"Aye, he was dismasted off Japan," said the old Gay-Head Indian once;
"but like his dismasted craft, he shipped another mast without
coming home for it. He has a quiver of 'em."
I was struck with the singular posture he maintained.
Upon each side of the Pequod's quarter deck, and pretty close
to the mizzen shrouds, there was an auger hole, bored about half
an inch or so, into the plank. His bone leg steadied in that hole;
one arm elevated, and holding by a shroud; Captain Ahab stood erect,
looking straight out beyond the ship's ever-pitching prow.
There was an infinity of firmest fortitude, a determinate,
unsurrenderable wilfulness, in the fixed and fearless,
forward dedication of that glance. Not a word he spoke;
nor did his officers say aught to him; though by all their
minutest gestures and expressions, they plainly showed the uneasy,
if not painful, consciousness of being under a troubled
master-eye. And not only that, but moody stricken Ahab stood
before them with a crucifixion in his face; in all the nameless
regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe.
Ere long, from his first visit in the air, he withdrew into his cabin.
But after that morning, he was every day visible to the crew;
either standing in his pivot-hole, or seated upon an ivory stool he had;
or heavily walking the deck.
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