#!/usr/bin/env bash ##################################################################################### # # MD GENERAL PUBLIC LICENSE # Version 01, 18 October 1851 # # Copyright 2023 Stef Dunlap # # 1. Permissions # # Permission to use, copy, modify, and/or distribute this software for any purpose # with or without fee is hereby granted, provided that the above copyright notice # and this permission notice appear in all copies. # # 2. Warranty # # THE SOFTWARE IS PROVIDED "AS IS" AND THE AUTHOR DISCLAIMS ALL WARRANTIES WITH # REGARD TO THIS SOFTWARE INCLUDING ALL IMPLIED WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY AND # FITNESS. IN NO EVENT SHALL THE AUTHOR BE LIABLE FOR ANY SPECIAL, DIRECT, # INDIRECT, OR CONSEQUENTIAL DAMAGES OR ANY DAMAGES WHATSOEVER RESULTING FROM LOSS # OF USE, DATA OR PROFITS, WHETHER IN AN ACTION OF CONTRACT, NEGLIGENCE OR OTHER # TORTIOUS ACTION, ARISING OUT OF OR IN CONNECTION WITH THE USE OR PERFORMANCE OF # THIS SOFTWARE. # # 3. Moby-Dick, or the Whale, by Herman Melville # # CONTENTS # # # ETYMOLOGY. # # EXTRACTS (Supplied by a Sub-Sub-Librarian). # # # CHAPTER 1. Loomings. # # CHAPTER 2. The Carpet-Bag. # # CHAPTER 3. The Spouter-Inn. # # CHAPTER 4. The Counterpane. # # CHAPTER 5. Breakfast. # # CHAPTER 6. The Street. # # CHAPTER 7. The Chapel. # # CHAPTER 8. The Pulpit. # # CHAPTER 9. The Sermon. # # CHAPTER 10. A Bosom Friend. # # CHAPTER 11. Nightgown. # # CHAPTER 12. Biographical. # # CHAPTER 13. Wheelbarrow. # # CHAPTER 14. Nantucket. # # CHAPTER 15. Chowder. # # CHAPTER 16. The Ship. # # CHAPTER 17. The Ramadan. # # CHAPTER 18. His Mark. # # CHAPTER 19. The Prophet. # # CHAPTER 20. All Astir. # # CHAPTER 21. Going Aboard. # # CHAPTER 22. Merry Christmas. # # CHAPTER 23. The Lee Shore. # # CHAPTER 24. The Advocate. # # CHAPTER 25. Postscript. # # CHAPTER 26. Knights and Squires. # # CHAPTER 27. Knights and Squires. # # CHAPTER 28. Ahab. # # CHAPTER 29. Enter Ahab; to Him, Stubb. # # CHAPTER 30. The Pipe. # # CHAPTER 31. Queen Mab. # # CHAPTER 32. Cetology. # # CHAPTER 33. The Specksnyder. # # CHAPTER 34. The Cabin-Table. # # CHAPTER 35. The Mast-Head. # # CHAPTER 36. The Quarter-Deck. # # CHAPTER 37. Sunset. # # CHAPTER 38. Dusk. # # CHAPTER 39. First Night-Watch. # # CHAPTER 40. Midnight, Forecastle. # # CHAPTER 41. Moby Dick. # # CHAPTER 42. The Whiteness of the Whale. # # CHAPTER 43. Hark! # # CHAPTER 44. The Chart. # # CHAPTER 45. The Affidavit. # # CHAPTER 46. Surmises. # # CHAPTER 47. The Mat-Maker. # # CHAPTER 48. The First Lowering. # # CHAPTER 49. The Hyena. # # CHAPTER 50. Ahab’s Boat and Crew. Fedallah. # # CHAPTER 51. The Spirit-Spout. # # CHAPTER 52. The Albatross. # # CHAPTER 53. The Gam. # # CHAPTER 54. The Town-Ho’s Story. # # CHAPTER 55. Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales. # # CHAPTER 56. Of the Less Erroneous Pictures of Whales, and the True Pictures # of Whaling Scenes. # # CHAPTER 57. Of Whales in Paint; in Teeth; in Wood; in Sheet-Iron; in Stone; # in Mountains; in Stars. # # CHAPTER 58. Brit. # # CHAPTER 59. Squid. # # CHAPTER 60. The Line. # # CHAPTER 61. Stubb Kills a Whale. # # CHAPTER 62. The Dart. # # CHAPTER 63. The Crotch. # # CHAPTER 64. Stubb’s Supper. # # CHAPTER 65. The Whale as a Dish. # # CHAPTER 66. The Shark Massacre. # # CHAPTER 67. Cutting In. # # CHAPTER 68. The Blanket. # # CHAPTER 69. The Funeral. # # CHAPTER 70. The Sphynx. # # CHAPTER 71. The Jeroboam’s Story. # # CHAPTER 72. The Monkey-Rope. # # CHAPTER 73. Stubb and Flask kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk over # Him. # # CHAPTER 74. The Sperm Whale’s Head—Contrasted View. # # CHAPTER 75. The Right Whale’s Head—Contrasted View. # # CHAPTER 76. The Battering-Ram. # # CHAPTER 77. The Great Heidelburgh Tun. # # CHAPTER 78. Cistern and Buckets. # # CHAPTER 79. The Prairie. # # CHAPTER 80. The Nut. # # CHAPTER 81. The Pequod Meets The Virgin. # # CHAPTER 82. The Honor and Glory of Whaling. # # CHAPTER 83. Jonah Historically Regarded. # # CHAPTER 84. Pitchpoling. # # CHAPTER 85. The Fountain. # # CHAPTER 86. The Tail. # # CHAPTER 87. The Grand Armada. # # CHAPTER 88. Schools and Schoolmasters. # # CHAPTER 89. Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish. # # CHAPTER 90. Heads or Tails. # # CHAPTER 91. The Pequod Meets The Rose-Bud. # # CHAPTER 92. Ambergris. # # CHAPTER 93. The Castaway. # # CHAPTER 94. A Squeeze of the Hand. # # CHAPTER 95. The Cassock. # # CHAPTER 96. The Try-Works. # # CHAPTER 97. The Lamp. # # CHAPTER 98. Stowing Down and Clearing Up. # # CHAPTER 99. The Doubloon. # # CHAPTER 100. Leg and Arm. # # CHAPTER 101. The Decanter. # # CHAPTER 102. A Bower in the Arsacides. # # CHAPTER 103. Measurement of The Whale’s Skeleton. # # CHAPTER 104. The Fossil Whale. # # CHAPTER 105. Does the Whale’s Magnitude Diminish?—Will He Perish? # # CHAPTER 106. Ahab’s Leg. # # CHAPTER 107. The Carpenter. # # CHAPTER 108. Ahab and the Carpenter. # # CHAPTER 109. Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin. # # CHAPTER 110. Queequeg in His Coffin. # # CHAPTER 111. The Pacific. # # CHAPTER 112. The Blacksmith. # # CHAPTER 113. The Forge. # # CHAPTER 114. The Gilder. # # CHAPTER 115. The Pequod Meets The Bachelor. # # CHAPTER 116. The Dying Whale. # # CHAPTER 117. The Whale Watch. # # CHAPTER 118. The Quadrant. # # CHAPTER 119. The Candles. # # CHAPTER 120. The Deck Towards the End of the First Night Watch. # # CHAPTER 121. Midnight.—The Forecastle Bulwarks. # # CHAPTER 122. Midnight Aloft.—Thunder and Lightning. # # CHAPTER 123. The Musket. # # CHAPTER 124. The Needle. # # CHAPTER 125. The Log and Line. # # CHAPTER 126. The Life-Buoy. # # CHAPTER 127. The Deck. # # CHAPTER 128. The Pequod Meets The Rachel. # # CHAPTER 129. The Cabin. # # CHAPTER 130. The Hat. # # CHAPTER 131. The Pequod Meets The Delight. # # CHAPTER 132. The Symphony. # # CHAPTER 133. The Chase—First Day. # # CHAPTER 134. The Chase—Second Day. # # CHAPTER 135. The Chase.—Third Day. # # Epilogue # # # # Original Transcriber’s Notes: # # This text is a combination of etexts, one from the now-defunct ERIS project at # Virginia Tech and one from Project Gutenberg’s archives. The proofreaders of # this version are indebted to The University of Adelaide Library for preserving # the Virginia Tech version. The resulting etext was compared with a public domain # hard copy version of the text. # # # # # # ETYMOLOGY. (Supplied by a Late Consumptive Usher to a Grammar School.) # # The pale Usher—threadbare in coat, heart, body, and brain; I see him now. He was # ever dusting his old lexicons and grammars, with a queer handkerchief, mockingly # embellished with all the gay flags of all the known nations of the world. He # loved to dust his old grammars; it somehow mildly reminded him of his mortality. # # “While you take in hand to school others, and to teach them by what name a # whale-fish is to be called in our tongue, leaving out, through ignorance, the # letter H, which almost alone maketh up the signification of the word, you # deliver that which is not true.” —Hackluyt. # # “WHALE. * * * Sw. and Dan. hval. This animal is named from roundness or rolling; # for in Dan. hvalt is arched or vaulted.” —Webster’s Dictionary. # # “WHALE. * * * It is more immediately from the Dut. and Ger. Wallen; A.S. # Walw-ian, to roll, to wallow.” —Richardson’s Dictionary. חו, Hebrew. # ϰητος, Greek. CETUS, Latin. WHŒL, Anglo-Saxon. HVALT, Danish. WAL, # Dutch. HWAL, Swedish. HVALUR, Icelandic. WHALE, English. BALEINE, # French. BALLENA, Spanish. PEKEE-NUEE-NUEE, Fegee. PEHEE-NUEE-NUEE, # Erromangoan. # # # # # EXTRACTS. (Supplied by a Sub-Sub-Librarian). # # It will be seen that this mere painstaking burrower and grub-worm of a poor # devil of a Sub-Sub appears to have gone through the long Vaticans and # street-stalls of the earth, picking up whatever random allusions to whales he # could anyways find in any book whatsoever, sacred or profane. Therefore you must # not, in every case at least, take the higgledy-piggledy whale statements, # however authentic, in these extracts, for veritable gospel cetology. Far from # it. As touching the ancient authors generally, as well as the poets here # appearing, these extracts are solely valuable or entertaining, as affording a # glancing bird’s eye view of what has been promiscuously said, thought, fancied, # and sung of Leviathan, by many nations and generations, including our own. # # So fare thee well, poor devil of a Sub-Sub, whose commentator I am. Thou # belongest to that hopeless, sallow tribe which no wine of this world will ever # warm; and for whom even Pale Sherry would be too rosy-strong; but with whom one # sometimes loves to sit, and feel poor-devilish, too; and grow convivial upon # tears; and say to them bluntly, with full eyes and empty glasses, and in not # altogether unpleasant sadness—Give it up, Sub-Subs! For by how much the more # pains ye take to please the world, by so much the more shall ye for ever go # thankless! Would that I could clear out Hampton Court and the Tuileries for ye! # But gulp down your tears and hie aloft to the royal-mast with your hearts; for # your friends who have gone before are clearing out the seven-storied heavens, # and making refugees of long-pampered Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael, against your # coming. Here ye strike but splintered hearts together—there, ye shall strike # unsplinterable glasses! EXTRACTS. # # “And God created great whales.” —Genesis. # # “Leviathan maketh a path to shine after him; One would think the deep to be # hoary.” —Job. # # “Now the Lord had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah.” —Jonah. # # “There go the ships; there is that Leviathan whom thou hast made to play # therein.” —Psalms. # # “In that day, the Lord with his sore, and great, and strong sword, shall punish # Leviathan the piercing serpent, even Leviathan that crooked serpent; and he # shall slay the dragon that is in the sea.” —Isaiah. # # “And what thing soever besides cometh within the chaos of this monster’s mouth, # be it beast, boat, or stone, down it goes all incontinently that foul great # swallow of his, and perisheth in the bottomless gulf of his paunch.” —Holland’s # Plutarch’s Morals. # # “The Indian Sea breedeth the most and the biggest fishes that are: among which # the Whales and Whirlpooles called Balaene, take up as much in length as four # acres or arpens of land.” —Holland’s Pliny. # # “Scarcely had we proceeded two days on the sea, when about sunrise a great many # Whales and other monsters of the sea, appeared. Among the former, one was of a # most monstrous size.... This came towards us, open-mouthed, raising the waves on # all sides, and beating the sea before him into a foam.” —Tooke’s Lucian. “The # True History.” # # “He visited this country also with a view of catching horse-whales, which had # bones of very great value for their teeth, of which he brought some to the # king.... The best whales were catched in his own country, of which some were # forty-eight, some fifty yards long. He said that he was one of six who had # killed sixty in two days.” —Other or Other’s verbal narrative taken down from # his mouth by King Alfred, A.D. 890. # # “And whereas all the other things, whether beast or vessel, that enter into the # dreadful gulf of this monster’s (whale’s) mouth, are immediately lost and # swallowed up, the sea-gudgeon retires into it in great security, and there # sleeps.” —MONTAIGNE. —Apology for Raimond Sebond. # # “Let us fly, let us fly! Old Nick take me if it is not Leviathan described by # the noble prophet Moses in the life of patient Job.” —Rabelais. # # “This whale’s liver was two cartloads.” —Stowe’s Annals. # # “The great Leviathan that maketh the seas to seethe like boiling pan.” —Lord # Bacon’s Version of the Psalms. # # “Touching that monstrous bulk of the whale or ork we have received nothing # certain. They grow exceeding fat, insomuch that an incredible quantity of oil # will be extracted out of one whale.” —Ibid. “History of Life and Death.” # # “The sovereignest thing on earth is parmacetti for an inward bruise.” —King # Henry. # # “Very like a whale.” —Hamlet. # # “Which to secure, no skill of leach’s art Mote him availle, but to returne # againe To his wound’s worker, that with lowly dart, Dinting his breast, had # bred his restless paine, Like as the wounded whale to shore flies thro’ the # maine.” —The Fairie Queen. # # “Immense as whales, the motion of whose vast bodies can in a peaceful calm # trouble the ocean till it boil.” —Sir William Davenant. Preface to Gondibert. # # “What spermacetti is, men might justly doubt, since the learned Hosmannus in his # work of thirty years, saith plainly, Nescio quid sit.” —Sir T. Browne. Of Sperma # Ceti and the Sperma Ceti Whale. Vide his V. E. # # “Like Spencer’s Talus with his modern flail He threatens ruin with his # ponderous tail. ... Their fixed jav’lins in his side he wears, And on his # back a grove of pikes appears.” —Waller’s Battle of the Summer Islands. # # “By art is created that great Leviathan, called a Commonwealth or State—(in # Latin, Civitas) which is but an artificial man.” —Opening sentence of Hobbes’s # Leviathan. # # “Silly Mansoul swallowed it without chewing, as if it had been a sprat in the # mouth of a whale.” —Pilgrim’s Progress. # # “That sea beast Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that # swim the ocean stream.” —Paradise Lost. # # —“There Leviathan, Hugest of living creatures, in the deep Stretched like a # promontory sleeps or swims, And seems a moving land; and at his gills Draws # in, and at his breath spouts out a sea.” —Ibid. # # “The mighty whales which swim in a sea of water, and have a sea of oil swimming # in them.” —Fuller’s Profane and Holy State. # # “So close behind some promontory lie The huge Leviathan to attend their # prey, And give no chance, but swallow in the fry, Which through their # gaping jaws mistake the way.” —Dryden’s Annus Mirabilis. # # “While the whale is floating at the stern of the ship, they cut off his head, # and tow it with a boat as near the shore as it will come; but it will be aground # in twelve or thirteen feet water.” —Thomas Edge’s Ten Voyages to Spitzbergen, in # Purchas. # # “In their way they saw many whales sporting in the ocean, and in wantonness # fuzzing up the water through their pipes and vents, which nature has placed on # their shoulders.” —Sir T. Herbert’s Voyages into Asia and Africa. Harris Coll. # # “Here they saw such huge troops of whales, that they were forced to proceed with # a great deal of caution for fear they should run their ship upon them.” # —Schouten’s Sixth Circumnavigation. # # “We set sail from the Elbe, wind N.E. in the ship called The # Jonas-in-the-Whale.... Some say the whale can’t open his mouth, but that is a # fable.... They frequently climb up the masts to see whether they can see a # whale, for the first discoverer has a ducat for his pains.... I was told of a # whale taken near Shetland, that had above a barrel of herrings in his belly.... # One of our harpooneers told me that he caught once a whale in Spitzbergen that # was white all over.” —A Voyage to Greenland, A.D. 1671. Harris Coll. # # “Several whales have come in upon this coast (Fife) Anno 1652, one eighty feet # in length of the whale-bone kind came in, which (as I was informed), besides a # vast quantity of oil, did afford 500 weight of baleen. The jaws of it stand for # a gate in the garden of Pitferren.” —Sibbald’s Fife and Kinross. # # “Myself have agreed to try whether I can master and kill this Sperma-ceti whale, # for I could never hear of any of that sort that was killed by any man, such is # his fierceness and swiftness.” —Richard Strafford’s Letter from the Bermudas. # Phil. Trans. A.D. 1668. # # “Whales in the sea God’s voice obey.” —N. E. Primer. # # “We saw also abundance of large whales, there being more in those southern seas, # as I may say, by a hundred to one; than we have to the northward of us.” # —Captain Cowley’s Voyage round the Globe, A.D. 1729. # # “... and the breath of the whale is frequently attended with such an # insupportable smell, as to bring on a disorder of the brain.” —Ulloa’s South # America. # # “To fifty chosen sylphs of special note, We trust the important charge, the # petticoat. Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to fail, Tho’ stuffed # with hoops and armed with ribs of whale.” —Rape of the Lock. # # “If we compare land animals in respect to magnitude, with those that take up # their abode in the deep, we shall find they will appear contemptible in the # comparison. The whale is doubtless the largest animal in creation.” —Goldsmith, # Nat. Hist. # # “If you should write a fable for little fishes, you would make them speak like # great whales.” —Goldsmith to Johnson. # # “In the afternoon we saw what was supposed to be a rock, but it was found to be # a dead whale, which some Asiatics had killed, and were then towing ashore. They # seemed to endeavor to conceal themselves behind the whale, in order to avoid # being seen by us.” —Cook’s Voyages. # # “The larger whales, they seldom venture to attack. They stand in so great dread # of some of them, that when out at sea they are afraid to mention even their # names, and carry dung, lime-stone, juniper-wood, and some other articles of the # same nature in their boats, in order to terrify and prevent their too near # approach.” —Uno Von Troil’s Letters on Banks’s and Solander’s Voyage to Iceland # in 1772. # # “The Spermacetti Whale found by the Nantuckois, is an active, fierce animal, and # requires vast address and boldness in the fishermen.” —Thomas Jefferson’s Whale # Memorial to the French minister in 1778. # # “And pray, sir, what in the world is equal to it?” —Edmund Burke’s reference in # Parliament to the Nantucket Whale-Fishery. # # “Spain—a great whale stranded on the shores of Europe.” —Edmund Burke. # (somewhere.) # # “A tenth branch of the king’s ordinary revenue, said to be grounded on the # consideration of his guarding and protecting the seas from pirates and robbers, # is the right to royal fish, which are whale and sturgeon. And these, when either # thrown ashore or caught near the coast, are the property of the king.” # —Blackstone. # # “Soon to the sport of death the crews repair: Rodmond unerring o’er his # head suspends The barbed steel, and every turn attends.” —Falconer’s # Shipwreck. # # “Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, And rockets blew self # driven, To hang their momentary fire Around the vault of heaven. # # “So fire with water to compare, The ocean serves on high, Up-spouted by a # whale in air, To express unwieldy joy.” —Cowper, on the Queen’s Visit to # London. # # “Ten or fifteen gallons of blood are thrown out of the heart at a stroke, with # immense velocity.” —John Hunter’s account of the dissection of a whale. (A small # sized one.) # # “The aorta of a whale is larger in the bore than the main pipe of the # water-works at London Bridge, and the water roaring in its passage through that # pipe is inferior in impetus and velocity to the blood gushing from the whale’s # heart.” —Paley’s Theology. # # “The whale is a mammiferous animal without hind feet.” —Baron Cuvier. # # “In 40 degrees south, we saw Spermacetti Whales, but did not take any till the # first of May, the sea being then covered with them.” —Colnett’s Voyage for the # Purpose of Extending the Spermaceti Whale Fishery. # # “In the free element beneath me swam, Floundered and dived, in play, in # chace, in battle, Fishes of every colour, form, and kind; Which language # cannot paint, and mariner Had never seen; from dread Leviathan To insect # millions peopling every wave: Gather’d in shoals immense, like floating # islands, Led by mysterious instincts through that waste And trackless # region, though on every side Assaulted by voracious enemies, Whales, # sharks, and monsters, arm’d in front or jaw, With swords, saws, spiral # horns, or hooked fangs.” —Montgomery’s World before the Flood. # # “Io! Paean! Io! sing. To the finny people’s king. Not a mightier whale # than this In the vast Atlantic is; Not a fatter fish than he, Flounders # round the Polar Sea.” —Charles Lamb’s Triumph of the Whale. # # “In the year 1690 some persons were on a high hill observing the whales spouting # and sporting with each other, when one observed: there—pointing to the sea—is a # green pasture where our children’s grand-children will go for bread.” —Obed # Macy’s History of Nantucket. # # “I built a cottage for Susan and myself and made a gateway in the form of a # Gothic Arch, by setting up a whale’s jaw bones.” —Hawthorne’s Twice Told Tales. # # “She came to bespeak a monument for her first love, who had been killed by a # whale in the Pacific ocean, no less than forty years ago.” —Ibid. # # “No, Sir, ’tis a Right Whale,” answered Tom; “I saw his sprout; he threw up a # pair of as pretty rainbows as a Christian would wish to look at. He’s a raal # oil-butt, that fellow!” —Cooper’s Pilot. # # “The papers were brought in, and we saw in the Berlin Gazette that whales had # been introduced on the stage there.” —Eckermann’s Conversations with Goethe. # # “My God! Mr. Chace, what is the matter?” I answered, “we have been stove by a # whale.” —“Narrative of the Shipwreck of the Whale Ship Essex of Nantucket, which # was attacked and finally destroyed by a large Sperm Whale in the Pacific Ocean.” # By Owen Chace of Nantucket, first mate of said vessel. New York, 1821. # # “A mariner sat in the shrouds one night, The wind was piping free; Now # bright, now dimmed, was the moonlight pale, And the phospher gleamed in the # wake of the whale, As it floundered in the sea.” —Elizabeth Oakes Smith. # # “The quantity of line withdrawn from the boats engaged in the capture of this # one whale, amounted altogether to 10,440 yards or nearly six English miles.... # # “Sometimes the whale shakes its tremendous tail in the air, which, cracking like # a whip, resounds to the distance of three or four miles.” —Scoresby. # # “Mad with the agonies he endures from these fresh attacks, the infuriated Sperm # Whale rolls over and over; he rears his enormous head, and with wide expanded # jaws snaps at everything around him; he rushes at the boats with his head; they # are propelled before him with vast swiftness, and sometimes utterly # destroyed.... It is a matter of great astonishment that the consideration of the # habits of so interesting, and, in a commercial point of view, so important an # animal (as the Sperm Whale) should have been so entirely neglected, or should # have excited so little curiosity among the numerous, and many of them competent # observers, that of late years, must have possessed the most abundant and the # most convenient opportunities of witnessing their habitudes.” —Thomas Beale’s # History of the Sperm Whale, 1839. # # “The Cachalot” (Sperm Whale) “is not only better armed than the True Whale” # (Greenland or Right Whale) “in possessing a formidable weapon at either # extremity of its body, but also more frequently displays a disposition to employ # these weapons offensively and in manner at once so artful, bold, and # mischievous, as to lead to its being regarded as the most dangerous to attack of # all the known species of the whale tribe.” —Frederick Debell Bennett’s Whaling # Voyage Round the Globe, 1840. # # October 13. “There she blows,” was sung out from the mast-head. “Where # away?” demanded the captain. “Three points off the lee bow, sir.” “Raise # up your wheel. Steady!” “Steady, sir.” “Mast-head ahoy! Do you see that # whale now?” “Ay ay, sir! A shoal of Sperm Whales! There she blows! # There she breaches!” “Sing out! sing out every time!” “Ay Ay, sir! There # she blows! there—there—thar she blows—bowes—bo-o-os!” “How far off?” “Two # miles and a half.” “Thunder and lightning! so near! Call all hands.” —J. # Ross Browne’s Etchings of a Whaling Cruize. 1846. # # “The Whale-ship Globe, on board of which vessel occurred the horrid transactions # we are about to relate, belonged to the island of Nantucket.” —“Narrative of the # Globe Mutiny,” by Lay and Hussey survivors. A.D. 1828. # # Being once pursued by a whale which he had wounded, he parried the assault for # some time with a lance; but the furious monster at length rushed on the boat; # himself and comrades only being preserved by leaping into the water when they # saw the onset was inevitable.” —Missionary Journal of Tyerman and Bennett. # # “Nantucket itself,” said Mr. Webster, “is a very striking and peculiar portion # of the National interest. There is a population of eight or nine thousand # persons living here in the sea, adding largely every year to the National wealth # by the boldest and most persevering industry.” —Report of Daniel Webster’s # Speech in the U. S. Senate, on the application for the Erection of a Breakwater # at Nantucket. 1828. # # “The whale fell directly over him, and probably killed him in a moment.” —“The # Whale and his Captors, or The Whaleman’s Adventures and the Whale’s Biography, # gathered on the Homeward Cruise of the Commodore Preble.” By Rev. Henry T. # Cheever. # # “If you make the least damn bit of noise,” replied Samuel, “I will send you to # hell.” —Life of Samuel Comstock (the mutineer), by his brother, William # Comstock. Another Version of the whale-ship Globe narrative. # # “The voyages of the Dutch and English to the Northern Ocean, in order, if # possible, to discover a passage through it to India, though they failed of their # main object, laid-open the haunts of the whale.” —McCulloch’s Commercial # Dictionary. # # “These things are reciprocal; the ball rebounds, only to bound forward again; # for now in laying open the haunts of the whale, the whalemen seem to have # indirectly hit upon new clews to that same mystic North-West Passage.” —From # “Something” unpublished. # # “It is impossible to meet a whale-ship on the ocean without being struck by her # near appearance. The vessel under short sail, with look-outs at the mast-heads, # eagerly scanning the wide expanse around them, has a totally different air from # those engaged in regular voyage.” —Currents and Whaling. U.S. Ex. Ex. # # “Pedestrians in the vicinity of London and elsewhere may recollect having seen # large curved bones set upright in the earth, either to form arches over # gateways, or entrances to alcoves, and they may perhaps have been told that # these were the ribs of whales.” —Tales of a Whale Voyager to the Arctic Ocean. # # “It was not till the boats returned from the pursuit of these whales, that the # whites saw their ship in bloody possession of the savages enrolled among the # crew.” —Newspaper Account of the Taking and Retaking of the Whale-Ship Hobomack. # # “It is generally well known that out of the crews of Whaling vessels (American) # few ever return in the ships on board of which they departed.” —Cruise in a # Whale Boat. # # “Suddenly a mighty mass emerged from the water, and shot up perpendicularly into # the air. It was the whale.” —Miriam Coffin or the Whale Fisherman. # # “The Whale is harpooned to be sure; but bethink you, how you would manage a # powerful unbroken colt, with the mere appliance of a rope tied to the root of # his tail.” —A Chapter on Whaling in Ribs and Trucks. # # “On one occasion I saw two of these monsters (whales) probably male and female, # slowly swimming, one after the other, within less than a stone’s throw of the # shore” (Terra Del Fuego), “over which the beech tree extended its branches.” # —Darwin’s Voyage of a Naturalist. # # “‘Stern all!’ exclaimed the mate, as upon turning his