“You spoke of the cachalot as a small creature. I have heard of gigantic ones. They are intelligent cetacea. It is said of some that they cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then are taken for islands. People encamp upon them, and settle there; lights a fire——” “And build houses,” said Conseil. “Yes, joker,” said Ned Land. “And one fine day the creature plunges, carrying with it all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea.” “Something like the travels of Sinbad the Sailor,” I replied, laughing. “Ah!” suddenly exclaimed Ned Land, “it is not one whale; there are ten—there are twenty—it is a whole troop! And I not able to do anything! hands and feet tied!” “But, friend Ned,” said Conseil, “why do you not ask Captain Nemo’s permission to chase them?” Conseil had not finished his sentence when Ned Land had lowered himself through the panel to seek the Captain. A few minutes afterwards the two appeared together on the platform. Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea playing on the waters about a mile from the _Nautilus_. “They are southern whales,” said he; “there goes the fortune of a whole fleet of whalers.” “Well, sir,” asked the Canadian, “can I not chase them, if only to remind me of my old trade of harpooner?” “And to what purpose?” replied Captain Nemo; “only to destroy! We have nothing to do with the whale-oil on board.” “But, sir,” continued the Canadian, “in the Red Sea you allowed us to follow the dugong.” “Then it was to procure fresh meat for my crew. Here it would be killing for killing’s sake. I know that is a privilege reserved for man, but I do not approve of such murderous pastime. In destroying the southern whale (like the Greenland whale, an inoffensive creature), your traders do a culpable action, Master Land. They have already depopulated the whole of Baffin’s Bay, and are annihilating a class of useful animals. Leave the unfortunate cetacea alone. They have plenty of natural enemies—cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish—without you troubling them.” The Captain was right. The barbarous and inconsiderate greed of these fishermen will one day cause the disappearance of the last whale in the ocean. Ned Land whistled “Yankee-doodle” between his teeth, thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned his back upon us. But Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea, and, addressing me, said: “I was right in saying that whales had natural enemies enough, without counting man. These will have plenty to do before long. Do you see, M. Aronnax, about eight miles to leeward, those blackish moving points?” “Yes, Captain,” I replied. “Those are cachalots—terrible animals, which I have met in troops of two or three hundred. As to those, they are cruel, mischievous creatures; they would be right in exterminating them.” The Canadian turned quickly at the last words. “Well, Captain,” said he, “it is still time, in the interest of the whales.”