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.
The engineer was called again.
"You have turned full steam on ?" "Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
The speed of the Abraham Lincoln 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.

Ned Land kept his post, harpoon in hand.