Stubb’s Dinner

Stubb’s whale had been killed some distance from the ship. It was a calm; so, forming a tandem of three boats, we commenced the slow business of towing the trophy to the Pequod. And now, as we eighteen men with our thirty-six arms, and one hundred and eighty thumbs and fingers, slowly toiled hour after hour upon that inert, sluggish corpse in the sea; and it seemed hardly to budge at all, except at long intervals; good evidence was hereby furnished of the enormousness of the mass we moved. For, upon the great canal of Hang-Ho, or whatever they call it, in China, four or five laborers on the foot-path will draw a bulky freighted junk at the rate of a mile an hour; but this grand argosy we towed heavily forged along, as if laden with pig-lead in bulk.

Stubb’s whale had been killed some distance from the ship. The sea was calm, so we lined up three boats and began the slow work of towing our trophy to the Pequod. The eighteen of us, with our thirty-six arms and one hundred and eighty thumbs and fingers, labored hour after hour over the motionless, sluggish corpse in the sea. The whale seemed to move only at long intervals, and then hardly at all. This was clear evidence of the enormous mass we were moving. On the great canal of Hang-Ho, or whatever they call it, in China, four or five laborers can pull a bulky, loaded junk from the towpath at a mile an hour. But the grand vessel we towed moved heavily along, as if loaded with a great bulk of lead ingots.

Darkness came on; but three lights up and down in the Pequod’s main-rigging dimly guided our way; till drawing nearer we saw Ahab dropping one of several more lanterns over the bulwarks. Vacantly eyeing the heaving whale for a moment, he issued the usual orders for securing it for the night, and then handing his lantern to a seaman, went his way into the cabin, and did not come forward again until morning.

Darkness fell, but three lights spaced along the Pequod’s main rigging dimly guided us. As we drew closer, we saw Ahab lowering another lantern over the ship’s side. He stared blankly at the heaving whale for a moment. Then he gave the usual orders to secure it for the night. He handed his lantern to a sailor and went into the cabin. He did not come forward again until morning.

Though, in overseeing the pursuit of this whale, Captain Ahab had evinced his customary activity, to call it so; yet now that the creature was dead, some vague dissatisfaction, or impatience, or despair, seemed working in him; as if the sight of that dead body reminded him that Moby Dick was yet to be slain; and though a thousand other whales were brought to his ship, all that would not one jot advance his grand, monomaniac object. Very soon you would have thought from the sound on the Pequod’s decks, that all hands were preparing to cast anchor in the deep; for heavy chains are being dragged along the deck, and thrust rattling out of the port-holes. But by those clanking links, the vast corpse itself, not the ship, is to be moored. Tied by the head to the stern, and by the tail to the bows, the whale now lies with its black hull close to the vessel’s and seen through the darkness of the night, which obscured the spars and rigging aloft, the two—ship and whale, seemed yoked together like colossal bullocks, whereof one reclines while the other remains standing.*

Captain Ahab had shown his usual energy, if it can be called that, while overseeing the hunt for this whale. But now that the creature was dead, some vague dissatisfaction, impatience, or despair seemed to be stirring in him. It was as if the dead body reminded him that Moby Dick still had to be killed. Even if a thousand other whales were brought to his ship, they would not advance his grand, obsessive goal one bit. Soon, the sounds on the Pequod’s decks might have made you think that all hands were preparing to anchor in the deep. Heavy chains were being dragged along the deck and pushed rattling through the portholes. But the clanking chains were meant to secure the vast corpse, not the ship. The whale was tied by its head to the stern and by its tail to the bow. Its black hull now lay close against the vessel. The darkness hid the spars and rigging above, and ship and whale seemed yoked together like colossal oxen. One lay resting while the other remained standing.*

*A little item may as well be related here. The strongest and most reliable hold which the ship has upon the whale when moored alongside, is by the flukes or tail; and as from its greater density that part is relatively heavier than any other (excepting the side-fins), its flexibility even in death, causes it to sink low beneath the surface; so that with the hand you cannot get at it from the boat, in order to put the chain round it. But this difficulty is ingeniously overcome: a small, strong line is prepared with a wooden float at its outer end, and a weight in its middle, while the other end is secured to the ship. By adroit management the wooden float is made to rise on the other side of the mass, so that now having girdled the whale, the chain is readily made to follow suit; and being slipped along the body, is at last locked fast round the smallest part of the tail, at the point of junction with its broad flukes or lobes.

