to deny the existence of these animals, happened in 1861.”
“How was that?” asked Ned.
“In 1861, at the north-east of Teneriffe, not far from where we are now, the crew of the despatch-vessel, Alecto, perceived an enormous cuttle. Captain Bonguer approached it, and attacked it with harpoons and guns, without any marked success, for both bullets and harpoons recoiled from its flesh, which is like soft jelly. After many attempts they succeeded in fastening a rope round the animal’s body. The noose slipped to the caudal fins, and there it stopped. They then attempted to haul the monster on board, but his weight was so enormous that the tail was separated from the body, and, deprived of this ornament, the cuttle disappeared beneath the waves.”
“At length we have a fact,” said Ned Land.
“An indisputable fact. So it was proposed to name the poulpe the ‘Bonguer cuttle-fish.’”
“How long was it?” asked the Canadian.
“Did it not measure about six yards?” said Conseil, who was posted at the window, watching the fissures in the cliffs.
“Precisely,” I replied.
“Was not its head crowned with eight tentacles, which moved about in the water like a nest of serpents?”
“Quite so,” I replied.
“Were not the eyes placed at the back of the head and very large?”
“Yes, Conseil.”
“And was its mouth like a parrot’s beak, but a very terrible one?”
“Quite true, Conseil.”
“Well, then, if Monsieur pleases,” replied Conseil,
