But, as yet, Stubb heeded not the mumblings of the banquet that was going on so nigh him, no more than the sharks heeded the smacking of his own epicurean lips.

“Cook, cook!—­where’s that old Fleece?” he cried at length, widening his legs still further, as if to form a more secure base for his supper; and, at the same time darting his fork into the dish, as if stabbing with his lance; “cook, you cook!—­ sail this way, cook!”

The old black, not in any very high glee at having been previously routed from his warm hammock at a most unseasonable hour, came shambling along from his galley, for, like many old blacks, there was something the matter with his knee-pans, which he did not keep well scoured like his other pans; this old Fleece, as they called him, came shuffling and limping along, assisting his step with his tongs, which, after a clumsy fashion, were made of straightened iron hoops; this old Ebony floundered along, and in obedience to the word of command, came to a dead stop on the opposite side of Stubb’s sideboard; when, with both hands folded before him, and resting on his two-legged cane, he bowed his arched back still further over, at the same time sideways inclining his head, so as to bring his best ear into play.

“Cook,” said Stubb, rapidly lifting a rather reddish morsel to his mouth, “don’t you think this steak is rather overdone?  You’ve been beating this steak too much, cook; it’s too tender.  Don’t I always say that to be good, a whale-steak must be tough?  There are those sharks now over the side, don’t you see they prefer it tough and rare?  What a shindy they are kicking up!  Cook, go and talk to ’em; tell ’em they are welcome to help themselves civilly, and in moderation, but they must keep quiet.  Blast me, if I can hear my own voice.  Away, cook, and deliver my message.  Here, take this lantern,” snatching one from his sideboard; “now then, go and preach to them!”

Sullenly taking the offered lantern, old Fleece limped across the deck to the bulwarks; and then, with one hand drooping his light low over the sea, so as to get a good view of his congregation, with the other hand he solemnly flourished his tongs, and leaning far over the side in a mumbling voice began addressing the sharks, while Stubb, softly crawling behind, overheard all that was said.

“Fellow-critters:  I’se ordered here to say dat you must stop dat dam noise dare.  You hear?  Stop dat dam smackin’ ob de lips!  Massa Stubb say dat you can fill your dam bellies up to de hatchings, but by Gor! you must stop dat dam racket!”

“Cook,” here interposed Stubb, accompanying the word with a sudden slap on the shoulder,—­Cook! why, damn your eyes, you mustn’t swear that way when you’re preaching.  That’s no way to convert sinners, Cook!  Who dat?  Den preach to him yourself,” sullenly turning to go.

No, Cook; go on, go on.”

“Well, den, Belubed fellow-critters:”—­