HOTEL DE POISSON.
If Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier had been a prudent colored man, he would
have avoided the meeting which Captain Dock Vincent contrived to bring
about, by dodging around the rocks, and again appearing in the
principal path. But he was not a prudent colored man; and when he saw
the dangerous individual before him, though he might easily have turned
aside so as to avoid him, he did not do so.
The steward was a very peaceable and well-disposed person on board the
yacht, and elsewhere, but under certain circumstances he was a
belligerent colored man. He had a very reasonable and decided objection
to being called a "nigger." He claimed that he was a gentleman, and
while he behaved like a gentleman, he declined to be insulted with
impunity. Mr. Ebénier saw the person who had applied this obnoxious
epithet to him during the examination. It is possible that his heart
beat a little quicker when he discovered the blackguard, as he regarded
him; but it is certain that he did not turn to the right or the left,
but proceeded on his way as though Dock had been a pygmy, instead of
the heavy, stout man he was.
"See here, you nigger," Dock began, when the steward was within hailing
distance.
"What do you want of me, you state-prison bird?" replied the colored
man.
"What's that you say?" demanded Dock, angrily.
"I asked you what you wanted of me, you state-prison bird," repeated
the steward.
"We'll settle that here," said Dock, rolling up his sleeves. "I don't
allow any man, white or black, to insult me."
"That's just my position exactly," added Mr. Ebénier, throwing off his
coat. "I don't allow any man, big or little, black or white, to insult
me."
The unexpected readiness of the steward to settle the question on the
spot rather startled and perplexed Dock, and he did not appear to be
quite so ready to "pitch in" as he supposed he was. It is sometimes
true of individuals, as it is of nations, that a readiness to fight is
the surest guarantee of peace.
"What do you mean by calling me a state-prison bird?" demanded Dock, in
less confident tones.
"What do you mean by calling me a nigger?" retorted the steward.
"Well, you are one--aren't you?"
"Well, you are a state-prison bird--aren't you?"
"Don't say that again!" said Dock, shaking his head.
"I'll say it twenty-five times more, if you call me a nigger as many
times as that."
"Aren't you a black man?"
"I am; but my heart isn't half so black as yours. I'm not a nigger,"
protested the colored man, stoutly; and it was evident in this instance
that the negro would fight, which was just the thing Dock didn't wish
him to do.
"Whatever you are, I won't dirty my hands licking a nigger," added the
bully.
"But I'll dirty mine by licking a state-prison bird, and you shall have
the satisfaction of being licked by a black man," said the steward,
stepping up towards his burly antagonist.
"Cool off, cuffee; I was only joking with you," continued Dock, with a
mighty effort to laugh.
"Don't call me cuffee. My name is C. Augustus Ebénier, and I am ready
to teach you good manners, without fee or reward."
"Never mind, Mr. What's-your-name."
"If you wish to apologize, do so, or I'll soil my boot by kicking you."
"Apologize to a nigger!" exclaimed Dock.
The steward kicked him. This was more than Dock could stand, and he
levelled a blow at the spunky assailant, which was parried. Dock was
heavy, but he was clumsy, and before he could repeat the stroke, the
hard fist of the colored man had settled under one of his eyes, leaving
its mark there--a black eye. The bully retreated under the stunning
force of the blow, and picked up a stone, which he hurled at his
opponent, but fortunately without hitting him. Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier
appeared to be satisfied with what he had done, and he did not follow
up his advantage, but picked up a stone, to intimate that two could
play at that game as well as one.
"We'll settle this another time," said Dock, wiping his black eye.
"You wanted to settle it now, and you have," replied the steward. "If I
can do anything more for you, all you have to do is to call me a
nigger, and I'll put your other eye into mourning."
"I'll see you again," said Dock, in threatening tones, as he turned and
walked away towards his house.
The steward put on his coat, and moved towards the landing-place,
beyond the chasm. Since the examination, he had been promenading the
town to see the place, or, what is quite as likely, to permit the
inhabitants to see him; for Mr. Ebénier was human, and his weak point
was a large estimate of his own consequence. He was on his way to the
Point to hail the yacht for a boat.
He followed the path better satisfied with himself than we are with
him, for it is not the part of a gentleman to fight unless attacked, or
to return epithet for epithet. But he had hardly taken half a dozen
steps, before a stone, as big as a man's fist, struck him on the back
of the head, and he dropped senseless upon the rocks, not killed, or
even badly hurt, but effectually stunned. This was Dock Vincent's mode
of warfare--to hit a man behind his back.
