102 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
OFeb; <5, 1904. 
ORT^nAN 
Captain Sim's Swordfish. 
BY GEORGE STORY HUDSON. 
"What, never heard tell how Cap'n Sim Coffin har- 
nessed a swordfish and coaxed the brute to tow him to 
port? That's strange, most everybody has — leastwise, 
round these parts." 
When gear had been stowed below, and decks washed 
to remove traces of a successful fishing trip out on the 
Middle Ground, the skipper related to me the particu- 
lars of the singular adventure. 
"Well, "^twas this way," began the skipper by way of 
introduction, "Cap'n Sim was a retired whaleman risin' 
83, short and thick-set, stubby wool-colored whiskers 
from his ears down round his chin, no hair you'd notice 
on top his head, amusin' eyes, and fuzzy brows; that's 
Cap'n Sim from the ground up. He was the salt of 
the earth, too. 
"'I've ben blowin' round the world,' Sim used to tell 
us boys when he gave up whalin' first-a-long, 'wallopin' 
whales till the bottom fell out of the oil market, and 
prices parted clean in the middle. Then I kedged onto 
a farm, hopin' to stay put.' 
"He built a cottage just back from the beach," the 
skipper went on, "painted it white, with green blinds 
and a red roof to match the trimmin's on the runt of a 
catboat he called the Commodore Perry. Sim set a 
powerful store by that boat, too, and had named her 
after an old sawed-off blubber hunter, tied up at Bed- 
ford. There was a barn in the shade of the scrub oaks, 
and the hen yard was a-quiverin' with chickens. 
" 'It's as trim and fit a place as a man needs,' Cap'n 
used to say. 'There's the garden truck to feast on, 
chicken coops that don't need lashin's 'cause the seas 
don't fill the decks no more. The old boss trots the 
gal and me to church and weekly meetin's, and there's 
no reefin' down and poundin' ice to keep the hooker 
afloat in a hard chance.' 
"Well, one mornin' Si Daggett came in from the 
grounds with some sizable swordfish. Cap'n Sim, with 
a plantain leaf under his hat, was a-hoein' in his 
garden, when Si's sonny trotted over to borrow some 
sinkers, and told Sim about the fish his dad had took, 
mentionin' they was the first run of the season. Sonny 
said to Si, afterward, that the cap'n acted real queer at 
mention of the swordies, leanin' agin the fence, cog- 
itaty-Hke. Sonny said he asked was there much of a 
flurry accompanyin' the killin'. 
"Them swordfish set Cap'n Sim to titivatin', and the 
boys along the beach suspicioned he got out his cob- 
webby whalin' gear directly Sonny had gone and looked 
it over. He'd brought it ashore when he quit as master 
of the old Narraganset, which is a barge now runnin' 
coal coastwise. 
"In a day or so Sim's wife — he called her his girl, 
everybody else called her auntie, she was that homelike 
and motherly— was at the steamboat landin' dressed out 
rave for a visit. "Sim always hated to have her go away, 
be it even for a short visit with the daughters over on the 
mainland. This time, however, he didn't look so 
thoughtful when the sidewheeler cast ofT and headed 
for the cape. 
"Soon's the boat was a decent bit away, Sim climbed 
into his wagon without stoppin' at the store to hear the 
doia's. Dust rolled up in clouds from under the wheels 
he squared for home that smart over the sand roads. 
"There's something writ somewhere," the skipper 
went on, " 'bout the spirit of the sea whisperin' to 
people. The fishin' fleet always reckoned that if Sim 
ever heard any whisperin' "^twas relatin' to the sword- 
fish Si Daggett ketched backside the island. Anyhow, 
as it turned out, Sim got a plank of sizable length and 
built a pulpit on the Commodore. A pulpit, you know, 
is the platform we stand on for steadiness, to job down 
at the fish that roll along on top the water when they 
are asleep or sunnin'. 
"Well, as Bill Eldridge was bound over to Tarpaulin 
Cove a mornin' or two after auntie went away on her 
visit, he saw Sim pokin' away from his moorin's in 
the_ Commodore Perry. Bill's a likely feller to take 
notice, and he spied a big blue kerosene oil bar'l in 
the boat's cockpit that took up about all the space. 
" 'Coin' after your winter's supply of oil?' Bill hailed, 
#'oon's Sim got handy. 
"Sim hollered back he was goin' on a bit of a cruise 
and had the bar'l aboard so 's 'twould be handy to 
stow his catch in should he need it. Bill said the old 
chap chuckled and appeared real hity-tity as he pointed 
at the ends of the harpoon poles layin' out for'd along 
the bowsprit. 
"Bill's course," continued the skipper, "was across 
sound, while the Commodore Perry stood along for 
outside. There was a pretty stifif wind stirrin', and the 
Perry's pulpit every now and then skittled through the 
tops of the seas. It was no small undertakin' for Sim 
, to be handlin' the boat alone out in the picked water, 
for she steered uncommon awkward in the pufYs, and 
was that hard on her helm she was all the time tryiii' 
to look round at her«elf. It hurt Bill to see the old 
chap goin' foreign single-handed. 
