The Narval, or Sea-Unicorn.
Among all the variety of weapons with which nature has armed her various tribes, there is not one so large or so formidable as the tusk of the narval. This terrible weapon is generally found single, and some are of opinion that the animal is only furnished with one by nature; but there is ample proof of instances to the contrary, for a narval with two teeth was for some time to be seen at the Stadthouse, at Amsterdam. The tooth, or horn of the sea-unicorn, is as straight as an arrow, is wreathed, and tapers to a sharp point; and is whiter, heavier, and harder than ivory.
The form of the sea-unicorn, as may be seen from the engraving prefixed to this article, resembles that of the dolphin, the head being about the seventh part of the body; the mouth is exceedingly small when compared to the enormous bulk of the animal, the eyes keen, and the nostrils placed on the top of the head.
The narval varies in color according to age; when young, the back is grayish, with small spots of a dark hue; and when full grown, is whitish, with small brown or gray spots, which vary much in their depth of color.
The sea-unicorn is generally found about Greenland and Iceland, but it is said that one has been seen near Boston. They swim with great rapidity, and are rendered formidable by their tusks, which they sometimes bury in the sides of a ship, or in the body of the whale. They are generally seen in numbers, and whenever they are attacked they crowd together in such a manner that they embarrass each other by their tusks.
“We one day saw,” says Scoresby, in his ‘Voyage to Greenland,’ “a great number of narvals, that swam near us in parties of fifteen to twenty; the majority of them were males, and had very long horns, or tusks, and seemed to be enjoying themselves by raising their horns above the water, and crossing them as if fencing. During their play they made a very strange noise, as if water were gurgling in their throats, which was probably the case, as the noise was only heard when they lifted their heads above the water. The greater number, apparently attracted by curiosity, followed the vessel, and as the water was clear, we could plainly see them go down to the keel and play with the rudder.”
The narval lives upon small fish, and not, as Cravez has asserted, upon sea-plants. Scoresby, in the following passage, confirms our statement:—
“My father sent me the contents of the stomach of a narval, which appeared to me very extraordinary. It consisted of small fishes half digested with the bones and fins of others, besides the fragments of cuttlefish, which seemed to constitute its principal food. There was a part of the back-bone of a turbot, fragments of another, with one almost entire—this was about two feet three inches long, and one foot eight inches broad. It is strange that the narval, without teeth, and having a very small mouth, apparently inflexible lips, and a short tongue, is able to seize and swallow a fish about three times larger than its mouth. As the animal in which these extraordinary contents were found was a male, with a tusk of seven feet, I think that this weapon had been used to catch the fish which had recently been made his prey. It is probable that the turbot had been pierced and killed before devoured, otherwise it is difficult to imagine how the narval was able to seize it, or how a fish of such activity as the turbot would allow itself to be taken by one with smooth lips, without teeth to catch, and without the means of holding it.”
The sea-unicorn, like the whale, is often used as food, and is, in fact, more valuable than any other cetaceous animal, as the oil which it furnishes is considered the best.
An anecdote relative to narval fishing, which we believe to be true, may not be unacceptable to our readers.
Etienne Turgot was one of the most respectable fishermen of Greenland, and from his expertness in spearing and harpooning the narval and the whale, was respected by all his craft. He had a wife, on whom he doted; and a son, a boy of seven years of age, whose daring disposition and fear-nought character were often the cause of many a sad hour to the mother; but it warmed the father’s heart to see in his offspring the same wild spirit that had characterized his own young days,—to hear of a miraculous escape, which reminded him of some of the hazardous scenes of his own daring boyhood.
For several months the son (Pierre,) had his mind bent on going out on a fishing excursion with his father; and when the parent returned home at night, the first thing that saluted his ears was, “Father, I must go to-morrow.”
The indulgent parent, after much persuasion, at last consented; and the following morning was fixed for the desired expedition.
Pierre slept but little; for his night was spent in dreams. At one time he was chased by a whale, or some other monster of the deep; at another he was making his way home with one on his back. At last morning came, and up he got to wake his father; and shortly afterwards they were gliding along in their light boat—the parent on the look-out for narvals, the son gazing into the crystal element, shouting, from time to time,—
“Oh! what a fish; I wish I could reach it!”
Thus they moved onwards, the father casting an occasional affectionate glance on the son, while the latter was too busy to see anything but the small fishes that were sporting beneath him.
After gazing for some time on the broad expanse of water, Etienne imagined that he saw something resembling a fish moving on the surface. On drawing nearer he perceived a horn projecting three feet out of the water, and nothing daunted, exclaimed,—
“Ah, ah; a narval!” Scarcely had he uttered these words, when he heard a plunge behind him; and on turning round, he discovered that his son had fallen into the water. The fond parent was about to plunge after him, when his eye caught sight of the tooth of the narval, which was rapidly gliding towards the place where Pierre was. Etienne stood for a moment horror-struck, gazing wildly at his son as he came up gurgling to the surface, then on the huge creature that was threatening to destroy the object of his affection. That presence of mind which had characterized his former actions in time of danger, did not forsake him at this critical moment. He seized his spear, fixed his keen eye upon the frightful animal, raised himself in the boat, and, aiming a thrust at its head, plunged into the water. For a moment nothing was to be seen; neither the father, son, nor fish. All was as if nothing had taken place, save that the water round the boat was tinctured with blood. Was it that of one, or all of them? No, not of all; for, a few moments afterwards, Etienne reached the surface, bearing in his arms his cherished boy.
When once more safely seated in the boat, the father and son looked everywhere for the wounded fish and the lost spear; but their search was in vain. At last they returned home; and on the husband telling his beloved spouse of the danger they had run, the terrified mother began to scold Pierre for his temerity; but the boy, accustomed to such rebukes, replied,—
“Ah, mother; if you had seen what a beauty it was, you would not scold me. If my arm had been a little longer I am sure I should have caught it.”
Years have elapsed; and, in spite of all Pierre’s solicitations, the prudent mother would not again hear of his accompanying his father on another fishing excursion.
