THE WHITE WHALE 95 
is all he needs, and ye’ll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye 
go. Be careful in the hunt, ye mates. Don’t stave the boats need- 
lessly, ye harpooneers ; good white cedar plank is raised full three per 
cent, within the year. Don’t forget your prayers, either. Mr. Star- 
buck, mind that cooper don’t waste the spare staves. Oh ! the sail- 
needles are in the green locker ! Don’t whale it too much a’ Lord’s 
Day, men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting Heaven’s 
good gifts. Have an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a 
little leaky, I thought. If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware 
of fornication. Good-bye, good-bye ! Don’t keep that cheese too 
long down in the hold, Mr. Starhuck; it’ll spoil. Be careful with the 
butter — twenty cents the pound it was, and mind ye, if ” 
“Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering, — away!” and with 
that, Peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropped into the boat. 
Ship and boat diverged ; the cold, damp night-breeze blew between ; 
a screaming gull flew overhead ; the two hulls wildly rolled ; we gave 
three heavy-hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone 
Atlantic. 
CHAPTER XXIII 
THE LEE SHORE 
Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, new-landed 
mariner, encountered in Hew Bedford at the inn.. 
When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vin- 
dictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing 
at her helm hut Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and 
fearfulness upon the man, who in midwinter just landed from a four 
years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still 
another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. 
Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable ; deep memories yield 
no epitaphs ; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. 
Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, 
that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain 
give succour ; the port is pitiful ; in the port is safety, comfort, hearth- 
stone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. 