head, he saw the distended # jaws of a large Sperm Whale close to the head of the boat, threatening it with # instant destruction;—‘Stern all, for your lives!’” —Wharton the Whale Killer. # # “So be cheery, my lads, let your hearts never fail, While the bold harpooneer is # striking the whale!” —Nantucket Song. # # “Oh, the rare old Whale, mid storm and gale In his ocean home will be A # giant in might, where might is right, And King of the boundless sea.” # —Whale Song. # # # # # # # CHAPTER 1. Loomings. # # Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or # no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought # I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I # have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find # myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in # my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, # and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my # hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to # prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking # people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. # This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato # throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing # surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some # time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. # # There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as # Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, # the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that # noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous # were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there. # # Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to # Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted # like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of # mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated # upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some # high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. # But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to # counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green # fields gone? What do they here? # # But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly # bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of # the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. # No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling # in. And there they stand—miles of them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from # lanes and alleys, streets and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here # they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the # compasses of all those ships attract them thither? # # Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost # any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves # you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most # absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his # legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water # there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American # desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a # metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded # for ever. # # But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, # quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of the # Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his trees, each with a # hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and here sleeps his # meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy # smoke. Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping # spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies # thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon # this shepherd’s head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were fixed # upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June, when for scores # on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm # wanting?—Water—there is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract # of sand, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet # of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether # to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian # trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust # healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your # first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, # when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did # the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, # and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still # deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp # the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was # drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is # the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all. # # Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow # hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do not mean # to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger. For to go as a # passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have # something in it. Besides, passengers get sea-sick—grow quarrelsome—don’t sleep # of nights—do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing;—no, I never go as a # passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a # Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook. I abandon the glory and distinction of such # offices to those who like them. For my part, I abominate all honorable # respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. It is # quite as much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, # barques, brigs, schooners, and what not. And as for going as cook,—though I # confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on # ship-board—yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls;—though once broiled, # judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who # will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I # will. It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis # and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their # huge bake-houses the pyramids. # # No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down # into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head. True, they rather order # me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May # meadow. And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s # sense of honor, particularly if you come of an old established family in the # land, the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if # just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been lording it as # a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you. The # transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and # requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and # bear it. But even this wears off in time. # # What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and # sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed, I mean, in # the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks # anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks # in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, # however the old sea-captains may order me about—however they may thump and punch # me about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that # everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way—either in a # physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is # passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades, and be # content. # # Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying me # for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I ever # heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay. And there is all the # difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is # perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed # upon us. But being paid,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with # which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so # earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no # account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves # to perdition! # # Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise and # pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world, head winds are far more # prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if you never violate the Pythagorean # maxim), so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his # atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he # breathes it first; but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their # leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect # it. But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a # merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; # this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant # surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some # unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my # going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence # that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and # solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill # must have run something like this: # # “Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States. “WHALING # VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.” # # Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, # put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others were set down # for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel # comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I cannot tell why this was exactly; # yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into # the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various # disguises, induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling # me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased # freewill and discriminating judgment. # # Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself. # Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then the wild # and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the undeliverable, nameless # perils of the whale; these, with all the attending marvels of a thousand # Patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, # perhaps, such things would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am # tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden # seas, and land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to # perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let me—since it # is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges # in. # # By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the great # flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild conceits that swayed # me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless # processions of the whale, and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, # like a snow hill in the air. # # # # # # CHAPTER 2. The Carpet-Bag. # # I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my arm, and # started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good city of old Manhatto, I # duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a Saturday night in December. Much was I # disappointed upon learning that the little packet for Nantucket had already # sailed, and that no way of reaching that place would offer, till the following # Monday. # # As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this # same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related # that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was made up to sail in no # other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something # about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased # me. Besides though New Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the # business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much # behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original—the Tyre of this Carthage;—the # place where the first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from # Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes # to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did that # first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported # cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales, in order to discover when # they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit? # # Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me in New # Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port, it became a matter of # concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a very # dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold and cheerless. # I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels I had sounded my pocket, and # only brought up a few pieces of silver,—So, wherever you go, Ishmael, said I to # myself, as I stood in the middle of a dreary street shouldering my bag, and # comparing the gloom towards the north with the darkness towards the # south—wherever in your wisdom you may conclude to lodge for the night, my dear # Ishmael, be sure to inquire the price, and don’t be too particular. # # With halting steps I paced the streets, and passed the sign of “The Crossed # Harpoons”—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. Further on, from the # bright red windows of the “Sword-Fish Inn,” there came such fervent rays, that # it seemed to have melted the packed snow and ice from before the house, for # everywhere else the congealed frost lay ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic # pavement,—rather weary for me, when I struck my foot against the flinty # projections, because from hard, remorseless service the soles of my boots were # in a most miserable plight. Too expensive and jolly, again thought I, pausing # one moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of the # tinkling glasses within. But go on, Ishmael, said I at last; don’t you hear? get # away from before the door; your patched boots are stopping the way. So on I # went. I now by instinct followed the streets that took me waterward, for there, # doubtless, were the cheapest, if not the cheeriest inns. # # Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand, and here # and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb. At this hour of the # night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of the town proved all but # deserted. But presently I came to a smoky light proceeding from a low, wide # building, the door of which stood invitingly open. It had a careless look, as if # it were meant for the uses of the public; so, entering, the first thing I did # was to stumble over an ash-box in the porch. Ha! thought I, ha, as the flying # particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city, Gomorrah? # But “The Crossed Harpoons,” and “The Sword-Fish?”