Come, why don't some of ye
burst a blood-vessel? Who's that been dropping an anchor overboard--
we don't budge an inch--we're becalmed. Halloo, here's grass growing
in the boat's bottom--and by the Lord, the mast there's budding.
This won't do, boys. Look at that Yarman! The short and long of
it is, men, will ye spit fire or not?"
"Oh! see the suds he makes!" cried Flask, dancing up and down--"What
a hump--Oh, do pile on the beef--lays like a log! Oh! my lads,
do spring--slap-jacks and quahogs for supper, you know, my lads--
baked clams and muffins--oh, do, do, spring,--he's a hundred barreler--
don't lose him now--don't oh, don't!--see that Yarman--Oh, won't ye pull
for your duff, my lads--such a sog! such a sogger! Don't ye love sperm?
There goes three thousand dollars, men!--a bank!--a whole bank!
The bank of England!--Oh, do, do, do!--What's that Yarman about now?"
At this moment Derick was in the act of pitching his lamp-feeder
at the advancing boats, and also his oil-can; perhaps with the double
view of retarding his rivals' way, and at the same time economically
accelerating his own by the momentary impetus of the backward toss.
"The unmannerly Dutch dogger!" cried Stubb.
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