promise was given on November 2. It had the immediate effect of reviving the crew’s failing spirits. The ocean was observed with renewed care. Spyglasses functioned with feverish energy.
Two days passed. The ship stayed at half steam. A thousand methods were used to spark the animal’s interest or rouse it from its apathy.
At noon the next day, November 5, the delay expired. By then the frigate lay in latitude 31 degrees 15’ north and longitude 136 degrees 42’ east. The shores of Japan were less than 200 miles to our leeward. Night was coming on. Eight o’clock had just struck. Huge clouds covered the moon’s disk.
Just then I was leaning over the starboard rail. Conseil stared straight ahead. Observing Conseil, I discovered that, just barely, the gallant lad had fallen under the general influence. At least so I thought. Perhaps his nerves were twitching with curiosity for the first time in history.
“Come on, Conseil!” I told him. “Here’s your last chance to get $2,000!”
“If master will permit my saying so,” Conseil replied, “I never expected to win that prize, and the Union government could have promised $100,000 and been none the poorer.”
“You’re right, Conseil, it turned out to be a foolish business after all, and we jumped into it too hastily. What a waste of time! Six months ago we could have been back in France—”
“In master’s little apartment,” Conseil answered. “In master’s museum! And by now I would have classified master’s fossils.”
“Quite so, Conseil, and what’s more, I imagine that people will soon be laughing at us!”
Conseil didn’t have time to answer. A voice became audible. It was Ned Land’s voice, and it shouted:
“Ahoy! There’s the thing, abreast of us to leeward!”
Chapter 6
At this shout the entire crew rushed toward the harpooner—commander, officers, mates, sailors, cabin boys, down to engineers leaving their machinery and stokers neglecting their furnaces. The order was given to stop.
Ned Land was not mistaken, and we all saw the object his hand was indicating. Not far from the Abraham Lincoln, the sea was lit up from underneath. This was no mere phosphorescent phenomenon. The monster gave off that very intense but inexplicable glow that several captains had mentioned in their reports. This magnificent radiance had to come from some force with a great illuminating capacity.
A universal shout went up from the frigate.
“Quiet!” Commander Farragut said. “Reverse engines!”
Sailors rushed to the helm, engineers to their machinery.
“Right your helm![18] Engines forward!” Commander Farragut called.
These orders were executed. The frigate wanted to retreat, but the unearthly animal came at us with a speed double our own.
We gasped. More stunned than afraid, we stood mute and motionless. The animal played with us. It made a full circle around the frigate and wrapped us in sheets of electricity that were like luminous dust. Then it retreated two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent trail. Suddenly the monster abruptly dashed toward the ship with frightening speed, stopped sharply twenty feet from us, and died out. Then it reappeared on the other side of the ship.
Meanwhile I was astonished at the frigate’s maneuvers. It was not fighting. Built to pursue, it was being pursued, and I commented on this to Commander Farragut. His face, ordinarily so emotionless, was stamped with indescribable astonishment.
“Professor Aronnax,” he answered me, “I don’t know what kind of fearsome creature I see, and I don’t want my frigate running foolish risks in all this darkness. Besides, how should we attack this unknown creature, how should we defend ourselves against it? Let’s wait for daylight, and then we’ll play a different role.”
“You’ve no further doubts, commander, as to the nature of this animal?”
“No, sir, it’s apparently a gigantic narwhale, and an electric one. It’s surely the most dreadful animal ever conceived by our Creator.”
The whole crew stayed on their feet all night long. No one even thought of sleeping. Unable to compete with the monster’s speed, the Abraham Lincoln slowed down. The narwhale mimicked the frigate, simply rode with the waves.
However, near midnight it disappeared, or to use a more appropriate expression, “it went out,” like a huge glowworm. Had it fled from us?
At 12:53 in the morning, a deafening hiss became audible, resembling the sound made by a waterspout expelled with tremendous intensity.
“Ned Land,” the commander asked, “you’ve often heard whales bellowing?”
“Often, sir, but never a whale like this, whose sighting earned me $2,000.”
“Correct, the prize is rightfully yours. But tell me, isn’t that the noise cetaceans make when they spurt water from their blowholes?”
“The very noise, sir, but this one’s way louder. So there can be no mistake. There’s definitely a whale lurking in our waters. With your permission, sir,” the harpooner added, “tomorrow at daybreak we’ll have words with it.”
“If it’s in a mood to listen to you, Mr. Land,” I replied in a tone far from convinced.
Near two o’clock in the morning, the core of light reappeared, no less intense, five miles to windward of the Abraham Lincoln. Despite the distance, despite the noise of wind and sea, we could distinctly hear the animal’s panting breath. Seemingly, the moment this enormous narwhale came up to breathe at the surface of the ocean, air was sucked into its lungs like steam into the huge cylinders.
“Hmm!” I said to myself. “Now that’s a whale of a whale!”
We stayed on the alert until daylight, getting ready for action. Our chief officer loaded the blunderbusses. Ned Land sharpened his harpoon, a dreadful weapon in his hands.
At six o’clock day began to break, and with the dawn’s early light, the narwhale’s electric glow disappeared. At seven o’clock a very dense morning mist shrank the horizon, and our best spyglasses were unable to pierce it. The outcome: disappointment and anger.
At eight o’clock the horizon grew wider and clearer all at once. Suddenly, just as on the previous evening, Ned Land’s voice was audible.
“There’s the thing, astern to port!” the harpooner shouted.
Every eye looked toward the point indicated.
There, a mile and a half from the frigate, a long blackish body emerged a meter above the waves. Its tail was creating a considerable eddy.
Our frigate drew nearer to the cetacean. I put its length at only 250 feet. Its girth was more difficult to judge, but the animal seemed to be wonderfully proportioned in all three dimensions.
While I was observing this phenomenal creature, two jets of steam and water sprang from its blowholes and rose to an altitude of forty meters.
The crew were waiting impatiently for orders from their leader. The latter, after carefully observing the animal, called for his engineer.
“Clap on full steam![19]” the commander said.
“Aye, sir,” the engineer replied.
Three cheers greeted this order. The hour of battle had sounded. A few moments later, the frigate’s two funnels vomited torrents of black smoke.
Driven forward by its powerful propeller, the Abraham Lincoln headed straight for the animal. Unconcerned, the latter let us come within half a cable length; then it got up a little speed, retreated, and kept its distance.
This chase dragged on for about three-quarters of an hour, but it was useless. At this rate, it was obvious that we would never catch up with it.
“Ned