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