—this, then must needs be the # sign of “The Trap.” However, I picked myself up and hearing a loud voice within, # pushed on and opened a second, interior door. # # It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet. A hundred black faces # turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black Angel of Doom was # beating a book in a pulpit. It was a negro church; and the preacher’s text was # about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping and wailing and teeth-gnashing # there. Ha, Ishmael, muttered I, backing out, Wretched entertainment at the sign # of ‘The Trap!’ # # Moving on, I at last came to a dim sort of light not far from the docks, and # heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a swinging sign over # the door with a white painting upon it, faintly representing a tall straight jet # of misty spray, and these words underneath—“The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.” # # Coffin?—Spouter?—Rather ominous in that particular connexion, thought I. But it # is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this Peter here is an # emigrant from there. As the light looked so dim, and the place, for the time, # looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated little wooden house itself looked as if # it might have been carted here from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the # swinging sign had a poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, I thought that here # was the very spot for cheap lodgings, and the best of pea coffee. # # It was a queer sort of place—a gable-ended old house, one side palsied as it # were, and leaning over sadly. It stood on a sharp bleak corner, where that # tempestuous wind Euroclydon kept up a worse howling than ever it did about poor # Paul’s tossed craft. Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to # any one in-doors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed. “In judging # of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon,” says an old writer—of whose works I # possess the only copy extant—“it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou # lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or # whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both # sides, and of which the wight Death is the only glazier.” True enough, thought # I, as this passage occurred to my mind—old black-letter, thou reasonest well. # Yes, these eyes are windows, and this body of mine is the house. What a pity # they didn’t stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little # lint here and there. But it’s too late to make any improvements now. The # universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted off a # million years ago. Poor Lazarus there, chattering his teeth against the # curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings, he # might plug up both ears with rags, and put a corn-cob into his mouth, and yet # that would not keep out the tempestuous Euroclydon. Euroclydon! says old Dives, # in his red silken wrapper—(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh! What a # fine frosty night; how Orion glitters; what northern lights! Let them talk of # their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the # privilege of making my own summer with my own coals. # # But what thinks Lazarus? Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up to the # grand northern lights? Would not Lazarus rather be in Sumatra than here? Would # he not far rather lay him down lengthwise along the line of the equator; yea, ye # gods! go down to the fiery pit itself, in order to keep out this frost? # # Now, that Lazarus should lie stranded there on the curbstone before the door of # Dives, this is more wonderful than that an iceberg should be moored to one of # the Moluccas. Yet Dives himself, he too lives like a Czar in an ice palace made # of frozen sighs, and being a president of a temperance society, he only drinks # the tepid tears of orphans. # # But no more of this blubbering now, we are going a-whaling, and there is plenty # of that yet to come. Let us scrape the ice from our frosted feet, and see what # sort of a place this “Spouter” may be. # # # # # # CHAPTER 3. The Spouter-Inn. # # Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, you found yourself in a wide, low, # straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks of # some condemned old craft. On one side hung a very large oilpainting so # thoroughly besmoked, and every way defaced, that in the unequal crosslights by # which you viewed it, it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic # visits to it, and careful inquiry of the neighbors, that you could any way # arrive at an understanding of its purpose. Such unaccountable masses of shades # and shadows, that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in # the time of the New England hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. # But by dint of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings, and # especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the entry, you # at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however wild, might not be # altogether unwarranted. # # But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black # mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim, # perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy # picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted. Yet was there a sort of # indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you # to it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that # marvellous painting meant. Ever and anon a bright, but, alas, deceptive idea # would dart you through.—It’s the Black Sea in a midnight gale.—It’s the # unnatural combat of the four primal elements.—It’s a blasted heath.—It’s a # Hyperborean winter scene.—It’s the breaking-up of the icebound stream of Time. # But at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the # picture’s midst. That once found out, and all the rest were plain. But stop; # does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great # leviathan himself? # # In fact, the artist’s design seemed this: a final theory of my own, partly based # upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with whom I conversed upon the # subject. The picture represents a Cape-Horner in a great hurricane; the # half-foundered ship weltering there with its three dismantled masts alone # visible; and an exasperated whale, purposing to spring clean over the craft, is # in the enormous act of impaling himself upon the three mast-heads. # # The opposite wall of this entry was hung all over with a heathenish array of # monstrous clubs and spears. Some were thickly set with glittering teeth # resembling ivory saws; others were tufted with knots of human hair; and one was # sickle-shaped, with a vast handle sweeping round like the segment made in the # new-mown grass by a long-armed mower. You shuddered as you gazed, and wondered # what monstrous cannibal and savage could ever have gone a death-harvesting with # such a hacking, horrifying implement. Mixed with these were rusty old whaling # lances and harpoons all broken and deformed. Some were storied weapons. With # this once long lance, now wildly elbowed, fifty years ago did Nathan Swain kill # fifteen whales between a sunrise and a sunset. And that harpoon—so like a # corkscrew now—was flung in Javan seas, and run away with by a whale, years # afterwards slain off the Cape of Blanco. The original iron entered nigh the # tail, and, like a restless needle sojourning in the body of a man, travelled # full forty feet, and at last was found imbedded in the hump. # # Crossing this dusky entry, and on through yon low-arched way—cut through what in # old times must have been a great central chimney with fireplaces all round—you # enter the public room. A still duskier place is this, with such low ponderous # beams above, and such old wrinkled planks beneath, that you would almost fancy # you trod some old craft’s cockpits, especially of such a howling night, when # this corner-anchored old ark rocked so furiously. On one side stood a long, low, # shelf-like table covered with cracked glass cases, filled with dusty rarities # gathered from this wide world’s remotest nooks. Projecting from the further # angle of the room stands a dark-looking den—the bar—a rude attempt at a right # whale’s head. Be that how it may, there stands the vast arched bone of the # whale’s jaw, so wide, a coach might almost drive beneath it. Within are shabby # shelves, ranged round with old decanters, bottles, flasks; and in those jaws of # swift destruction, like another cursed Jonah (by which name indeed they called # him), bustles a little withered old man, who, for their money, dearly sells the # sailors deliriums and death. # # Abominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison. Though true # cylinders without—within, the villanous green goggling glasses deceitfully # tapered downwards to a cheating bottom. Parallel meridians rudely pecked into # the glass, surround these footpads’ goblets. Fill to this mark, and your charge # is but a penny; to this a penny more; and so on to the full glass—the Cape Horn # measure, which you may gulp down for a shilling. # # Upon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about a table, # examining by a dim light divers specimens of skrimshander. I sought the # landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room, received for # answer that his house was full—not a bed unoccupied. “But avast,” he added, # tapping his forehead, “you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer’s # blanket, have ye? I s’pose you are goin’ a-whalin’, so you’d better get used to # that sort of thing.” # # I told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should ever do # so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that if he (the # landlord) really had no other place for me, and the harpooneer was not decidedly # objectionable, why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter # a night, I would put up with the half of any decent man’s blanket. # # “I thought so. All right; take a seat. Supper?—you want supper? Supper’ll be # ready directly.” # # I sat down on an old wooden settle, carved all over like a bench on the Battery. # At one end a ruminating tar was still further adorning it with his jack-knife, # stooping over and diligently working away at the space between his legs. He was # trying his hand at a ship under full sail, but he didn’t make much headway, I # thought. # # At last some four or five of us were summoned to our meal in an adjoining room. # It was cold as Iceland—no fire at all—the landlord said he couldn’t afford it. # Nothing but two dismal tallow candles, each in a winding sheet. We were fain to # button up our monkey jackets, and hold to our lips cups of scalding tea with our # half frozen fingers. But the fare was of the most substantial kind—not only meat # and potatoes, but dumplings; good heavens! dumplings for supper! One young # fellow in a green box coat, addressed himself to these dumplings in a most # direful manner. # # “My boy,” said the landlord, “you’ll have the nightmare to a dead sartainty.” # # “Landlord,” I whispered, “that aint the harpooneer is it?” # # “Oh, no,” said he, looking a sort of diabolically funny, “the harpooneer is a # dark complexioned chap. He never eats dumplings, he don’t—he eats nothing but # steaks, and he likes ’em rare.” # # “The devil he does,” says I. “Where is that harpooneer? Is he here?” # # “He’ll be here afore long,” was the answer. # # I could not help it, but I began to feel suspicious of this “dark complexioned” # harpooneer. At any rate, I made up my mind that if it so turned out that we # should sleep together, he must undress and get into bed before I did. # # Supper over, the company went back to the bar-room, when, knowing not what else # to do with myself, I resolved to spend the rest of the evening as a looker on. # # Presently a rioting noise was heard without. Starting up, the landlord cried, # “That’s the Grampus’s crew. I seed her reported in the offing this morning; a # three years’ voyage, and a full ship. Hurrah, boys; now we’ll have the latest # news from the Feegees.” # # A tramping of sea boots was heard in the entry; the door was flung open, and in # rolled a wild set of mariners enough. Enveloped in their shaggy watch coats, and # with their heads muffled in woollen comforters, all bedarned and ragged, and # their beards stiff with icicles, they seemed an eruption of bears from Labrador. # They