the frigate. But there was better than this still. There

was Ned Land, the king of harpooners.

Ned Land was a Canadian of almost incredible sleight of hand, and unrivalled in his perilous profession. Skill and coolness, bravery and tact, he possessed in a very high degree, and it must, indeed, be a very malignant whale, or a very astute cachalot, that could escape from his harpoon.

Ned Land was about forty. He was of large frame, and over six feet high, strongly built, grave, silent, sometimes passionate, and very angry when contradicted. He attracted attention by his appearance, and chiefly by the steadiness of his gaze, which gave a singular expressiveness to his countenance. I believe that Commodore Farragut had wisely engaged this man. He was worth the whole crew for steadiness of eye and hand. I can only compare him to a powerful telescope, which could be immediately used as a loaded cannon.

A Canadian is a Frenchman, and little communicative as Ned Land was, I think he conceived a certain liking for me. My nationality attracted him, no doubt. It was an opportunity for him to speak, and for me to listen to the old language of Rabelais, which is still in use in some parts of Canada. The family of the harpooner were originally from Quebec, and had already grown into a tribe of hardy fishermen when that town belonged to France.

By degrees Ned got to like a chat, and I was glad to hear the recitals of his adventures in the Arctic seas. He recounted his fishing exploits and his combats with much natural poetry of expression. His narratives assumed the epic form, and I could fancy I was listening