The steamer _John Walsh_ was on an upward trip, two days out from
New Orleans. A crowd of gentlemen were gathered about the bar,
punishing wine at $5 a bottle. With flushed faces, jocund laughter,
and the incessant pop of the champagne corks, the time flew unheeded
past. The barkeeper smiled when at the little window of the bar
the ebony head of a stalwart negro appeared.
"Say, boss, gimme some whisky."
Everybody turned, and laughter that was about to burst forth, or
the jest that was ready, was hushed; for the negro's head was split
open and the blood pouring down his cheeks in rivulets, crimsoning
his swarthy, shiny skin and clothing.
"Been fighting?" said the barkeeper.
"Yes; de fireman he butted me."
Up came the mate, who observed:
"We've got a fireman down below who has killed two or three niggers
by butting them to death with his head."
"Send him up," I said, "and I'll butt him till he is sick of
butting."
We had all been drinking wine, and everybody laughed, supposing
that it was the liquor talking, and not me.
"Why, Devol, I wouldn't give five cents for your head if that nigger
gets a lick at it," spoke up a young planter who was in the party.
Then I got mad, and exclaimed:
"I'll bet $500 I can make the nigger squeal."
The mate roared out with laughter; but I put up my money, and so
did the young planter, thinking that I would back out. He only
had $175 in his roll, and he offered to bet that.
"All right; I don't back out. I'll butt the nigger for $175."
The money was soon up in the barkeeper's hands; and then the mate
knew that I meant business, and he put up $25 to make bet the even
$200.
At this juncture the mate called a halt. "Wait till I see if the
nigger will butt with a white man;" and rushing down stairs, the
"image of God cut in ebony" was interviewed.
"I doant like for to butt a white man," he said, "for I'm afraid
I'll kill him, and den dey hang de ole nigger."
But the mate said, "I've just put up $25 on you, and I want to win
it."
"All right; if yer means it, boss, I'll go yer."
At the bar I procured a long string and a ribbon from a cigar bunch,
and started down stairs. Instantly the wildest excitement reigned
on the boat. Two of the deck-hands stood guard at the foot of the
stairs to keep the crowd back, and the hurricane roof and boiler
deck were thronged with an eager and excited crowd. Fastening one
end of the string to the jack-staff and the other to the steps at
about the proper height, the ribbon was tied in the centre of the
string, and the black man and myself stood back five feet on either
side, and at a given signal were to come forward and strike at the
ribbon. Then the passengers said it was a shame to let that nasty
nigger butt that nice white man to death; but as there were no
S. P. C. A. officers aboard, the game went on.
The deck-hands all rolled up their eyes and looked at me as they
would at a corpse. Just before the word ready was given, I asked
the nigger if he had any money to put up on the result, and running
his hand down in his watch-pocket he pulled out a ten-dollar bill.
I covered it, and the planter told the nigger he would give him
$10 more if he downed me. I cocked my eye on the nigger's head,
and saw that it was one of those wedge-shaped cocoanuts so peculiar
to people of African descent; so I inwardly resolved to hit him on
one side of his wedge-shaped cranium. The nigger had his face to
the sun, so that I felt confident that I could hit him pretty near
where I wanted to.
The word was given, and at the ribbon we both rushed like a couple
of frenzied bulls. I gave him a glancing blow that skinned his
head for about three inches. The next time there was a crash, a
jar that shook the boat and drew a shriek of terror from the
passengers, for the nigger fell with a dull thud on the deck. He
lay as stiff and cold as a dead man.
"Dat nigger is done gone dead! Dat nigger is no good any more!"
shouted the alarmed roustabouts.
The mate lifted him up, and he began bleeding from the nose, eyes,
and ears. The mate kindly asked him if he wanted to butt any more.
He did not reply, only shook his head sadly and murmured inaudibly,
"No." They applied whisky and water to his head, and at last
removed him into the deck to cool off.
Many years have rolled by, and I have never heard the last of that
butting adventure. The papers wrote it up, and in less than ten
days every planter on the coast had heard of it. The planter who
lost the $175 tells the story to this day; and Bill Patterson, the
mate (he is dead now), used to tell it to every new crew that he
shipped.
Towards night the old nigger came crawling up stairs and said:
"Massa, you have done for this poor nigger, for I must go to the
hospital and get cured up."
I returned him his $10, and for the rest of the trip the passengers
paid for everything I wanted to drink.