{"id":"01KJNXJQVRQ5E5H6HAEE73AKT8","cid":"bafkreibrnmyr4maugbswikxu2dimcuvsy34arxuseigkzqjso73lmicl2e","type":"text_chunk","properties":{"char_end":250037,"char_start":242151,"chunk_index":34,"chunk_total":178,"estimated_tokens":1972,"source_file_key":"moby-dick","text":"\r\nBut there was not much chance to think over the matter, for Captain\r\nPeleg was now all alive. He seemed to do most of the talking and\r\ncommanding, and not Bildad.\r\n\r\n“Aft here, ye sons of bachelors,” he cried, as the sailors lingered at\r\nthe main-mast. “Mr. Starbuck, drive ’em aft.”\r\n\r\n“Strike the tent there!”—was the next order. As I hinted before, this\r\nwhalebone marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the\r\nPequod, for thirty years, the order to strike the tent was well known\r\nto be the next thing to heaving up the anchor.\r\n\r\n“Man the capstan! Blood and thunder!—jump!”—was the next command, and\r\nthe crew sprang for the handspikes.\r\n\r\nNow in getting under weigh, the station generally occupied by the pilot\r\nis the forward part of the ship. And here Bildad, who, with Peleg, be\r\nit known, in addition to his other officers, was one of the licensed\r\npilots of the port—he being suspected to have got himself made a pilot\r\nin order to save the Nantucket pilot-fee to all the ships he was\r\nconcerned in, for he never piloted any other craft—Bildad, I say, might\r\nnow be seen actively engaged in looking over the bows for the\r\napproaching anchor, and at intervals singing what seemed a dismal stave\r\nof psalmody, to cheer the hands at the windlass, who roared forth some\r\nsort of a chorus about the girls in Booble Alley, with hearty good\r\nwill. Nevertheless, not three days previous, Bildad had told them that\r\nno profane songs would be allowed on board the Pequod, particularly in\r\ngetting under weigh; and Charity, his sister, had placed a small choice\r\ncopy of Watts in each seaman’s berth.\r\n\r\nMeantime, overseeing the other part of the ship, Captain Peleg ripped\r\nand swore astern in the most frightful manner. I almost thought he\r\nwould sink the ship before the anchor could be got up; involuntarily I\r\npaused on my handspike, and told Queequeg to do the same, thinking of\r\nthe perils we both ran, in starting on the voyage with such a devil for\r\na pilot. I was comforting myself, however, with the thought that in\r\npious Bildad might be found some salvation, spite of his seven hundred\r\nand seventy-seventh lay; when I felt a sudden sharp poke in my rear,\r\nand turning round, was horrified at the apparition of Captain Peleg in\r\nthe act of withdrawing his leg from my immediate vicinity. That was my\r\nfirst kick.\r\n\r\n“Is that the way they heave in the marchant service?” he roared.\r\n“Spring, thou sheep-head; spring, and break thy backbone! Why don’t ye\r\nspring, I say, all of ye—spring! Quohog! spring, thou chap with the red\r\nwhiskers; spring there, Scotch-cap; spring, thou green pants. Spring, I\r\nsay, all of ye, and spring your eyes out!” And so saying, he moved\r\nalong the windlass, here and there using his leg very freely, while\r\nimperturbable Bildad kept leading off with his psalmody. Thinks I,\r\nCaptain Peleg must have been drinking something to-day.\r\n\r\nAt last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It\r\nwas a short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into\r\nnight, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose\r\nfreezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor. The long rows of\r\nteeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white\r\nivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from\r\nthe bows.\r\n\r\nLank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as\r\nthe old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering\r\nfrost all over her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his\r\nsteady notes were heard,—\r\n\r\n\r\n_“Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living\r\ngreen. So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.”_\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nNever did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. They\r\nwere full of hope and fruition. Spite of this frigid winter night in\r\nthe boisterous Atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there\r\nwas yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and\r\nmeads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the\r\nspring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.