The harpooners and sailors gather forward on deck.
The foresail rises, revealing the watch‑crew. Some lean, some lounge, some lie sprawled in all sorts of positions, singing together.
Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies! Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain! Our captain’s commanded‑‑
First Nantucket Sailor spoke up. “Come on boys, no more sappy feelings. Sentiment’s bad for your stomach! Follow my lead, let’s sing something livelier.”
He struck up a new tune, and the rest joined in.
Our captain stood upon the deck, A spy‑glass in his hand, Watching those brave big whales That blew along every strand. Get your tubs ready in the boats, my boys, Grab tight to your rigging stands, We’ll catch one of those fine fat whales, Pull hard, boys, hand over hand! So stay cheerful, lads, never lose your heart! While the bold harpooner strikes the whale!
A mate’s voice boomed from the quarter‑deck. “Eight bells forward!”
Second Nantucket Sailor called out. “Cut the singing! Eight bells! You hear that, bell‑boy? Ring eight strokes, Pip, you little black lad! I’ll rouse the other watch. I’ve got a loud voice built for this‑‑big as a wine cask.”
He stuck his head down the hatchway. “Star‑bo‑l‑e‑e‑n‑s, ahoy! Eight bells below! Get yourselves up on deck!”
Dutch Sailor said. “Perfect night for sleeping, mate. That rum our old captain passed around hits folks different. Some get fired up, others go half‑dead. We sing, they sleep flat out down there, like heavy barrels stored in the hold. Hey, grab that copper speaking‑tube and yell down. Tell them to quit dreaming about their girlfriends. Tell them it’s judgement day, time to wake up and face their fate. That’s how you do it‑‑your throat hasn’t gone soft eating fancy butter from Amsterdam.”
French Sailor whispered. “Hey men! Let’s dance a couple quick jigs before we drop anchor in Blanket Bay. What do you say? Here comes the other watch crew. Get your feet ready! Pip! Little Pip! Beat that tambourine of yours!”
Pip mumbled, grumpy and half‑asleep. “I don’t know where it is.”
French Sailor kept on. “Then beat on your own belly and wiggle your ears! Dance everyone! Be merry, hurrah! Damn it, why won’t you move your feet? Line up single file, let’s do the double‑shuffle! Move your bodies! Legs, legs!”
Iceland Sailor answered. “I don’t like this deck floor. It bounces too much for me. I’m used to hard ice. Hate to spoil your fun, but count me out.”
Maltese Sailor added. “Me neither. Where are all the girls? Only a fool dances all by himself, shaking his own two hands. I need real partners!”
Sicilian Sailor said. “Give me girls and good wine! Then I’ll hop around with you, jump like a grasshopper!”
Long‑Island Sailor sighed. “Alright, you grumpy lot. Plenty of us still want to move. Make hay while you can, that’s what I say. Every pair of legs will wear out soon enough. Ah, here comes the music‑‑let’s go!”
Azore Sailor climbed up through the hatch and tossed the tambourine onto the deck. “Here you go, Pip! Stand over by that windlass post. Alright boys!”
Half the men started dancing to the tambourine. Some climbed below deck. Others lay down to sleep among piles of coiled rope. Curses and shouts rang out everywhere.
Azore Sailor danced along. “Go on Pip! Hit it hard, bell‑boy! Shake it, rattle it, make sparks fly, ring those little jingles!”
Pip shook the instrument. “Jingles you say? There goes another little metal piece falling off. I’m pounding it as hard as I can.”
China Sailor joked. “Then rattle your teeth along with it. Make yourself sound like a whole pagoda.”
French Sailor yelled over the noise. “Wild merry fun! Hold up a hoop, Pip, I’ll jump through it! Tear things up, everyone!”
Tashtego sat quietly smoking his pipe. “So‑called fun for white men. Humph. I won’t waste my sweat on this.”
Old Manx Sailor muttered to himself. “I wonder if these dancing fools think about what lies beneath their feet. People threaten each other: ‘I’ll dance on your grave.’ That’s the cruel threat women shout against bad winds. Christ, think of all those ships and drowned sailors out on the sea. Well, scholars say the whole world is a ball‑‑so why not turn it into one big dance‑hall. Dance on lads, you’re young. I was young once too.”
Third Nantucket Sailor panted. “Enough dancing‑‑whew! This is worse than rowing after whales in dead calm. Pass me a puff of your pipe, Tash.”
They stopped dancing and split into small groups. Meanwhile the sky turned dark, and the wind began to pick up.
Lascar Sailor exclaimed. “By Brahma! We’ll have to shorten the sails soon. Winds rise like flood‑waters of the Ganges. Shiva shows his dark angry brow!”