*One small detail may as well be mentioned here. When a whale is moored alongside the ship, the strongest and most reliable hold on it is by its flukes, or tail. Because the tail is denser, it is relatively heavier than any other part except the side fins. Even in death, the tail remains flexible and sinks deep beneath the surface. So you cannot reach it by hand from the boat to put a chain around it. But the crew ingeniously overcomes this difficulty. They prepare a small, strong line with a wooden float at its outer end and a weight in the middle. The other end is secured to the ship. By skillful handling, they make the float rise on the other side of the whale. Once the line encircles the whale, the chain can easily be made to follow it. The chain is then slipped along the body and finally locked around the narrowest part of the tail, where it joins the broad flukes or lobes.

If moody Ahab was now all quiescence, at least so far as could be known on deck, Stubb, his second mate, flushed with conquest, betrayed an unusual but still good-natured excitement. Such an unwonted bustle was he in that the staid Starbuck, his official superior, quietly resigned to him for the time the sole management of affairs. One small, helping cause of all this liveliness in Stubb, was soon made strangely manifest. Stubb was a high liver; he was somewhat intemperately fond of the whale as a flavorish thing to his palate.

If moody Ahab was now completely quiet, at least as far as anyone on deck could tell, Stubb was unusually excited. The second mate was flushed with victory, but his excitement was still good-natured. He was so unusually busy that the steady Starbuck quietly left him in sole charge for the time being. Starbuck was officially his superior. One small reason for Stubb’s liveliness soon became strangely clear. Stubb liked to eat well, and he was rather excessively fond of the taste of whale meat.

“A steak, a steak, ere I sleep! You, Daggoo! overboard you go, and cut me one from his small!”

“A steak, a steak before I sleep! Daggoo, get overboard and cut me a steak from his tail!”

Here be it known, that though these wild fishermen do not, as a general thing, and according to the great military maxim, make the enemy defray the current expenses of the war (at least before realizing the proceeds of the voyage), yet now and then you find some of these Nantucketers who have a genuine relish for that particular part of the Sperm Whale designated by Stubb; comprising the tapering extremity of the body.

These wild fishermen generally do not make the enemy pay the running costs of the war, as the great military maxim advises. At least, they do not do so before collecting the proceeds of the voyage. Yet now and then, you find a Nantucketer who genuinely enjoys the particular part of the Sperm Whale Stubb mentioned, the tapering end of its body.

About midnight that steak was cut and cooked; and lighted by two lanterns of sperm oil, Stubb stoutly stood up to his spermaceti supper at the capstan-head, as if that capstan were a sideboard. Nor was Stubb the only banqueter on whale’s flesh that night. Mingling their mumblings with his own mastications, thousands on thousands of sharks, swarming round the dead leviathan, smackingly feasted on its fatness. The few sleepers below in their bunks were often startled by the sharp slapping of their tails against the hull, within a few inches of the sleepers’ hearts. Peering over the side you could just see them (as before you heard them) wallowing in the sullen, black waters, and turning over on their backs as they scooped out huge globular pieces of the whale of the bigness of a human head. This particular feat of the shark seems all but miraculous. How at such an apparently unassailable surface, they contrive to gouge out such symmetrical mouthfuls, remains a part of the universal problem of all things. The mark they thus leave on the whale, may best be likened to the hollow made by a carpenter in countersinking for a screw.

