Squall, whale, and harpoon had all blended together; and the whale,
merely grazed by the iron, escaped.
Though completely swamped, the boat was nearly unharmed.
Swimming round it we picked up the floating oars, and lashing
them across the gunwale, tumbled back to our places.
There we sat up to our knees in the sea, the water covering
every rib and plank, so that to our downward gazing eyes
the suspended craft seemed a coral boat grown up to us from
the bottom of the ocean.
The wind increased to a howl; the waves dashed their bucklers together;
the whole squall roared, forked, and crackled around us
like a white fire upon the prairie, in which unconsumed,
we were burning; immortal in these jaws of death! In vain we
hailed the other boats; as well roar to the live coals down
the chimney of a flaming furnace as hail those boats in that storm.
Meanwhile the driving scud, rack, and mist, grew darker
with the shadows of night; no sign of the ship could be seen.
The rising sea forbade all attempts to bale out the boat.
The oars were useless as propellers, performing now the office
of life-preservers. So, cutting the lashing of the waterproof
match keg, after many failures Starbuck contrived to ignite
the lamp in the lantern; then stretching it on a waif pole,
handed it to Queequeg as the standard-bearer of this forlorn hope.
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