Chapter 43 Hark!

Abridged Text, followed by Abridger Notes, followed by multimedia, followed by Original Text with deletions.

 

Chapter 43  Hark!

It was the middle-watch: a fair moonlight; the seamen were standing in a cordon, extending from one of the fresh-water butts in the waist, to the scuttle-butt near the taffrail. In this manner, they passed the buckets to fill the scuttle-butt. They were careful not to speak or rustle their feet. From hand to hand, the buckets went in the deepest silence, only broken by the occasional flap of a sail, and the steady hum of the unceasingly advancing keel.

 

It was in the midst of this repose, that Archy, one of the cordon, whispered to his neighbor, a Cholo. “Hist! did you hear that noise, Cabaco?”

 

“What noise d’ye mean?”

 

“There it is again—under the hatches—don’t you hear it—a cough—it sounded like a cough.”

 

“Cough be damned! Pass along that bucket.”

 

“There again—there it is!—it sounds like two or three sleepers turning over, now! There is somebody down in the after-hold that has not yet been seen on deck; and I suspect our old Mogul knows something of it too. I heard Stubb tell Flask, that there was something of that sort in the wind.”

 

Link to Chapter 44 the Chart.


Abridger Notes

 

The MEL annotator explains

 

“the middle-watch . . . scuttle-butt: Sometime during the midnight to 4 AM watch, the men stand in a line to convey buckets of water from the large barrels of drinking water in the middle of the ship to the small cask of water for daily use, kept on deck near the rail around the stern.”

 

That small cask of water for daily use is called the scuttle-butt.

 

A small point is that with dialog, I often delete a bit of text because it doesn’t feel like it would be spoken. This is a good example, “return”:

 

“Cough be damned! Pass along that return bucket.”

 

 

Multimedia 43 Hark!

 

Original Chapter 43 Hark! with Deletions


“Hist! Did you hear that noise, Cabaco?”

 

It was the middle-watch: a fair moonlight; the seamen were standing in a cordon, extending from one of the fresh-water butts in the waist, to the scuttle-butt near the taffrail. In this manner, they passed the buckets to fill the scuttle-butt. Standing, for the most part, on the hallowed precincts of the quarter-deck, they were careful not to speak or rustle their feet. From hand to hand, the buckets went in the deepest silence, only broken by the occasional flap of a sail, and the steady hum of the unceasingly advancing keel.

 

It was in the midst of this repose, that Archy, one of the cordon, whose post was near the after-hatches, whispered to his neighbor, a Cholo, the words above. “Hist! did you hear that noise, Cabaco?”

 

“Take the bucket, will ye, Archy? what noise d’ye mean?”

 

“There it is again—under the hatches—don’t you hear it—a cough—it sounded like a cough.”

 

“Cough be damned! Pass along that return bucket.”

 

“There again—there it is!—it sounds like two or three sleepers turning over, now!”

 

“Caramba! have done, shipmate, will ye? It’s the three soaked biscuits ye eat for supper turning over inside of ye—nothing else. Look to the bucket!”

 

“Say what ye will, shipmate; I’ve sharp ears.”

 

“Aye, you are the chap, ain’t ye, that heard the hum of the old Quakeress’s knitting-needles fifty miles at sea from Nantucket; you’re the chap.”

 

“Grin away; we’ll see what turns up. Hark ye, Cabaco, there is somebody down in the after-hold that has not yet been seen on deck; and I suspect our old Mogul knows something of it too. I heard Stubb tell Flask, one morning watch, that there was something of that sort in the wind.”

 

“Tish! the bucket!”

 


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Preface to Abridging Moby Dick

Image
              I was introduced to the 1956 movie, Moby Dick , as a young kid. I vaguely remember watching it with my father, which added to its gravitas, but it’s a bold, memorable, riveting story and cast of characters that assuredly would have stuck with me anyways. My father gave me the book, the British version as it turns out (see below), for Christmas 1969, with his inscription, which mentioned notable characters from the book that I would likely run across in life, but not Ishmael, perhaps because he saw himself in Ishmael, as do I – I don’t think I would feel entirely at ease with anyone who didn’t recognize some substantial amount of Ismael in themself. I recall reading the book soon after that gift from Dad, and then again in college. I still have it – I am looking at it now. Since then I have learned from and enjoyed the Frank Mueller reading of Moby Dick on Audible, over and over and over again, for more than ...
Read more

Chapter 5 Breakfast

Image
Abridged Text, followed by by Abridger Notes, followed by multimedia, followed by Original Text with deletions .   Chapter 5 Breakfast   I quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar-room accosted the grinning landlord very pleasantly. I cherished no malice towards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a little in the matter of my bedfellow.   However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and be spent in that way. And the man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.   The bar-room was now full of the boarders, whom I had not as yet had a good look at. They were nearly all whalemen; chief mates, and second mates, and third mates, and sea carpenters, and sea coopers, and sea blacksmiths, and...
Read more

Chapter 1 Loomings

Abridged Text, followed by Images, followed by Abridger Notes, followed by Original Text with deletions . Chapter 1 Loomings   Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flour...
Read more