ity for him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of
Rabelais, which is still in use in some Canadian provinces. The
harpooner's family was originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe
of hardy fishermen when this town belonged to France.

Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related
his fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his
recital took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to
a Canadian Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.

I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to
live a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the
longer on your memory.

Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was
the only one on board who did not share that universal conviction. He
even avoided the subject, which I one day thought it my duty to press
upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th July (that is to say,
three weeks after our departure), the frigate was abreast of Cape
Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia. We had
crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened
less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were
over the Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.

Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up
to this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up
the conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances
of success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let
me speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.

"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any
particular reason for being so incredulous?"

The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to
collect himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."

"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all th