I boarded her once at midnight somewhere off the Patagonian coast, and drank good flip down in the forecastle. It was a fine gam we had, and they were all trumps—every soul on board. A short life to them, and a jolly death. And that fine gam I had—long, very long after old Ahab touched her planks with his ivory heel—it minds me of the noble, solid, Saxon hospitality of that ship; and may my parson forget me, and the devil remember me, if I ever lose sight of it.
As a curious observation, here we have in book proof of my assumption that after surviving the wreck of the Pequod that Ishmael had a long career whaling. I had noticed previously that Ishmael was on his maiden voyage in the narrative but sounded more intelligent and learned in the chapters on Whaling.
Short version, even after being cast adrift on the harpooner 's coffin, we notice he goes back to sea.
