Of such a letter, Death himself might well have been the post-boy.
"Can'st not read it?" cried Ahab. "Give it me, man. Aye, aye, aye it's
but a dim scrawl;--what's this?" As he was studying it out, Starbuck took
a long cutting-spade pole, and with his knife slightly split the end,
to insert the letter there, and in that way, hand it to the boat,
without its coming any closer to the ship.
Meantime, Ahab holding the letter, muttered, "Mr. Har--
yes, Mr. Harry--(a woman's pinny hand,--the man's wife,
I'll wager)--Aye--Mr. Harry Macey, Ship Jeroboam; why it's Macey,
and he's dead!"
"Poor fellow! poor fellow! and from his wife," sighed Mayhew;
"but let me have it."
"Nay, keep it thyself," cried Gabriel to Ahab; "thou art soon
going that way."
"Curses throttle thee!" yelled Ahab. "Captain Mayhew,
stand by now to receive it"; and taking the fatal missive
from Starbuck's hands, he caught it in the slit of the pole,
and reached it over towards the boat. But as he did so,
the oarsmen expectantly desisted from rowing; the boat drifted
a little towards the ship's stern; so that, as if by magic,
the letter suddenly ranged along with Gabriel's eager hand.
He clutched it in an instant, seized the boat-knife, and impaling
the letter on it, sent it thus loaded back into the ship.
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