Meanwhile, others of the ship's company were tumultuously busy at
the masonry of the try-works, from which the huge pots had been removed.
You would have almost thought they were pulling down the cursed Bastille,
such wild cries they raised, as the now useless brick and mortar
were being hurled into the sea.
Lord and master over all this scene, the captain stood erect
on the ship's elevated quarter-deck, so that the whole rejoicing
drama was full before him, and seemed merely contrived for his
own individual diversion.
And Ahab, he too was standing on his quarter-deck, shaggy and black,
with a stubborn gloom; and as the two ships crossed each other's wakes--
one all jubilations for things passed, the other all forebodings
as to things to come--their two captains in themselves impersonated
the whole striking contrast of the scene.
"Come aboard, come aboard!" cried the gay Bachelor's commander,
lifting a glass and a bottle in the air.
"Hast seen the White Whale?" gritted Ahab in reply.
"No; only heard of him; but don't believe in him at all,"
said the other good-humoredly. "Come aboard!"
"Thou art too damned jolly. Sail on. Hast lost any men?"
"Not enough to speak of--two islanders, that's all;--but come aboard,
old hearty, come along.
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