"When Bill was haulin' round the buoy at the mouth 
of the cove he met a mack'rel jigger comin' out, and 
told him what he 'spicioned Cap'n Sim was up to. 
The jiggers, knowin' Sim so well, at once got their 
glasses on him for a good look. 
"Pretty soon," the skipper went on, "they saw Sim 
shoot his boat up into the wind, everything slattin', and 
as they watched, wonderin' iw anything had parted to 
disable him, Sim laid out along the bowsprit and slid 
into the pulpit. He raised a pole at arm's length, 
steadied himself to aim, and then jobbed straight down 
with all his might. Quick as a wink he came off the 
bowsprit, dumb along the cabin top and hopped into 
the cockpit and hove the big oil bar'l overboard with a 
splash. 
"The jiggers were tol'bly sure Sim had struck a 
swordfish. 
"Then it looked as if Cap'n Sim was havin' a peck 
of trouble, for he in with his sheet and bore down on 
the bar'l that acted mighty like a can buoy in a tide 
way. He'd be up for'd then aft quicker'n scat. All at 
once the Commodore Perry slewed round and headed 
to the east'rd at a good five-mile clip. Dead into the 
eye of the wind she was goin', her sail a-tremble, and 
her sheet trailin' astern, clippin' the tops clean off the 
cappers. Cap'n Sim had been fiddlin' at somethin' up 
in the bows, but now he stood aft at the tiller. The 
blue oil bar'l was surgin' ahead, a mass of suds and 
foam rollin' up around it. Now it settled most out of 
sight and then bounded up like a rubber ball. Land 
o' plenty, but didn't the jiggers stare at the strange 
carryin's on. 
"It was a swordfish that raised the racket, and Cap'n 
Sim had him fast, sure enough. You see he had jobbed 
at the sleepin' fish with his iron but missed, but he was 
so excited he didn't stop to see where the iron landed. 
Throwin' the bar'l over the side woke the fish up, and 
he just lunged at it and thrust his sword clean through 
the staves on both sides. That held him fast, for he 
couldn't pull his bony beak out of the wood. 
"Then the fuss began," said the story teller. "Cap'n 
Sim had intended to use the big bar'l for a buoy to 
fasten to his harpoon line, because all his buoys he had 
at home had got that dry the hoops fell off and they 
wouldn't stay put. So he had a line fast to the fish 
just as if he had jobbed him, as he intended. He 
managed to get the end of his anchor wrap fast to the 
fish just above the flukes, and then paid out on it so 
the bitts on the deck of the boat took all the strain. 
Gettin' a clove hitch around the point of the sword 
where it stuck through the further side of the bar'l, 
he had a proper pair of reins that could be saw'd on 
to turn the swordie's head to starboard or to port. 
"The jiggers managed to get alongside, just long 
enough to ask Cap'n Sim if he wanted to be taken off. 
He was madder'n a hatter, after all the pains he'd been 
to in harnessin' the fish, but, you see, the jigger chaps 
weren't rightly sure just what had been transpirin'. 
"Sim recommended them to go 'long about their bus- 
iness,; and when he wanted to be taken off he would send 
his flag in the riggin', as was proper in times of stress. 
The boys saw he was almost blowed, and his face was 
as red as a rock cod. They hauled on his wake, after 
seein' 'twas a swordfish he was fast to, and vowed 
they'd follow and see it out, bein's fishin' wasn't brisk. 
"The course of the Commodore Perry," the skipper 
explained, "carried her over toward Lucas shoal, where 
a long patch of broken ground makes off the point 
just t'other side of Cap'n Sim's house. 'Twas breakin' 
bad across the reef, bein' no fit place for a small boat 
to get into, 'specially when she wasn't under control. 
The jiggers vowed there would be trouble should the 
fish manage to drag the Commodore Perry on top of 
the rocks, where she'd go to pieces in a jiffy, her plank,- 
butts and timbers bein' that old and dozy. 
"Cap'n Sim was attendin' strictly to his navigatin', 
and he wouldn't cut the line while there was a chance 
to save the fish. 'Twasn't his way of doin' things when 
he went whalin'. The tide had swept him down almost 
into the rip, when the old chap bowses in on his sheet, 
lets his centerboard drop, and stands full and by along 
the edge of the shoal for deeper water. It was hy- 
perin', I tell you, and when the Commodore Perry got 
a move on she marched right out of the mess a-draggin' 
the swordfish and bar'l foot by foot into better water. 
The jiggers said to me after it was all over that Cap'n 
Sim maneuvered as if he was handlin' a 600-ton 
ship. He gripped to the tiller with one hand and 
leaned back to the, cOambin' to get a strong hold with 
the other. Foam laced along his lee deck, spray 
drenched his face and chest, seas smashed over his 
bows. 
"She was a-goin' and the swordfish had to follow 
and no mistakin' it. 'Twant more than five minutes of 
that kind of sailin' before Cap'n Sim let his sheet run, 
up stick and bore round the buoy with a good three 
fathoms under him. He got for'd to give the half- 
drowned fish a couple of pokes with an oar to liven 
him up, and then headed the Commodore Perry into 
the cove and in the direction of his moorin's, a shorter 
piece to the south'rd. 
