Chapter XVIII: The Plume-Hunters’ Dinner-Party

The one-eyed man, Mr. Billy Nutt, and his friend and partner, whose name was apparently Hank without further attachment, made a livelihood by transgressing the laws of the United States and supplying a strong demand. Ladies of Society wished for egret plumes and other feathers for external adornment, and the Seminole of the Everglades desired corn whisky for his stomach’s sake; and whilst Game Regulations forbade collection of the first, Indians’ Protection Acts vetoed all distribution of the second. And for the transgressor there were distinct and heavy penalties.

But, to begin with, States law does not carry very far in Florida, which is the home of outlaws; and, in the second place, Mr. Nutt and friend were both “wanted” on several counts already, amongst which unjustifiable homicide ranked high; so that they were men entirely reckless, and inclined to look upon poaching, and illicit whisky peddling to the aboriginal, as the mildest of mild peccadilloes. Moreover, as in furtherance of their business they were extremely well armed, and apt to shoot first and reflect afterwards when annoyed, they were not persons to be argued with by any of the more gentle methods.

The three men on the steamer were in no way prepared to receive these dubious visitors—were, in fact, completely oblivious of their approach, being still chained in the deadest slumber. The sun had drooped below the treetops, and already the night noises of the forest were beginning—the rattle of crickets and toads in the trees, the grunting of the bullfrogs in the swamp, the dry rustle of the jar-flies, and the warm hum of the never-sleeping mosquito. In the darker tree aisles there commenced the fireflies’ brief snappings of light; and in the black, shadowed water of the bayous were other phosphorescent glows, like these, only coming from the eyes of some prowling alligator.

The sloop ran down her jib topsail, and as the iron hanks screamed along the stay a negro trotted nimbly out along the flat bowsprit top to secure the sail in its gaskets. The wind was dropping with the sun, and because the current raced manfully down the bight where the stranded steamer was lying, the sloop made but a fathom or so to the good by every board across the river. The one-eyed man danced a barefoot tattoo of fury on the floorboards of the cockpit at this slowness; and his loose-limbed partner, who still sprawled on the cabin-roof, chuckled with easy amusement. But the breeze held long enough for their purpose. They ran up above the steamer, and the steam ground their planking against the rust-streaked iron. A pair of davit-falls hung down, with the blocks weed-covered in the water; and overhauling one of these, they made it fast round the bitts. Then, swarming up the other fall, the whole five of them gained the bridge-deck above.

Instinctively, when once their feet were on the warm gray planks, each man, black and white, handled his weapon ready to fight or argue as might be demanded of him; but no one appeared to seek explanation of their presence; and from staring about them, they took to staring at one another rather foolishly. If one has been expecting a brisk game of murder, and one meets with empty silence, it rather spoils the sequence of ideas.

“Come to think of it,” said Hank in an oppressive whisper, “if there’d been an anchor watch, they’d have hailed us before we got this far. I bet the Old Man’s asleep in the chart-house. ’Twouldn’t be a bad idea to bottle him.”

He pattered across the deck, right hand inside his shirt bosom, pistol gripped in that, and peered in through the open door. The place was tenanted by no living thing larger than flies and cockroaches. He drew back half scared by the eeriness of it, and then beckoning his mates, headed them down the companion ladder, treading like a stage conspirator. At the foot, two doors opened, one into the alley-way which was empty, the other into the main cabin, on the floor of which Kettle had been deposited by the donkeyman. But in the culminating spasm of his cramp, the little captain had rolled away out of sight under the table, and so to all appearance this place was deserted also.

The men peered about them, and ran aft, poking their noses in pantry and galley and engine-room. Coming back through the alley-way they searched the two mates’ rooms, and found them empty; and going out on the iron fore-deck, found the forecastle deserted also. Then they gathered round that gaping rent where the fore-hatch had been, in curious wonder, examining the crumpled plates which were yellow with new rust, and pointing out to one another the twisted stanchions and splintered _débris_ below. And at this they were engaged when the sun took its final dive beneath the waters of the Mexican gulf to westward, and the tropical darkness snapped down upon them like the shutting of a box.

