It was Saturday night. And what a wild Sabbath followed!
Every whaleman, you see, is practically a professional at breaking Sabbath rules.
The ivory‑hulled Pequod looked like nothing short of a slaughterhouse. Every man aboard was acting like a butcher. You’d swear we were sacrificing thousands upon thousands of red oxen for the sea gods.
“Get those big cutting tackles ready!” somebody shouted.
Those were huge, heavy rigs. They held a cluster of pulleys, most painted green. Not one man on the whole ship could lift that heap by himself.
Crews swung this massive tangle of gear all the way up to the main‑top. They lashed it tight to the top of the lower mast — the strongest spot anywhere above deck.
A thick, hawser‑sized rope threaded through all those pulleys. Its free end ran down to the ship’s windlass. The giant bottom pulley of the tackle swung right out over the dead whale. Hanging from that pulley was the massive blubber hook, which weighed close to a hundred pounds.
Starbuck and Stubb, the two first mates, stood out on hanging work platforms over the ocean. Each held a long, sharp spade.
“Cut an opening right above one of his side fins,” Starbuck called over the roar of waves.
“On it,” Stubb answered.
They hacked a hole into the whale’s thick flesh to fit the big hook inside. Once that hole was done, they carved a wide semicircular cut around it. The crew dropped the heavy hook into place.
Then every sailor crowded around the windlass. They broke into a rough, roaring work song and started heaving together.
The ship lurched hard onto one side. Every bolt creaked and popped, just like old nail heads popping in freezing winter weather. The Pequod shook and trembled. Her masts wobbled and nodded toward the dark sky.
She tipped farther and farther toward the whale. Every strained pull on the windlass got an extra push from the rolling ocean waves.
All at once there came a sharp, shocking crack.
With a huge splash, the ship rolled up and away from the whale. The heavy tackle rose into view. Dragging behind it was that big semicircular chunk of whale fat torn loose from the body.
Whale blubber wraps around a whale the exact same way peel wraps around an orange. And we stripped it off almost like you might peel an orange in one long spiral strip.
The windlass kept constant, tight tension. That made the whale spin round and round in the water. Starbuck and Stubb kept slicing that spiral cut — what the whalemen called the scarf. One long continuous sheet of blubber peeled free.
As fast as that fat came loose, the tackle hoisted it higher and higher. The top end of that bloody strip almost touched the main‑top.
“Hold fast! Stop heaving!”
The men at the windlass quit pulling. For a few heartbeats that enormous, dripping mass of whale flesh swung back and forth above the deck. Blood dripped everywhere.
“Watch yourselves!” one mate yelled. “Dodge it! If that thing hits you, it’ll knock you straight overboard!”
Everybody jumped and shifted to stay out of its swinging path.
One of the harpooneers stepped forward. He carried a long, sharp blade known as a boarding‑sword. He waited for his opening, then sliced a good‑sized hole into the bottom of that swinging blubber sheet.
Crewmen hooked the second heavy tackle into that fresh hole. This kept a firm grip on the fat for the next step of the job.
“Stand clear, all hands!” the harpooneer shouted.
He swung his sword hard. A few sharp, slashing cuts, and he chopped the huge strip clean in two.
The short lower piece stayed hooked in place. The long upper section — whalemen named it a blanket‑piece — swung free, ready to be lowered down into the ship.
“Start your song again! Heave!”
The windlass crew took up their rough chant once more. One tackle worked on peeling another long strip off the whale. At the same time, the second tackle slowly let the blanket‑piece sink down. It went straight through the big main hatch, down into a dim, bare storage space they called the blubber‑room.
Down in that shadowy room, quick‑fingered sailors coiled that long heavy strip of blubber. It writhed as they handled it, like a huge tangle of living braided snakes.
The work kept rolling non‑stop.
Both tackles hoisted and lowered at the same time. The whale rolled in the sea. The windlass groaned under strain. The men sang their work chants. Down below, the blubber‑room crew kept coiling fat. Up above, the mates kept carving those spiral scarf cuts. The whole ship creaked and strained under the load. Every now and then, men let out loud swearing, just to blow off some of the raw tension hanging thick over everyone.