Avast the chorus! Eight bells there! d ye hear, bell-boy? Strike the bell eight, thou Pip! thou blackling! and let me call the watch. I ve the sort of mouth for thatthe hogshead mouth. So, so, (thrusts his head down the scuttle) Starboleens, ahoy! Eight bells there below! Tumble up!
Grand snoozing to-night, maty; fat night for that. I mark this in our old Moguls wine; it s quite as deadening to some as filliping to others. We sing; they sleepay, lie down there, like ground-tier butts. At em again! There, take this copper-pump, and hail em through it. Tell em to avast dreaming of their lasses. Tell em it s the resurrection; they must kiss their last, and come to judgment. That s the waythat s it; thy throat aint spoiled with eating Amsterdam butter.
Beat thy belly, then, and wag thy ears. Jig it, men, I say; merry s the word; hurrah! Damn me, wont you dance? Form, now, Indian-file, and gallop into the double-shuffle! Throw yourselves! Legs! legs!
I wonder whether those jolly lads bethink them of what they are dancing over. I ll dance over your grave, I willthat s the bitterest threat of your night-women, that beat head-winds round corners. O Christ! to think of the green navies and the green-skulled crews! Well, well; belike the whole world s a ball, as you scholars have it; and so tis right to make one ball-room of it. Dance on, lads, you re young; I was once.
It s the wavesthe snows caps turn to jig it now. They ll shake their tassels soon. Now would all the waves were women, then I d go drown, and chassee with them evermore! There s naught so sweet on earthheaven may not match it!as those swift glances of warm, wild bosoms in the dance, when the over-arbouring arms hide such ripe, bursting grapes.
Tell me not of it! Hark ye, ladfleet interlacings of the limbslithe swayingscoyingsflutterings! lip! heart! hip! all graze: unceasing touch and go! not taste, observe ye, else come satiety. Eh, Pagan? (Nudging.)
Hail, holy nakedness of our dancing girls!the Heeva-Heeva! Ah! low-veiled, high-palmed Tahiti! I still rest me on thy mat, but the soft soil has slid! I saw thee woven in the wood, my mat! green the first day I brought ye thence; now worn and wilted quite. Ah me!not thou nor I can bear the change! How then, if so be transplanted to yon sky? Hear I the roaring streams from Pirohitees peak of spears, when they leap down the crags and drown the villages?The blast! the blast! Up, spine, and meet it! (Leaps to his feet.)
Crack, crack, old ship! so long as thou crackest, thou holdest! Well done! The mate there holds ye to it stiffly. He s no more afraid than the isle fort at Cattegat, put there to fight the Baltic with storm-lashed guns, on which the sea-salt cakes!
How the three pines shake! Pines are the hardest sort of tree to live when shifted to any other soil, and here there s none but the crews cursed clay. Steady, helmsman! steady. This is the sort of weather when brave hearts snap ashore, and keeled hulls split at sea. Our captain has his birth-mark; look yonder, boys, there s another in the skylurid-like, ye see, all else pitch black.
Jollies? Lord help such jollies! Crish, crash! there goes the jib-stay! Blang-whang! God! Duck lower, Pip, here comes the royal yard! It s worse than being in the whirled woods, the last day of the year! Who d go climbing after chestnuts now? But there they go, all cursing, and here I dont. Fine prospects to em; they re on the road to heaven. Hold on hard! Jimmini, what a squall! But those chaps there are worse yetthey are your white squalls, they. White squalls? white whale, shirr! shirr! Here have I heard all their chat just now, and the White Whaleshirr! shirr!but spoken of once! and only this eveningit makes me jingle all over like my tambourinethat anaconda of an old man swore em in to hunt him! Oh, thou big white God aloft there somewhere in yon darkness, have mercy on this small black boy down here; preserve him from all men that have no bowels to feel fear!