A brave stave that—who calls? Mr. Starbuck? Aye, aye, sir—(Aside) he’s my superior, he has his too, if I’m not mistaken.—Aye, aye, sir, just through with this job —coming.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
MIDNIGHT, FORECASTLE
Harpooners and sailors
Foresail rises and discovers the watch standing, lounging, leaning, and lying in various attitudes, all singing in chorus
Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies!
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain!
Our captain’s commanded.—
st Nantucket Sailor
Oh, boys, don’t be sentimental; it’s bad for the digestion! Take a tonic, follow me!
Sings, and all follow
Our captain stood upon the deck,
A spy-glass in his hand,
A viewing of those gallant whales
at blew at every strand.
Oh, your tubs in your boats, my boys,
And by your braces stand,
And we’ll have one of those fine whales,
Hand, boys, over hand!
So, be cheery, my lads! may your hearts never fail!
While the bold harpooneer is striking the whale!
Mate’s Voice from the Quarter-Deck
Eight bells there, forward!
nd Nantucket Sailor
Avast the chorus! Eight bells there! d’ye hear, bell-boy? Strike the bell eight, thou Pip! thou blackling! and let me call the watch.
I’ve the sort of mouth for that—the hogshead mouth. So, so, (thrusts his head down the scuttle), Star—bo-l-e-e-n-s, a-h-o-y!
Eight bells there below! Tumble up!
Dutch Sailor
Grand snoozing to-night, maty; fat night for that. I mark this in our old Mogul’s wine; it’s quite as deadening to some as filliping to others. We sing; they sleep—aye, lie down there, like ground-tier butts. At ’em again! ere, take this copper- pump, and hail
’em through it. Tell ’em to avast dreaming of their lasses. Tell
’em it’s the resurreion; they must kiss their last, and come to judgment. at’s the way— that’s it; thy throat ain’t spoiled with eating Amsterdam butter.
French Sailor
Hist, boys! let’s have a jig or two before we ride to anchor in Blanket Bay. What say ye? ere comes the other watch. Stand by all legs! Pip! little Pip! hurrah with your tambourine!
Pip Sulky and sleepy
Don’t know where it is.
French Sailor
Beat thy belly, then, and wag thy ears. Jig it, men, I say; merry’s the word; hurrah! Damn me, won’t you dance? Form, now, Indian-file, and gallop into the double-shuffle? row yourselves! Legs!
Legs!
