Моби Дик

The Musket

           "Hewouldhaveshotmeonce,"hemurmured,"yes,there’stheverymusketthathepointedatme;—thatonewiththestuddedlock;letmetouchit—liftit.Strange,thatI,whohavehandledsomanydeadlylances,strange,thatIshouldshakesonow.Loaded?Imustsee.Aye,aye;andpowderinthepan;—that’snotgood.Bestspillit?—wait.I’llcuremyselfofthis.I’llholdthemusketboldlywhileIthink.—Icometoreportafairwindtohim.Buthowfair?Fairfordeathanddoom—that’sfairforMobyDick.It’safairwindthat’sonlyfairforthataccursedfish.—Theverytubehepointedatme!—theveryone;thisone—Iholdithere;hewouldhavekilledmewiththeverythingIhandlenow.—Ayeandhewouldfainkillallhiscrew.Doeshenotsayhewillnotstrikehissparstoanygale?Hashenotdashedhisheavenlyquadrant?andinthesesameperilousseas,gropeshenothiswaybymeredeadreckoningoftheerror-aboundinglog?andinthisveryTyphoon,didhenotswearthathewouldhavenolightning-rods?Butshallthiscrazedoldmanbetamelysufferedtodragawholeship’scompanydowntodoomwithhim?—Yes,itwouldmakehimthewilfulmurdererofthirtymenandmore,ifthisshipcometoanydeadlyharm;andcometodeadlyharm,mysoulswearsthisshipwill,ifAhabhavehisway.If,then,hewerethisinstant—putaside,thatcrimewouldnotbehis.Ha!ishemutteringinhissleep?Yes,justthere—inthere,he’ssleeping.Sleeping?aye,butstillalive,andsoonawakeagain.

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