“But to approach him I must put a whale-boat at your disposal?” said the commodore.
“Certainly, sir.”
“And by so doing risk the lives of my men?”
“And mine also,” replied Land quietly.
About two o’clock a.m. the luminosity reappeared, not less intense, five miles to windward of the frigate. Despite the distance and the noise of the wind and waves, the sound made by the formidable beatings of the monster’s tail could be distinctly heard, and even its hoarse respiration could be distinguished. It seemed that when this immense narwhal was breathing, that the air rushing from the lungs was like the steam from the cylinders of an engine of 2,000 horse-power.
“Hum,” I muttered, “a whale with the force of a regiment of cavalry ought to be a fine one.”
Everyone remained on the watch till daybreak, and prepared for the combat. The fishing material was arranged along the nettings. The mate had charge of those blunderbusses which can throw a harpoon to the distance of a mile, and the long duck-guns, with the explosive bullets, whose wound is mortal, even to the most powerful animals. Ned Land was content with his harpoon, which in his hands was a terrible weapon.
At six o’clock day began to dawn, and at the first beams of sunrise the narwhal’s light was extinguished. At seven o’clock the light was sufficiently strong for our purpose, but a very thick mist hung around the horizon, and the best glasses could not pierce it. Much disappointment and anger was the result.
I ascended to the mizzen-yard. Several officers were already perched at the mast-head.
