Soon we went around Cape Horn, the lonely rock at the southern tip of South America, and entered the Pacific.
“Keep your eyes open!” the sailors called to each other. Their eyes, a little dazzled by the thought of two thousand dollars, never rested. I cared nothing for the money, but I hardly ate or slept, and I stayed on deck in rain and sun. Every time a whale raised its black back above the waves, the deck filled in a moment. I stared until I was almost blind, while Conseil said calmly beside me, “If master did not squint so much, master would see better!”
But it was always just a whale.
We crossed the Pacific toward the seas of Japan and China, where the monster had last been seen. For three months the Abraham Lincoln searched the North Pacific, and each day seemed like a year. It chased whales, changed course suddenly, stopped and started again. It found nothing. Slowly the excitement turned into disappointment, and the sailors could not hide their anger. It was not a mutiny, but it was close. At last, on November 2, Commander Farragut agreed: if the monster did not appear in three days, the frigate would turn around and sail for Europe.
This promise woke the crew up again. Everyone wanted one last look. Two days passed, and nothing came. The third day was November 5.
That evening we were not far from the coast of Japan. Night was falling, and clouds covered the moon. I was leaning on the rail, and Conseil stood beside me.
“Well, Conseil,” I said, “this is your last chance to win the two thousand dollars.”
“If master will allow me,” said Conseil, “I never expected to win the prize.”
“You are right. It was a foolish business. We should have been back in France months ago.”
“In master’s little apartment,” said Conseil, “and in master’s museum. I would already have classified all master’s fossils.”
“Yes. And I am afraid people will laugh at us.”
“That is quite certain,” said Conseil. “They will laugh at master. And, if I may say so, master will deserve it. When one has the honor of being a scientist like master, one should not…”
Conseil never finished his compliment. In the silence a voice shouted. It was Ned Land.
“Look out there! The very thing we are looking for!”
The whole crew ran to the harpooner; even the engineers left their engines. The frigate stopped. It was very dark, but Ned was right. A few hundred meters away, the sea was lit up from below. The monster lay just under the surface, and from it came that strange, intense light that several captains had described.
“It is only a mass of tiny glowing sea creatures,” cried an officer.
“No, sir,” I answered. “Tiny creatures never give a light so strong. That light is electric. And look, it is moving! It is coming toward us!”
A cry rose from the whole ship. The commander turned the frigate away, but the creature followed at twice our speed. It swam around us, wrapping the frigate in rings of light, and moved off into the darkness. Then suddenly it rushed back at us, stopped a few meters from the hull, and its light went out. A moment later it shone on the other side of the ship, as if it had passed under us. At any moment it could have struck us.
“I don’t know what kind of creature this is, Professor,” said the commander, “and I will not risk my ship in the dark. We will wait for daylight. But I have no more doubts. It is a giant narwhal, and an electric one.”
Nobody slept that night. Around midnight the light went out, like a huge glowworm, but at two it appeared again, far away. Through the wind we could hear the beating of its tail and its heavy breathing. Ned sat sharpening his harpoon.
At dawn a thick fog covered the sea. At eight it lifted, and suddenly we heard Ned’s voice again: “There it is, behind us!”
A long black body lay on the surface, its tail beating the water into foam. Two jets of water and steam rose from it. It was smaller than the reports had said, but still about eighty meters long.
“Full steam ahead!” ordered the commander. Black smoke poured from the funnels, and the frigate went straight at the animal. It let us come close, then moved off a little and waited.
Ned took his place at the very front of the ship, harpoon in hand. Again and again the commander called for more steam. The masts trembled, and the frigate ran faster than it had ever run, but the animal swam just as fast. Sometimes it let us come close. “We’ll get it! We’ll get it!” cried Ned. But just as he was about to throw, it slipped away, and even circled around us at full speed. The crew shouted with rage. The commander no longer pulled at his beard; he chewed it.
At noon we were no nearer than in the morning. The commander ordered the gun to fire. An old gunner with a gray beard (I can still see him) aimed carefully and hit the animal, but the ball slid off its rounded back and disappeared into the sea.
“I’ll chase that beast until my ship bursts!” said the commander.
We chased it all day, and it never showed the least sign of tiring. Night fell, and I thought that our hunt was over.
But at about eleven o’clock the electric light appeared again. The animal lay still, perhaps asleep, rocking on the waves. Slowly and silently the frigate moved toward the light, until it almost blinded us. Nobody breathed.
Leaning over the rail at the front, I saw Ned below me. He was holding on with one hand, his deadly harpoon in the other, only a few meters from the animal. Suddenly his arm straightened, and the harpoon flew. I heard a ringing sound, as if it had struck something hard. The light went out at once. Two enormous columns of water crashed onto the deck and rushed from one end of the ship to the other, knocking men down. Then came a terrible shock. I was thrown over the rail before I could hold on, and I fell into the sea.