THE WHITE WHALE 
469 
are your iron fists, hey? What a hold they have, too! I wonder, 
Flask, whether the world is anchored anywhere; if she is,, she swings 
with an uncommon long cable, though. There, hammer that knot 
down, and we’ve done. So; next to touching land, lighting on deck 
is the most satisfactory. I say, just wring out my jacket skirts, will 
ye ? Thank ye. They laugh at long-togs so, Flask ; but seems to me, 
a long-tailed coat ought always to he worn in all storms afloat. The 
tails tapering down that way, serve to carry off the water, d’ye see. 
Same with cocked hats ; the cocks form gabled-end eave-troughs, Flask. 
No more monkey-jackets and tarpaulins for me; I must mount a 
swallow-tail and drive down a heaver; so. Halloa! whew! there goes 
my tarpaulin over board; Lord, Lord, that the winds that come from 
heaven should be so unmannerly ! This is a nasty night, lad.” 
CHAPTER CXXI 
MIDNIGHT ALOFT THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 
( The maintopsail yard — Tashtego passing new lashings around it.) 
“Um, um, um. Stop that thunder! Plenty too much thunder up 
here. What’s the use of thunder? ITm, um, um. We don’t want 
thunder ; we want rum ; give us a glass of rum. IJm, um, um !” 
CHAPTER CXXII 
THE MUSKET 
During the most violent shocks of the Typhoon, the man at the Pe- 
quod’s jawbone tiller had several times been reelingly hurled to the 
deck by its spasmodic motions, even though preventor tackles had been 
attached to it — for they were slack — because some play to the tiller 
was indispensable. 
In a severe gale like this,, while the ship is but a tossed shuttle- 
cock to the blast, it is by no means uncommon to see the needles in the 
compasses, at intervals, go round and round- It was thus with the 
