Then it gathered itself
and sprang at us.
The skiff couldn't avoid the collision. Half overturned,
it shipped a ton or two of water that we had to bail out.
But thanks to our skillful coxswain, we were fouled on the bias rather
than broadside, so we didn't capsize. Clinging to the stempost,
Ned Land thrust his harpoon again and again into the gigantic animal,
which imbedded its teeth in our gunwale and lifted the longboat
out of the water as a lion would lift a deer. We were thrown on
top of each other, and I have no idea how the venture would have
ended had not the Canadian, still thirsting for the beast's blood,
finally pierced it to the heart.
I heard its teeth grind on sheet iron, and the dugong disappeared,
taking our harpoon along with it. But the barrel soon popped up
on the surface, and a few moments later the animal's body appeared
and rolled over on its back. Our skiff rejoined it, took it in tow,
and headed to the Nautilus.
It took pulleys of great strength to hoist this dugong onto the platform.
The beast weighed 5,000 kilograms. It was carved up in sight of
the Canadian, who remained to watch every detail of the operation.
At dinner the same day, my steward served me some slices of this flesh,
skillfully dressed by the ship's cook.
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