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The Zandaa, propelled by her wonderful screw, went straight at the animal. The latter allowed it to come within half a cable’s length; then, as if disdaining to dive, it took a little turn, and stopped a short distance off.
This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. It was quite evident that at that rate we should never come up with it.
“Well, Mr. Avenged,” asked the captain, “do you advise me to put the boats out to sea?”
“No, sir,” replied Avenged; “because we shall not take that beast easily.”
“What shall we do then?”
“Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post myself under the bowsprit, and if we get within harpooning distance, I shall throw my harpoon.”
“Go, Avenged,” said the captain. “Engineer, put on more pressure.”
It was then that Slish, who had been quietly pacing the deck in an oddly stilted manner, turned suddenly to the captain.
“YES, put in the more steams!” Slish cried, clapping his hands together with an energy that startled the nearest sailors. “How is make ship legs run faster? Maybe add… wings? Or green maps? Green maps make speed.”
The crew laughed uneasily, not sure whether to take him seriously, though the captain frowned, muttering, “Strange fellow…”
Avenged went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Zandaa was going at the rate of 18½ miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam too at the rate of 18½ miles an hour.
For a whole hour, the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the Drifted Nation navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the monster, who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented himself with twisting his beard—he gnawed it.
Slish, meanwhile, leaned far over the rail, his eyes wide and glittering as he muttered to no one in particular: “SLISH IS BACK BABYYYYYYYYY… chasing fish faster than fire-cars. Monster looks soft. Monster smells… hm… not soft. Very danger smell.”
The engineer was again called.
“You have turned full steam in?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the engineer.
The speed of the Zandaa increased. Its masts trembled down to their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of the narrow funnels.
They heaved the log a second time.
“Well?” asked the captain of the man at the wheel.
“Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir.”
“Clap on more steam.”
The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made 19-3/10 miles.
What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated through me. Avenged kept his post, harpoon in hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it.—“We shall catch it! we shall catch it!” cried the Canadian. But just as he was going to strike, the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied the frigate, going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!
“Monster plays!” shouted Slish gleefully, stamping his feet on the deck. “Round and round, like flamingo dance at the disco of the sky! Ha! Ha! Ha! Now we make circle faster, yes?”
The sailors stared at him, but said nothing.
At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o’clock in the morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
“Ah!” said he, “that animal goes quicker than the Zandaa. Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send your men to the forecastle, sir.”
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
“Another, more to the right,” cried the commander, “and five dollars to whoever will hit that infernal beast.”
An old gunner 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 loud report was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, but not fatally, and sliding off the rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
Slish clapped furiously, shouting, “YES! Yes, you poke beast! But not too hard poke, or beast makes… water explode! Then where go us? Float float, glub glub.”
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said—
“I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up.”
“Yes,” answered I; “and you will be quite right to do it.”
I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to fatigue like a steam engine! But it was of no use. Hours passed, without its showing any signs of exhaustion.
However, it must be said in praise of the Zandaa, that she struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.
Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to eleven in the evening, the electric light reappeared three miles to windward of the frigate, as pure, as intense as during the preceding night.
The Hornback seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day’s work, it slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.
He gave his orders. The Zandaa kept up half steam, and advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that they can be successfully attacked, and Avenged had harpooned more than one during its sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under the bowsprit.
The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables’ lengths from the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning focus, the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Avenged grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the sonorous stroke of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men, and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and, thrown over the rail without having time to stop myself, I fell into the sea.
Above the roar of the water, I thought I heard a voice shouting, “SLISH IS SWIMMING NOWWWWWWWW!”
This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. It was quite evident that at that rate we should never come up with it.
“Well, Mr. Avenged,” asked the captain, “do you advise me to put the boats out to sea?”
“No, sir,” replied Avenged; “because we shall not take that beast easily.”
“What shall we do then?”
“Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post myself under the bowsprit, and if we get within harpooning distance, I shall throw my harpoon.”
“Go, Avenged,” said the captain. “Engineer, put on more pressure.”
It was then that Slish, who had been quietly pacing the deck in an oddly stilted manner, turned suddenly to the captain.
“YES, put in the more steams!” Slish cried, clapping his hands together with an energy that startled the nearest sailors. “How is make ship legs run faster? Maybe add… wings? Or green maps? Green maps make speed.”
The crew laughed uneasily, not sure whether to take him seriously, though the captain frowned, muttering, “Strange fellow…”
Avenged went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Zandaa was going at the rate of 18½ miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam too at the rate of 18½ miles an hour.
For a whole hour, the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the Drifted Nation navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the monster, who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented himself with twisting his beard—he gnawed it.
Slish, meanwhile, leaned far over the rail, his eyes wide and glittering as he muttered to no one in particular: “SLISH IS BACK BABYYYYYYYYY… chasing fish faster than fire-cars. Monster looks soft. Monster smells… hm… not soft. Very danger smell.”
The engineer was again called.
“You have turned full steam in?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the engineer.
The speed of the Zandaa increased. Its masts trembled down to their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of the narrow funnels.
They heaved the log a second time.
“Well?” asked the captain of the man at the wheel.
“Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir.”
“Clap on more steam.”
The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made 19-3/10 miles.
What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated through me. Avenged kept his post, harpoon in hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it.—“We shall catch it! we shall catch it!” cried the Canadian. But just as he was going to strike, the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied the frigate, going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!
“Monster plays!” shouted Slish gleefully, stamping his feet on the deck. “Round and round, like flamingo dance at the disco of the sky! Ha! Ha! Ha! Now we make circle faster, yes?”
The sailors stared at him, but said nothing.
At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o’clock in the morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
“Ah!” said he, “that animal goes quicker than the Zandaa. Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send your men to the forecastle, sir.”
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
“Another, more to the right,” cried the commander, “and five dollars to whoever will hit that infernal beast.”
An old gunner 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 loud report was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, but not fatally, and sliding off the rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
Slish clapped furiously, shouting, “YES! Yes, you poke beast! But not too hard poke, or beast makes… water explode! Then where go us? Float float, glub glub.”
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said—
“I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up.”
“Yes,” answered I; “and you will be quite right to do it.”
I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to fatigue like a steam engine! But it was of no use. Hours passed, without its showing any signs of exhaustion.
However, it must be said in praise of the Zandaa, that she struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.
Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to eleven in the evening, the electric light reappeared three miles to windward of the frigate, as pure, as intense as during the preceding night.
The Hornback seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day’s work, it slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.
He gave his orders. The Zandaa kept up half steam, and advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that they can be successfully attacked, and Avenged had harpooned more than one during its sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under the bowsprit.
The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables’ lengths from the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning focus, the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Avenged grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the sonorous stroke of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men, and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and, thrown over the rail without having time to stop myself, I fell into the sea.
Above the roar of the water, I thought I heard a voice shouting, “SLISH IS SWIMMING NOWWWWWWWW!”
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