"Now you'll keep a civil tongue in your head for a while," said the
ruffian to himself, as he hastened towards his house.
The steward lay still upon his bed of rocks. The sun had gone down, and
the darkness gathered over him; but no one appeared to render him any
assistance. The blow had been a heavy one, and the blood ran down the
back of his head from the flesh wound it had produced.
When it was quite dark, Augustus, as he was called on board the yacht,
began to move and exhibit some signs of life; but a few minutes elapsed
before he had sufficiently recovered to rise. He got up, rubbed his
head, looked around him, and collected his ideas enough to know where
he was. He felt the blood on his head, but he was a strong-minded man,
and did not believe he was killed. He walked down to the landing-place,
and hailed the yacht without obtaining any response. He repeated the
call a dozen times with no better success. Either the crew were not on
board, or they had turned in for the night.
Augustus was a man of the world, and his philosophy was equal to almost
any occasion. He could not get on board, and therefore he decided to
remain on shore, which exhibited a nicety of judgment worthy of
commendation and imitation. Removing his collar, he bathed his head and
neck in cold salt water, and was satisfied that his wound was not a
dangerous one. He congratulated himself that the stone had not hit him
in the face, and thus marred his personal beauty; for, being an
exquisite in his own way, this would have been the most fearful
calamity that could possibly have happened to him.
After making himself presentable, so far as he could in the darkness,
and in the absence of a mirror, his first impulse was to find his
treacherous enemy, and punish him for his dastardly attack; for Mr.
Ebénier did not purpose to trouble Squire Saunders or the courts with
his affair. But he did not know where to find Dock, and was not aware
that he lived in the house nearest to the landing-place. He did not
exactly like the idea of passing the night in the open air, and it
would not be etiquette for him to apply to Mr. Watson or the captain
for a lodging.
The steward was not only a philosopher, but a man of expedients. On his
way up to the town in the morning he had noticed a dilapidated
fish-house, at the head of a little inlet. This building would afford
him a shelter, if nothing more, for the night, and he repaired to its
friendly but inhospitable roof. Entering the fish-house, he groped
about for a suitable place to lie down, and blundered against a rickety
flight of stairs in one corner. Hoping to find better sleeping
accommodation in the loft than on the ground floor,--as literally it
was, being composed of earth and rocks,--he ascended the steps. The
stairs creaked and groaned, and it required some nerve to go up in the
dark; but the steward's courage was equal to the emergency.
He found that it was not safe to walk about on the floor of the loft in
the dark, for the timbers groaned under his weight, and the boards were
full of holes and traps; but near the head of the stairs was an old
sail, which seemed to have been placed there for his especial
accommodation. Lying down on this, he wooed the slumber which his head,
still dizzy from the effects of the blow, required.
"I'm all right now," said he to himself. "It smells fishy; I will call
it Hotel de Poisson, and go to sleep."
While the steward was seeking a resting-place for his weary head, Dock
Vincent walked down to the Point to ascertain whether or not he had
killed his victim. He was gone, and the ruffian went home again.
Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier could not go to sleep in his hotel as readily
as he desired; but, just as he was dropping off, he was startled by the
sound of voices, in low, suppressed tones, hardly above a whisper. He
heard footsteps, and then the dim light of a lantern shed its rays up
through the holes and cracks in the floor. In vain he tried to identify
the voices; the whispers did not enable him to do so. He dared not move
lest the creaking of the timbers should alarm the nocturnal visitors.
He was satisfied that the persons below were engaged in some kind of
mischief, and it was his business to know what it was, and who the men
were. Near the centre of the loft there was a large hole in the floor,
and he commenced working himself by hundredth parts of an inch towards
it; but every time he moved, however slightly, the creaking joist
threatened to betray his presence, and he decided to satisfy himself at
once. One glance might inform him who the men were, and perhaps the
mystery of the stolen gold would be solved.
The steward made a spring towards the aperture, throwing himself
forward upon his hands, so as to look down through the hole. He had
forgotten the ruinous condition of the Hotel de Poisson. His weight and
the force of his movement were too much for the strength of the rotten
wood; a timber gave way, and Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier was precipitated,
head first, through the hole he had made, and struck between the two
men, who sat each on a rock facing the other, with the light on the
ground between them. The lantern was smashed, and the two men uttered a
howl of terror.
If the steward's head had struck one of the rocks it must have split it
open--the head, not the rock! He hit the ground, and, as it was, he was
again stunned, the men making a hasty escape without recognition.