The Deck Near the First Watch's End

Ahab standing by the helm. Starbuck approaching him.

Ahab stands by the helm. Starbuck approaches 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?”

“We need to lower the main topsail yard, sir. The band is coming loose, and the lee lift is half frayed. Shall I lower the yard, sir?”

“Strike nothing; lash it. If I had sky-sail poles, I’d sway them up now.”

“Lower nothing. Lash it down. If I had sky-sail poles, I’d hoist them now.”

“Sir!—in God’s name!—sir?”

“Sir! In God’s name, sir?”

“Well.”

“Well.”

“The anchors are working, sir. Shall I get them inboard?”

“The anchors are working, sir. Should I bring them aboard?”

“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!”

“Lower nothing, and move nothing, but tie everything down. The wind is rising, but it has not reached my tablelands yet. Quick, see to it. By masts and keels! He takes me for the hunchbacked captain of some little coastal boat. Lower my main topsail yard! Hey, you gluepots! The highest mastheads were made for the wildest winds. And my own brain-masthead now sails among the racing clouds. Should I lower it? Oh, only cowards lower their brain-mastheads in a storm. What a roar up there! I might even call it sublime, if I did not know that colic is a noisy illness. Oh, take medicine, take medicine!”