327 
THE WHITE WHALE 
It was a terrific, most pitiable, and maddening sight. The whale 
was now going head out, and sending his spout before him in a con- 
tinual tormented jet ; while his one poor fin beat his side in an 
agony of fright. Now to this hand, now to that, he yawled in his: 
faltering flight, and still at every billow that he broke he spasmod- 
ically sank in the sea, or sideways rolled towards the sky his one 
beating fin. So have I seen a bird with clipped wing making 
affrighted broken circles in the air, vainly striving to escape the piratical 
hawks. But the bird has a voice, and with plaintive cries will make 
known her fear; but the fear of this vast dumb brute of the sea was 
chained up and enchanted in him ; he had no voice, save that chok- 
ing respiration through his spiracle, and this made the sight of him 
unspeakably pitiable; while still, in his amazing bulk, portcullis 
jaw, and omnipotent tail, there was enough to appal the stoutest man 
who so pitied. 
Seeing now that but a very few moments more would give the 
Pequod’s boats the advantage, and rather than be thus foiled of his 
game, Derick chose to hazard what to him -must have seemed a most 
unusually long dart, ere the last chance would for ever escape. 
But no sooner did his harpooneer stand up for the stroke, than all 
three tigers — Queequeg, Tashtego, Daggoo — instinctively sprang to their 
feet, and standing in a diagonal row, simultaneously pointed their 
barbs ; and darted over the head of the German harpooneer, their three 
Nantucket irons entered the whale. Blinding vapours of foam and 
white fire! The three boats, in the first fury of the whale’s head- 
long rush, bumped the German’s aside with such force, that both 
Derick and his baffled harpooneer spilled out, and sailed over by the 
three flying keels. 
“Don’t be afraid, my butter-boxes,” cried Stubb, casting a passing 
glance upon them as he shot by; “ye’ll be picked up presently — all 
right — I saw some sharks astern — St. Bernard’s dogs, you know — 
relieve distressed travellers. Hurrah! this is the way to sail now. 
Every keel a sunbeam! Hurrah! — Here we go like three tin kettles 
at the tail of a mad cougar! This puts me in mind of fastening to 
an elephant in a tilbury on a plain — makes the wheelspokes fly, boys, 
when you fasten to him that way; and there’s danger of being pitched 
