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- 7254
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- 2026-01-23T15:41:03.420Z
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- 7195
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- sea. Our captain has his birthmark; look yonder, boys, there’s another
in the sky—lurid-like, ye see, all else pitch black.
DAGGOO. What of that? Who’s afraid of black’s afraid of me! I’m
quarried out of it!
SPANISH SAILOR. (_Aside_.) He wants to bully, ah!—the old grudge makes
me touchy (_Advancing_.) Aye, harpooneer, thy race is the undeniable
dark side of mankind—devilish dark at that. No offence.
DAGGOO (_grimly_). None.
ST. JAGO’S SAILOR. That Spaniard’s mad or drunk. But that can’t be, or
else in his one case our old Mogul’s fire-waters are somewhat long in
working.
5TH NANTUCKET SAILOR. What’s that I saw—lightning? Yes.
SPANISH SAILOR. No; Daggoo showing his teeth.
DAGGOO (_springing_). Swallow thine, mannikin! White skin, white liver!
SPANISH SAILOR (_meeting him_). Knife thee heartily! big frame, small
spirit!
ALL. A row! a row! a row!
TASHTEGO (_with a whiff_). A row a’low, and a row aloft—Gods and
men—both brawlers! Humph!
BELFAST SAILOR. A row! arrah a row! The Virgin be blessed, a row!
Plunge in with ye!
ENGLISH SAILOR. Fair play! Snatch the Spaniard’s knife! A ring, a ring!
OLD MANX SAILOR. Ready formed. There! the ringed horizon. In that ring
Cain struck Abel. Sweet work, right work! No? Why then, God, mad’st
thou the ring?
MATE’S VOICE FROM THE QUARTER-DECK. Hands by the halyards! in
top-gallant sails! Stand by to reef topsails!
ALL. The squall! the squall! jump, my jollies! (_They scatter_.)
PIP (_shrinking under the windlass_). Jollies? Lord help such jollies!
Crish, crash! there goes the jib-stay! Blang-whang! God! Duck lower,
Pip, here comes the royal yard! It’s worse than being in the whirled
woods, the last day of the year! Who’d go climbing after chestnuts now?
But there they go, all cursing, and here I don’t. Fine prospects to
’em; they’re on the road to heaven. Hold on hard! Jimmini, what a
squall! But those chaps there are worse yet—they are your white
squalls, they. White squalls? white whale, shirr! shirr! Here have I
heard all their chat just now, and the white whale—shirr! shirr!—but
spoken of once! and only this evening—it makes me jingle all over like
my tambourine—that anaconda of an old man swore ’em in to hunt him! Oh,
thou big white God aloft there somewhere in yon darkness, have mercy on
this small black boy down here; preserve him from all men that have no
bowels to feel fear!
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