“Hank,” said the one-eyed man, “this gets me. What in snakes have they been doin’ to this blame’ steamboat, and for why have they gug-gug-gone off and left her?”

“Euclid’s out of my line,” said Hank, oracularly.

“Oh you blank puttyhead,” retorted his friend, “th-th-ink!”

“You tire me. If they aren’t here they aren’t. P’r’aps they’ve gone off and toted the boodle to a _cache_. P’r’aps it’s left right here aboard, and if it is I guess we shall find it when we want it. What I’m on for now’s grub. I hain’t had a Christian meal for three months, thanks to this new sheriff bustling after us, and I’m about sick of mullet and sweet potatoes. But, please our luck, we’ll raid their store-rooms here and fix up a regular hotel supper for to-night. That’s me. Now, come along, fellers.”

The negroes chuckled and crowed, capering like children, and went off with the tall man towards the galley, and Nutt, after an ineffectual attempt to speak (which threw him into a paroxysm of fury), presently followed them.

The feast was _sui generis_. They found grease, baking powder, and flour, and made doughnuts; they hotted three tins of Julienne soup; they baked a great mass of salt pork on a bedding of white beans; they made a stew of preserved potatoes, Australian mutton, and _pâté de foie gras_; and, as a _chef d’œuvre_, one of the negroes turned out some crisp three-corned tartlets stuffed with strawberry jam. Then Hank, with a lamp in one hand, a cylinder of plates in the other, and a whole armory of knives and forks bristling from his pockets, pattered off to the main cabin to lay the table.

At the doorway he stopped, gaping, and because the instinct of the much-hunted made his right hand slip round to a certain back pocket, the plates went to the ground with a crash. In the swivel-chair at the head of the table was huddled a man, a small man, with a cold cigar bitten tight between his teeth, a man so grimy with coal-dust that Hank couldn’t have sworn whether the short, peaked beard which rested on his chest was black or red or prussian-blue.

“Oh, don’t you trouble to be polite,” said the man in the chair. “I’m mighty glad to see any one who can talk, or use a pair of hands.” Here he lifted his nose and sniffed the air like a hound. “Is that supper you’re cooking?”

“I reckon.”

“Found anything to wash it down with?”

“There was a dozen bottles of beer, but we wanted those between whiles, and I guess they’re drunk.”

“There should have been more, but I suppose my lousy steward has necked them. However, this is a big night, and this is the first time I’ve seen you and your mates, and so I guess champagne’ll be good enough for us. There’s a case in that end room ready a-purpose for this sort of celebration day. Perhaps you’ll fetch it out; I’m weak still.”

Hank obeyed, wonderingly, and laid the table, and brought on the viands, in which he was assisted by Nutt and the blacks.

Then Captain Kettle spoke again.

“Oh, look here, friends, I’m not going to sit at table with niggers. I take it this isn’t a blessed missionary meeting.”

It seemed as though there would be a row. One of the blacks stated his intention of taking no “sass from that po’ white trash,” and another openly drew a razor, and made suggestive motions with it through the air.

“Of course,” said Kettle, “if you two gentlemen have chucked your color, and care to feed with those ornaments, you can do it. Only I’m a white man, and have my pride.”

“That’s right,” said Nutt. “Picnicking on the sloop’s different. But this is a regular hotel supper, with napkins and a table-cloth, and I guess anything colored ’ud spoil the tone. Say s-s-s-sonnies, you mosey.”

“I done cooked most this yer grub,” whined he of the razor, “an’ I’se gwine t’eat my belly-load.”

“Well, collar what you want to eat till you bu-s-s-s.”

“Yes, but whar’ll we go?”

Nutt looked at Captain Kettle. The little man in the swivel-chair gave his African guests full leave to go to a place considerably hotter than the engine-hold; suggesting the mess-room as an after-thought and alternative; whither they betook themselves, grumbling. And then the three whites commenced their meal.

Kettle unwired a champagne bottle with a fork, and poured out three long tumblers of dancing froth. “Wine!” said Hank. “Oh, my Jemima!”

