Moby Dick

by Herman Melville

was going ‘head out’; that part obliquely projecting from the mad yeast which he brewed.1 ‘Start her, start her, my men! Don’t hurry yourselves; take plenty of time—but start her; start her like thunder-claps, that’s all,’ cried Stubb, spluttering out the smoke as he spoke. ‘Start her, now; give ‘em the long and strong stroke, Tashtego. Start her, Tash, my boy— start her, all; but keep cool, keep cool—cucumbers is the word— easy, easy—only start her like grim death and grinning devils, and raise the buried dead perpendicular out of their graves, boys—that’s all. Start her!’ ‘Woo-hoo! Wa-hee!’ screamed the Gay-Header in reply, raising some old war-whoop to the skies; as every oarsman in the strained boat involuntarily bounced forward with the one tremendous leading stroke which the eager Indian gave. But his wild screams were answered by others quite as wild. ‘Kee-hee! Kee-hee!’ yelled Daggoo, straining forwards and backwards on his seat, like a pacing tiger in his cage. ‘Ka-la! Koo-loo!’ howled Queequeg, as if smacking his lips over a mouthful of Grenadier’s steak. And thus with oars and yells the keels cut the sea. Meanwhile, Stubb retaining his place in the van, still encouraged his men to the onset, all the while puffing the smoke from his mouth. Like desperadoes they tugged and they