No Good Deed 11

The space was surprisingly large, accommodating all three of us and still with room enough to invite half the passenger manifest in, had the Captain felt so inclined. At the windows – although I could envision no occasion for their use - were garish curtains in gold and red. There was room for a well padded sofa and an high-backed banquette. Above this seating was a double-doored hatch to the rear wall, between the two stern-facing windows. A pot-bellied stove stood on the floor, flue rising up and through the high-ceiling; evidently the hardy river-men felt its ignition unnecessary. For carpet there was oil-cloth and I supposed that at New Orleans, near the mouth of the river, estuarine conditions might make for a rough ride. The brass knobs for the bells were highly polished and the wheel, which stood as high as a man, was exquisitely carved. In general, the Pilot House appeared to be the only part of the riverboat which received any kind of attention.

The captain, portly though he was, was enveloped in a quasi-military coat festooned with braid and buttons, whose gilt was no more than a little tarnished. Atop his head he wore a battered cap with a peak and altogether too much ornamentation. The pilot by contrast was simply dressed with a long frock coat and a round shaped hat - also with a peak – in a dull, grey colour.

'Passenger, what's your name? You're welcome in here to settle an argument.'

The Captain's voice was as bluff as his manner.

'Anson Northrup, Captain. You have the advantage of me, sirs.'

I made no more than the sketch of a bow.

'Fancy manners, Pilot, huh? I'm Cap'n Holden Grey, this here is Pilot Ireland.'

He jerked an elbow into the Pilot's back, but he gave nary a flinch, nor any indication that his person had been assaulted. The river took all his attention. I wondered how any kind of argument could have been ongoing between them.

'See, it's this.'

Pausing, he took a pipe from his pocket and started to puff at it, without recourse to lighting it. Perhaps he took sufficient comfort merely by having the stem between his lips.

'Pilot Ireland reckons,' he let out a laugh, 'a man cain't recognise as a guv-mint, one that's a slave's guv-mint too! Hell, what kinda talk is that?'

Before I could answer, the Pilot spat with delicate accuracy into a cuspidor at the Captain's feet and interjected,

'Majority don't make for justice, jus' cuz there's more of 'em. Cap'n.'

'Didja ever hear the like, Mr Northrup?'

Rather than confess that I hadn't, I replied that it was certainly a point of view.

The Captain spluttered a little, pipe-stem still clenched by some miracle between his teeth.

'Well, it just ain't...' here his chest inflated to such a size as to almost fill the coat he was wearing, before he let out, with a bellow, 'DEMOCRATIC!'

The pilot seemed undisturbed by this outburst, merely striking the target of the cuspidor unerringly once more and adding,

'Man's only obliged to do what he thinks is right, Cap'n.'

The Captain seemed on the very point of bursting – his heart, if not the coat.

At that moment there was a timid knock on the Pilot House door.

'C'mon, Boy!' Captain Grey roared.

A negro entered, his white apron providing a violent contrast with the black of the rest of his uniform. He looked like a butler or an employee of the most exclusive of hotels. He bobbed his head at each of us in turn and strode over to the double-hatch. Swinging the doors wide, he revealed that a dumb-waiter serviced those on duty, since a large tray held a glass decanter, a plate piled high with chops and the glasses and crockery to facilitate their consumption.

The Captain said, 'You'll join us for a little sump'm, Mr Northrup. I enjoy the company of a clear thinkin' man.'

He shot a look at the Pilot as he said this, but that man's eyes remained fixed on the river.