Around midnight, the steak was cut and cooked. Lit by two sperm oil lanterns, Stubb stood firmly at the capstan-head, eating his spermaceti supper as if the capstan were a sideboard. But Stubb was not the only one feasting on whale meat that night. Thousands upon thousands of sharks swarmed around the dead leviathan, smacking their lips as they feasted on its fat. Their chomping mingled with the sound of Stubb chewing. The few people asleep in their bunks below were often startled awake. The sharks’ tails slapped sharply against the hull, just inches from the sleepers’ hearts. Peering over the side, you could just make out the sharks wallowing in the dark, black water. You could hear them before you could see them. They turned onto their backs and scooped out huge, round pieces of the whale, each the size of a human head. This particular feat of the shark seems almost miraculous. How sharks manage to gouge such evenly shaped mouthfuls from a surface that seems impossible to attack remains part of the universal mystery of all things. The mark they leave on the whale is perhaps best compared to the hollow a carpenter makes when countersinking a screw.

Though amid all the smoking horror and diabolism of a sea-fight, sharks will be seen longingly gazing up to the ship’s decks, like hungry dogs round a table where red meat is being carved, ready to bolt down every killed man that is tossed to them; and though, while the valiant butchers over the deck-table are thus cannibally carving each other’s live meat with carving-knives all gilded and tasselled, the sharks, also, with their jewel-hilted mouths, are quarrelsomely carving away under the table at the dead meat; and though, were you to turn the whole affair upside down, it would still be pretty much the same thing, that is to say, a shocking sharkish business enough for all parties; and though sharks also are the invariable outriders of all slave ships crossing the Atlantic, systematically trotting alongside, to be handy in case a parcel is to be carried anywhere, or a dead slave to be decently buried; and though one or two other like instances might be set down, touching the set terms, places, and occasions, when sharks do most socially congregate, and most hilariously feast; yet is there no conceivable time or occasion when you will find them in such countless numbers, and in gayer or more jovial spirits, than around a dead sperm whale, moored by night to a whaleship at sea. If you have never seen that sight, then suspend your decision about the propriety of devil-worship, and the expediency of conciliating the devil.

Even amid the smoke, horror, and devilry of a sea battle, sharks can be seen gazing hungrily up at the decks. They look like hungry dogs around a table where red meat is being carved. They are ready to gulp down every dead man tossed to them. Above them, the brave butchers at the deck table carve one another’s living flesh like cannibals. Their carving knives are gilded and decorated with tassels. Meanwhile, below the table, the sharks quarrel as they carve the dead flesh with their jewel-hilted mouths. Turn the whole affair upside down, and it would still be much the same. For all involved, it is a shockingly sharkish business. Sharks are also the constant escorts of all slave ships crossing the Atlantic. They trot alongside in an orderly way, ready in case a package needs carrying somewhere, or a dead slave needs a decent burial. One or two other examples might be given of the usual circumstances, places, and occasions where sharks gather sociably and feast most merrily. Yet there is no imaginable time or occasion when you will find sharks in such countless numbers, or in higher and more jovial spirits, than around a dead sperm whale, moored at night to a whaleship at sea. If you have never seen that sight, hold off on deciding whether devil worship is proper and whether it is wise to appease the devil.

But, as yet, Stubb heeded not the mumblings of the banquet that was going on so nigh him, no more than the sharks heeded the smacking of his own epicurean lips.

But so far, Stubb paid no attention to the sounds of the feast going on so close to him. The sharks paid just as little attention to the smacking of his own food-loving lips.

“Cook, cook!—where’s that old Fleece?” he cried at length, widening his legs still further, as if to form a more secure base for his supper; and, at the same time darting his fork into the dish, as if stabbing with his lance; “cook, you cook!—sail this way, cook!”

“Cook, cook! Where’s old Fleece?” he finally cried, spreading his legs even wider, as if to brace himself more securely for supper. At the same time, he stabbed his fork into the dish as if it were his lance. “Cook, you cook! Come this way, cook!”

The old black, not in any very high glee at having been previously roused from his warm hammock at a most unseasonable hour, came shambling along from his galley, for, like many old blacks, there was something the matter with his knee-pans, which he did not keep well scoured like his other pans; this old Fleece, as they called him, came shuffling and limping along, assisting his step with his tongs, which, after a clumsy fashion, were made of straightened iron hoops; this old Ebony floundered along, and in obedience to the word of command, came to a dead stop on the opposite side of Stubb’s sideboard; when, with both hands folded before him, and resting on his two-legged cane, he bowed his arched back still further over, at the same time sideways inclining his head, so as to bring his best ear into play.

