THE WHITE WHALE i»» 
“Pull, pull, my fine hearts alive; pull, my children; pull, my little 
ones/’ drawlingly and soothingly sighed Stubb to his crew, some of 
whom still showed signs of uneasiness. “Why don’t you break your 
backbones, my boys ? What is it you stare at ? Those chaps in yonder 
boats ? Tut ! They are only five more hands come to help us — never 
mind from where — the more the merrier. Pull, then, do pull: never 
mind the brimstone — devils are good fellows enough. So, so; there 
you are now ; that’s the stroke for a thousand pounds ; that’s the stroke 
to sweep the stakes ! Hurrah for the gold cup of sperm oil, my heroes ! 
Three cheers, men — all hearts alive ! Easy, easy ; don’t be in a hurry — 
don’t be in a hurry. Why don’t you snap your oars, you rascals ? Bite 
something, you dogs ! So, so, so, then ; — softly, softly ! That’s it — 
that’s it ! long and strong. Give way there, give way ! The devil fetch 
ye, ye ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep. Stop snoring, ye 
sleepers, and pull. Pull, will ye ? pull, can’t ye ? pull, won’t ye ? Why 
in the name of gudgeons and ginger-cakes don’t ye pull? — pull and 
break something ! pull, and start your eyes out ! Here !” whipping out 
the sharp knife from his girdle; “every mother’s son of ye draw his 
knife, and pull with the blade between his teeth. That’s it — that’s it. 
How ye do something; that looks like it, my steel-bits. Start her — 
start her, my silver spoons ! Start her, marling-spikes !” 
Stubb’s exordium to his crew is given here at large, because he had 
rather a peculiar way of talking to them in general, and especially in 
inculcating the religion of rowing. But you must not suppose from 
this specimen of his sermonisings that he ever flew into downright 
passions with his congregation. Hot at all; and therein consisted his 
chief peculiarity. He would say the most terrific things to his crew, in 
a tone so strangely compounded of fun and fury, and the fury seemed 
so calculated merely as a spice to the fun, that no oarsman could hear 
such queer invocations without pulling for dear life, and yet pulling 
for the mere joke of the thing. Besides he all the time looked so easy 
and indolent himself, so loungingly managed his steering oar, and so 
broadly gaped — open-mouthed at times — that the mere sight of such a 
yawning commander, by sheer force of contrast, acted like a charm upon 
the crew. Then again, Stubb was one of those odd sort of humorists, 
whose jollity is sometimes so curiously ambiguous, as to put all inferiors 
on their guard in the matter of obeying them. 
