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1"Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post myself under the bowsprit, and if we get within
2harpooning distance, I shall throw my harpoon." "Go, Ned," said the captain. "Engineer, put on more pressure." Ned Land
3went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of
4the valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Abraham Lincoln was going at the rate of 18½ miles an hour. But
5the accursed animal swam too at the rate of 18½ miles an hour. For a whole hour, the frigate kept up this pace, without
6gaining six feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the American navy. A stubborn anger seized the
7crew; the sailors abused the monster, who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented himself
8with twisting his beard--he gnawed it. The engineer was again called. "You have turned full steam in?" "Yes, sir,"
9replied the engineer. The speed of the Abraham Lincoln increased. Its masts trembled down to their stepping holes, and
10the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of the narrow funnels. They heaved the log a second time. "Well?" asked
11the captain of the man at the wheel. "Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir." "Clap on more steam." The engineer obeyed.
12The manometer showed ten degrees. But the cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made
1319-3/10 miles. What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated through me. Ned Land kept his post,
14harpoon in hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it.--"We shall catch it! we shall catch it!" cried the
15Canadian. But just as he was going to strike, the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at
16less than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied the frigate, going round and round it.
17A cry of fury broke from everyone! At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o'clock in the morning. The captain
18then decided to take more direct means. "Ah!" said he, "that animal goes quicker than the Abraham Lincoln. Very well! we
19will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send your men to the forecastle, sir." The forecastle gun was
20immediately loaded and slewed round. But the shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
21"Another, more to the right," cried the commander, "and five dollars to whoever will hit that infernal beast." An old
22gunner with a grey beard--that I can see now--with steady eye and grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim. A
23loud report was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew. [Illustration] An old grey-bearded gunner . . . .
24The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, but not fatally, and sliding off the rounded surface, was lost in two miles
25depth of sea. The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said-- "I will pursue that beast till my
26frigate bursts up." "Yes," answered I; "and you will be quite right to do it." I wished the beast would exhaust itself,
27and not be insensible to fatigue like a steam engine! But it was of no use. Hours passed, without its showing any signs
28of exhaustion. However, it must be said in praise of the Abraham Lincoln, that she struggled on indefatigably. I cannot
29reckon the distance she made under three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night came on, and
30overshadowed the rough ocean. Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never again see the
31extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to eleven in the evening, the electric light reappeared three miles
32to windward of the frigate, as pure, as intense as during the preceding night. The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps,
33tired with its day's work, it slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a chance of which
34the captain resolved to take advantage. He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln kept up half steam, and advanced
35cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound
36asleep that they can be successfully attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than one during its sleep. The Canadian
37went to take his place again under the bowsprit. The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables' lengths from
38the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet
39from the burning focus, the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes. At this moment, leaning on the forecastle
40bulwark, I saw below me Ned Land grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon in the other,
41scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the
42sonorous stroke of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light went out suddenly, and two
43enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men,
44and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and, thrown over the rail without having time to stop
45myself, I fell into the sea.
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