The old Black man came shuffling from his galley, not very happy about having been roused from his warm hammock at such an inconvenient hour. Like many old Black men, he had something wrong with his kneecaps, which he did not keep as well scrubbed as his other pans. Old Fleece, as they called him, shuffled and limped along, leaning on his tongs for support. The tongs were crudely made from straightened iron hoops. Old Ebony struggled along and, obeying the command, came to a complete stop across from Stubb’s sideboard. With both hands folded before him and resting on his two-legged cane, he bent his arched back even farther. At the same time, he tilted his head sideways so he could listen with his better ear.

“Cook,” said Stubb, rapidly lifting a rather reddish morsel to his mouth, “don’t you think this steak is rather overdone? You’ve been beating this steak too much, cook; it’s too tender. Don’t I always say that to be good, a whale-steak must be tough? There are those sharks now over the side, don’t you see they prefer it tough and rare? What a shindy they are kicking up! Cook, go and talk to ’em; tell ’em they are welcome to help themselves civilly, and in moderation, but they must keep quiet. Blast me, if I can hear my own voice. Away, cook, and deliver my message. Here, take this lantern,” snatching one from his sideboard; “now then, go and preach to ’em!”

“Cook,” said Stubb, quickly lifting a rather reddish piece of meat to his mouth, “don’t you think this steak is a little overdone? You’ve been beating this steak too much, cook. It’s too tender. Don’t I always say that a good whale steak must be tough? Look at those sharks over the side. Don’t you see they prefer their meat tough and rare? What a racket they’re making! Cook, go and talk to them. Tell them they’re welcome to help themselves politely and in moderation, but they must keep quiet. Damn me, I can’t hear my own voice. Go on, cook, and deliver my message. Here, take this lantern.” He snatched one from his sideboard. “Now then, go and preach to them!”

Sullenly taking the offered lantern, old Fleece limped across the deck to the bulwarks; and then, with one hand dropping his light low over the sea, so as to get a good view of his congregation, with the other hand he solemnly flourished his tongs, and leaning far over the side in a mumbling voice began addressing the sharks, while Stubb, softly crawling behind, overheard all that was said.

Old Fleece sullenly took the lantern offered to him and limped across the deck to the ship’s side. He lowered the lantern over the sea with one hand so he could see his congregation clearly. With the other, he solemnly waved his tongs. Leaning far over the side, he began addressing the sharks in a mumbling voice. Stubb crawled quietly behind him and overheard everything he said.

“Fellow-critters: I’se ordered here to say dat you must stop dat dam noise dare. You hear? Stop dat dam smackin’ ob de lip! Massa Stubb say dat you can fill your dam bellies up to de hatchings, but by Gor! you must stop dat dam racket!”

“Fellow creatures: I’ve been ordered to tell you to stop that damn noise. Do you hear? Stop that damn lip-smacking! Master Stubb says you can fill your damn bellies to the hatches, but by God, you must stop that damn racket!”

“Cook,” here interposed Stubb, accompanying the word with a sudden slap on the shoulder,—“Cook! why, damn your eyes, you mustn’t swear that way when you’re preaching. That’s no way to convert sinners, cook!”

“Cook,” Stubb interrupted, suddenly slapping him on the shoulder. “Cook! Damn your eyes, you mustn’t swear like that when you’re preaching. That’s no way to convert sinners, cook!”

“Who dat? Den preach to him yourself,” sullenly turning to go.

“Who’s that? Then preach to him yourself,” he said, turning away sullenly.

“No, cook; go on, go on.”

“No, cook. Go on, go on.”

“Well, den, Belubed fellow-critters:”—

“Well, then, beloved fellow creatures:”

“Right!” exclaimed Stubb, approvingly, “coax ’em to it; try that,” and Fleece continued.

“Right!” Stubb exclaimed approvingly. “Coax them into it. Try that.” Fleece continued.

“Do you is all sharks, and by natur wery woracious, yet I zay to you, fellow-critters, dat dat woraciousness—’top dat dam slappin’ ob de tail! How you tink to hear, spose you keep up such a dam slappin’ and bitin’ dare?”

