muttered stubb, as he found himself descending the cabin-scuttle. "it’s very queer. stop, stubb; somehow, now, i don’t well know whether to go back and strike him, or—what’s that?—down here on my knees and pray for him? yes, that was the thought coming up in me; but it would be the first time i ever did pray. it’s queer; very queer; and he’s queer too; aye, take him fore and aft, he’s about the queerest old man stubb ever sailed with. how he flashed at me!—his eyes like powder-pans! is he mad? anyway there’s something on his mind, as sure as there must be something on a deck when it cracks. he aint in his bed now, either, more than three hours out of the twenty-four; and he don’t sleep then.