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“ As fearless fire , ” cried Stubb . “ And as mechanical , ” muttered Ahab . Then as the men went forward , he muttered on : “ The things called omens ! And yesterday I talked the same to Starbuck there , concerning my broken boat . Oh ! how valiantly I seek to drive out of others ’ hearts what’s clinched so fast in mine ! — The Parsee — the Parsee ! — gone , gone ? and he was to go before : — but still was to be seen again ere I could perish — How’s that ? — There’s a riddle now might baffle all the lawyers backed by the ghosts of the whole line of judges : — like a hawk’s beak it pecks my brain . I’ll , I’ll solve it , though ! ” When dusk descended , the whale was still in sight to leeward . So once more the sail was shortened , and everything passed nearly as on the previous night ; only , the sound of hammers , and the hum of the grindstone was heard till nearly daylight , as the men toiled by lanterns in the complete and careful rigging of the spare boats and sharpening their fresh weapons for the morrow . Meantime , of the broken keel of Ahab’s wrecked craft the carpenter made him another leg ; while still as on the night before , slouched Ahab stood fixed within his scuttle ; his hid , heliotrope glance anticipatingly gone backward on its dial ; sat due eastward for the earliest sun . CHAPTER 135 . The Chase . — Third Day . The morning of the third day dawned fair and fresh , and once more the solitary night - man at the fore - mast - head was relieved by crowds of the daylight look - outs , who dotted every mast and almost every spar . “ D’ye see him ? ” cried Ahab ; but the whale was not yet in sight . “ In his infallible wake , though ; but follow that wake , that’s all . Helm there ; steady , as thou goest , and hast been going . What a lovely day again ! were it a new - made world , and made for a summer - house to the angels , and this morning the first of its throwing open to them , a fairer day could not dawn upon that world . Here’s food for thought , had Ahab time to think ; but Ahab never thinks ; he only feels , feels , feels ; that’s tingling enough for mortal man ! to think’s audacity . God only has that right and privilege . Thinking is , or ought to be , a coolness and a calmness ; and our poor hearts throb , and our poor brains beat too much for that . And yet , I’ve sometimes thought my brain was very calm — frozen calm , this old skull cracks so , like a glass in which the contents turned to ice , and shiver it . And still this hair is growing now ; this moment growing , and heat must breed it ; but no , it’s like that sort of common grass that will grow anywhere , between the earthy clefts of Greenland ice or in Vesuvius lava . How the wild winds blow it ; they whip it about me as the torn shreds of split sails lash the tossed ship they cling to .
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