At Ned Land’s shout, the entire crew rushed toward him.
The captain, the officers, the sailors, and even the cabin boys crowded around the Canadian harpooner.
The engineers abandoned their engines, and the stokers left their furnaces.
“Stop the ship!” Captain Farragut ordered.
The order was carried out immediately. The Abraham Lincoln stopped using its engines and moved only by its own momentum.
The night was completely dark.
I wondered how Ned Land had managed to see anything at all. His eyesight was extraordinary, but what exactly had he seen?
My heart pounded violently.
Yet Ned Land was not mistaken.
Soon, everyone could see what he had pointed out.
About two cable lengths from the Abraham Lincoln, on the starboard side, the sea itself seemed to glow.
This was not ordinary sea phosphorescence.
A huge creature rose several feet above the waves, shining with the same powerful and mysterious light described by many sailors.
The glow spread across the ocean like a giant, stretched-out oval.
At its center burned a brilliant core of light, fading gradually toward the edges.
“It’s just a mass of glowing sea creatures,” one officer said.
“No, sir,” I replied. “That cannot be true. Small marine animals like pholades or salps could never create such a powerful light. This glow is clearly electrical.”
I pointed toward the strange light.
“Look! It’s moving. It’s coming closer!”
A cry of surprise spread across the frigate.
“Silence!” Captain Farragut shouted. “Turn the ship! Reverse the engines!”
The steam was cut off, and the Abraham Lincoln turned sharply to the left, making a wide circle.
“Straighten the helm! Move forward!” the captain commanded.
The orders were followed.
The frigate quickly moved away from the glowing creature.
But I was wrong to think we could escape.
The mysterious animal moved twice as fast as our ship.
We could hardly breathe.
It was not fear alone that froze us—it was complete amazement.
The creature played with the waves as it approached.
It circled the frigate, which was traveling at fourteen knots, surrounding us with rings of glowing light like floating sparks.
Then it moved away several miles, leaving behind a bright trail across the ocean, like the smoke left by a speeding train.
Suddenly, from the dark horizon where it had disappeared, the monster rushed back toward us.
It came at terrifying speed.
Then, only about twenty feet from our hull, it suddenly stopped.
The light disappeared.
Not because it had dived beneath the water—the glow was still visible—but because the source of the light seemed to have suddenly run out of energy.
A moment later, it appeared on the other side of the ship, as if it had turned beneath our hull.
At any moment, it could have smashed into us.
Yet I was amazed by the captain’s decision.
The frigate escaped instead of attacking.
Captain Farragut, usually calm and expressionless, looked completely astonished.
“M. Aronnax,” he said, “I do not know what kind of powerful creature I am facing. I will not risk my frigate in this darkness.”
He stared at the glowing shape.
“We will wait for daylight. Everything may change then.”
“You no longer doubt the creature’s identity, Captain?”
“No, sir. It is clearly a gigantic narwhal—and an electric one.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “only an electric fish like a gymnotus or a torpedo could approach it safely.”
“Exactly,” the captain replied. “If this creature truly possesses such terrible power, then it is the most dangerous animal ever created. That is why I must be careful.”
The entire crew remained awake throughout the night.
No one even thought about sleeping.
Unable to match the creature’s speed, the Abraham Lincoln slowed down and continued at half speed.
The narwhal seemed to imitate us.
It allowed itself to rise and fall with the waves, as if it had decided not to leave the battlefield.
Around midnight, the creature vanished.
Or rather, it “went out,” like a giant glowing insect.
Had it escaped?
No one knew.
At seven minutes before one in the morning, a terrible whistling sound suddenly broke through the darkness.
It sounded like a massive amount of water being forced through a narrow opening.
The captain, Ned Land, and I stood on the rear deck, staring into the darkness.
“Ned Land,” Captain Farragut asked, “you have heard whales before, haven’t you?”
“Many times, sir,” Ned answered. “But never one worth two thousand dollars. If only I could get within four harpoon lengths of it!”
“To approach it,” said the captain, “I would need to put one of my boats at your disposal.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“That would mean risking the lives of my men.”
“And my own,” Ned replied calmly.
Around two in the morning, the glowing creature appeared again.
It was about five miles upwind from the Abraham Lincoln.
Despite the distance and the noise of the sea, we could clearly hear the powerful strikes of its tail.
We could even hear its breathing.
When the enormous narwhal came to the surface for air, it seemed to pull in the atmosphere like a giant machine drawing in steam.
“A whale with the strength of an entire cavalry unit,” I thought. “What a creature that would be!”
We remained alert until morning.
The weapons were prepared.
Harpoons were placed along the ship’s sides.
The second officer loaded powerful harpoon guns and long-range rifles with explosive bullets.
Ned Land needed nothing except his own sharpened harpoon.
At six o’clock, the first light of dawn appeared.
The narwhal’s electric glow disappeared.
By seven, the day had fully arrived, but a thick fog covered the sea.
Even the strongest telescopes could not see through it.
The crew grew frustrated.
I climbed the rear mast.
Several officers had already taken positions above me.
At eight o’clock, the fog slowly began to rise.
The horizon became clearer.
Suddenly, just as before, Ned Land’s voice rang out.
“There it is! On the port side!”
