The wind increased to a howl; the waves dashed their
bucklers together; the whole squall roared, forked,
and crackled around us like a white fire upon the
prairie, in which unconsumed, we were burning; immortal
in these jaws of death! In vain we hailed the
other boats; as well roar to the live coals down the
chimney of a flaming furnace as hail those boats in
that storm. Meanwhile the driving scud, rack,
and mist, grew darker with the shadows of night; no
sign of the ship could be seen. The rising sea
forbade all attempts to bale out the boat. The
oars were useless as propellers, performing now the
office of life-preservers. So, cutting the lashing
of the waterproof match keg, after many failures Starbuck
contrived to ignite the lamp in the lantern; then
stretching it on a waif pole, handed it to Queequeg
as the standard-bearer of this forlorn hope.
There, then, he sat, holding up that imbecile candle
in the heart of that almighty forlornness. There,
then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without
faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of
despair.
Wet, drenched through, and shivering cold, despairing
of ship or boat, we lifted up our eyes as the dawn
came on. The mist still spread over the sea,
the empty lantern lay crushed in the bottom of the
boat. Suddenly Queequeg started to his feet,
hollowing his hand to his ear. We all heard a
faint creaking, as of ropes and yards hitherto muffled
by the storm. The sound came nearer and nearer;
the thick mists were dimly parted by a huge, vague
form. Affrighted, we all sprang into the sea
as the ship at last loomed into view, bearing right
down upon us within a distance of not much more than
its length.
Floating on the waves we saw the abandoned boat, as
for one instant it tossed and gaped beneath the ship’s
bows like a chip at the base of a cataract; and then
the vast hull rolled over it, and it was seen no more
till it came up weltering astern. Again we swam
for it, were dashed against it by the seas, and were
at last taken up and safely landed on board.
Ere the squall came close to, the other boats had cut
loose from their fish and returned to the ship in
good time. The ship had given us up, but was
still cruising, if haply it might light upon some
token of our perishing,— an oar or a lance
pole.
CHAPTER 49
The Hyena
There are certain queer times and occasions in this
strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes
this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though
the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than
suspects that the joke is at nobody’s expense
but his own. However, nothing dispirits, and
nothing seems worth while disputing. He bolts
down all events, all creeds, and beliefs, and persuasions,
all hard things visible and invisible, never mind how
knobby; as an ostrich of potent digestion gobbles
down bullets and gun flints. And as for small