had just landed from their boat, and this was the first house they entered. # No wonder, then, that they made a straight wake for the whale’s mouth—the # bar—when the wrinkled little old Jonah, there officiating, soon poured them out # brimmers all round. One complained of a bad cold in his head, upon which Jonah # mixed him a pitch-like potion of gin and molasses, which he swore was a # sovereign cure for all colds and catarrhs whatsoever, never mind of how long # standing, or whether caught off the coast of Labrador, or on the weather side of # an ice-island. # # The liquor soon mounted into their heads, as it generally does even with the # arrantest topers newly landed from sea, and they began capering about most # obstreperously. # # I observed, however, that one of them held somewhat aloof, and though he seemed # desirous not to spoil the hilarity of his shipmates by his own sober face, yet # upon the whole he refrained from making as much noise as the rest. This man # interested me at once; and since the sea-gods had ordained that he should soon # become my shipmate (though but a sleeping-partner one, so far as this narrative # is concerned), I will here venture upon a little description of him. He stood # full six feet in height, with noble shoulders, and a chest like a coffer-dam. I # have seldom seen such brawn in a man. His face was deeply brown and burnt, # making his white teeth dazzling by the contrast; while in the deep shadows of # his eyes floated some reminiscences that did not seem to give him much joy. His # voice at once announced that he was a Southerner, and from his fine stature, I # thought he must be one of those tall mountaineers from the Alleghanian Ridge in # Virginia. When the revelry of his companions had mounted to its height, this man # slipped away unobserved, and I saw no more of him till he became my comrade on # the sea. In a few minutes, however, he was missed by his shipmates, and being, # it seems, for some reason a huge favourite with them, they raised a cry of # “Bulkington! Bulkington! where’s Bulkington?” and darted out of the house in # pursuit of him. # # It was now about nine o’clock, and the room seeming almost supernaturally quiet # after these orgies, I began to congratulate myself upon a little plan that had # occurred to me just previous to the entrance of the seamen. # # No man prefers to sleep two in a bed. In fact, you would a good deal rather not # sleep with your own brother. I don’t know how it is, but people like to be # private when they are sleeping. And when it comes to sleeping with an unknown # stranger, in a strange inn, in a strange town, and that stranger a harpooneer, # then your objections indefinitely multiply. Nor was there any earthly reason why # I as a sailor should sleep two in a bed, more than anybody else; for sailors no # more sleep two in a bed at sea, than bachelor Kings do ashore. To be sure they # all sleep together in one apartment, but you have your own hammock, and cover # yourself with your own blanket, and sleep in your own skin. # # The more I pondered over this harpooneer, the more I abominated the thought of # sleeping with him. It was fair to presume that being a harpooneer, his linen or # woollen, as the case might be, would not be of the tidiest, certainly none of # the finest. I began to twitch all over. Besides, it was getting late, and my # decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards. Suppose now, he should # tumble in upon me at midnight—how could I tell from what vile hole he had been # coming? # # “Landlord! I’ve changed my mind about that harpooneer.—I shan’t sleep with him. # I’ll try the bench here.” # # “Just as you please; I’m sorry I can’t spare ye a tablecloth for a mattress, and # it’s a plaguy rough board here”—feeling of the knots and notches. “But wait a # bit, Skrimshander; I’ve got a carpenter’s plane there in the bar—wait, I say, # and I’ll make ye snug enough.” So saying he procured the plane; and with his old # silk handkerchief first dusting the bench, vigorously set to planing away at my # bed, the while grinning like an ape. The shavings flew right and left; till at # last the plane-iron came bump against an indestructible knot. The landlord was # near spraining his wrist, and I told him for heaven’s sake to quit—the bed was # soft enough to suit me, and I did not know how all the planing in the world # could make eider down of a pine plank. So gathering up the shavings with another # grin, and throwing them into the great stove in the middle of the room, he went # about his business, and left me in a brown study. # # I now took the measure of the bench, and found that it was a foot too short; but # that could be mended with a chair. But it was a foot too narrow, and the other # bench in the room was about four inches higher than the planed one—so there was # no yoking them. I then placed the first bench lengthwise along the only clear # space against the wall, leaving a little interval between, for my back to settle # down in. But I soon found that there came such a draught of cold air over me # from under the sill of the window, that this plan would never do at all, # especially as another current from the rickety door met the one from the window, # and both together formed a series of small whirlwinds in the immediate vicinity # of the spot where I had thought to spend the night. # # The devil fetch that harpooneer, thought I, but stop, couldn’t I steal a march # on him—bolt his door inside, and jump into his bed, not to be wakened by the # most violent knockings? It seemed no bad idea; but upon second thoughts I # dismissed it. For who could tell but what the next morning, so soon as I popped # out of the room, the harpooneer might be standing in the entry, all ready to # knock me down! # # Still, looking round me again, and seeing no possible chance of spending a # sufferable night unless in some other person’s bed, I began to think that after # all I might be cherishing unwarrantable prejudices against this unknown # harpooneer. Thinks I, I’ll wait awhile; he must be dropping in before long. I’ll # have a good look at him then, and perhaps we may become jolly good bedfellows # after all—there’s no telling. # # But though the other boarders kept coming in by ones, twos, and threes, and # going to bed, yet no sign of my harpooneer. # # “Landlord!” said I, “what sort of a chap is he—does he always keep such late # hours?” It was now hard upon twelve o’clock. # # The landlord chuckled again with his lean chuckle, and seemed to be mightily # tickled at something beyond my comprehension. “No,” he answered, “generally he’s # an early bird—airley to bed and airley to rise—yes, he’s the bird what catches # the worm. But to-night he went out a peddling, you see, and I don’t see what on # airth keeps him so late, unless, may be, he can’t sell his head.” # # “Can’t sell his head?—What sort of a bamboozingly story is this you are telling # me?” getting into a towering rage. “Do you pretend to say, landlord, that this # harpooneer is actually engaged this blessed Saturday night, or rather Sunday # morning, in peddling his head around this town?” # # “That’s precisely it,” said the landlord, “and I told him he couldn’t sell it # here, the market’s overstocked.” # # “With what?” shouted I. # # “With heads to be sure; ain’t there too many heads in the world?” # # “I tell you what it is, landlord,” said I quite calmly, “you’d better stop # spinning that yarn to me—I’m not green.” # # “May be not,” taking out a stick and whittling a toothpick, “but I rayther guess # you’ll be done brown if that ere harpooneer hears you a slanderin’ his head.” # # “I’ll break it for him,” said I, now flying into a passion again at this # unaccountable farrago of the landlord’s. # # “It’s broke a’ready,” said he. # # “Broke,” said I—“broke, do you mean?” # # “Sartain, and that’s the very reason he can’t sell it, I guess.” # # “Landlord,” said I, going up to him as cool as Mt. Hecla in a # snow-storm—“landlord, stop whittling. You and I must understand one another, and # that too without delay. I come to your house and want a bed; you tell me you can # only give me half a one; that the other half belongs to a certain harpooneer. # And about this harpooneer, whom I have not yet seen, you persist in telling me # the most mystifying and exasperating stories tending to beget in me an # uncomfortable feeling towards the man whom you design for my bedfellow—a sort of # connexion, landlord, which is an intimate and confidential one in the highest # degree. I now demand of you to speak out and tell me who and what this # harpooneer is, and whether I shall be in all respects safe to spend the night # with him. And in the first place, you will be so good as to unsay that story # about selling his head, which if true I take to be good evidence that this # harpooneer is stark mad, and I’ve no idea of sleeping with a madman; and you, # sir, you I mean, landlord, you, sir, by trying to induce me to do so knowingly, # would thereby render yourself liable to a criminal prosecution.” # # “Wall,” said the landlord, fetching a long breath, “that’s a purty long sarmon # for a chap that rips a little now and then. But be easy, be easy, this here # harpooneer I have been tellin’ you of has just arrived from the south seas, # where he bought up a lot of ’balmed New Zealand heads (great curios, you know), # and he’s sold all on ’em but one, and that one he’s trying to sell to-night, # cause to-morrow’s Sunday, and it would not do to be sellin’ human heads about # the streets when folks is goin’ to churches. He wanted to, last Sunday, but I # stopped him just as he was goin’ out of the door with four heads strung on a # string, for all the airth like a string of inions.” # # This account cleared up the otherwise unaccountable mystery, and showed that the # landlord, after all, had had no idea of fooling me—but at the same time what # could I think of a harpooneer who stayed out of a Saturday night clean into the # holy Sabbath, engaged in such a cannibal business as selling the heads of dead # idolators? # # “Depend upon it, landlord, that harpooneer is a dangerous man.” # # “He pays reg’lar,” was the rejoinder. “But come, it’s getting dreadful late, you # had better be turning flukes—it’s a nice bed; Sal and me slept in that ere bed # the night we were spliced. There’s plenty of room for two to kick about in that # bed; it’s an almighty big bed that. Why, afore we give it up, Sal used to put # our Sam and little Johnny in the foot of it. But I got a dreaming and sprawling # about one night, and somehow, Sam got pitched on the floor, and came near # breaking his arm. Arter that, Sal said it wouldn’t do. Come along here, I’ll # give ye a glim in a jiffy;” and so saying he lighted a candle and held it # towards me, offering to lead the way. But I stood irresolute; when looking at a # clock in the corner, he exclaimed “I vum it’s Sunday—you won’t see that # harpooneer to-night; he’s come to anchor somewhere—come along then; do come; # won’t ye come?” # # I considered the matter a moment, and then up stairs we went, and I was ushered # into a small room, cold as a clam, and furnished, sure enough, with a prodigious # bed, almost big enough indeed for any four harpooneers to sleep abreast. # # “There,” said the landlord, placing the candle on a crazy old sea chest that did # double duty as a wash-stand and centre table; “there, make yourself comfortable # now, and good night to ye.” I turned round from eyeing the bed, but he had # disappeared. # # Folding back the counterpane, I stooped over the bed. Though none of the most # elegant, it yet stood the scrutiny tolerably well. I then glanced round the # room; and besides the bedstead and centre table, could see no other furniture # belonging to the place, but a rude shelf, the four walls, and a papered # fireboard representing a man striking a whale. Of things not properly belonging # to the room, there was a hammock lashed up, and thrown upon the floor in one # corner; also a large seaman’s bag, containing the harpooneer’s wardrobe, no # doubt in lieu of a land trunk. Likewise, there was a parcel of outlandish bone # fish hooks on the shelf over the fire-place, and a tall harpoon standing at the # head of the bed. # # But what is this on the chest? I took it up, and held it close to the light, and # felt it, and smelt it, and tried every way possible to arrive at some # satisfactory conclusion concerning it. I can compare it to nothing but a large # door mat, ornamented at the edges with little tinkling tags something like the # stained porcupine quills round an Indian moccasin. There was a hole or slit in # the middle of this mat, as you see the same in South American ponchos. But could # it be possible that any sober harpooneer would get into a door mat, and parade # the streets of any Christian town in that sort of guise? I put it on, to try it, # and it weighed me down like a hamper, being uncommonly shaggy and thick, and I # thought a little damp, as though this mysterious harpooneer had been wearing it # of a rainy day. I went up in it to a bit of glass stuck against the wall, and I # never saw such a sight in my life. I tore myself out of it in such a hurry that # I gave myself a kink in the neck. # # I sat down on the side of the bed, and commenced thinking about this # head-peddling harpooneer, and his door mat. After thinking some time on the # bed-side, I got up and took off my monkey jacket, and then stood in the middle # of the room thinking. I then took off my coat, and thought a little more in my # shirt sleeves. But beginning to feel very cold now, half undressed as I was, and # remembering what the landlord said about the harpooneer’s not coming home at all # that night, it being so very late, I