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- 15790
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-23T15:41:04.767Z
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- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 15709
- text
- not in a condemned cell. And as for the other whale, why, I’ll agree to
get more oil by chopping up and trying out these three masts of ours,
than he’ll get from that bundle of bones; though, now that I think of
it, it may contain something worth a good deal more than oil; yes,
ambergris. I wonder now if our old man has thought of that. It’s worth
trying. Yes, I’m for it;” and so saying he started for the
quarter-deck.
By this time the faint air had become a complete calm; so that whether
or no, the Pequod was now fairly entrapped in the smell, with no hope
of escaping except by its breezing up again. Issuing from the cabin,
Stubb now called his boat’s crew, and pulled off for the stranger.
Drawing across her bow, he perceived that in accordance with the
fanciful French taste, the upper part of her stem-piece was carved in
the likeness of a huge drooping stalk, was painted green, and for
thorns had copper spikes projecting from it here and there; the whole
terminating in a symmetrical folded bulb of a bright red colour. Upon
her head boards, in large gilt letters, he read “Bouton de
Rose,”—Rose-button, or Rose-bud; and this was the romantic name of this
aromatic ship.
Though Stubb did not understand the _Bouton_ part of the inscription,
yet the word _rose_, and the bulbous figure-head put together,
sufficiently explained the whole to him.
“A wooden rose-bud, eh?” he cried with his hand to his nose, “that will
do very well; but how like all creation it smells!”
Now in order to hold direct communication with the people on deck, he
had to pull round the bows to the starboard side, and thus come close
to the blasted whale; and so talk over it.
Arrived then at this spot, with one hand still to his nose, he
bawled—“Bouton-de-Rose, ahoy! are there any of you Bouton-de-Roses that
speak English?”
“Yes,” rejoined a Guernsey-man from the bulwarks, who turned out to be
the chief-mate.
“Well, then, my Bouton-de-Rose-bud, have you seen the White Whale?”
“_What_ whale?”
“The _White_ Whale—a Sperm Whale—Moby Dick, have ye seen him?
“Never heard of such a whale. Cachalot Blanche! White Whale—no.”
“Very good, then; good bye now, and I’ll call again in a minute.”
Then rapidly pulling back towards the Pequod, and seeing Ahab leaning
over the quarter-deck rail awaiting his report, he moulded his two
hands into a trumpet and shouted—“No, Sir! No!” Upon which Ahab
retired, and Stubb returned to the Frenchman.
He now perceived that the Guernsey-man, who had just got into the
chains, and was using a cutting-spade, had slung his nose in a sort of
bag.
“What’s the matter with your nose, there?” said Stubb. “Broke it?”
“I wish it was broken, or that I didn’t have any nose at all!” answered
the Guernsey-man, who did not seem to relish the job he was at very
much. “But what are you holding _yours_ for?”
“Oh, nothing! It’s a wax nose; I have to hold it on. Fine day, ain’t
it? Air rather gardenny, I should say; throw us a bunch of posies, will
ye, Bouton-de-Rose?”
“What in the devil’s name do you want here?” roared the Guernseyman,
flying into a sudden passion.
“Oh! keep cool—cool? yes, that’s the word! why don’t you pack those
whales in ice while you’re working at ’em? But joking aside, though; do
you know, Rose-bud, that it’s all nonsense trying to get any oil out of
such whales? As for that dried up one, there, he hasn’t a gill in his
whole carcase.”
“I know that well enough; but, d’ye see, the Captain here won’t believe
it; this is his first voyage; he was a Cologne manufacturer before. But
come aboard, and mayhap he’ll believe you, if he won’t me; and so I’ll
get out of this dirty scrape.”
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