The NIBBLERS
The “Nibblers” received their name from Mr. Keon, second officer of the steamship Spitfire of the Great American Fruit Company’s line running to the tropics for bananas. The family, commonly speaking, were simply ship’s rats, but Mr. Keon was of a romantic and discerning turn of mind, and after making their acquaintance he christened them comprehensively.
To Mr. Keon they were much more than ordinary rats. He knew the whole family intimately from old Mrs. Nibbler, the mother, down to little Tiny, the smallest and most timid youngster of the lot, and to be known by the second officer was a privilege not granted to all who came aboard the fruit ship. He was a man who possessed an enormous fund of material from which he could draw without effort for sea stories, and, according to many authorities, consequently possessed a large amount of “gray matter” in his head. Whether this came outside in the form of hair, or remained inside in the form of brains, it is not necessary to inquire. He told the story of “The Nibblers,” sitting one night on the edge of the forward hatch with the full tropic moon behind him and the soft wind of the Florida Stream blowing the smoke from his pipe away to leeward, and enough of it was remembered to get his name down as that of a very remarkable man.
“Ye see,” said he, after we had been watching the antics of a huge rat who was scampering around the edge of the hatchway, “that feller has got as much sense as you have. It’s ole Toby, one o’ the old fellers what’s been aboard this vessel since she carried her first cargo. He’s a most uncommon old rat, an’ that’s a fact. He’s as happy an ole raskil as ever haunted a ship’s bilge, an’ he aint afeared o’ much. I seen him chase a cat clean into the galley door onct, and he would ha’ got her but fer the fool ‘doctor’ heavin’ a pan at him. See how quick he kin jump. Just look at them whiskers, hey?
“I remember when I first seen him, away back in the eighties, when Captain Jackson took command. He ware a young feller then an’ the captain’s wife used to come o’ evenings an’ sit on the bridge jest over this forrad hatch. She ware a fine-lookin’ gal, an’ that’s a fact, a heap finer-lookin’ than the ole man. He warn’t nothin’ much fer looks anyway, a little chap with a squint an’ grizzled whiskers fer all the world like ole Toby’s there, but he ware a terrier fer handlin’ canvas in the ole days. I seen him onct—but no matter, that aint got nothin’ to do with what I’m goin’ to tell ye.
“Ye see, the gal was mighty pretty. I don’t know as I ever seen a woman as good-lookin’. She had golden hair, an’ eyes as soft an’ blue——”
“Go on with the yarn,” interrupted the bos’n; “we’ll let the girl go.”
Keon smoked on in silence after this as though he had taken offense, but we soon saw by the look of his eyes that he was far away from that fore hatch.
“The second mate used to sit right here,” he went on at last, “an’ she would look over the bridge rail on fine evenings an’ watch the Nibblers goin’ an’ comin’ around this hole. Rats is like all other animals, includin’ humans, in respects to selections, an’ the way these fellows would fight an’ scrap fer each other was somethin’ funny to see. The biggest an’ strongest rat would knock the other out an’ take up with one o’ the young an’ frivolous females, jest like it occurs in story books. He was the hero, big an’ strong an’ fine-lookin’, an’ o’ course the gal rat would care fer him like females care fer all heroes. He was supposed to have all the fine qualities o’ rat in his make-up, jest like a hero has, an’ the way he would go a-scamperin’ around after some little feller who wasn’t strong enough to stand to him was funny to see. The captain’s wife used to come to the rail an’ look down an’ watch them fer hours, an’ laugh an’ laugh when some fellow like big Toby there would put the rest out the way, an’ the second mate he would sit there close by durin’ the dog-watch, an’ watch, too, but he warn’t always lookin’ at the rats. Then when he had to go on the bridge he had to meet that queer little captain who waren’t no bigger’n a good-sized mouse. He didn’t reach much more’n up to the second mate’s shoulder. Sometimes the young woman looked hard at the two when they were together, an’ the skipper would get nervous, fer he thought a lot o’ her—an’ so did the second mate. The men forrads used to notice a thing or two, an’ they called the skipper ‘Squeak Jackson,’ he was so little an’ small in his voice. But he kept his temper an’ never let on as to what he thought o’ his size, fer he had been a good one.