Xiphius Platypterus
About this time, the loneliness of our voyage was relieved by an
event worth relating.
Ever since leaving the Pearl Shell Islands, the Parki had been
followed by shoals of small fish, pleasantly enlivening the sea, and
socially swimming by her side. But in vain did Jarl and I search
among their ranks for the little, steel-blue Pilot fish, so long
outriders of the Chamois. But perhaps since the Chamois was now high
and dry on the Parki's deck, our bright little avant-couriers were
lurking out of eight, far down in the brine; racing along close to
the keel.
But it is not with the Pilot fish that we now have to do.
One morning our attention was attracted to a mighty commotion in the
water. The shoals of fish were darting hither and thither, and
leaping into the air in the utmost affright. Samoa declared, that
their deadly foe the Sword fish must be after them.
And here let me say, that, since of all the bullies, and braggarts,
and bravoes, and free-booters, and Hectors, and fish-at-arms, and
knight-errants, and moss-troopers, and assassins, and foot-pads, and
gallant soldiers, and immortal heroes that swim the seas, the Indian
Sword fish is by far the most remarkable, I propose to dedicate this
chapter to a special description of the warrior. In doing which, I
but follow the example of all chroniclers and historians, my
Peloponnesian friend Thucydides and others, who are ever mindful of
devoting much space to accounts of eminent destroyers; for the
purpose, no doubt, of holding them up as ensamples to the world.
Now, the fish here treated of is a very different creature from the
Sword fish frequenting the Northern Atlantic; being much larger every
way, and a more dashing varlet to boot. Furthermore, he is
denominated the Indian Sword fish, in contradistinction from his
namesake above mentioned. But by seamen in the Pacific, he is more
commonly known as the Bill fish; while for those who love science and
hard names, be it known, that among the erudite naturalists he goeth
by the outlandish appellation of "_Xiphius Platypterus_."
But I waive for my hero all these his cognomens, and substitute a
much better one of my own: namely, the Chevalier. And a Chevalier he
is, by good right and title. A true gentleman of Black Prince
Edward's bright day, when all gentlemen were known by their swords;
whereas, in times present, the Sword fish excepted, they are mostly
known by their high polished boots and rattans.
A right valiant and jaunty Chevalier is our hero; going about with
his long Toledo perpetually drawn. Rely upon it, he will fight you to
the hilt, for his bony blade has never a scabbard. He himself sprang
from it at birth; yea, at the very moment he leaped into the Battle
of Life; as we mortals ourselves spring all naked and scabbardless
into the world. Yet, rather, are we scabbards to our souls. And the
drawn soul of genius is more glittering than the drawn cimeter of
Saladin. But how many let their steel sleep, till it eat up the
scabbard itself, and both corrode to rust-chips. Saw you ever the
hillocks of old Spanish anchors, and anchor-stocks of ancient
galleons, at the bottom of Callao Bay? The world is full of old Tower
armories, and dilapidated Venetian arsenals, and rusty old rapiers.
But true warriors polish their good blades by the bright beams of the
morning; and gird them on to their brave sirloins; and watch for rust
spots as for foes; and by many stout thrusts and stoccadoes
keep their metal lustrous and keen, as the spears of the
Northern Lights charging over Greenland.
Fire from the flint is our Chevalier enraged. He takes umbrage at the
cut of some ship's keel crossing his road; and straightway runs a
tilt at it; with one mad lounge thrusting his Andrea Ferrara clean
through and through; not seldom breaking it short off at the haft,
like a bravo leaving his poignard in the vitals of his foe.
In the case of the English ship Foxhound, the blade penetrated
through the most solid part of her hull, the bow; going completely
through the copper plates and timbers, and showing for several inches
in the hold. On the return of the ship to London, it was carefully
sawn out; and, imbedded in the original wood, like a fossil, is still
preserved. But this was a comparatively harmless onslaught of the
valiant Chevalier. With the Rousseau, of Nantucket, it fared worse.
She was almost mortally stabbed; her assailant withdrawing his blade.
And it was only by keeping the pumps clanging, that she managed to
swim into a Tahitian harbor, "heave down," and have her wound dressed
by a ship-surgeon with tar and oakum. This ship I met with at sea,
shortly after the disaster.
At what armory our Chevalier equips himself after one of his spiteful
tilting-matches, it would not be easy to say. But very hard for him,
if ever after he goes about in the lists, swordless and disarmed, at
the mercy of any caitiff shark he may meet.
Now, seeing that our fellow-voyagers, the little fish along-side,
were sorely tormented and thinned out by the incursions of a
pertinacious Chevalier, bent upon making a hearty breakfast out of
them, I determined to interfere in their behalf, and capture the
enemy.
With shark-hook and line I succeeded, and brought my brave gentleman
to the deck. He made an emphatic landing; lashing the planks with his
sinewy tail; while a yard and a half in advance of his eyes, reached
forth his terrible blade.
As victor, I was entitled to the arms of the vanquished; so, quickly
dispatching him, and sawing off his Toledo, I bore it away for a
trophy. It was three-sided, slightly concave on each, like a bayonet;
and some three inches through at the base, it tapered from thence to
a point.
And though tempered not in Tagus or Guadalquiver, it yet revealed
upon its surface that wavy grain and watery fleckiness peculiar to
tried blades of Spain. It was an aromatic sword; like the ancient
caliph's, giving out a peculiar musky odor by friction. But far
different from steel of Tagus or Damascus, it was inflexible as
Crocket's rifle tube; no doubt, as deadly.
Long hung that rapier over the head of my hammock. Was it not storied
as the good trenchant blade of brave Bayard, that other chevalier?
The knight's may have slain its scores, or fifties; but the weapon I
preserved had, doubtless, run through and riddled its thousands.