340 
MOBY DICK; OR 
compared with the lance, which in effect become serious drawbacks. 
As a general thing, therefore, you must first get fast to a whale, before 
any pitchpoling comes into play. 
Look now at Stubb ; a man who from his humorous, deliberate cool- 
ness and equanimity in the direst emergencies, was specially qualified 
to excel in pitchpoling. Look at him ; he stands upright in the tossed 
bow of the flying boat; wrapped in fleecy foam, the towing whale is 
forty feet ahead. Handling the long lance lightly, glancing twice or 
thrice along its length to see if it be exactly straight, Stubb whistlingly 
gathers up the coil of the warp in one hand, so as to secure its free end 
in his grasp, leaving the rest unobstructed. Then holding the lance 
full before his waistband’s middle, he levels it at the whale; when, 
covering him with it, he steadily depresses the butt-end in his hand, 
thereby elevating the point till the weapon stands fairly balanced upon 
his palm, fifteen feet in the air. He reminds you somewhat of a jug- 
gler, balancing a long staff on his chin. Next moment with a rapid, 
nameless impulse, in a superb lofty arch the bright steel spans the 
foaming distance, and quivers in the life spot of the whale. Instead of 
sparkling water, he now spouts red blood. 
“That drove the spigot out of him!” cries Stubb. “ ’Tis July’s im- 
mortal Fourth; all fountains must run wine to-day! Would now it 
were old Orleans whisky, or old Ohio, or unspeakable old Monongahela ! 
Then, Tashtego, lad, I’d have ye hold a cannakin to the jet, and we’d 
drink round it! Yea, verily, hearts alive, we’d brew choice punch in 
the spread of his spout-hole there, and from that live punch-bowl quaff 
the living stuff!” 
Again and again to such gamesome talk, the dexterous dart is re- 
peated, the spear returning to its master like a greyhound held in skil- 
ful leash. The agonised whale goes into his flurry; the tow-line is 
slackened, and the pitchpoler dropping astern, folds his hands, and 
mutely watches the monster die. 
CHAPTER LIXXIV 
THE FOUNTAIN 
That for six thousand years — and no one knows how many millions 
