Page:Twenty Thousand Verne Frith 1876.pdf/53

 one dared to sleep. The Abraham Lincoln, not being able to cope with the animal in speed, had moderated her pace, and was kept under easy steam. On his part the narwhal, imitating the frigate, lay rocking at the will of the waves, and appeared to have made up its mind not to abandon the struggle.

It disappeared, however, about midnight, or, to employ a better term, extinguished itself like an enormous glow-worm. Had it fled? We might fear, but could not hope so. But at seven minutes to 1 a deafening rushing noise was heard, like that produced by a column of water expelled with extreme violence.

Commodore Farragut, Ned Land, and I were then on the poop searching into the profound obscurity.

“Ned Land,” asked the commodore, “you have often heard the blowing of whales?”

“Often, sir, but never of such whales, the sight of which has brought me $2,000.”

“You have a right to the reward. But tell me is this noise the same as whales make in ejecting water from their ‘blow-holes?’”

“The same noise, sir, but ever so much louder. One cannot mistake it. It is truly a cetacean which is here with us. With your permission,” added the harpooner, “we will have a word or two with him to-morrow morning.”

“If he will listen to you, Master Land,” I said, in a sceptical tone.

“If I get within four harpoons’ length of him,” replied the Canadian, “I will engage that he will listen to me.”