Chapter 01The whale who ate everything
In the sea, once upon a time, there was a Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, the crab and the dab, the plaice and the dace, the skate and his mate, the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel.
All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth — so! Till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea: a small Stute Fish, who swam a little behind the Whale's right ear, so as to be out of harm's way.
Then the Whale stood up on his tail and said, I'm hungry. And the small Stute Fish said in a small stute voice: Noble Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?
Chapter 02Nice but nubbly
No, said the Whale. What is it like? Nice, said the Stute Fish. Nice — but nubbly. Then fetch me some, said the Whale, and he made the whole sea froth with his tail.
One at a time is enough, said the Stute Fish quickly. If you swim to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West, you will find, sitting on a raft in the middle of the sea, one shipwrecked Mariner — a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.
The Stute Fish described him precisely: nothing to wear but blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders, and a jack-knife. And off swam the Whale, as fast as he could swim.
Chapter 03The mariner on the raft
On a raft, in the middle of the sea, with his toes trailing in the water, sat one single, solitary shipwrecked Mariner. He had his mummy's leave to paddle, which is why he dared.
The Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly touched his tail — and swallowed the Mariner whole: man, raft, breeches, suspenders, jack-knife and all, down into his warm, dark insides.
Then the Whale smacked his lips — so! — and turned round three times on his tail, very pleased with himself indeed.
Chapter 04Hornpipes inside
But the Mariner was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, and he did not sit still. He stumped and he jumped, he thumped and he bumped, he pranced and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn't.
He banged and he clanged, he prowled and he howled, he hopped and he dropped — and the Whale felt most unhappy indeed. His great stomach rumbled and his whole body shivered with the hiccoughs.
This man is very nubbly, groaned the Whale to the Stute Fish, and besides, he is making me hiccough. What shall I do?
Chapter 05The bargain
Tell him to come out, said the Stute Fish. So the Whale called down his own throat: Come out and behave yourself! I've got the hiccoughs!
Nay, nay! called back the Mariner, dancing harder than ever. Not so, but far otherwise! Take me to my natal shore and the white cliffs, and I'll think about it.
You had better take him home, said the Stute Fish. I ought to have warned you — he is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity. So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs.
Chapter 06The grating plan
While the Whale swam, the Mariner worked. Out came the jack-knife, and he cut the wooden raft into a little square grating, all running criss-cross — and tied it firm with his suspenders.
Now you know why the suspenders mattered! He dragged the grating good and tight into the Whale's throat — and there it stuck, wedged fast.
It was the cleverest trap ever built inside a whale: a gate the Mariner could slip through, but no big mouthfuls ever again.
Chapter 07Out on the shingle
At last the Whale saw the white cliffs, rushed half-way up the beach, opened his mouth wide and wide and wide — and the Mariner walked out onto the shingle, still wearing his blue canvas breeches.
He recited his triumphing verse: By means of a grating, I have stopped your ating! Then he went home to his mother, and married, and lived happily ever afterward. So did the Whale — more or less.
For from that day on, the grating in his throat — which he could neither cough up nor swallow down — let through only very, very small fish. And that is why whales nowadays never eat men or boys or little girls.
Chapter 08The hiding fish
And what of the small Stute Fish, who started it all? He swam straight to the mud under the door-sills of the Equator and hid himself deep, afraid the Whale might be angry with him.
He need not have worried. The Whale was too busy adjusting to his new small-fish life — and perhaps, in his whale-ish way, a little grateful. A sea of tiny fishes, forever, is still a sea full of dinner.
So the great Whale sips where he once gulped, the Mariner keeps his jack-knife, and the Stute Fish stays small, stute, and safely behind everyone's right ear. And that is the end of that tale.
