Moby Dick: or, the White Whale

by Herman Melville

The hand of Fate had snatched all their souls;

the spray that he raised, for the moment, intolerably glittered and glared like a glacier;

for a space, the odorous cedar chips of the wrecks danced round and round, like the grated nutmeg in a swiftly stirred bowl of punch.

"Oh, oh, oh! how this splinter gores me now! Accursed fate! that the unconquerable captain in the soul should have such a craven mate!" "Sir?" "My body, man, not thee.

D'ye feel brave men, brave?" "As fearless fire," cried Stubb.

"Heart of wrought steel!" murmured Starbuck gazing over the side, and following with his eyes the receding boat—"canst thou yet ring boldly to that sight?—lowering