Bab Bab 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!”