintness returned -- his mind roved -- but, recovering,
he resumed:
"But it is Babo here to whom, under God, I owe not only my own
preservation, but likewise to him, chiefly, the merit is due, of
pacifying his more ignorant brethren, when at intervals tempted to
murmurings."
"Ah, master," sighed the black, bowing his face, "don't speak of
me; Babo is nothing; what Babo has done was but duty."
"Faithful fellow!" cried Captain Delano. "Don Benito, I envy you
such a friend; slave I cannot call him."
Benito Cereno
by Herman Melville
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