With your leave, I mean to post myself under the bowsprit, and, if we get within harpooning distance, I shall throw my harpoon." "Go, Ned," said the captain.

"Engineer, put on more pressure." Ned Land 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 Abraham Lincoln was going at the rate of 18 1/2 miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam at the same speed.
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 American navy.