32. CHAPTER XXXII.
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
sight, 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 anchorstocks
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 alongside,
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.
