CHAPTER 120 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!" _

Read next: CHAPTER 121 Midnight.--The Forecastle Bulwarks.

Read previous: CHAPTER 119 The Candles.

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