- end_line
- 4258
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:49:30.765Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4194
- text
- “All right again before long!” laughed the stranger, with a solemnly
derisive sort of laugh. “Look ye; when Captain Ahab is all right, then
this left arm of mine will be all right; not before.”
“What do you know about him?”
“What did they _tell_ you about him? Say that!”
“They didn’t tell much of anything about him; only I’ve heard that he’s
a good whale-hunter, and a good captain to his crew.”
“That’s true, that’s true—yes, both true enough. But you must jump when
he gives an order. Step and growl; growl and go—that’s the word with
Captain Ahab. But nothing about that thing that happened to him off
Cape Horn, long ago, when he lay like dead for three days and nights;
nothing about that deadly skrimmage with the Spaniard afore the altar
in Santa?—heard nothing about that, eh? Nothing about the silver
calabash he spat into? And nothing about his losing his leg last
voyage, according to the prophecy. Didn’t ye hear a word about them
matters and something more, eh? No, I don’t think ye did; how could ye?
Who knows it? Not all Nantucket, I guess. But hows’ever, mayhap, ye’ve
heard tell about the leg, and how he lost it; aye, ye have heard of
that, I dare say. Oh yes, _that_ every one knows a’most—I mean they
know he’s only one leg; and that a parmacetti took the other off.”
“My friend,” said I, “what all this gibberish of yours is about, I
don’t know, and I don’t much care; for it seems to me that you must be
a little damaged in the head. But if you are speaking of Captain Ahab,
of that ship there, the Pequod, then let me tell you, that I know all
about the loss of his leg.”
“_All_ about it, eh—sure you do?—all?”
“Pretty sure.”
With finger pointed and eye levelled at the Pequod, the beggar-like
stranger stood a moment, as if in a troubled reverie; then starting a
little, turned and said:—“Ye’ve shipped, have ye? Names down on the
papers? Well, well, what’s signed, is signed; and what’s to be, will
be; and then again, perhaps it won’t be, after all. Anyhow, it’s all
fixed and arranged a’ready; and some sailors or other must go with him,
I suppose; as well these as any other men, God pity ’em! Morning to ye,
shipmates, morning; the ineffable heavens bless ye; I’m sorry I stopped
ye.”
“Look here, friend,” said I, “if you have anything important to tell
us, out with it; but if you are only trying to bamboozle us, you are
mistaken in your game; that’s all I have to say.”
“And it’s said very well, and I like to hear a chap talk up that way;
you are just the man for him—the likes of ye. Morning to ye, shipmates,
morning! Oh! when ye get there, tell ’em I’ve concluded not to make one
of ’em.”
“Ah, my dear fellow, you can’t fool us that way—you can’t fool us. It
is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a
great secret in him.”
“Morning to ye, shipmates, morning.”
“Morning it is,” said I. “Come along, Queequeg, let’s leave this crazy
man. But stop, tell me your name, will you?”
“Elijah.”
- title
- Chunk 60