Midnight. The Forecastle Rails

Stubb and Flask mounted on them, and passing additional lashings over the anchors there hanging.

Stubb and Flask climbed onto them and secured the anchors hanging there with extra lashings.

“No, Stubb; you may pound that knot there as much as you please, but you will never pound into me what you were just now saying. And how long ago is it since you said the very contrary? Didn’t you once say that whatever ship Ahab sails in, that ship should pay something extra on its insurance policy, just as though it were loaded with powder barrels aft and boxes of lucifers forward? Stop, now; didn’t you say so?”

“No, Stubb, you can pound that knot as much as you like, but you’ll never pound your argument into me. And how long ago was it that you said the exact opposite? Didn’t you once say that any ship Ahab sails on should pay extra for insurance? You said it should pay as if it were loaded with barrels of gunpowder in the back and boxes of matches in the front. Wait now, didn’t you say that?”

“Well, suppose I did? What then? I’ve part changed my flesh since that time, why not my mind? Besides, supposing we are loaded with powder barrels aft and lucifers forward; how the devil could the lucifers get afire in this drenching spray here? Why, my little man, you have pretty red hair, but you couldn’t get afire now. Shake yourself; you’re Aquarius, or the water-bearer, Flask; might fill pitchers at your coat collar. Don’t you see, then, that for these extra risks the Marine Insurance companies have extra guarantees? Here are hydrants, Flask. But hark, again, and I’ll answer ye the other thing. First take your leg off from the crown of the anchor here, though, so I can pass the rope; now listen. What’s the mighty difference between holding a mast’s lightning-rod in the storm, and standing close by a mast that hasn’t got any lightning-rod at all in a storm? Don’t you see, you timber-head, that no harm can come to the holder of the rod, unless the mast is first struck? What are you talking about, then? Not one ship in a hundred carries rods, and Ahab,—aye, man, and all of us,—were in no more danger then, in my poor opinion, than all the crews in ten thousand ships now sailing the seas. Why, you King-Post, you, I suppose you would have every man in the world go about with a small lightning-rod running up the corner of his hat, like a militia officer’s skewered feather, and trailing behind like his sash. Why don’t ye be sensible, Flask? it’s easy to be sensible; why don’t ye, then? any man with half an eye can be sensible.”

“Well, suppose I did? What then? My body has partly changed since then, so why not my mind? Besides, suppose we are loaded with barrels of gunpowder aft and matches forward. How the devil could the matches catch fire in all this drenching spray? Why, my little man, you have pretty red hair, but you couldn’t catch fire now. Shake yourself, Flask. You’re Aquarius, the water-bearer. You could fill pitchers from your coat collar. Don’t you see? Marine insurance companies have extra safeguards against these extra risks. Here are your hydrants, Flask. “But listen, and I’ll answer your other point. First, take your leg off the crown of the anchor so I can pass the rope. Now listen. What’s the great difference between holding a mast’s lightning rod during a storm and standing close to a mast without one? Don’t you see, you blockhead? No harm can come to the person holding the rod unless lightning strikes the mast first. So what are you talking about? Not one ship in a hundred carries lightning rods. And Ahab, yes, and all of us, were in no more danger then, in my humble opinion, than all the crews in ten thousand ships sailing the seas now. “Why, you King-Post, I suppose you’d have every man in the world wear a little lightning rod. It would run up the corner of his hat like a militia officer’s feather on a spike and trail behind him like his sash. Why don’t you be sensible, Flask? It’s easy to be sensible, so why don’t you? Any man with half an eye can be sensible.”

“I don’t know that, Stubb. You sometimes find it rather hard.”

“I’m not sure about that, Stubb. You sometimes find it pretty hard.”

“Yes, when a fellow’s soaked through, it’s hard to be sensible, that’s a fact. And I am about drenched with this spray. Never mind; catch the turn there, and pass it. Seems to me we are lashing down these anchors now as if they were never going to be used again. Tying these two anchors here, Flask, seems like tying a man’s hands behind him. And what big generous hands they are, to be sure. These are your iron fists, hey? What a hold they have, too! I wonder, Flask, whether the world is anchored anywhere; if she is, she swings with an uncommon long cable, though. There, hammer that knot down, and we’ve done. So; next to touching land, lighting on deck is the most satisfactory. I say, just wring out my jacket skirts, will ye? Thank ye. They laugh at long-togs so, Flask; but seems to me, a long tailed coat ought always to be worn in all storms afloat. The tails tapering down that way, serve to carry off the water, d’ye see. Same with cocked hats; the cocks form gable-end eave-troughs, Flask. No more monkey-jackets and tarpaulins for me; I must mount a swallow-tail, and drive down a beaver; so. Halloa! whew! there goes my tarpaulin overboard; Lord, Lord, that the winds that come from heaven should be so unmannerly! This is a nasty night, lad.”

“Yes, when a man is soaked through, it’s hard to be sensible, that’s a fact. And this spray has nearly drenched me. Never mind. Catch that turn of the rope and pass it. Seems to me we’re lashing down these anchors as if they’ll never be used again. Tying down these two anchors, Flask, is like tying a man’s hands behind him. And what big, generous hands they are. These are your iron fists, eh? What a grip they have, too! I wonder, Flask, whether the world is anchored anywhere. If it is, it swings on an unusually long cable, though. There, hammer that knot down, and we’re done. “So, next to setting foot on land, landing on deck feels best. Say, will you wring out my coat tails? Thank you. They laugh so at long coats, Flask, but I think they should always be worn in storms at sea. The tails taper down and carry off the water, you see. Same with cocked hats. Their turned-up brims make gutters like the eaves on a gable end, Flask. No more short jackets and tarpaulin hats for me. I must put on a swallowtail coat and pull on a beaver hat, like so. Hello! Whew! There goes my tarpaulin hat overboard. Lord, Lord, to think the winds that come from heaven could be so ill-mannered! This is a nasty night, lad.”