University of Virginia Library

64. CHAPTER LXIV.
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 pig-lead 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.[1]

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 decktable
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 whale-ship 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

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.

“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!”

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.

“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!”

“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 slappin' and bitin' dare?”

“Cook,” cried Stubb, collaring him, “I wont have that swearing.
Talk to 'em gentlemanly.”

“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 yoursebls 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
ob de mout is not to swallar wid, but to bite 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-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.”

“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 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, 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! Whaleballs
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.