CHAPTER 19. The Prophet.

"Shipmates, have ye shipped in that ship?"

Queequeg and I had just left the Pequod, and were sauntering away frohe water, for the moment each occupied with his own thoughts, whehe above words were put to us by a stranger, who, pausing before usevelled his massive forefinger at the vessel in question. He was buhabbily apparelled in faded jacket and patched trowsers; a rag of lack handkerchief investing his neck. A confluent small-pox had in alirections flowed over his face, and left it like the complicated ribbeed of a torrent, when the rushing waters have been dried up.

"Have ye shipped in her?" he repeated.

"You mean the ship Pequod, I suppose," said I, trying to gain a littlore time for an uninterrupted look at him.

"Aye, the Pequod--that ship there," he said, drawing back his wholrm, and then rapidly shoving it straight out from him, with the fixeayonet of his pointed finger darted full at the object.

"Yes," said I, "we have just signed the articles."

"Anything down there about your souls?"