made no more ado, but jumped out of my # pantaloons and boots, and then blowing out the light tumbled into bed, and # commended myself to the care of heaven. # # Whether that mattress was stuffed with corn-cobs or broken crockery, there is no # telling, but I rolled about a good deal, and could not sleep for a long time. At # last I slid off into a light doze, and had pretty nearly made a good offing # towards the land of Nod, when I heard a heavy footfall in the passage, and saw a # glimmer of light come into the room from under the door. # # Lord save me, thinks I, that must be the harpooneer, the infernal head-peddler. # But I lay perfectly still, and resolved not to say a word till spoken to. # Holding a light in one hand, and that identical New Zealand head in the other, # the stranger entered the room, and without looking towards the bed, placed his # candle a good way off from me on the floor in one corner, and then began working # away at the knotted cords of the large bag I before spoke of as being in the # room. I was all eagerness to see his face, but he kept it averted for some time # while employed in unlacing the bag’s mouth. This accomplished, however, he # turned round—when, good heavens! what a sight! Such a face! It was of a dark, # purplish, yellow colour, here and there stuck over with large blackish looking # squares. Yes, it’s just as I thought, he’s a terrible bedfellow; he’s been in a # fight, got dreadfully cut, and here he is, just from the surgeon. But at that # moment he chanced to turn his face so towards the light, that I plainly saw they # could not be sticking-plasters at all, those black squares on his cheeks. They # were stains of some sort or other. At first I knew not what to make of this; but # soon an inkling of the truth occurred to me. I remembered a story of a white # man—a whaleman too—who, falling among the cannibals, had been tattooed by them. # I concluded that this harpooneer, in the course of his distant voyages, must # have met with a similar adventure. And what is it, thought I, after all! It’s # only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin. But then, what to # make of his unearthly complexion, that part of it, I mean, lying round about, # and completely independent of the squares of tattooing. To be sure, it might be # nothing but a good coat of tropical tanning; but I never heard of a hot sun’s # tanning a white man into a purplish yellow one. However, I had never been in the # South Seas; and perhaps the sun there produced these extraordinary effects upon # the skin. Now, while all these ideas were passing through me like lightning, # this harpooneer never noticed me at all. But, after some difficulty having # opened his bag, he commenced fumbling in it, and presently pulled out a sort of # tomahawk, and a seal-skin wallet with the hair on. Placing these on the old # chest in the middle of the room, he then took the New Zealand head—a ghastly # thing enough—and crammed it down into the bag. He now took off his hat—a new # beaver hat—when I came nigh singing out with fresh surprise. There was no hair # on his head—none to speak of at least—nothing but a small scalp-knot twisted up # on his forehead. His bald purplish head now looked for all the world like a # mildewed skull. Had not the stranger stood between me and the door, I would have # bolted out of it quicker than ever I bolted a dinner. # # Even as it was, I thought something of slipping out of the window, but it was # the second floor back. I am no coward, but what to make of this head-peddling # purple rascal altogether passed my comprehension. Ignorance is the parent of # fear, and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger, I # confess I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had # thus broken into my room at the dead of night. In fact, I was so afraid of him # that I was not game enough just then to address him, and demand a satisfactory # answer concerning what seemed inexplicable in him. # # Meanwhile, he continued the business of undressing, and at last showed his chest # and arms. As I live, these covered parts of him were checkered with the same # squares as his face; his back, too, was all over the same dark squares; he # seemed to have been in a Thirty Years’ War, and just escaped from it with a # sticking-plaster shirt. Still more, his very legs were marked, as if a parcel of # dark green frogs were running up the trunks of young palms. It was now quite # plain that he must be some abominable savage or other shipped aboard of a # whaleman in the South Seas, and so landed in this Christian country. I quaked to # think of it. A peddler of heads too—perhaps the heads of his own brothers. He # might take a fancy to mine—heavens! look at that tomahawk! # # But there was no time for shuddering, for now the savage went about something # that completely fascinated my attention, and convinced me that he must indeed be # a heathen. Going to his heavy grego, or wrapall, or dreadnaught, which he had # previously hung on a chair, he fumbled in the pockets, and produced at length a # curious little deformed image with a hunch on its back, and exactly the colour # of a three days’ old Congo baby. Remembering the embalmed head, at first I # almost thought that this black manikin was a real baby preserved in some similar # manner. But seeing that it was not at all limber, and that it glistened a good # deal like polished ebony, I concluded that it must be nothing but a wooden idol, # which indeed it proved to be. For now the savage goes up to the empty # fire-place, and removing the papered fire-board, sets up this little # hunch-backed image, like a tenpin, between the andirons. The chimney jambs and # all the bricks inside were very sooty, so that I thought this fire-place made a # very appropriate little shrine or chapel for his Congo idol. # # I now screwed my eyes hard towards the half hidden image, feeling but ill at # ease meantime—to see what was next to follow. First he takes about a double # handful of shavings out of his grego pocket, and places them carefully before # the idol; then laying a bit of ship biscuit on top and applying the flame from # the lamp, he kindled the shavings into a sacrificial blaze. Presently, after # many hasty snatches into the fire, and still hastier withdrawals of his fingers # (whereby he seemed to be scorching them badly), he at last succeeded in drawing # out the biscuit; then blowing off the heat and ashes a little, he made a polite # offer of it to the little negro. But the little devil did not seem to fancy such # dry sort of fare at all; he never moved his lips. All these strange antics were # accompanied by still stranger guttural noises from the devotee, who seemed to be # praying in a sing-song or else singing some pagan psalmody or other, during # which his face twitched about in the most unnatural manner. At last # extinguishing the fire, he took the idol up very unceremoniously, and bagged it # again in his grego pocket as carelessly as if he were a sportsman bagging a dead # woodcock. # # All these queer proceedings increased my uncomfortableness, and seeing him now # exhibiting strong symptoms of concluding his business operations, and jumping # into bed with me, I thought it was high time, now or never, before the light was # put out, to break the spell in which I had so long been bound. # # But the interval I spent in deliberating what to say, was a fatal one. Taking up # his tomahawk from the table, he examined the head of it for an instant, and then # holding it to the light, with his mouth at the handle, he puffed out great # clouds of tobacco smoke. The next moment the light was extinguished, and this # wild cannibal, tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into bed with me. I sang out, # I could not help it now; and giving a sudden grunt of astonishment he began # feeling me. # # Stammering out something, I knew not what, I rolled away from him against the # wall, and then conjured him, whoever or whatever he might be, to keep quiet, and # let me get up and light the lamp again. But his guttural responses satisfied me # at once that he but ill comprehended my meaning. # # “Who-e debel you?”—he at last said—“you no speak-e, dam-me, I kill-e.” And so # saying the lighted tomahawk began flourishing about me in the dark. # # “Landlord, for God’s sake, Peter Coffin!” shouted I. “Landlord! Watch! Coffin! # Angels! save me!” # # “Speak-e! tell-ee me who-ee be, or dam-me, I kill-e!” again growled the # cannibal, while his horrid flourishings of the tomahawk scattered the hot # tobacco ashes about me till I thought my linen would get on fire. But thank # heaven, at that moment the landlord came into the room light in hand, and # leaping from the bed I ran up to him. # # “Don’t be afraid now,” said he, grinning again, “Queequeg here wouldn’t harm a # hair of your head.” # # “Stop your grinning,” shouted I, “and why didn’t you tell me that that infernal # harpooneer was a cannibal?” # # “I thought ye know’d it;—didn’t I tell ye, he was a peddlin’ heads around # town?—but turn flukes again and go to sleep. Queequeg, look here—you sabbee me, # I sabbee—you this man sleepe you—you sabbee?” # # “Me sabbee plenty”—grunted Queequeg, puffing away at his pipe and sitting up in # bed. # # “You gettee in,” he added, motioning to me with his tomahawk, and throwing the # clothes to one side. He really did this in not only a civil but a really kind # and charitable way. I stood looking at him a moment. For all his tattooings he # was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal. What’s all this fuss I have # been making about, thought I to myself—the man’s a human being just as I am: he # has just as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him. Better sleep # with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian. # # “Landlord,” said I, “tell him to stash his tomahawk there, or pipe, or whatever # you call it; tell him to stop smoking, in short, and I will turn in with him. # But I don’t fancy having a man smoking in bed with me. It’s dangerous. Besides, # I ain’t insured.” # # This being told to Queequeg, he at once complied, and again politely motioned me # to get into bed—rolling over to one side as much as to say—“I won’t touch a leg # of ye.” # # “Good night, landlord,” said I, “you may go.” # # I turned in, and never slept better in my life. # # # # # # CHAPTER 4. The Counterpane. # # Upon waking next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg’s arm thrown over me # in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought I had been # his wife. The counterpane was of patchwork, full of odd little parti-coloured # squares and triangles; and this arm of his tattooed all over with an # interminable Cretan labyrinth of a figure, no two parts of which were of one # precise shade—owing I suppose to his keeping his arm at sea unmethodically in # sun and shade, his shirt sleeves irregularly rolled up at various times—this # same arm of his, I say, looked for all the world like a strip of that same # patchwork quilt. Indeed, partly lying on it as the arm did when I first awoke, I # could hardly tell it from the quilt, they so blended their hues together; and it # was only by the sense of weight and pressure that I could tell that Queequeg was # hugging me. # # My sensations were strange. Let me try to explain them. When I was a child, I # well remember a somewhat similar circumstance that befell me; whether it was a # reality or a dream, I never could entirely settle. The circumstance was this. I # had been cutting up some caper or other—I think it was trying to crawl up the # chimney, as I had seen a little sweep do a few days previous; and my stepmother # who, somehow or other, was all the time whipping me, or sending me to bed # supperless,—my mother dragged me by the legs out of the chimney and packed me # off to bed, though it was only two o’clock in the afternoon of the 21st June, # the longest day in the year in our hemisphere. I felt dreadfully. But there was # no help for it, so up stairs I went to my little room in the third floor, # undressed myself as slowly as possible so as to kill time, and with a bitter # sigh got between the sheets. # # I lay there dismally calculating that sixteen entire hours must elapse before I # could hope for a resurrection. Sixteen hours in bed! the small of my back ached # to think of it. And it was so light too; the sun shining in at the window, and a # great rattling of coaches in the streets, and the sound of gay voices all over # the house. I felt worse and worse—at last I got up, dressed, and softly going # down in my stockinged feet, sought out my stepmother, and suddenly threw myself # at her feet, beseeching her as a particular favour to give me a good slippering # for my misbehaviour; anything indeed but condemning me to lie abed such an # unendurable length of time. But she was the best and most conscientious of # stepmothers, and back I had to go to my room. For several hours I lay there # broad awake, feeling a great deal worse than I have ever done since, even from # the greatest subsequent misfortunes. At last I must have fallen into a troubled # nightmare of a doze; and slowly waking from it—half steeped in dreams—I opened # my eyes, and the before sun-lit room was now wrapped in outer darkness. # Instantly I felt a shock running through all my frame; nothing was to be seen, # and nothing was to be heard; but a supernatural hand seemed placed in mine. My # arm hung over the counterpane, and the nameless, unimaginable, silent form or # phantom, to which the hand belonged, seemed closely seated by my bed-side. For # what seemed ages piled on ages, I lay there, frozen with the most awful fears, # not daring to drag away my hand; yet ever thinking that if I could but stir it # one single inch, the horrid spell would be broken. I knew not how this # consciousness at last glided away from me; but waking in the morning, I # shudderingly remembered it all, and for days and weeks and months afterwards I # lost myself in confounding attempts to explain the mystery. Nay, to this very # hour, I often puzzle myself with it. # # Now, take away the awful fear, and my sensations at feeling the supernatural # hand in mine were very similar, in their strangeness, to those which I # experienced on waking up and seeing Queequeg’s pagan arm thrown round me. But at # length all the past night’s events soberly recurred, one by one, in fixed # reality, and then I lay only alive to the comical predicament. For though I # tried to move his arm—unlock his bridegroom clasp—yet, sleeping as he was, he # still hugged me tightly, as though naught but death should part us twain. I now # strove to rouse him—“Queequeg!”