CHAPTER IV.
NED LAND.
Commodore Farragut was a good sailor, and worthy of the frigate he commanded. His ship and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the question of cetaceans he entertained no doubt. He would not permit any discussion respecting it. He believed in it as some good women believe in Leviathan, by faith, not by reason. The monster was in existence, and he had sworn to rid the seas of him. He was a sort of Knight of Rhodes; a Dieudonné de Gozon, marching to encounter the serpent that was devastating his island. Either Farragut must kill the narwhal or the narwhal would kill Farragut. There was no compromising the matter.
The officers were of the same opinion as their commander. One could hear them speak, discuss, dispute, and calculate the various chances of an encounter, as they scanned the ocean expanse. More than one imposed a voluntary watch upon himself, and ascended to the fore-topmast cross-trees, which under other circumstances would have been voted an awful bore. So soon as the sun got hot, the masts were ascended by sailors,
