“Right!” exclaimed Stubb, approvingly, “coax ’em to it, try that,” and Fleece continued.

“Do you is all sharks, and by natur wery woracious, yet I zay to you, fellow-critters, dat dat woraciousness—­’top dat dam slappin’ ob de tail!  How you tink to hear, ’spose you keep up such a dam slapping and bitin’ dare?”

“Cook,” cried Stubb, collaring him, “I won’t have that swearing.  Talk to ’em gentlemanly.”

Once more the sermon proceeded.

“Your woraciousness, fellow-critters.  I don’t blame ye so much for; dat is natur, and can’t be helped; but to gobern dat wicked natur, dat is de pint.  You is sharks, sartin; but if you gobern de shark in you, why den you be angel; for all angel is not’ing more dan de shark well goberned.  Now, look here, bred’ren, just try wonst to be cibil, a helping yourselbs from dat whale.  Don’t be tearin’ de blubber out your neighbour’s mout, I say.  Is not one shark dood right as toder to dat whale?  And, by Gor, none on you has de right to dat whale; dat whale belong to some one else.  I know some o’ you has berry brig mout, brigger dan oders; but den de brig mouts sometimes has de small bellies; so dat de brigness of de mout is not to swallar wid, but to bit off de blubber for de small fry ob sharks, dat can’t get into de scrouge to help demselves.”

“Well done, old Fleece!” cried Stubb, “that’s Christianity; go on.”

“No use goin’ on; de dam willains will keep a scrougin’ and slappin’ each oder, Massa Stubb; dey don’t hear one word; no use a-preaching to such dam g’uttons as you call ’em, till dare bellies is full, and dare bellies is bottomless; and when dey do get ’em full, dey wont hear you den; for den dey sink in de sea, go fast to sleep on de coral, and can’t hear noting at all, no more, for eber and eber.”

“Upon my soul, I am about of the same opinion; so give the benediction, Fleece, and I’ll away to my supper.”

Upon this, Fleece, holding both hands over the fishy mob, raised his shrill voice, and cried—­

“Cussed fellow-critters!  Kick up de damndest row as ever you can; fill your dam bellies ’till dey bust—­and den die.”

“Now, cook,” said Stubb, resuming his supper at the capstan; Stand just where you stood before, there, over against me, and pay particular attention.”

“All ’dention,” said Fleece, again stooping over upon his tongs in the desired position.

“Well,” said Stubb, helping himself freely meanwhile;
“I shall now go back to the subject of this steak. 
In the first place, how old are you, cook?”

“What dat do wid de ’teak, " said the old black, testily.

“Silence!  How old are you, cook?”

“’Bout ninety, dey say,” he gloomily muttered.

And have you have lived in this world hard upon one hundred years, cook, and don’t know yet how to cook a whale-steak?” rapidly bolting another mouthful at the last word, so that that morsel seemed a continuation of the question.  “Where were you born, cook?”