—but his only answer was a snore. I then rolled # over, my neck feeling as if it were in a horse-collar; and suddenly felt a # slight scratch. Throwing aside the counterpane, there lay the tomahawk sleeping # by the savage’s side, as if it were a hatchet-faced baby. A pretty pickle, # truly, thought I; abed here in a strange house in the broad day, with a cannibal # and a tomahawk! “Queequeg!—in the name of goodness, Queequeg, wake!” At length, # by dint of much wriggling, and loud and incessant expostulations upon the # unbecomingness of his hugging a fellow male in that matrimonial sort of style, I # succeeded in extracting a grunt; and presently, he drew back his arm, shook # himself all over like a Newfoundland dog just from the water, and sat up in bed, # stiff as a pike-staff, looking at me, and rubbing his eyes as if he did not # altogether remember how I came to be there, though a dim consciousness of # knowing something about me seemed slowly dawning over him. Meanwhile, I lay # quietly eyeing him, having no serious misgivings now, and bent upon narrowly # observing so curious a creature. When, at last, his mind seemed made up touching # the character of his bedfellow, and he became, as it were, reconciled to the # fact; he jumped out upon the floor, and by certain signs and sounds gave me to # understand that, if it pleased me, he would dress first and then leave me to # dress afterwards, leaving the whole apartment to myself. Thinks I, Queequeg, # under the circumstances, this is a very civilized overture; but, the truth is, # these savages have an innate sense of delicacy, say what you will; it is # marvellous how essentially polite they are. I pay this particular compliment to # Queequeg, because he treated me with so much civility and consideration, while I # was guilty of great rudeness; staring at him from the bed, and watching all his # toilette motions; for the time my curiosity getting the better of my breeding. # Nevertheless, a man like Queequeg you don’t see every day, he and his ways were # well worth unusual regarding. # # He commenced dressing at top by donning his beaver hat, a very tall one, by the # by, and then—still minus his trowsers—he hunted up his boots. What under the # heavens he did it for, I cannot tell, but his next movement was to crush # himself—boots in hand, and hat on—under the bed; when, from sundry violent # gaspings and strainings, I inferred he was hard at work booting himself; though # by no law of propriety that I ever heard of, is any man required to be private # when putting on his boots. But Queequeg, do you see, was a creature in the # transition stage—neither caterpillar nor butterfly. He was just enough civilized # to show off his outlandishness in the strangest possible manners. His education # was not yet completed. He was an undergraduate. If he had not been a small # degree civilized, he very probably would not have troubled himself with boots at # all; but then, if he had not been still a savage, he never would have dreamt of # getting under the bed to put them on. At last, he emerged with his hat very much # dented and crushed down over his eyes, and began creaking and limping about the # room, as if, not being much accustomed to boots, his pair of damp, wrinkled # cowhide ones—probably not made to order either—rather pinched and tormented him # at the first go off of a bitter cold morning. # # Seeing, now, that there were no curtains to the window, and that the street # being very narrow, the house opposite commanded a plain view into the room, and # observing more and more the indecorous figure that Queequeg made, staving about # with little else but his hat and boots on; I begged him as well as I could, to # accelerate his toilet somewhat, and particularly to get into his pantaloons as # soon as possible. He complied, and then proceeded to wash himself. At that time # in the morning any Christian would have washed his face; but Queequeg, to my # amazement, contented himself with restricting his ablutions to his chest, arms, # and hands. He then donned his waistcoat, and taking up a piece of hard soap on # the wash-stand centre table, dipped it into water and commenced lathering his # face. I was watching to see where he kept his razor, when lo and behold, he # takes the harpoon from the bed corner, slips out the long wooden stock, # unsheathes the head, whets it a little on his boot, and striding up to the bit # of mirror against the wall, begins a vigorous scraping, or rather harpooning of # his cheeks. Thinks I, Queequeg, this is using Rogers’s best cutlery with a # vengeance. Afterwards I wondered the less at this operation when I came to know # of what fine steel the head of a harpoon is made, and how exceedingly sharp the # long straight edges are always kept. # # The rest of his toilet was soon achieved, and he proudly marched out of the # room, wrapped up in his great pilot monkey jacket, and sporting his harpoon like # a marshal’s baton. # # # # # # CHAPTER 5. Breakfast. # # I quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar-room accosted the grinning # landlord very pleasantly. I cherished no malice towards him, though he had been # skylarking with me not a little in the matter of my bedfellow. # # However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good # thing; the more’s the pity. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford # stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him # cheerfully allow himself to spend and be spent in that way. And the man that has # anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than # you perhaps think for. # # The bar-room was now full of the boarders who had been dropping in the night # previous, and whom I had not as yet had a good look at. They were nearly all # whalemen; chief mates, and second mates, and third mates, and sea carpenters, # and sea coopers, and sea blacksmiths, and harpooneers, and ship keepers; a brown # and brawny company, with bosky beards; an unshorn, shaggy set, all wearing # monkey jackets for morning gowns. # # You could pretty plainly tell how long each one had been ashore. This young # fellow’s healthy cheek is like a sun-toasted pear in hue, and would seem to # smell almost as musky; he cannot have been three days landed from his Indian # voyage. That man next him looks a few shades lighter; you might say a touch of # satin wood is in him. In the complexion of a third still lingers a tropic tawn, # but slightly bleached withal; he doubtless has tarried whole weeks ashore. But # who could show a cheek like Queequeg? which, barred with various tints, seemed # like the Andes’ western slope, to show forth in one array, contrasting climates, # zone by zone. # # “Grub, ho!” now cried the landlord, flinging open a door, and in we went to # breakfast. # # They say that men who have seen the world, thereby become quite at ease in # manner, quite self-possessed in company. Not always, though: Ledyard, the great # New England traveller, and Mungo Park, the Scotch one; of all men, they # possessed the least assurance in the parlor. But perhaps the mere crossing of # Siberia in a sledge drawn by dogs as Ledyard did, or the taking a long solitary # walk on an empty stomach, in the negro heart of Africa, which was the sum of # poor Mungo’s performances—this kind of travel, I say, may not be the very best # mode of attaining a high social polish. Still, for the most part, that sort of # thing is to be had anywhere. # # These reflections just here are occasioned by the circumstance that after we # were all seated at the table, and I was preparing to hear some good stories # about whaling; to my no small surprise, nearly every man maintained a profound # silence. And not only that, but they looked embarrassed. Yes, here were a set of # sea-dogs, many of whom without the slightest bashfulness had boarded great # whales on the high seas—entire strangers to them—and duelled them dead without # winking; and yet, here they sat at a social breakfast table—all of the same # calling, all of kindred tastes—looking round as sheepishly at each other as # though they had never been out of sight of some sheepfold among the Green # Mountains. A curious sight; these bashful bears, these timid warrior whalemen! # # But as for Queequeg—why, Queequeg sat there among them—at the head of the table, # too, it so chanced; as cool as an icicle. To be sure I cannot say much for his # breeding. His greatest admirer could not have cordially justified his bringing # his harpoon into breakfast with him, and using it there without ceremony; # reaching over the table with it, to the imminent jeopardy of many heads, and # grappling the beefsteaks towards him. But that was certainly very coolly done by # him, and every one knows that in most people’s estimation, to do anything coolly # is to do it genteelly. # # We will not speak of all Queequeg’s peculiarities here; how he eschewed coffee # and hot rolls, and applied his undivided attention to beefsteaks, done rare. # Enough, that when breakfast was over he withdrew like the rest into the public # room, lighted his tomahawk-pipe, and was sitting there quietly digesting and # smoking with his inseparable hat on, when I sallied out for a stroll. # # # # # # CHAPTER 6. The Street. # # If I had been astonished at first catching a glimpse of so outlandish an # individual as Queequeg circulating among the polite society of a civilized town, # that astonishment soon departed upon taking my first daylight stroll through the # streets of New Bedford. # # In thoroughfares nigh the docks, any considerable seaport will frequently offer # to view the queerest looking nondescripts from foreign parts. Even in Broadway # and Chestnut streets, Mediterranean mariners will sometimes jostle the # affrighted ladies. Regent Street is not unknown to Lascars and Malays; and at # Bombay, in the Apollo Green, live Yankees have often scared the natives. But New # Bedford beats all Water Street and Wapping. In these last-mentioned haunts you # see only sailors; but in New Bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting at street # corners; savages outright; many of whom yet carry on their bones unholy flesh. # It makes a stranger stare. # # But, besides the Feegeeans, Tongatobooarrs, Erromanggoans, Pannangians, and # Brighggians, and, besides the wild specimens of the whaling-craft which unheeded # reel about the streets, you will see other sights still more curious, certainly # more comical. There weekly arrive in this town scores of green Vermonters and # New Hampshire men, all athirst for gain and glory in the fishery. They are # mostly young, of stalwart frames; fellows who have felled forests, and now seek # to drop the axe and snatch the whale-lance. Many are as green as the Green # Mountains whence they came. In some things you would think them but a few hours # old. Look there! that chap strutting round the corner. He wears a beaver hat and # swallow-tailed coat, girdled with a sailor-belt and sheath-knife. Here comes # another with a sou’-wester and a bombazine cloak. # # No town-bred dandy will compare with a country-bred one—I mean a downright # bumpkin dandy—a fellow that, in the dog-days, will mow his two acres in buckskin # gloves for fear of tanning his hands. Now when a country dandy like this takes # it into his head to make a distinguished reputation, and joins the great # whale-fishery, you should see the comical things he does upon reaching the # seaport. In bespeaking his sea-outfit, he orders bell-buttons to his waistcoats; # straps to his canvas trowsers. Ah, poor Hay-Seed! how bitterly will burst those # straps in the first howling gale, when thou art driven, straps, buttons, and # all, down the throat of the tempest. # # But think not that this famous town has only harpooneers, cannibals, and # bumpkins to show her visitors. Not at all. Still New Bedford is a queer place. # Had it not been for us whalemen, that tract of land would this day perhaps have # been in as howling condition as the coast of Labrador. As it is, parts of her # back country are enough to frighten one, they look so bony. The town itself is # perhaps the dearest place to live in, in all New England. It is a land of oil, # true enough: but not like Canaan; a land, also, of corn and wine. The streets do # not run with milk; nor in the spring-time do they pave them with fresh eggs. # Yet, in spite of this, nowhere in all America will you find more patrician-like # houses; parks and gardens more opulent, than in New Bedford. Whence came they? # how planted upon this once scraggy scoria of a country? # # Go and gaze upon the iron emblematical harpoons round yonder lofty mansion, and # your question will be answered. Yes; all these brave houses and flowery gardens # came from the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. One