Meantime, the crew driven from the forward part of the ship
by the perilous seas that burstingly broke over its bows,
stood in a line along the bulwarks in the waist; and the better
to guard against the leaping waves, each man had slipped
himself into a sort of bowline secured to the rail, in which
he swung as in a loosened belt. Few or no words were spoken;
and the silent ship, as if manned by painted sailors in wax,
day after day tore on through all the swift madness and gladness
of the demoniac waves. By night the same muteness of humanity
before the shrieks of the ocean prevailed; still in silence the men
swung in the bowlines; still wordless Ahab stood up to the blast.
Even when wearied nature seemed demanding repose he would not seek
that repose in his hammock. Never could Starbuck forget the old
man's aspect, when one night going down into the cabin to mark
how the barometer stood, he saw him with closed eyes sitting
straight in his floor-screwed chair; the rain and half-melted
sleet of the storm from which he had some time before emerged,
still slowly dripping from the unremoved hat and coat.
On the table beside him lay unrolled one of those charts
of tides and currents which have previously been spoken of.
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