
At intervals, he would refer to piles of old log-books beside him.


While thus employed, the heavy pewter lamp suspended in chains over his head, continually rocked with the motion of the ship.
But it was not this night in particular that, in the solitude of his cabin, Ahab thus pondered over his charts. Almost every night they were brought out; almost every night some pencil marks were effaced, and others were substituted. For with the charts of all four oceans before him, Ahab was threading a maze of currents and eddies, with a view to the more certain accomplishment of that monomaniac thought of his soul.
