“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. Give me something for a cane⁠—there, that shivered lance will do. Muster the men. Surely I have not seen him yet. By heaven it cannot be!⁠—missing?⁠—quick! call them all.”

The old man’s hinted thought was true. Upon mustering the company, the Parsee was not there.

“The Parsee!” cried Stubb⁠—“he must have been caught in⁠—”

“The black vomit wrench thee!⁠—run all of ye above, alow, cabin, forecastle⁠—find him⁠—not gone⁠—not gone!”

But quickly they returned to him with the tidings that the Parsee was nowhere to be found.