CHAPTER CXX. THE DECK TOWARDS THE END OF THE FIRST NIGHT WATCH


Ahab standing by the helm. Starbuck approaching him.

"We must send down the main-top-sail yard, sir. The band is working
loose, and the lee lift is half-stranded. Shall I strike it, sir?"

"Strike nothing; lash it. If I had sky-sail poles, I'd sway them up
now."

"Sir?--in God's name!--sir?"

"Well."

"The anchors are working, sir. Shall I get them inboard?"

"Strike nothing, and stir nothing, but lash everything. The wind rises,
but it has not got up to my table-lands yet. Quick, and see to it.--By
masts and keels! he takes me for the hunch-backed skipper of some
coasting smack. Send down my main-top-sail yard! Ho, gluepots! Loftiest
trucks were made for wildest winds, and this brain-truck of mine now
sails amid the cloud-scud. Shall I strike that? Oh, none but cowards
send down their brain-trucks in tempest time. What a hooroosh aloft
there! I would e'en take it for sublime, did I not know that the colic
is a noisy malady. Oh, take medicine, take medicine!"