“Though you are all sharks and naturally very hungry, I say to you, fellow creatures, that this hunger. Stop that damned tail slapping! How do you expect to hear if you keep slapping your tails and biting like that?”

“Cook,” cried Stubb, collaring him, “I won’t have that swearing. Talk to ’em gentlemanly.”

“Cook,” Stubb shouted, grabbing him by the collar, “I won’t have you swearing. Speak to them like a gentleman.”

Once more the sermon proceeded.

The sermon resumed.

“Your woraciousness, fellow-critters, I don’t blame ye so much for; dat is natur, and can’t be helped; but to gobern dat wicked natur, dat is de pint. You is sharks, sartin; but if you gobern de shark in you, why den you be angel; for all angel is not’ing more dan de shark well goberned. Now, look here, bred’ren, just try wonst to be cibil, a helping yourselbs from dat whale. Don’t be tearin’ de blubber out your neighbour’s mout, I say. Is not one shark dood right as toder to dat whale? And, by Gor, none on you has de right to dat whale; dat whale belong to some one else. I know some o’ you has berry brig mout, brigger dan oders; but den de brig mouts sometimes has de small bellies; so dat de brigness of de mout is not to swaller wid, but to bit off de blubber for de small fry ob sharks, dat can’t get into de scrouge to help demselves.”

“Fellow creatures, I don’t blame you much for your hunger. That’s natural, and it can’t be helped. But controlling that wicked nature is the point. You are sharks, certainly. But if you control the shark in you, then you are angels. For all an angel is, is a shark under good control. Now, look here, brothers, just try to be civil as you help yourselves to that whale. Don’t tear the blubber out of your neighbor’s mouth, I say. Doesn’t one shark have as much right to that whale as another? And, by God, none of you has any right to that whale. It belongs to someone else. I know some of you have very big mouths, bigger than others. But those big mouths sometimes come with small bellies. So the big mouths aren’t for swallowing. They’re for biting off blubber for the little sharks who can’t get into the crowd to help themselves.”

“Well done, old Fleece!” cried Stubb, “that’s Christianity; go on.”

“Well done, old Fleece!” cried Stubb. “That’s Christianity. Go on.”

“No use goin’ on; de dam willains will keep a scougin’ and slappin’ each oder, Massa Stubb; dey don’t hear one word; no use a-preachin’ to such dam g’uttons as you call ’em, till dare bellies is full, and dare bellies is bottomless; and when dey do get ’em full, dey wont hear you den; for den dey sink in de sea, go fast to sleep on de coral, and can’t hear not’ing at all, no more, for eber and eber.”

“There’s no use going on, Master Stubb. The damned villains will keep jostling and slapping each other. They don’t hear a word. There’s no use preaching to such damned gluttons, as you call them, until their bellies are full. And their bellies are bottomless. Even when they do fill them, they won’t hear you. They sink into the sea and fall fast asleep on the coral. Then they can’t hear anything at all, ever again.”

“Upon my soul, I am about of the same opinion; so give the benediction, Fleece, and I’ll away to my supper.”

“Honestly, I feel much the same way. So say the blessing, Fleece, and I’ll go have my supper.”

Upon this, Fleece, holding both hands over the fishy mob, raised his shrill voice, and cried—

At this, Fleece held both hands over the fishy mob and cried out in his shrill voice:

“Cussed fellow-critters! Kick up de damndest row as ever you can; fill your dam’ bellies ’till dey bust—and den die.”

“Damn creatures! Make as much noise as you possibly can. Fill your damn bellies until they burst, and then die.”

“Now, cook,” said Stubb, resuming his supper at the capstan; “stand just where you stood before, there, over against me, and pay particular attention.”

“Now, cook,” said Stubb, returning to his supper at the capstan, “stand where you stood before, across from me, and pay close attention.”

“All dention,” said Fleece, again stooping over upon his tongs in the desired position.

“All attention,” said Fleece, bending over his tongs again in the position requested.

“Well,” said Stubb, helping himself freely meanwhile; “I shall now go back to the subject of this steak. In the first place, how old are you, cook?”

