CHAPTER VII.
AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE.
So surprised was I by my unexpected fall that I have but little recollection of my sensations at the time.
I was first dragged down about twenty feet. I am a good swimmer, not so good as Byron or Edgar Poe, and this plunge did not embarrass me. Two vigorous strokes brought me to the surface. My first care was to seek the frigate. Had the crew observed my fall? Had the Abraham Lincoln put about? Was the commodore sending a boat for me? Could I hope to be rescued?
The darkness was profound. I could perceive a black mass disappearing in the east, whose lights were extinguished by distance. It was the frigate. I felt I was lost!
“Help! help!” I cried, swimming in the direction of the Abraham Lincoln despairingly. My clothes weighed upon me heavily. The water glued them to my body; they paralysed my movements. I was dying; I was suffocating. “Help!”
This was the last cry I uttered. My mouth filled
