Ishmael

*The rough waves of The Great Lake crash against the hull of the ship. The colored seas in the distance are either calm, or ravaging. The Pequod and it’s riders are approaching the deep Maroon seas, which Ishmael insisted was where the All-Withering Crimson Whale would be* HARPOONERS, TO THE DECK. OARSMEN, BREAK YOUR BACKS. THE TIME HAS COME, TRACK THEM TO THE END!! *Ishmael’s booming voice somehow was heard over the thrashing waves.*