{"id":"01KJNXJV9KA1RKP2Y5D2Q59S7V","cid":"bafkreidhyvfvzzlmn2u5skg4ofhif5ufdxunc3dbz5xbtf3ambsk66as4a","type":"text_chunk","properties":{"char_end":1099572,"char_start":1091637,"chunk_index":154,"chunk_total":178,"estimated_tokens":1984,"source_file_key":"moby-dick","text":"all storms, the Typhoon. It will sometimes burst from out that\r\ncloudless sky, like an exploding bomb upon a dazed and sleepy town.\r\n\r\nTowards evening of that day, the Pequod was torn of her canvas, and\r\nbare-poled was left to fight a Typhoon which had struck her directly\r\nahead. When darkness came on, sky and sea roared and split with the\r\nthunder, and blazed with the lightning, that showed the disabled masts\r\nfluttering here and there with the rags which the first fury of the\r\ntempest had left for its after sport.\r\n\r\nHolding by a shroud, Starbuck was standing on the quarter-deck; at\r\nevery flash of the lightning glancing aloft, to see what additional\r\ndisaster might have befallen the intricate hamper there; while Stubb\r\nand Flask were directing the men in the higher hoisting and firmer\r\nlashing of the boats. But all their pains seemed naught. Though lifted\r\nto the very top of the cranes, the windward quarter boat (Ahab’s) did\r\nnot escape. A great rolling sea, dashing high up against the reeling\r\nship’s high teetering side, stove in the boat’s bottom at the stern,\r\nand left it again, all dripping through like a sieve.\r\n\r\n“Bad work, bad work! Mr. Starbuck,” said Stubb, regarding the wreck,\r\n“but the sea will have its way. Stubb, for one, can’t fight it. You\r\nsee, Mr. Starbuck, a wave has such a great long start before it leaps,\r\nall round the world it runs, and then comes the spring! But as for me,\r\nall the start I have to meet it, is just across the deck here. But\r\nnever mind; it’s all in fun: so the old song says;”—(_sings_.)\r\n\r\n\r\n  Oh! jolly is the gale, And a joker is the whale, A’ flourishin’ his\r\n  tail,— Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky-poky lad, is the\r\n  Ocean, oh!\r\n\r\n  The scud all a flyin’, That’s his flip only foamin’; When he stirs in\r\n  the spicin’,— Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky-poky lad,\r\n  is the Ocean, oh!\r\n\r\n  Thunder splits the ships, But he only smacks his lips, A tastin’ of\r\n  this flip,— Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky-poky lad,\r\n  is the Ocean, oh!\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n“Avast Stubb,” cried Starbuck, “let the Typhoon sing, and strike his\r\nharp here in our rigging; but if thou art a brave man thou wilt hold\r\nthy peace.”\r\n\r\n“But I am not a brave man; never said I was a brave man; I am a coward;\r\nand I sing to keep up my spirits. And I tell you what it is, Mr.\r\nStarbuck, there’s no way to stop my singing in this world but to cut my\r\nthroat. And when that’s done, ten to one I sing ye the doxology for a\r\nwind-up.”\r\n\r\n“Madman! look through my eyes if thou hast none of thine own.”\r\n\r\n“What! how can you see better of a dark night than anybody else, never\r\nmind how foolish?”\r\n\r\n“Here!” cried Starbuck, seizing Stubb by the shoulder, and pointing his\r\nhand towards the weather bow, “markest thou not that the gale comes\r\nfrom the eastward, the very course Ahab is to run for Moby Dick? the\r\nvery course he swung to this day noon? now mark his boat there; where\r\nis that stove? In the stern-sheets, man; where he is wont to stand—his\r\nstand-point is stove, man! Now jump overboard, and sing away, if thou\r\nmust!\r\n\r\n“I don’t half understand ye: what’s in the wind?”\r\n\r\n“Yes, yes, round the Cape of Good Hope is the shortest way to\r\nNantucket,” soliloquized Starbuck suddenly, heedless of Stubb’s\r\nquestion. “The gale that now hammers at us to stave us, we can turn it\r\ninto a fair wind that will drive us towards home. Yonder, to windward,\r\nall is blackness of doom; but to leeward, homeward—I see it lightens up\r\nthere; but not with the lightning.”\r\n\r\nAt that moment in one of the intervals of profound darkness, following\r\nthe flashes, a voice was heard at his side; and almost at the same\r\ninstant a volley of thunder peals rolled overhead.\r\n\r\n“Who’s there?”