Nearly six o'clock, yet only grey imperfect misty dawn when Ishmael and Queequeg draw nigh the wharf and spot sailors running ahead toward the Pequod; she is off by sunrise, Ishmael guesses, come on, until Avast: Elijah lays hands on both shoulders, insinuates himself between them, and peers from Queequeg to Ishmael in the twilight. Going aboard? Hands off, says Ishmael; go away, says Queequeg; yes they are bound for the Indian and Pacific Oceans and prefer not to be detained. Ye be, be ye? Coming back afore breakfast? He is cracked, Ishmael tells Queequeg, come on.
Elijah hails them again, steals up, and asks a plain matter-of-fact question: did ye see anything looking like men going towards that ship a while ago? Ishmael, struck, admits he thought he saw four or five, but it was too dim to be sure; very dim, Elijah echoes, then after another shoulder touch bids them see if they can find em now. He was going to warn ye against, but never mind, never mind, all in the family, sharp frost, goodbye, shan't see ye again very soon unless it is before the Grand Jury, leaving Ishmael in wonderment at frantic impudence rather than at the warning half spoken.
On board the Pequod everything is profound quiet, not a soul moving, cabin locked, hatches lumbered with rigging; down the forecastle scuttle they find only an old rigger asleep face down on two chests. Those sailors we saw, where can they have gone? Queequeg never noticed them on the wharf, yet Elijah's question keeps Ishmael from calling it optical deceit; still he beats the thing down, jokes they should sit up with the body, and watches Queequeg test the sleeper's rear for softness and sit down my country way while Ishmael passes the tomahawk pipe and hears how kings fatten ottomans, Queequeg flourishing the hatchet-side perry easy over the man's head until smoke wakes him.
Shipped men, Ishmael says; she sails to-day, the rigger answers, the Captain came aboard last night, who but Ahab indeed, then Starbuck's astir and up they go into clear sunrise as crew and riggers swarm and shore people haul last things aboard, while Captain Ahab remains invisibly enshrined within his cabin: what will you do with Elijah's unfinished warn ye against now that the hatch has closed behind you and Merry Christmas is hours away?
