Thus we were weaving and weaving away when I started at a sound strange, long drawn, and musically wild and unearthly, that the balf free will dropped from my hand, and I stood gazing up at the cloudhence that voice dropped like a wing. High aloft in the cross-trees wahat mad Gay-Header, Tashtego. His body was reaching eagerly forwardis hand stretched out like a wand, and at brief sudden intervals hontinued his cries. To be sure the same sound was that very momenerhaps being heard all over the seas, from hundreds of whalemen'ook-outs perched as high in the air; but from few of those lungs coulhat accustomed old cry have derived such a marvellous cadence as froashtego the Indian's.

As he stood hovering over you half suspended in air, so wildly anagerly peering towards the horizon, you would have thought him somrophet or seer beholding the shadows of Fate, and by those wild criennouncing their coming.

"There she blows! there! there! there! she blows! she blows!"