“In that case, captain,” Conseil said in all seriousness, “on the offchance that this creature might be the last of its line, wouldn’t it be advisable to spare its life, in the interests of science?” “Maybe,” the Canadian answered, “it would be better to hunt it down, in the interests of mealtime.” “Then proceed, Mr. Land,” Captain Nemo replied. Just then, as mute and emotionless as ever, seven crewmen climbed onto the platform. One carried a harpoon and line similar to those used in whale fishing. Its deck paneling opened, the skiff was wrenched from its socket and launched to sea. Six rowers sat on the thwarts, and the coxswain took the tiller. Ned, Conseil, and I found seats in the stern. “Aren’t you coming, captain?” I asked. “No, sir, but I wish you happy hunting.” The skiff pulled clear, and carried off by its six oars, it headed swiftly toward the dugong, which by then was floating two miles from the Nautilus. Arriving within a few cable lengths of the cetacean, our longboat slowed down, and the sculls dipped noiselessly into the tranquil waters. Harpoon in hand, Ned Land went to take his stand in the skiff’s bow. Harpoons used for hunting whales are usually attached to a very long rope that pays out quickly when the wounded animal drags it with him. But this rope measured no more than about ten fathoms, and its end had simply been fastened to a small barrel that, while floating, would indicate the dugong’s movements beneath the waters. I stood up and could clearly observe the Canadian’s adversary. This dugong—which also boasts the name halicore—closely resembled a manatee. Its oblong body ended in a very long caudal fin and its lateral fins in actual fingers. It differs from the manatee in that its upper jaw is armed with two long, pointed teeth that form diverging tusks on either side. This dugong that Ned Land was preparing to attack was of colossal dimensions, easily exceeding seven meters in length. It didn’t stir and seemed to be sleeping on the surface of the waves, a circumstance that should have made it easier to capture. The skiff approached cautiously to within three fathoms of the animal. The oars hung suspended above their rowlocks. I was crouching. His body leaning slightly back, Ned Land brandished his harpoon with expert hands. Suddenly a hissing sound was audible, and the dugong disappeared. Although the harpoon had been forcefully hurled, it apparently had hit only water. “Damnation!” exclaimed the furious Canadian. “I missed it!” “No,” I said, “the animal’s wounded, there’s its blood; but your weapon didn’t stick in its body.” “My harpoon! Get my harpoon!” Ned Land exclaimed. The sailors went back to their sculling, and the coxswain steered the longboat toward the floating barrel. We fished up the harpoon, and the skiff started off in pursuit of the animal.