“Well,” said Stubb, helping himself generously as he spoke, “I’ll get back to the subject of this steak. First, how old are you, cook?”

“What dat do wid de ’teak,” said the old black, testily.

“What does that have to do with the steak?” the old Black man said irritably.

“Silence! How old are you, cook?”

“Quiet! How old are you, cook?”

“’Bout ninety, dey say,” he gloomily muttered.

“About ninety, they say,” he muttered gloomily.

“And you have lived in this world hard upon one hundred years, cook, and don’t know yet how to cook a whale-steak?” rapidly bolting another mouthful at the last word, so that morsel seemed a continuation of the question. “Where were you born, cook?”

“And you’ve lived in this world for nearly a hundred years, cook, and still don’t know how to cook a whale steak?” As he said the last word, he quickly gulped down another mouthful, so the bite seemed to continue the question. “Where were you born, cook?”

“’Hind de hatchway, in ferry-boat, goin’ ober de Roanoke.”

“Behind the hatchway, in a ferryboat, going over the Roanoke.”

“Born in a ferry-boat! That’s queer, too. But I want to know what country you were born in, cook!”

“Born on a ferryboat! That’s strange, too. But I want to know what country you were born in, cook!”

“Didn’t I say de Roanoke country?” he cried sharply.

“Didn’t I say the Roanoke country?” he shouted sharply.

“No, you didn’t, cook; but I’ll tell you what I’m coming to, cook. You must go home and be born over again; you don’t know how to cook a whale-steak yet.”

“No, you didn’t, cook. But I’ll tell you what I’m getting at, cook. You need to go home and be born again. You still don’t know how to cook a whale steak.”

“Bress my soul, if I cook noder one,” he growled, angrily, turning round to depart.

“Bless my soul, I won’t cook another one,” he growled angrily, turning to leave.

“Come back, cook;—here, hand me those tongs;—now take that bit of steak there, and tell me if you think that steak cooked as it should be? Take it, I say”—holding the tongs towards him—“take it, and taste it.”

“Come back, cook. Here, hand me those tongs. Now take that piece of steak and tell me if you think it’s cooked properly. Take it, I said.” He held the tongs out to him. “Take it and taste it.”

Faintly smacking his withered lips over it for a moment, the old negro muttered, “Best cooked ’teak I eber taste; joosy, berry joosy.”

The old Black man softly smacked his wrinkled lips for a moment, then muttered, “Best cooked steak I ever tasted. Juicy, very juicy.”

“Cook,” said Stubb, squaring himself once more; “do you belong to the church?”

“Cook,” said Stubb, squaring himself again, “do you belong to the church?”

“Passed one once in Cape-Down,” said the old man sullenly.

“I passed one once in Cape-Down,” said the old man sullenly.

“And you have once in your life passed a holy church in Cape-Town, where you doubtless overheard a holy parson addressing his hearers as his beloved fellow-creatures, have you, cook! And yet you come here, and tell me such a dreadful lie as you did just now, eh?” said Stubb. “Where do you expect to go to, cook?”

“And once in your life, you passed a holy church in Cape-Town, didn’t you, cook? No doubt you overheard a holy preacher there, calling his listeners his beloved fellow creatures. And yet you come here and tell me such a terrible lie as you just did, eh?” said Stubb. “Where do you expect to go, cook?”

“Go to bed berry soon,” he mumbled, half-turning as he spoke.

“Go to bed very soon,” he mumbled, turning halfway as he spoke.

“Avast! heave to! I mean when you die, cook. It’s an awful question. Now what’s your answer?”

“Wait! Hold on! I mean when you die, cook. It’s an awful question. Now, what’s your answer?”

“When dis old brack man dies,” said the negro slowly, changing his whole air and demeanor, “he hisself won’t go nowhere; but some bressed angel will come and fetch him.”

“When this old Black man dies,” the Black man said slowly, his manner completely changed, “he won’t go anywhere himself. But a blessed angel will come and fetch him.”

“Fetch him? How? In a coach and four, as they fetched Elijah? And fetch him where?”

“Go get him? How? In a carriage pulled by four horses, like the one they used to fetch Elijah? And bring him where?”

