“My line! My line? Gone? — gone? What means that little word? — What death-knell rings in it, that old Ahab shakes as if he were the belfry. The harpoon, too! — toss over the litter there, — d’ye see it? — the forged iron, men, the white whale’s — no, no, no, — blistered fool!

This hand did dart it! — ’tis in the fish! — Aloft there! Keep him nailed — Quick! — all hands to the rigging of the boats — collect the oars — harpooneers! The irons, the irons! — hoist the royals higher — a pull on all the sheets! — helm there! Steady, steady for your life! I’ll ten times girdle the unmeasured globe; yea and dive straight through it, but I’ll slay him yet!”

“Great God!