 as of
Cleopatra's barges from Actium.
    Nevertheless, the boats pursued, and Stubb's was foremost. By great
exertion, Tashtego at last succeeded in planting one iron; but the stricken
whale, without at all sounding, still continued his horizontal flight, with
added fleetness. Such unintermitted strainings upon the planted iron must sooner
or later inevitably extract it. It became imperative to lance the flying whale,
or be content to lose him. But to haul the boat up to his flank was impossible,
he swam so fast and furious. What then remained?
    Of all the wondrous devices and dexterities, the sleights of hand and
countless subtleties, to which the veteran whaleman is so often forced, none
exceed that fine manoeuvre with the lance called pitchpoling. Small sword, or
broad sword, in all its exercises boasts nothing like it. It is only
indispensable with an inveterate running whale; its grand fact and feature is
the wonderful distance to which the long lance is accurately darted from a
violently rocking, jerking boat, under extreme headway. Steel and wood included,
the entire spear is some ten or twelve feet in length; the staff is much
slighter than that of the harpoon, and also of a lighter material - pine. It is
furnished with a small rope called a warp, of considerable length, by which it
can be hauled back to the hand after darting.
    But before going further, it is important to mention here, that though the
harpoon may be pitchpoled in the same way with the lance, yet it is seldom done;
and when done, is still less frequently successful, on account of the greater
weight and inferior length of the harpoon as compared with the lance, which in
effect become serious drawbacks. As a general thing, therefore, you must first
get fast to a whale, before any pitchpoling comes into play.
    Look now at Stubb; a man who from his humorous, deliberate coolness and
equanimity in the direst emergencies, was specially qualified to excel in
pitchpoling. Look at him; he stands upright in the tossed bow of the flying
boat; wrapped in fleecy foam, the towing whale is forty feet ahead. Handling the
long lance lightly, glancing twice or thrice along its length to see if it be
exactly straight, Stubb whistlingly gathers up the coil of the warp in one hand,
so as to secure its free end in his grasp, leaving the rest unobstructed. Then
holding the lance full before his waistband's middle, he levels it at the whale;
when, covering him with it, he steadily depresses the butt-end in his