“Geg-geg-got any ice?” queried the one-eyed man.

“Ice is off,” replied the captain. “Things have been that hot this trip it gave up and melted.”

“You seem to got your manners on ice, Mr. Billy Nutt,” said his friend. “Now I see an elegant hotel meal in front of me, and I’m going to make a pig of myself, and be jolly well thankful. I hain’t any use for your high-toned sort of canoosering. See here, stuff your silly mouth, and quit grumbling right now. D’ye hear me?”

His guests ate, and Kettle made small talk for them, at the same time playing a good knife and fork himself. The food seemed to straighten his back and knock the limpness out of him; but Mr. Nutt and his friend were lapping their champagne too industriously to see any significance in the change. They were enjoying themselves with a gusto to which the ordinary gourmand is a stranger. Probably there is nothing on earth so nauseating as a severe course of the Floridan sweet potato. And, consequently, there is no diet so calculated to make one appreciate a more generous _menu_.

The meal crept steadily through its courses, and the empty bottles grew on the cabin floor. No one got drunk. Captain Kettle’s own libations were sparing, and the others had each a high co-efficient of absorption; still all were exhilarated, and ripe for mischief or merriment as might befall.

“Say, cap,” said the long man, as he dallied with his last strawberry tartlet, “isn’t it so that you’ve got this fine steamboat of yours ballasted with sovereigns?”

“It’s so,” said Kettle, “or something very like that.”

“Your own?”

“Oh Lord, no. Just freight consigned to New Orleans, and brought here by that blow-up I was telling you about. I suppose that you gentlemen’ll have no objection to bearing a hand aboard o’ me now you are here? I’m a bit short-manned, and it ’ud be a pity to let freight like that rust for want of fingering.”

Hank grinned at his _vis-à-vis_, and then turned to the little skipper in the swivel-chair. “No,” he said, “I don’t see there’s anything wrong with that. I’m afraid, though, if we chipped in we couldn’t sign on so far as Noo Orleans.”

“New Orleans be sugared,” cried Captain Kettle. “Haven’t I spoke plain enough already? Don’t you understand all this racket’s a blessed swindle? The steamer’s going to have the name-plate on her engines altered, and the label on her stern changed, and a different pattern painted on her smoke-stacks, and a coat of gray clapped on her outside. And then, when she’s so bedevilled her own builder wouldn’t know her, we’ll run her round to some South American port where the least number of questions will be asked, and sell her for what she’ll fetch. But only the steamer, mark you. I reckon she’s carried the freight far enough. That’ll be struck out of her here.”

“You bet,” said Nutt, rubbing his hands. “We’ll _corral_ the dollars for you right here till you come back. You shall have our niggers to s-s-stoke for you, if you can get ’em, and can manage ’em. But they’re fair toughs. Perhaps you’d w-w-weaken when you came to know ’em a bit.”

“I’d handle,” retorted Kettle, “a crew of old Nick’s firemen, raw out of hell, if I was put to it. Don’t you make any error. I’ve kept my end up with the worst crowds a man ever put to sea with. By James!” he went on, with a blow at the table, “by James! I’d handle you, Mr. Nutt, if you were signed aboard o’ me, till you couldn’t call your soul your own.”

“You’d w-w-which?” snarled Nutt, rising in his chair.

“Sit, you swine,” said his partner, “and be quiet. You tire me. What are you riling the gentleman for, just when we were getting so nice and friendly with him?”

“You—lemme alone.”

“I’ll smash your ugly little face in if you don’t keep it shut.”

The one-eyed man tried to retort, but his infirmity gagged him, and a spasm of wild fury bit into all his muscles.

His friend wagged a derisive finger. “There’s an image for you, cap. Look at the creature, froze like a Chinese potdog; look at him and don’t laugh. And, say, just reach me another bottle of wine, it will be so good. Thanks, siree. I wouldn’t care if I died drinking this. Here’s our blessed health. Good old cap; you stick to me and I’ll stick to you; and if Mr. Billy Nutt can’t swallow his tantrums and join us two gentlemen like another gentleman, by Jemima, we’ll give him what he’s got for his share, and set him adrift in an empty bottle. You hear me, Billy Nutt?”

