CHAPTER 120

  The Deck Toward 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-hands yet. Quick, and see

to it.- By masts and keels! he takes me for the hunchbacked 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!"