CHAPTER120TheDeckTowardstheEndof

ahabstandingbythehelm.starbuckapproachinghim.

"wemustsenddownthemain-top-sailyard,sir.thebandisworkinglooseandtheleeliftishalf-stranded.shallistrikeit,sir?"

"strikenothing;lashit.ifihadsky-sailpoles,i'dswaythemupnow."

"sir!—ingod'sname!—sir?"

"well."

"theanchorsareworking,sir.shalligettheminboard?"

"strikenothing,andstirnothing,butlasheverything.thewindrises,butithasnotgotuptomytablelandsyet.quick,andseetoit.—bymastsandkeels!hetakesmeforthehunch-backedskipperofsomecoastingsmack.senddownmymain-top-sailyard!ho,gluepots!loftiesttrucksweremadeforwildestwinds,andthisbrain-truckofminenowsailsamidthecloud-scud.shallistrikethat?oh,nonebutcowardssenddowntheirbrain-trucksintempesttime.whatahoorooshaloftthere!iwoulde'entakeitforsublime,didinotknowthatthecolicisanoisymalady.oh,takemedicine,takemedicine!"