Several times the animal let us gain upon it.--"We shall catch it! we shall catch it!" cried the Canadian.

But just as he was going to strike, the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied the frigate, going round and round it.

A cry of fury broke from everyone! At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o'clock in the morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
"Ah!" said he, "that animal goes quicker than the Abraham Lincoln.
Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets.
Send your men to the forecastle, sir." The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round.

But the shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
"Another, more to the right," cried the commander, "and five dollars to whoever will hit that infernal beast." An old gunner with a grey beard--that I can see now--with steady eye and grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim.

A loud report was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, and, sliding off the rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said: "I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up." "Yes," answered I; "and you will be quite right to do it." I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to fatigue like a steam engine.