The voyage of the _Abraham Lincoln_ was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the
wonderful dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might
place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom we
learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the _Monroe_, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
_Abraham Lincoln_, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in
sight. Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave
him permission to go on board the _Monroe_. And fate served our
Canadian so well that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a
double blow, striking one straight to the heart, and catching the other
after some minutes' pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not
take a tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big
for that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the _Abraham
Lincoln_, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island,
this lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which
some Dutch sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The
course was taken towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of
the frigate was at last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a little dazzled,
it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had not an
instant's repose. Day and night they watched the surface of the ocean,
and even nyctalopes, whose faculty of seeing in the darkness multiplies
their chances a hundredfold, would have had enough to do to gain the
prize.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the
taffrail, I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the
sea as far as the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the
emotion of the majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised
its black back above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded in a
moment. The cabins poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each
with heaving breast and troubled eye watching the course of the
cetacean. I looked and looked, till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil,
always phlegmatic, kept repeating in a calm voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The _Abraham Lincoln_ checked its speed and made
for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which
soon disappeared amidst a storm of execration.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the
July of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea
was beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105° of longitude,
and the 27th of the same month we crossed the equator on the 110th
meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly
direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander
Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep
water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself
seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!
suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some
distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the
tropic of Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre
of the last diversions of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer
_lived_ on board. Hearts palpitated, fearfully preparing themselves for
future incurable aneurism. The entire ship's crew were undergoing a
nervous excitement, of which I can give no idea: they could not eat,
they could not sleep—twenty times a day, a misconception or an optical
illusion of some sailor seated on the taffrail, would cause dreadful
perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times repeated, kept us in a
state of excitement so violent that a reaction was unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the _Abraham Lincoln_ furrowed all the waters of
the Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from
her course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping
suddenly, putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of
deranging her machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American
coast was left unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for resolute determination on the part of
Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This
useless search could not last much longer. The _Abraham Lincoln_ had
nothing to reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed.
Never had an American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its
failure could not be placed to their charge—there remained nothing but
to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide their
discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a mutiny
on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain Farragut
(as Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three days the
monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of
the wheel, and the _Abraham Lincoln_ would make for the European seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.
Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.
Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given
to the giant narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons
and "appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the
animal in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of
bacon were trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction
(I must say) of the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions
round the _Abraham Lincoln_ as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of
the sea unexplored. But the night of the 4th of November arrived
without the unveiling of this submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever
the northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31° 15′ north latitude and 136° 42′ east
longitude. The coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred
miles to leeward. Night was approaching. They had just struck eight
bells; large clouds veiled the face of the moon, then in its first
quarter. The sea undulated peaceably under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting. Conseil,
standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew, perched in
the ratlines, examined the horizon, which contracted and darkened by
degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing
darkness; sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon,
which darted between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in
the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time
his nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government of the Union
offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none the
poorer."
"You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one upon
which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless emotions! We
should have been back in France six months ago."
"In your little room, sir," replied Conseil, "and in your museum, sir,
and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the
Babiroussa would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des
Plantes, and have drawn all the curious people of the capital!"
"As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being
laughed at for our pains."
"That's tolerably certain," replied Conseil, quietly; "I think they
will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it?"
"Go on, my good friend."
"Well, sir, you will only get your deserts."
"Indeed!"
"When one has the honour of being a savant as you are, sir, one should
not expose one's self to——"
Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general
silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land
shouting—
"Look out there! The very thing we are looking for—on our weather
beam!"