“Why, blast your eyes, Bildad,” cried Peleg, Thou dost not want to swindle this young man! he must have more than that.”

“Seven hundred and seventy-seventh,” again said Bildad, without lifting his eyes; and then went on mumbling—­“for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

“I am going to put him down for the three hundredth,” said Peleg, “do ye hear that, Bildad!  The three hundredth lay, I say.”

Bildad laid down his book, and turning solemnly towards him said, “Captain Peleg, thou hast a generous heart; but thou must consider the duty thou owest to the other owners of this ship—­widows and orphans, many of them—­ and that if we too abundantly reward the labors of this young man, we may be taking the bread from those widows and those orphans.  The seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay, Captain Peleg.”

“Thou Bildad!” roared Peleg, starting up and clattering about the cabin.  “Blast ye, Captain Bildad, if I had followed thy advice in these matters, I would afore now had a conscience to lug about that would be heavy enough to founder the largest ship that ever sailed round Cape Horn.”

“Captain Peleg,” said Bildad steadily, “thy conscience may be drawing ten inches of water, or ten fathoms, I can’t tell; but as thou art still an impenitent man, Captain Peleg, I greatly fear lest thy conscience be but a leaky one; and will in the end sink thee foundering down to the fiery pit, Captain Peleg.”

“Fiery pit! fiery pit! ye insult me, man; past all natural bearing, ye insult me.  It’s an all-fired outrage to tell any human creature that he’s bound to hell.  Flukes and flames!  Bildad, say that again to me, and start my soulbolts, but I’ll—­I’ll—­yes, I’ll swallow a live goat with all his hair and horns on.  Out of the cabin, ye canting, drab-colored son of a wooden gun—­a straight wake with ye!”

As he thundered out this he made a rush at Bildad, but with a marvellous oblique, sliding celerity, Bildad for that time eluded him.

Alarmed at this terrible outburst between the two principal and responsible owners of the ship, and feeling half a mind to give up all idea of sailing in a vessel so questionably owned and temporarily commanded, I stepped aside from the door to give egress to Bildad, who, I made no doubt, was all eagerness to vanish from before the awakened wrath of Peleg.  But to my astonishment, he sat down again on the transom very quietly, and seemed to have not the slightest intention of withdrawing.  He seemed quite used to impenitent Peleg and his ways.  As for Peleg, after letting off his rage as he had, there seemed no more left in him, and he, too, sat down like a lamb, though he twitched a little as if still nervously agitated.  “Whew!” he whistled at last—­“the squall’s gone off to leeward, I think.  Bildad, thou used to be good at sharpening a lance, mend that pen, will ye.  My jack-knife here needs the grindstone.  That’s he; thank ye, Bildad.  Now then, my young man, Ishmael’s thy name, didn’t ye say?  Well then, down ye go here, Ishmael, for the three hundredth lay.”