Moby Dick

and to furnish a house comfortably in that respect, you had only
to buy up eight or ten lazy fellows, and lay them round in the piers
and alcoves.  Besides, it was very convenient on an excursion;
much better than those garden-chairs which are convertible into
walking sticks; upon occasion, a chief calling his attendant,
and desiring him to make a settee of himself under a spreading tree,
perhaps in some damp marshy place.

While narrating these things, every time Queequeg received the tomahawk
from me, he flourished the hatchet-side of it over the sleeper's head.

"What's that for, Queequeg?"

"Perry easy, kill-e; oh! perry easy!

He was going on with some wild reminiscences about his tomahawk-pipe
which, it seemed, had in its two uses both brained his foes and soothed
his soul, when we were directly attracted to the sleeping rigger.
The strong vapor now completely filling the contracted hole,
it began to tell upon him.  He breathed with a sort of muffledness;
then seemed troubled in the nose; then revolved over once or twice;
then sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Holloa!" he breathed at last, "who be ye smokers?"

"Shipped men," answered I, "when does she sail?"

"Aye, aye, ye are going in her, be ye?  She sails to-day. The Captain
came aboard last night."

"What Captain?--Ahab?"

"Who but him indeed?"

I was going to ask him some further questions concerning Ahab,
when we heard a noise on deck.

"Holloa!  Starbuck's astir," said the rigger.  "He's a lively chief
mate that; good man, and a pious; but all alive now, I must turn to."
And so saying he went on deck, and we followed.

It was now clear sunrise.  Soon the crew came on board in twos and threes;
the riggers bestirred themselves; the mates were actively engaged;
and several of the shore people were busy in bringing various last
things on board.  Meanwhile Captain Ahab remained invisibly enshrined
within his cabin.



CHAPTER 22

Merry Christmas


At length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship's riggers,
and after the Pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the
ever-thoughtful Charity had come off in a whale-boat, with her last gift--
a nightcap for Stubb, the second mate, her brother-in-law, and a spare
Bible for the steward--after all this, the two Captains, Peleg and Bildad,
issued from the cabin, and turning to the chief mate, Peleg said:

"Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is right?
Captain Ahab is all ready--just spoke to him--nothing more
to be got from shore, eh?  Well, call all hands, then.
Muster 'em aft here--blast 'em!"

"No need of profane words, however great the hurry, Peleg," said Bildad,
"but away with thee, friend Starbuck, and do our bidding."

How now!  Here upon the very point of starting for the voyage,
Captain Peleg and Captain Bildad were going it with a high hand on
the quarter-deck, just as if they were to be joint-commanders at sea,
as well as to all appearances in port.  And, as for Captain Ahab,
no sign of him was yet to be seen; Only, they said he was in the cabin.
But then, the idea was, that his presence was by no means necessary
in getting the ship under weigh, and steering her well out to sea.
Indeed, as that was not at all his proper business, but the pilot's;
and as he was not yet completely recovered--so they said--therefore,
Captain Ahab stayed below.  And all this seemed natural enough;
especially as in the merchant service many captains never show
themselves on deck for a considerable time after heaving up the anchor,
but remain over the cabin table, having a farewell merry-making with
their shore friends, before they quit the ship for good with the pilot.

But there was not much chance to think over the matter, for Captain Peleg
was now all alive.  He seemed to do most of the talking and commanding,
and not Bildad.

"Aft here, ye sons of bachelors," he cried, as the sailors lingered
at the main-mast. "Mr. Starbuck, drive aft."

"Strike the tent there!"--was the next order.  As I hinted before,
this whalebone marquee was never pitched except in port;
and on board the Pequod, for thirty years, the order to strike
the tent was well known to be the next thing to heaving
up the anchor.

"Man the capstan!  Blood and thunder!--jump!"--was the next command,
and the crew sprang for the handspikes.