This whale is not dead; he is only dispirited;
out of sorts, perhaps; hypochondriac; and so supine, that the hinges
of his jaw have relaxed, leaving him there in that ungainly sort
of plight, a reproach to all his tribe, who must, no doubt,
imprecate lock-jaws upon him.
In most cases this lower jaw--being easily unhinged by a practised artist--
is disengaged and hoisted on deck for the purpose of extracting
the ivory teeth, and furnishing a supply of that hard white whalebone
with which the fishermen fashion all sorts of curious articles
including canes, umbrella-stocks, and handles to riding-whips.
With a long, weary hoist the jaw is dragged on board,
as if it were an anchor; and when the proper time comes--
some few days after the other work--Queequeg, Daggoo, and Tashtego,
being all accomplished dentists, are set to drawing teeth.
With a keen cutting-spade, Queequeg lances the gums;
then the jaw is lashed down to ringbolts, and a tackle being
rigged from aloft, they drag out these teeth, as Michigan oxen
drag stumps of old oaks out of wild woodlands. There are
generally forty-two teeth in all; in old whales, much worn down,
but undecayed; nor filled after our artificial fashion.
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