"The steamboat from the mainland had been comin' 
Hp behind Cap'n Sim while he wass too busy to notice. 
Cap'n Staghorn was in the wheelhouse wonderin' what 
the antics of the Commodore Perry could mean. Bill 
Folger, the quartermaster, thought she must be crazy 
and didn't mind sayin' so. The passengers shook their 
heads, and hoped that Cap'n Sim hadn't been sunstruck 
so's he couldn't sail straight and, moreover, why was he 
chasin' a blue bar'l that didn't look fit to take aboard 
for firewood? Somebody was for declarin' Cap'n Sim 
(they all knew him a mile off) had been secretly prac- 
ticin' with some sort of a flyin' machine or submarine 
boat. There were all sorts of guesses. 
"Strange to say, auntie was there among the passen- 
gers. She was comin' home earlier than she thought, 
and was bringin' a daughter with her. 
"My, but wasn't auntie scared when she saw her 
Cap'n in such a dangerous muss. All a-trembly, she 
begged Capt'n Staghorn to put the steamer alongside 
the boat and take Cap'n Sim off. So the steamboat 
was headed right down on top the Commodore Perry; 
but Sim didn't see a thing that was comin'. 
"The old chap was lowerin' his sail, thinkin' the fish 
would surely tow him the rest of the way in, when the 
brute takes a shy, and lambasted the Commodore Perry 
right into the bluff of the steamer's side. Auntie 
screamed and fainted. Lines were thrown, and a boat 
was ordered over, when out from under the folds of 
the sail that had fallen on him came Cap'n Sim, holdin' 
firm to the warp, fast to the fish. Over the bows he 
went with a splash, his bald head followin' in the wake 
of the fleein' swordie that had wrenched clear when the 
shock came. 
"Cap'n Sim held on like a good one. He'd been 
stove more times than one while whalin', and I guess 
the old chap had his fightin' blood up. I'm not so 
sure he saw the steamboat at all till he was bein' 
whisked through the water, and making a bee line for 
his house on the beach. 
"Next thing the people on the steamboat saw was 
Cap'n Sim haulin' himself along the warp toward the 
rapidly scullin' flukes. With the steamer close in his 
wake he finally got to the fish's back, ' grabbed the 
dorsal fin and managed to grip the sword where it 
entered the bar'l, with both hands. There he sat, 
a-straddle, soakin' wet, but mighty pert, I tell you. 
"The upshot of it was that the steamer sent a boat 
to him, but he wouldn't leave his prize till he had it 
moored to the stake that his fish trap was hitched to. 
Then he waded ashore and the passengers sent up a 
rousin' cheer, auntie laughin' and cryin' all at once. 
The Commodore Perry had drifted easy on the beach, 
and wasn't hurt five cents' worth. 
"That swordfish weighed pretty near 500 pounds, and 
Cap'n Sim gave it to some scientific fellows to exhibit 
in their fish pond over to the Hole," said the skipper, in 
conclusion. 
In Old Virginia. 
XVII.-The Up to Date Bird. 
A CHRONICLE of this entire outing, recounting the days 
as they so happily sped by, would probably be monoto- 
nous reading, as the sport was, in. the main, of the same 
general character. 
There was abundance of variety in each day to the men 
behind the guns, but three or four weeks of bird hunting 
cannot be put on paper in an interesting manner by any 
one else than a genius. Never — even with rapidly matur- 
ing pecuniary obligations — has time flown as it did then. 
Out early Monday morning, with delightful anticipa- 
tions of a whole week of sport ahead, it would seem but 
two or three days until Saturday night rolled around. In 
the rush I came to feel like the energetic old lady who, 
to stimulate her too easy-going household, would say : 
"Stir about now, stir about. Here it is Monday, to-mor- 
row is Tuesday, next day Wednesday, and then comes 
Thursday, followed by Friday, with Saturday right after 
■ — the whole week gone and nothin' done." 
Each day found us shooting a little better, and less 
broken down by the hard going in heavy cover. 
The season opening late (November i), did away with 
one feature of bird shooting which has always been a 
drawback heretofore — the finding of immature bird?. 
Not a bird of all the coveys we found but was well 
grown and full feathered, whereas when the season 
opened thirty, or even fifteen, days earlier, it was no un- 
common thing to find many of the coveys flushed com- 
posed of birds not more than half grown. 
Then, too, the nesting season had been unusually favor- 
able, and the food supply good, the result being a plenti- 
ful supply of well nourished birds. The Virginia bird 
averages larger than any other quail of which I have any 
knowledge (unless it be the quail of southern Illinois, 
which is an exceptionally heavy bird), but this season 
they seemed heavier than usual. This was especially no- 
ticeable in the case of two or three coveys that had a 
range near by that we often did some business , with 
during my visit. 
The most marked peculiarity noticed was the fact that 
when flushed they flew unusually low. They seemed as 
speedy as the average birds, but would skim away flying 
barely above the top of the grass, and incidentally fur- 
iiishing variety in the shooting line, so far as my quail 
shooting experience extends. 
