It was the magical line. An instant before, Stubb had swiftly
caught two additional turns with it round the loggerhead, whence,
by reason of its increased rapid circlings, a hempen blue smoke
now jetted up and mingled with the steady fumes from his pipe.
As the line passed round and round the loggerhead; so also, just before
reaching that point, it blisteringly passed through and through both
of Stubb's hands, from which the hand-cloths, or squares of quilted
canvas sometimes worn at these times, had accidentally dropped.
It was like holding an enemy's sharp two-edged sword by the blade,
and that enemy all the time striving to wrest it out of your clutch.
"Wet the line! wet the line!" cried Stubb to the tub oarsman (him seated
by the tub) who, snatching off his hat, dashed the sea-water into it.*
More turns were taken, so that the line began holding its place.
The boat now flew through the boiling water like a shark all fins.
Stubb and Tashtego here changed places--stem for stern--a staggering
business truly in that rocking commotion.
*Partly to show the indispensableness of this act, it may here
be stated, that, in the old Dutch fishery, a mop was used
to dash the running line with water; in many other ships,
a wooden piggin, or bailer, is set apart for that purpose.
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