“You spup-luttering fool. You boosey, drunken puttyhead.”

“I’m not drunk,” retorted Hank, “but I’m merry. Have a sup yourself, and then perhaps you’ll be better company.” With which advice a liberal heeltap of champagne splashed in Nutt’s face.

The man sprang to his feet, glowering like a fiend. What followed was completed before a watch could tick twice. For once the gift of speech did not desert him. The fatal words bounced glibly off his tongue, and Hank’s vengeful hands shot out. In an instant the pair were grappling together, and a gouging thumb did its horrid work. Then, tearing himself away, eyeless, the lesser man ran screaming blindly into the sideboard at the other side of the cabin. His friend pitched stiffly forward, and fell face downward amongst the dishes, lying there without so much as a quiver. He was stone dead. With the black-handled knife that had carved their baking of pork, Nutt had stabbed him from the shoulder down through his heart.

“That saves my cartridges,” said Captain Kettle, and took his cocked revolver from where it lodged between his knee and the under side of the table.

He passed swiftly out through the pantry door, and was just in time for what he expected. The negroes, alarmed by Nutt’s shrieks, were rushing from the mess-room to see what had gone wrong. He charged and drove them furiously back. They turned and ran before him, tumbling over one another in their scared haste; and then he took up his place in the doorway, threatening them with steady weapon and crisp, decisive tongue.

“Quick,” he cried, “quick, you scum; unload yourselves. Pitch overboard your knives and razors and whatever you’ve got, or, by James, if a man of you stops to think, I’ll blow his brains through the port-hole.”

The negroes obeyed him in sullen, frightened silence, and stood with elbows up facing him as he covered them. Kettle watched the three with steady eye; but his ear was cocked down the passage, drinking in every rustle which came from the place he had left.

The shriekings of the eyeless man in the cabin had given way to groans; and then there came the sound of bumps and scratchings, as though he were blundering madly about to find something; and then the pattering of naked feet as he groped his way up the lead-covered steps of the companion. So intently did they follow this one man’s movements that it seemed to them as though all other sounds were hushed, even to the never-ceasing hum of the insects.

With awe the listeners held their breath for what might come next. But they had not long to wait. From the deck above there burst out a wild tirade of hate and blasphemy, which ended in a shrieking cry of despair and a plunging splash; and once more the distant noises of the night closed in upon them.

“Nutt,” said Captain Kettle, “is dead, and I’m almost sorry. I believe I could have liked that man. He’d grit in him, had Nutt, and he wouldn’t take cheek from a living soul. Your other boss also is dead; killed by Nutt. So you’re my niggers now, and will be till I’ve done with you.”

“Whord you mean?” one of the captives asked, with a whine.

“You’ll have to do what niggers were sent in the world for, and that’s work. Your fool of a government says you aren’t slaves now, and so I won’t treat you as such. That is, you’ll be paid. But I shall get my money’s worth out of you first.”

“I guess this is a free country. You can’t make us work unless we choose.”

“I’ve had that said before to me,” Kettle rejoined grimly, “by better men than you—white men—and they changed their minds when I got to handling them. You’ll see later. But for now you’ve got to stay here; and if you get out, and I find you rambling, you’ll be shot like crows. You quite understand?”

He shut the mess-room door and locked it, and once more went to the main cabin. The tall man lay exactly as he had fallen, and from underneath his neck five tricklets of red spread out across the slopped table-cloth, like the fingers of a monstrous hand. The lamplight fell also upon other smearings of red, where Nutt had groped his way round the panelling. Kettle leaned up against the rail of the sideboard and wiped his face with a napkin. Perspiration had loosened the coal dust, and the skin came out white, with only here and there a smudge of the old grime.

“Supposing,” he said to himself, “we were nabbed now, and there was a trial, who’s to prove I didn’t put the pork-knife in that man? Oh dear Lord, what a hat it’s getting.”