\r\n\r\n“Old Thunder!” said Ahab, groping his way along the bulwarks to his\r\npivot-hole; but suddenly finding his path made plain to him by elbowed\r\nlances of fire.\r\n\r\nNow, as the lightning rod to a spire on shore is intended to carry off\r\nthe perilous fluid into the soil; so the kindred rod which at sea some\r\nships carry to each mast, is intended to conduct it into the water. But\r\nas this conductor must descend to considerable depth, that its end may\r\navoid all contact with the hull; and as moreover, if kept constantly\r\ntowing there, it would be liable to many mishaps, besides interfering\r\nnot a little with some of the rigging, and more or less impeding the\r\nvessel’s way in the water; because of all this, the lower parts of a\r\nship’s lightning-rods are not always overboard; but are generally made\r\nin long slender links, so as to be the more readily hauled up into the\r\nchains outside, or thrown down into the sea, as occasion may require.\r\n\r\n“The rods! the rods!” cried Starbuck to the crew, suddenly admonished\r\nto vigilance by the vivid lightning that had just been darting\r\nflambeaux, to light Ahab to his post. “Are they overboard? drop them\r\nover, fore and aft. Quick!”\r\n\r\n“Avast!” cried Ahab; “let’s have fair play here, though we be the\r\nweaker side. Yet I’ll contribute to raise rods on the Himmalehs and\r\nAndes, that all the world may be secured; but out on privileges! Let\r\nthem be, sir.”\r\n\r\n“Look aloft!” cried Starbuck. “The corpusants! the corpusants!”\r\n\r\nAll the yard-arms were tipped with a pallid fire; and touched at each\r\ntri-pointed lightning-rod-end with three tapering white flames, each of\r\nthe three tall masts was silently burning in that sulphurous air, like\r\nthree gigantic wax tapers before an altar.\r\n\r\n“Blast the boat! let it go!” cried Stubb at this instant, as a swashing\r\nsea heaved up under his own little craft, so that its gunwale violently\r\njammed his hand, as he was passing a lashing. “Blast it!”—but slipping\r\nbackward on the deck, his uplifted eyes caught the flames; and\r\nimmediately shifting his tone he cried—“The corpusants have mercy on us\r\nall!”\r\n\r\nTo sailors, oaths are household words; they will swear in the trance of\r\nthe calm, and in the teeth of the tempest; they will imprecate curses\r\nfrom the topsail-yard-arms, when most they teeter over to a seething\r\nsea; but in all my voyagings, seldom have I heard a common oath when\r\nGod’s burning finger has been laid on the ship; when His “Mene, Mene,\r\nTekel Upharsin” has been woven into the shrouds and the cordage.\r\n\r\nWhile this pallidness was burning aloft, few words were heard from the\r\nenchanted crew; who in one thick cluster stood on the forecastle, all\r\ntheir eyes gleaming in that pale phosphorescence, like a far away\r\nconstellation of stars. Relieved against the ghostly light, the\r\ngigantic jet negro, Daggoo, loomed up to thrice his real stature, and\r\nseemed the black cloud from which the thunder had come. The parted\r\nmouth of Tashtego revealed his shark-white teeth, which strangely\r\ngleamed as if they too had been tipped by corpusants; while lit up by\r\nthe preternatural light, Queequeg’s tattooing burned like Satanic blue\r\nflames on his body.\r\n\r\nThe tableau all waned at last with the pallidness aloft; and once more\r\nthe Pequod and every soul on her decks were wrapped in a pall. A moment\r\nor two passed, when Starbuck, going forward, pushed against some one.\r\nIt was Stubb. “What thinkest thou now, man; I heard thy cry; it was not\r\nthe same in the song.”\r\n\r\n“No, no, it wasn’t; I said the corpusants have mercy on us all; and I\r\nhope they will, still. But do they only have mercy on long faces?—have\r\nthey no bowels for a laugh? And look ye, Mr. Starbuck—but it’s too dark\r\nto look. Hear me, then: I take that mast-head flame we saw for a sign\r\nof good luck; for those masts are rooted in a hold that is going to be\r\nchock a’ block with sperm-oil, d’ye see; and so, all that sperm will\r\nwork up into the masts, like sap in a tree. Yes, our three masts will\r\nyet be as three spermaceti candles—that’s the good promise we saw.”\r\n\r\nAt that moment Starbuck caught sight of Stubb’s face slowly beginning\r\nto glimmer into sight. 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