Maltese Sailor leaned back, shaking his cap. “Look at the waves‑‑their white crests are dancing now. Soon they’ll be tossing their foam tassels. If only every wave were a woman, I’d happily drown and dance with them forever. Nothing on earth tastes sweeter‑‑maybe not even heaven‑‑than those quick hot glances from wild warm women while dancing, arms arched over, hiding ripe, tempting beauty.”
Sicilian Sailor lay back too. “Don’t get me started. Quick twisting limbs, soft swaying bodies, teasing glances, fluttering movements. Lips, hearts, hips‑‑all brushing against each other, touching and moving on. But never too much, or pleasure turns stale. Eh, you heathen?” He nudged the man beside him.
Tahitan Sailor stretched out on a worn mat. “I miss our sacred naked island girls and their Heeva‑Heeva dances. Oh Tahiti, shaded palms and open sky. I lie on this old mat, yet my home soil is far away. This mat was woven from island wood‑‑bright green when I first brought it aboard. Now it’s worn thin and faded. Neither it nor I can escape change. What will happen if we go up into that dark sky? I can hear the roaring waterfalls from Pirohitee’s spear‑shaped peaks, crashing down cliffs and swallowing villages! The storm wind comes! Up on your feet, meet it!” He jumped quickly upright.
Portuguese Sailor shouted. “Listen to the sea smashing against the hull! Get ready to reef sails, men! Winds are clashing together, they’ll hit us hard any moment!”
Danish Sailor called out over the growing noise. “Crack and creak old ship! As long as you creak, you hold together! Well done! The mate is pushing us hard. He’s no more scared than that stone fort in the Cattegat, fighting Baltic storms with salt‑crusted guns.”
Fourth Nantucket Sailor said. “He’s only following orders. I heard old Ahab tell him he has to fight through every squall, like shooting a waterspout with a pistol‑‑sail straight right into the storm!”
English Sailor roared. “Damn it, that old captain is something! We’re the men to hunt down that whale!”
All the sailors shouted together. “Aye! Aye!”
Old Manx Sailor stared upward. “Look how those three mast‑poles shake! Pines struggle to survive anywhere but their own soil, and here there is nothing but our cursed human trouble. Steady helmsman! Steady. This is weather that breaks brave men ashore and splits ships at sea. Our captain carries his mark of fate. Look up there lads‑‑another mark in the sky, a sick red glow against pitch‑black darkness.”
Daggoo spoke. “So what? Anyone afraid of darkness is afraid of me. I was carved right out of the dark.”
Spanish Sailor muttered quietly to himself. “He likes to act tough. Old grudges make me touchy.” Then he stepped forward. “Harpooner, your people are mankind’s undeniable dark side‑‑devilishly dark. No personal insult meant.”
Daggoo answered grimly. “None taken.”
St. Jago’s Sailor observed. “That Spaniard is either crazy or drunk. But he can’t be drunk‑‑Ahab’s rum works faster than that.”
Fifth Nantucket Sailor cried. “Did I just see lightning?”
Spanish Sailor jeered. “No‑‑just Daggoo showing his teeth.”
Daggoo sprang toward him. “Shut your mouth, little man! Pale skin, pale coward’s heart!”
Spanish Sailor stepped to meet him, hand on his knife. “I’ll gladly run you through! Big body, tiny spirit!”
All the crew yelled. “A fight! A fight! A fight!”
Tashtego took another draw from his pipe. “Fighting down on deck, fighting up among the rigging‑‑gods and men, both love brawling. Humph.”
Belfast Sailor shouted. “A fight! Blessed Virgin, a fight! Jump in and join them!”
English Sailor called. “Fair fight! Grab that Spaniard’s knife! Make a ring, make a ring!”
Old Manx Sailor gestured out toward the ocean horizon. “We already have our ring‑‑the whole round horizon. In such a ring Cain killed Abel. Terrible work. If that is so, God, why did you make rings at all?”
The mate’s voice boomed loud from the quarter‑deck. “Men to the halyards! Bring in the top‑gallant sails! Stand by to reef the topsails!”
Everyone shouted. “The squall! The squall! Move fast lads!” They scattered to their stations.
Pip huddled down beside the windlass, terrified. “Lads? Lord help these merry lads! Crash, bang! There goes the jib‑stay! Thunder‑crack! God! Duck lower Pip, here comes the upper yard swinging down! Worse than being lost in spinning woods at year‑end! Who would go climbing for chestnuts now? All the others are swearing and rushing about, and here I sit. Fine fate for them‑‑hurrying toward heaven. Hold on tight! What a terrible squall! But there is something worse‑‑those so‑called white squalls. White squalls? White whale, shoo! shoo! I heard all their talk tonight. That old anaconda man made them swear an oath to hunt it! Oh great white God somewhere up in that black sky, please have mercy on this small black boy. Protect me from these men who know no fear at all.”