CHAPTER 64
Stubb’s Supper
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 piglead in bulk.
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.
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.*
*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.
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.
“A steak, a steak, ere I sleep! You, Daggoo! overboard you go, and cut
me one from his small!”
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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!”
The old black, not in any very high glee at having been previously routed
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.
“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
them!”
Sullenly taking the offered lantern, old Fleece limped across the deck to
the bulwarks; and then, with one hand drooping 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.
“Fellow-critters: I’se ordered here to say dat you must stop dat dam noise
dare. You hear? Stop dat dam smackin’ ob de lips! Massa Stubb say dat you
can fill your dam bellies up to de hatchings, but by Gor! you must stop dat
dam 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! Who
dat? Den preach to him yourself,” sullenly turning to go.
No, Cook; go on, go on.”
“Well, den, Belubed fellow-critters:”—
“Right!” exclaimed Stubb, approvingly, “coax ’em to it, try that,” and
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 slapping and bitin’
dare?”
“Cook,” cried Stubb, collaring him, “I won’t have that swearing.
Talk to ’em gentlemanly.”
Once more the sermon proceeded.
“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 swallar wid, but
to bit off de blubber for de small fry ob sharks, dat can’t get into de scrouge
to help demselves.”
“Well done, old Fleece!” cried Stubb, “that’s Christianity; go on.”
“No use goin’ on; de dam willains will keep a scrougin’ and slappin’ each
oder, Massa Stubb; dey don’t hear one word; no use a-preaching 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 noting at all,
no more, for eber and eber.”
“Upon my soul, I am about of the same opinion; so give the benediction,
Fleece, and I’ll away to my supper.”
Upon this, Fleece, holding both hands over the fishy mob, raised his
shrill voice, and cried—
“Cussed fellow-critters! Kick up de damndest row as ever you can; fill
your dam bellies ’till dey bust—and den 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.”
“All ‘dention,” said Fleece, again stooping over upon his tongs in the
desired position.
“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?”
“What dat do wid de ‘teak, ” said the old black, testily.
“Silence! How old are you, cook?”
“‘Bout ninety, dey say,” he gloomily muttered.
And have 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 that morsel seemed a continuation
of the question. “Where were you born, cook?”
“‘Hind de hatchway, in ferry-boat, goin’ ober de Roanoke.”
“Born in a ferry-boat! That’s queer, too. But I want to know what country
you were born in, cook!”
“Didn’t I say de Roanoke country?” he cried 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.”
“Bress my soul, if I cook noder one,” he growled, angrily, turning round
to depart.
“Come back here, 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.”
Faintly smacking his withered lips over it for a moment, the old negro
muttered, “Best cooked ‘teak I eber taste; joosy, berry joosy.”
“Cook,” said Stubb, squaring himself once more; “do you belong to the
church?”
“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?”
“Go to bed berry soon,” he mumbled, half-turning as he spoke.
“Avast! heave to! 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.”
“Fetch him? How? In a coach and four, as they fetched Elijah?
And fetch him where?”
“Up dere,” said Fleece, holding his tongs straight over his head, and
keeping it 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?”
“Didn’t say dat t’all,” said Fleece, again in the sulks.
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
But Fleece had hardly got three paces off, when he was recalled.
“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.”
“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.
