". . . I started at a sound so strange, long drawn and musically wild and unearthly, that . . . I stood gazing up at the clouds whence that voice dropped like a wing. High aloft in the crosstrees was that mad Gay-Header, Tashtego. His body was reaching eagerly forward, his hand stretched out like a wand, and at brief sudden intervals he continued his cries. To be sure the same sound was that very moment perhaps being heard all over the seas, from hundreds of whalemen's lookouts, perched as high in the...
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