“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.”