\r\n\r\nAt last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no\r\nlonger. The stout sail-boat that had accompanied us began ranging\r\nalongside.\r\n\r\nIt was curious and not unpleasing, how Peleg and Bildad were affected\r\nat this juncture, especially Captain Bildad. For loath to depart, yet;\r\nvery loath to leave, for good, a ship bound on so long and perilous a\r\nvoyage—beyond both stormy Capes; a ship in which some thousands of his\r\nhard earned dollars were invested; a ship, in which an old shipmate\r\nsailed as captain; a man almost as old as he, once more starting to\r\nencounter all the terrors of the pitiless jaw; loath to say good-bye to\r\na thing so every way brimful of every interest to him,—poor old Bildad\r\nlingered long; paced the deck with anxious strides; ran down into the\r\ncabin to speak another farewell word there; again came on deck, and\r\nlooked to windward; looked towards the wide and endless waters, only\r\nbounded by the far-off unseen Eastern Continents; looked towards the\r\nland; looked aloft; looked right and left; looked everywhere and\r\nnowhere; and at last, mechanically coiling a rope upon its pin,\r\nconvulsively grasped stout Peleg by the hand, and holding up a lantern,\r\nfor a moment stood gazing heroically in his face, as much as to say,\r\n“Nevertheless, friend Peleg, I can stand it; yes, I can.”\r\n\r\nAs for Peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all\r\nhis philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern\r\ncame too near. And he, too, did not a little run from cabin to deck—now\r\na word below, and now a word with Starbuck, the chief mate.\r\n\r\nBut, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about\r\nhim,—“Captain Bildad—come, old shipmate, we must go. Back the main-yard\r\nthere! Boat ahoy! Stand by to come close alongside, now! Careful,\r\ncareful!—come, Bildad, boy—say your last. Luck to ye, Starbuck—luck to\r\nye, Mr. Stubb—luck to ye, Mr. Flask—good-bye and good luck to ye\r\nall—and this day three years I’ll have a hot supper smoking for ye in\r\nold Nantucket. Hurrah and away!”\r\n\r\n“God bless ye, and have ye in His holy keeping, men,” murmured old\r\nBildad, almost incoherently. “I hope ye’ll have fine weather now, so\r\nthat Captain Ahab may soon be moving among ye—a pleasant sun is all he\r\nneeds, and ye’ll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go. Be\r\ncareful in the hunt, ye mates. Don’t stave the boats needlessly, ye\r\nharpooneers; good white cedar plank is raised full three per cent.\r\nwithin the year. Don’t forget your prayers, either. Mr. Starbuck, mind\r\nthat cooper don’t waste the spare staves. Oh! the sail-needles are in\r\nthe green locker! Don’t whale it too much a’ Lord’s days, men; but\r\ndon’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting Heaven’s good gifts.\r\nHave an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a little leaky, I\r\nthought. If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of fornication.\r\nGood-bye, good-bye! Don’t keep that cheese too long down in the hold,\r\nMr. Starbuck; it’ll spoil. Be careful with the butter—twenty cents the\r\npound it was, and mind ye, if—”\r\n\r\n“Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering,—away!” and with that,\r\nPeleg hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat.\r\n\r\nShip and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a\r\nscreaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave\r\nthree heavy-hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone\r\nAtlantic.\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 23. The Lee Shore.\r\n\r\nSome chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded\r\nmariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn.\r\n\r\nWhen on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive\r\nbows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her\r\nhelm but Bulkington!"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KJNXEDHZCC8DR4EPSQD0QP4P","peer_label":"moby-dick","peer_type":"text","predicate":"derived_from"},{"peer":"01KJNXECF9R1EZKS5Z7J8A8ZSB","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"}],"ver":1,"created_at":"2026-03-02T00:01:15.640Z","ts":"2026-03-02T00:01:15.640Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KJ6WPT018SDDANE6N7Q8E428"}}