"Pull now, men,
like fifty thousand line-of-battle-ship loads of red-haired devils.
What d'ye say, Tashtego; are you the man to snap your spine in
two-and-twenty pieces for the honor of old Gayhead? What d'ye say?"
"I say, pull like god-dam,"--cried the Indian.
Fiercely, but evenly incited by the taunts of the German, the Pequod's
three boats now began ranging almost abreast; and, so disposed,
momentarily neared him. In that fine, loose, chivalrous attitude
of the headsman when drawing near to his prey, the three mates stood
up proudly, occasionally backing the after oarsman with an exhilarating
cry of, "There she slides, now! Hurrah for the white-ash breeze!
Down with the Yarman! Sail over him!"
But so decided an original start had Derick had, that spite
of all their gallantry, he would have proved the victor
in this race, had not a righteous judgment descended upon him
in a crab which caught the blade of his midship oarsman.
While this clumsy lubber was striving to free his white-ash,
and while, in consequence, Derick's boat was nigh to capsizing,
and he thundering away at his men in a mighty rage;--that was
a good time for Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask. With a shout,
they took a mortal start forwards, and slantingly ranged up
on the German's quarter.
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