“Up dere,” said Fleece, holding his tongs straight over his head, and keeping it there very solemnly.

“Up there,” said Fleece, holding his tongs straight over his head and keeping them there very solemnly.

“So, then, you expect to go up into our main-top, do you, cook, when you are dead? But don’t you know the higher you climb, the colder it gets? Main-top, eh?”

“So, cook, you expect to go up to our main-top when you die? But don’t you know the higher you climb, the colder it gets? The main-top, huh?”

“Didn’t say dat t’all,” said Fleece, again in the sulks.

“I didn’t say that at all,” said Fleece, sulking again.

“You said up there, didn’t you? and now look yourself, and see where your tongs are pointing. But, perhaps you expect to get into heaven by crawling through the lubber’s hole, cook; but, no, no, cook, you don’t get there, except you go the regular way, round by the rigging. It’s a ticklish business, but must be done, or else it’s no go. But none of us are in heaven yet. Drop your tongs, cook, and hear my orders. Do ye hear? Hold your hat in one hand, and clap t’other a’top of your heart, when I’m giving my orders, cook. What! that your heart, there?—that’s your gizzard! Aloft! aloft!—that’s it—now you have it. Hold it there now, and pay attention.”

“You said up there, didn’t you? Now look for yourself and see where your tongs are pointing. But perhaps you expect to get into heaven by crawling through the lubber’s hole, cook. No, no, cook, you can only get there the regular way, around by the rigging. It’s a tricky business, but you have to do it, or you won’t get there. But none of us are in heaven yet. Drop your tongs, cook, and listen to my orders. Do you hear me? Hold your hat in one hand and put the other over your heart when I give you orders, cook. What! You call that your heart? That’s your gizzard! Higher! Higher! That’s it, now you’ve got it. Hold your hand there and pay attention.”

“All ’dention,” said the old black, with both hands placed as desired, vainly wriggling his grizzled head, as if to get both ears in front at one and the same time.

“All attention,” said the old Black man, placing both hands as requested. He wiggled his gray-haired head in vain, as if trying to bring both ears forward at once.

“Well then, cook, you see this whale-steak of yours was so very bad, that I have put it out of sight as soon as possible; you see that, don’t you? Well, for the future, when you cook another whale-steak for my private table here, the capstan, I’ll tell you what to do so as not to spoil it by overdoing. Hold the steak in one hand, and show a live coal to it with the other; that done, dish it; d’ye hear? And now to-morrow, cook, when we are cutting in the fish, be sure you stand by to get the tips of his fins; have them put in pickle. As for the ends of the flukes, have them soused, cook. There, now ye may go.”

“Well, cook, your whale steak was so bad that I put it out of sight as quickly as possible. You can see that, can’t you? Next time you cook a whale steak for my private table here on the capstan, I’ll tell you how to avoid ruining it by overcooking it. Hold the steak in one hand and show it a live coal with the other. Then put it on a plate. Do you hear? And tomorrow, cook, when we’re cutting up the whale, be sure to stand by and get the tips of its fins. Have them pickled. As for the ends of the tail flukes, have them soused, cook. There, you can go now.”

But Fleece had hardly got three paces off, when he was recalled.

But Fleece had barely taken three steps when he was called back.

“Cook, give me cutlets for supper to-morrow night in the mid-watch. D’ye hear? away you sail, then.—Halloa! stop! make a bow before you go.—Avast heaving again! Whale-balls for breakfast—don’t forget.”

“Cook, give me cutlets for supper tomorrow night during the midnight watch. Do you hear? Off you go, then. Hey! Stop! Bow before you go. Hold on again! Whale-balls for breakfast. Don’t forget.”

“Wish, by gor! whale eat him, ’stead of him eat whale. I’m bressed if he ain’t more of shark dan Massa Shark hisself,” muttered the old man, limping away; with which sage ejaculation he went to his hammock.

“By God, I wish the whale would eat him instead of him eating the whale. I’m blessed if he isn’t more of a shark than Massa Shark himself,” the old man muttered as he limped away. With that wise remark, he went to his hammock.