179 
THE WHITE WHALE 
whose post was near the after-hatches, whispered to his neighbour, a 
Cholo, the words above. 
“Hist! did you hear that noise, Cabaco?” 
“Take the bucket, will ye, Archy? what noise d’ye mean?” 
“There it is again — under the hatches — don’t you hear it ? — a cough 
— it sounded like a cough.” 
“Cough be damned ! Pass along that return bucket.” 
“There again — there it is ! — it sounds like two or three sleepers turn- 
ing over, now!” 
“Caramba ! have done, shipmate, will ye ? It’s the three soaked 
biscuits ye eat for supper turning over inside of ye — nothing else. 
Look to the bucket!” 
“Say what ye will, shipmate; I’ve sharp ears.” 
“Ay, you are the chap, ain’t ye, that heard the hum of the old Quak- 
eress’s knitting-needles fifty miles at sea from Hantucket; you’re the 
chap.” 
“Grin away; we’ll see what turns up. Hark ye, Cabaco, there is 
somebody down in the after-hold that has not yet been seen on deck ; and 
I suspect our old Mogul knows something of it too. I heard Stubb 
tell Flask, one morning watch, that there was something of that sort 
in the wind.” 
“Tish ! the bucket !” 
CHAPTER XLIII 
THE CHAET 
Had you followed Captain Ahab down into his cabin after the squall 
that took place on the night succeeding that wild ratification of his 
purpose with his crew, you would have seen him go to a locker in the 
transom, and bringing out a large wrinkled roll of yellowish sea charts, 
spread them before him on his screwed-down table. Then seating him- 
self before it, you would have seen him intently study the various lines 
and shadings which there met his eye ; and with slow but steady pencil 
trace additional courses over spaces that before were blank. At in- 
tervals, he would refer to piles of old log-books beside him, wherein 
