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“ In vain ! ” cried Ahab ; “ but , maybe , ’ tis well . For did ye three but once take the full - forced shock , then mine own electric thing , that had perhaps expired from out me . Perchance , too , it would have dropped ye dead . Perchance ye need it not . Down lances ! And now , ye mates , I do appoint ye three cupbearers to my three pagan kinsmen there — yon three most honorable gentlemen and noblemen , my valiant harpooneers . Disdain the task ? What , when the great Pope washes the feet of beggars , using his tiara for ewer ? Oh , my sweet cardinals ! your own condescension , that shall bend ye to it . I do not order ye ; ye will it . Cut your seizings and draw the poles , ye harpooneers ! ” Silently obeying the order , the three harpooneers now stood with the detached iron part of their harpoons , some three feet long , held , barbs up , before him . “ Stab me not with that keen steel ! Cant them ; cant them over ! know ye not the goblet end ? Turn up the socket ! So , so ; now , ye cup - bearers , advance . The irons ! take them ; hold them while I fill ! ” Forthwith , slowly going from one officer to the other , he brimmed the harpoon sockets with the fiery waters from the pewter . “ Now , three to three , ye stand . Commend the murderous chalices ! Bestow them , ye who are now made parties to this indissoluble league . Ha ! Starbuck ! but the deed is done ! Yon ratifying sun now waits to sit upon it . Drink , ye harpooneers ! drink and swear , ye men that man the deathful whaleboat’s bow — Death to Moby Dick ! God hunt us all , if we do not hunt Moby Dick to his death ! ” The long , barbed steel goblets were lifted ; and to cries and maledictions against the white whale , the spirits were simultaneously quaffed down with a hiss . Starbuck paled , and turned , and shivered . Once more , and finally , the replenished pewter went the rounds among the frantic crew ; when , waving his free hand to them , they all dispersed ; and Ahab retired within his cabin . CHAPTER 37 . Sunset . The cabin ; by the stern windows ; Ahab sitting alone , and gazing out . I leave a white and turbid wake ; pale waters , paler cheeks , where’er I sail . The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track ; let them ; but first I pass . Yonder , by ever - brimming goblet’s rim , the warm waves blush like wine . The gold brow plumbs the blue . The diver sun — slow dived from noon — goes down ; my soul mounts up ! she wearies with her endless hill . Is , then , the crown too heavy that I wear ? this Iron Crown of Lombardy . Yet is it bright with many a gem ; I the wearer , see not its far flashings ; but darkly feel that I wear that , that dazzlingly confounds . ’ Tis iron — that I know — not gold . ’ Tis split , too — that I feel ; the jagged edge galls me so , my brain seems to beat against the solid metal ; aye , steel skull , mine ; the sort that needs no helmet in the most brain - battering fight !
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