Everyone turned toward the direction he pointed.
A mile and a half away, a long dark body appeared above the waves.
Its tail struck the sea with tremendous force, creating a huge whirlpool.
Never had I seen such a powerful movement.
A wide trail of white foam marked the creature’s path as it curved through the ocean.
The frigate moved closer.
I carefully examined the animal.
The reports from the Shannon and the Helvetia had exaggerated its size.
I estimated its length at about two hundred and fifty feet.
Its body was perfectly shaped.
Two streams of water and steam burst from its breathing openings and rose about 120 feet into the air.
From this, I confirmed that it was a vertebrate mammal.
The crew waited impatiently for the captain’s command.
After studying the creature carefully, Captain Farragut called the engineer.
The engineer hurried over.
“Do you have steam ready?” asked the captain.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then increase the fires. Give me full steam.”
Three cheers exploded from the crew.
The battle had begun.
Moments later, thick black smoke poured from the ship’s funnels.
The deck shook beneath the power of the engines.
The Abraham Lincoln rushed directly toward the creature.
The narwhal allowed us to approach within half a cable length.
Then, as if refusing to dive, it simply turned slightly and stopped a short distance away.
The chase continued for nearly forty-five minutes.
The frigate did not gain even two yards.
It was obvious we would never catch it at that speed.
“Mr. Land,” the captain asked, “should we launch the boats?”
“No, sir,” Ned replied. “We will not capture that creature so easily.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“More steam, if possible. I will stand at the bow. If we get close enough, I will throw my harpoon.”
“Go, Ned,” said the captain. “Engineer, increase the pressure.”
Ned moved into position.
The fires were increased.
The screw turned faster.
Steam burst from the valves.
The ship reached eighteen and a half miles per hour.
But the creature matched our speed exactly.
For an entire hour, the frigate chased it without gaining even six feet.
The crew became furious.
The sailors shouted insults at the monster.
The captain no longer merely pulled his beard—he actually bit it in frustration.
The engineer was called again.
“Full steam?”
“Yes, sir.”
The ship accelerated.
The masts shook from the force.
Smoke struggled to escape from the narrow funnels.
The speed was measured again.
“Nineteen miles and three-tenths per hour,” reported the officer.
“More steam!” shouted the captain.
The engineer obeyed.
But the narwhal simply increased its own speed.
It moved at the same incredible rate without showing any effort.
What a chase!
I cannot describe the excitement running through me.
Ned Land stood ready with his harpoon.
Several times the creature allowed us to approach.
“We’ll catch it! We’ll catch it!” Ned shouted.
But every time he prepared to strike, the narwhal suddenly shot away at a speed of more than thirty miles per hour.
It even circled around the frigate, mocking our efforts.
A roar of anger came from the entire crew.
By noon, we were no closer than we had been at eight in the morning.
Captain Farragut finally decided to use another method.
“That creature is faster than the Abraham Lincoln,” he said. “Very well. Let us see if it can escape our weapons.”
He turned to the officer.
“Prepare the forward cannon.”
The cannon was loaded and aimed.
The shot flew past the creature, missing by several feet.
“Another shot!” shouted the captain. “Five dollars to whoever hits that monster!”
An old gunner with a gray beard stepped forward.
His eyes were steady.
His expression was serious.
He carefully aimed.
The cannon fired.
The crew cheered.
The bullet struck the creature.
But it was not a fatal blow.
It bounced off the animal’s smooth body and disappeared into the ocean depths.
The chase began again.
Captain Farragut leaned toward me.
“I will follow that beast until my frigate breaks apart.”
“You are right to do so,” I answered.
I hoped the creature would eventually become tired.
But it seemed to have the endurance of a machine.
The hours passed.
It showed no signs of exhaustion.
Still, the Abraham Lincoln fought on.
During that terrible day, November 6, the frigate traveled more than three hundred miles.
But night finally covered the ocean.
I thought our expedition had failed.
I believed we would never see the strange creature again.
I was wrong.
At ten minutes before eleven, the electric glow appeared again.
It was three miles away from the frigate, just as bright and powerful as before.
The narwhal seemed motionless.
Perhaps it was resting after the day’s chase, floating peacefully with the waves.
Captain Farragut saw his opportunity.
The frigate moved forward at half speed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Carefully.
We did not want to wake our enemy.
Whales are sometimes found sleeping in the open ocean, and Ned Land had successfully harpooned several during such moments.
The Canadian returned to the bow.
The frigate approached silently.
It stopped about two cable lengths away.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
A deep silence covered the ship.
We were less than one hundred feet from the glowing creature.
Its light became stronger.
It almost blinded us.
I leaned against the front railing.
Below me, I saw Ned Land holding onto the ropes with one hand and gripping his deadly harpoon with the other.
He was less than twenty feet from the motionless animal.
Suddenly, his arm moved.
The harpoon flew through the air.
I heard the sharp impact as the weapon struck the creature.
At that instant, the electric light vanished.
Two enormous waves exploded over the deck.
Water rushed from one end of the frigate to the other.
Men were thrown aside.
Ropes snapped.
The entire ship shook violently.
A terrible удар followed.
I was thrown over the railing before I could grab anything.
I fell into the cold ocean.