THE WHITE WHALE 
155 
SECOND NANTUCKET SAILOR 
Avast the chorus ! Eight bells there ! d’ye hear, bell-boy ? Strike 
the bell eight, thou Pip! thou blackling! and let me call the watch. 
I’ve the sort of mouth for that — the hogshead mouth. So, so ( thrusts 
his head down the scuttle ), Star — bo-l-e-e-n-s, a-h-o-y! Eight bells 
there below! Tumble up! 
DUTCH SAILOR 
Grand snoozing to-night maty; fat night for that. I mark this in 
our old Mogul’s wine; it’s quite as deadening to some as filliping to 
others. We sing; they sleep — ay, lie down there, like ground-tier 
butts. At ’em again ! There, take this copper-pump, and hail ’em 
through it. Tell them to avast dreaming of their lassies. That’s the 
way — that's it ; thy throat ain’t spoiled with eating Amsterdam butter. 
FRENCH SAILOR 
Hist, boys ! let’s have a jig or two before we ride to anchor in Blanket 
Bay. What say ye ? There comes the other watch. Stand by all 
legs! Pip! little Pip! hurrah with your tambourine! 
pip ( sulky and sleepy) 
Don’t know where it is. 
FRENCH SAILOR 
Beat thy belly, then, and wag thy ears. Jig it, men, I say; merry’s 
the word; hurrah! Damn me,* won’t you dance? Form, now, Indian 
file, and gallop into the double shuffle? Throw yourselves! Legs! 
legs ! 
ICELAND SAILOR 
I don’t like your floor, maty ; it’s too springy to my taste. I’m used 
to ice-floors. I’m sorry to throw cold water on the subject; but excuse 
me. 
MALTESE SAILOR 
Me too; where’s your girls? Who but a fool would take his left 
