Very soon you would have thought from the sound on the Pequod's decks,
that all hands were preparing to cast anchor in the deep;
for heavy chains are being dragged along the deck, and thrust
rattling out of the port-holes. But by those clanking links,
the vast corpse itself, not the ship, is to be moored.
Tied by the head to the stern, and by the tail to the bows,
the whale now lies with its black hull close to the vessel's,
and seen through the darkness of the night, which obscured
the spars and rigging aloft, the two--ship and whale,
seemed yoked together like colossal bullocks, whereof one reclines
while the other remains standing.*
*A little item may as well be related here. The strongest and most
reliable hold which the ship has upon the whale when moored alongside,
is by the flukes or tail; and as from its greater density that part
is relatively heavier than any other (excepting the side-fins), its
flexibility even in death, causes it to sink low beneath the surface;
so that with the hand you cannot get at it from the boat, in order to put
the chain round it. But this difficulty is ingeniously overcome:
a small, strong line is prepared with a wooden float at its outer end,
and a weight in its middle, while the other end is secured to the ship.
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