Removing the Blubber

It was a Saturday night, and such a Sabbath as followed! Ex officio professors of Sabbath breaking are all whalemen. The ivory Pequod was turned into what seemed a shamble; every sailor a butcher. You would have thought we were offering up ten thousand red oxen to the sea gods.

It was a Saturday night, and what a Sabbath followed! All whalers are professional Sabbath breakers by virtue of their work. The ivory Pequod became what looked like a slaughterhouse, and every sailor became a butcher. You would have thought we were sacrificing ten thousand red oxen to the sea gods.

In the first place, the enormous cutting tackles, among other ponderous things comprising a cluster of blocks generally painted green, and which no single man can possibly lift—this vast bunch of grapes was swayed up to the main-top and firmly lashed to the lower mast-head, the strongest point anywhere above a ship’s deck. The end of the hawser-like rope winding through these intricacies, was then conducted to the windlass, and the huge lower block of the tackles was swung over the whale; to this block the great blubber hook, weighing some one hundred pounds, was attached. And now suspended in stages over the side, Starbuck and Stubb, the mates, armed with their long spades, began cutting a hole in the body for the insertion of the hook just above the nearest of the two side-fins. This done, a broad, semicircular line is cut round the hole, the hook is inserted, and the main body of the crew striking up a wild chorus, now commence heaving in one dense crowd at the windlass. When instantly, the entire ship careens over on her side; every bolt in her starts like the nail-heads of an old house in frosty weather; she trembles, quivers, and nods her frighted mast-heads to the sky. More and more she leans over to the whale, while every gasping heave of the windlass is answered by a helping heave from the billows; till at last, a swift, startling snap is heard; with a great swash the ship rolls upwards and backwards from the whale, and the triumphant tackle rises into sight dragging after it the disengaged semicircular end of the first strip of blubber. Now as the blubber envelopes the whale precisely as the rind does an orange, so is it stripped off from the body precisely as an orange is sometimes stripped by spiralizing it. For the strain constantly kept up by the windlass continually keeps the whale rolling over and over in the water, and as the blubber in one strip uniformly peels off along the line called the “scarf,” simultaneously cut by the spades of Starbuck and Stubb, the mates; and just as fast as it is thus peeled off, and indeed by that very act itself, it is all the time being hoisted higher and higher aloft till its upper end grazes the main-top; the men at the windlass then cease heaving, and for a moment or two the prodigious blood-dripping mass sways to and fro as if let down from the sky, and every one present must take good heed to dodge it when it swings, else it may box his ears and pitch him headlong overboard.

First, the enormous cutting tackles were hoisted to the main-top. Among their heavy parts was a cluster of blocks, usually painted green, that no one man could possibly lift. This vast bunch of grapes was firmly lashed to the lower mast-head, the strongest point anywhere above the ship’s deck. The end of the thick, hawser-like rope that wound through the blocks was then led to the windlass. The huge lower block was swung over the whale. A great blubber hook weighing about one hundred pounds was attached to it. Now the mates, Starbuck and Stubb, hung over the side on platforms, armed with their long spades. They began cutting a hole in the whale’s body, just above the nearest of its two side-fins. The hole was for the hook. Once the hole was cut, they cut a broad semicircular line around it and inserted the hook. The rest of the crew struck up a wild chorus and began heaving at the windlass in one dense crowd. The whole ship instantly leaned over on her side. Every bolt in her shifted like the nail heads in an old house during frosty weather. She trembled and quivered, nodding her frightened mast-heads toward the sky. She leaned farther and farther toward the whale. With every gasping heave of the windlass, the billows gave a helping heave in return. At last, a swift, startling snap was heard. With a great swash, the ship rolled upward and backward, away from the whale. The triumphant tackle rose into sight, dragging the freed semicircular end of the first strip of blubber behind it. The blubber wraps around the whale just as a rind wraps around an orange. So it is stripped from the body just as an orange is sometimes peeled in a spiral. The constant pull of the windlass keeps the whale rolling over and over in the water. Meanwhile, Starbuck and Stubb cut a line called the “scarf” with their spades. Along that line, the blubber peels off evenly in one strip. The very act of peeling it off hoists it higher and higher, until its upper end grazes the main-top. Then the men at the windlass stop heaving. For a moment or two, the enormous, blood-dripping mass sways back and forth as if lowered from the sky. Everyone present must take great care to dodge it when it swings. Otherwise, it may strike a man’s ears and pitch him headlong overboard.

One of the attending harpooneers now advances with a long, keen weapon called a boarding-sword, and watching his chance he dexterously slices out a considerable hole in the lower part of the swaying mass. Into this hole, the end of the second alternating great tackle is then hooked so as to retain a hold upon the blubber, in order to prepare for what follows. Whereupon, this accomplished swordsman, warning all hands to stand off, once more makes a scientific dash at the mass, and with a few sidelong, desperate, lunging slicings, severs it completely in twain; so that while the short lower part is still fast, the long upper strip, called a blanket-piece, swings clear, and is all ready for lowering. The heavers forward now resume their song, and while the one tackle is peeling and hoisting a second strip from the whale, the other is slowly slackened away, and down goes the first strip through the main hatchway right beneath, into an unfurnished parlor called the blubber-room. Into this twilight apartment sundry nimble hands keep coiling away the long blanket-piece as if it were a great live mass of plaited serpents. And thus the work proceeds; the two tackles hoisting and lowering simultaneously; both whale and windlass heaving, the heavers singing, the blubber-room gentlemen coiling, the mates scarfing, the ship straining, and all hands swearing occasionally, by way of assuaging the general friction.

One of the harpooneers now steps forward with a long, sharp weapon called a boarding-sword. Watching for his chance, he skillfully cuts a large hole in the lower part of the swaying mass. The end of the second great tackle is then hooked into the hole to hold the blubber for the next step. The skilled swordsman warns everyone to stand back, then attacks the mass again with precision. With a few desperate, lunging slashes from the side, he cuts it completely in two. The short lower part remains attached, while the long upper strip, called a blanket-piece, swings free, ready to be lowered. The heavers at the front of the ship resume their song. One tackle peels and hoists a second strip from the whale while the other is slowly loosened. The first strip descends through the main hatchway directly below, into an unfurnished parlor called the blubber-room. In this dim room, several nimble workers coil up the long blanket-piece as if it were a great living mass of braided serpents. And so the work goes on, with the two tackles hoisting and lowering at the same time. The whale and the windlass both heave, the heavers sing, the gentlemen in the blubber-room coil, the mates scarf, and the ship strains. Everyone swears occasionally, to ease the general friction.