and all, they were # harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea. Can Herr Alexander # perform a feat like that? # # In New Bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters, # and portion off their nieces with a few porpoises a-piece. You must go to New # Bedford to see a brilliant wedding; for, they say, they have reservoirs of oil # in every house, and every night recklessly burn their lengths in spermaceti # candles. # # In summer time, the town is sweet to see; full of fine maples—long avenues of # green and gold. And in August, high in air, the beautiful and bountiful # horse-chestnuts, candelabra-wise, proffer the passer-by their tapering upright # cones of congregated blossoms. So omnipotent is art; which in many a district of # New Bedford has superinduced bright terraces of flowers upon the barren refuse # rocks thrown aside at creation’s final day. # # And the women of New Bedford, they bloom like their own red roses. But roses # only bloom in summer; whereas the fine carnation of their cheeks is perennial as # sunlight in the seventh heavens. Elsewhere match that bloom of theirs, ye # cannot, save in Salem, where they tell me the young girls breathe such musk, # their sailor sweethearts smell them miles off shore, as though they were drawing # nigh the odorous Moluccas instead of the Puritanic sands. # # # # # # CHAPTER 7. The Chapel. # # In this same New Bedford there stands a Whaleman’s Chapel, and few are the moody # fishermen, shortly bound for the Indian Ocean or Pacific, who fail to make a # Sunday visit to the spot. I am sure that I did not. # # Returning from my first morning stroll, I again sallied out upon this special # errand. The sky had changed from clear, sunny cold, to driving sleet and mist. # Wrapping myself in my shaggy jacket of the cloth called bearskin, I fought my # way against the stubborn storm. Entering, I found a small scattered congregation # of sailors, and sailors’ wives and widows. A muffled silence reigned, only # broken at times by the shrieks of the storm. Each silent worshipper seemed # purposely sitting apart from the other, as if each silent grief were insular and # incommunicable. The chaplain had not yet arrived; and there these silent islands # of men and women sat steadfastly eyeing several marble tablets, with black # borders, masoned into the wall on either side the pulpit. Three of them ran # something like the following, but I do not pretend to quote:— # # SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN TALBOT, Who, at the age of eighteen, was lost # overboard, Near the Isle of Desolation, off Patagonia, November 1st, 1836. THIS # TABLET Is erected to his Memory BY HIS SISTER. # # SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT LONG, WILLIS ELLERY, NATHAN COLEMAN, WALTER # CANNY, SETH MACY, AND SAMUEL GLEIG, Forming one of the boats’ crews OF THE SHIP # ELIZA Who were towed out of sight by a Whale, On the Off-shore Ground in the # PACIFIC, December 31st, 1839. THIS MARBLE Is here placed by their surviving # SHIPMATES. # # SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF The late CAPTAIN EZEKIEL HARDY, Who in the bows of his # boat was killed by a Sperm Whale on the coast of Japan, August 3d, 1833. THIS # TABLET Is erected to his Memory BY HIS WIDOW. # # Shaking off the sleet from my ice-glazed hat and jacket, I seated myself near # the door, and turning sideways was surprised to see Queequeg near me. Affected # by the solemnity of the scene, there was a wondering gaze of incredulous # curiosity in his countenance. This savage was the only person present who seemed # to notice my entrance; because he was the only one who could not read, and, # therefore, was not reading those frigid inscriptions on the wall. Whether any of # the relatives of the seamen whose names appeared there were now among the # congregation, I knew not; but so many are the unrecorded accidents in the # fishery, and so plainly did several women present wear the countenance if not # the trappings of some unceasing grief, that I feel sure that here before me were # assembled those, in whose unhealing hearts the sight of those bleak tablets # sympathetically caused the old wounds to bleed afresh. # # Oh! ye whose dead lie buried beneath the green grass; who standing among flowers # can say—here, here lies my beloved; ye know not the desolation that broods in # bosoms like these. What bitter blanks in those black-bordered marbles which # cover no ashes! What despair in those immovable inscriptions! What deadly voids # and unbidden infidelities in the lines that seem to gnaw upon all Faith, and # refuse resurrections to the beings who have placelessly perished without a # grave. As well might those tablets stand in the cave of Elephanta as here. # # In what census of living creatures, the dead of mankind are included; why it is # that a universal proverb says of them, that they tell no tales, though # containing more secrets than the Goodwin Sands; how it is that to his name who # yesterday departed for the other world, we prefix so significant and infidel a # word, and yet do not thus entitle him, if he but embarks for the remotest Indies # of this living earth; why the Life Insurance Companies pay death-forfeitures # upon immortals; in what eternal, unstirring paralysis, and deadly, hopeless # trance, yet lies antique Adam who died sixty round centuries ago; how it is that # we still refuse to be comforted for those who we nevertheless maintain are # dwelling in unspeakable bliss; why all the living so strive to hush all the # dead; wherefore but the rumor of a knocking in a tomb will terrify a whole city. # All these things are not without their meanings. # # But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts # she gathers her most vital hope. # # It needs scarcely to be told, with what feelings, on the eve of a Nantucket # voyage, I regarded those marble tablets, and by the murky light of that # darkened, doleful day read the fate of the whalemen who had gone before me. Yes, # Ishmael, the same fate may be thine. But somehow I grew merry again. Delightful # inducements to embark, fine chance for promotion, it seems—aye, a stove boat # will make me an immortal by brevet. Yes, there is death in this business of # whaling—a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity. But what # then? Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks # that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that # in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun # through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks # my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take # it I say, it is not me. And therefore three cheers for Nantucket; and come a # stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, Jove himself # cannot. # # # # # # CHAPTER 8. The Pulpit. # # I had not been seated very long ere a man of a certain venerable robustness # entered; immediately as the storm-pelted door flew back upon admitting him, a # quick regardful eyeing of him by all the congregation, sufficiently attested # that this fine old man was the chaplain. Yes, it was the famous Father Mapple, # so called by the whalemen, among whom he was a very great favourite. He had been # a sailor and a harpooneer in his youth, but for many years past had dedicated # his life to the ministry. At the time I now write of, Father Mapple was in the # hardy winter of a healthy old age; that sort of old age which seems merging into # a second flowering youth, for among all the fissures of his wrinkles, there # shone certain mild gleams of a newly developing bloom—the spring verdure peeping # forth even beneath February’s snow. No one having previously heard his history, # could for the first time behold Father Mapple without the utmost interest, # because there were certain engrafted clerical peculiarities about him, imputable # to that adventurous maritime life he had led. When he entered I observed that he # carried no umbrella, and certainly had not come in his carriage, for his # tarpaulin hat ran down with melting sleet, and his great pilot cloth jacket # seemed almost to drag him to the floor with the weight of the water it had # absorbed. However, hat and coat and overshoes were one by one removed, and hung # up in a little space in an adjacent corner; when, arrayed in a decent suit, he # quietly approached the pulpit. # # Like most old fashioned pulpits, it was a very lofty one, and since a regular # stairs to such a height would, by its long angle with the floor, seriously # contract the already small area of the chapel, the architect, it seemed, had # acted upon the hint of Father Mapple, and finished the pulpit without a stairs, # substituting a perpendicular side ladder, like those used in mounting a ship # from a boat at sea. The wife of a whaling captain had provided the chapel with a # handsome pair of red worsted man-ropes for this ladder, which, being itself # nicely headed, and stained with a mahogany colour, the whole contrivance, # considering what manner of chapel it was, seemed by no means in bad taste. # Halting for an instant at the foot of the ladder, and with both hands grasping # the ornamental knobs of the man-ropes, Father Mapple cast a look upwards, and # then with a truly sailor-like but still reverential dexterity, hand over hand, # mounted the steps as if ascending the main-top of his vessel. # # The perpendicular parts of this side ladder, as is usually the case with # swinging ones, were of cloth-covered rope, only the rounds were of wood, so that # at every step there was a joint. At my first glimpse of the pulpit, it had not # escaped me that however convenient for a ship, these joints in the present # instance seemed unnecessary. For I was not prepared to see Father Mapple after # gaining the height, slowly turn round, and stooping over the pulpit, # deliberately drag up the ladder step by step, till the whole was deposited # within, leaving him impregnable in his little Quebec. # # I pondered some time without fully comprehending the reason for this. Father # Mapple enjoyed such a wide reputation for sincerity and sanctity, that I could # not suspect him of courting notoriety by any mere tricks of the stage. No, # thought I, there must be some sober reason for this thing; furthermore, it must # symbolize something unseen. Can it be, then, that by that act of physical # isolation, he signifies his spiritual withdrawal for the time, from all outward # worldly ties and connexions? Yes, for replenished with the meat and wine of the # word, to the faithful man of God, this pulpit, I see, is a self-containing # stronghold—a lofty Ehrenbreitstein, with a perennial well of water within the # walls. # # But the side ladder was not the only strange feature of the place, borrowed from # the chaplain’s former sea-farings. Between the marble cenotaphs on either hand # of the pulpit, the wall which formed its back was adorned with a large painting # representing a gallant ship beating against a terrible storm off a lee coast of # black rocks and snowy breakers. But high above the flying scud and dark-rolling # clouds, there floated a little isle of sunlight, from which beamed forth an # angel’s face; and this bright face shed a distinct spot of radiance upon the # ship’s tossed deck, something like that silver plate now inserted into the # Victory’s plank where Nelson fell. “Ah, noble ship,” the angel seemed to say, # “beat on, beat on, thou noble ship, and bear a hardy helm; for lo! the sun is # breaking through; the clouds are rolling off—serenest azure is at hand.” # # Nor was the pulpit itself without a trace of the same sea-taste that had # achieved the ladder and the picture. Its panelled front was in the likeness of a # ship’s bluff bows, and the Holy Bible rested on a projecting piece of scroll # work, fashioned after a ship’s fiddle-headed beak. # # What could be more full of meaning?—for the pulpit is ever this earth’s foremost # part; all the rest comes in its rear; the pulpit leads the world. From thence it # is the storm of God’s quick wrath is first descried, and the bow must bear the # earliest brunt. From thence it is the God of breezes fair or foul is first # invoked for favourable winds. Yes, the world’s a ship on its passage out, and # not a voyage complete; and the pulpit is its prow. # # # # # # CHAPTER 9. The Sermon. # # Father Mapple rose, and in a mild voice of unassuming authority ordered the # scattered people to condense. “Starboard gangway, there! side away to # larboard—larboard gangway to starboard! Midships! midships!” # # There was a low rumbling of heavy sea-boots among the benches, and a still # slighter shuffling of women’s shoes, and all was quiet again, and every eye on # the preacher. # # He paused a little; then kneeling in the pulpit’s bows, folded his large brown # hands across his chest, uplifted his closed eyes, and offered a prayer so deeply # devout that he seemed kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea. # # This ended, in prolonged solemn tones, like the continual tolling of a bell in a # ship that is foundering at sea in a fog—in such tones he commenced reading the # following hymn; but changing his manner towards the concluding stanzas, burst # forth with a pealing exultation and joy— # # “The ribs and terrors in the whale, Arched over me a dismal gloom, While # all God’s sun-lit waves rolled by, And lift me deepening down to doom. # # “I saw the opening maw of hell, With endless pains and sorrows there; Which # none but they that feel can tell— Oh, I was plunging to despair. # # “In black distress, I called my God, When I could scarce believe him mine, # He bowed his ear to my complaints— No more the whale did me confine. # # “With speed he flew to my relief, As on a radiant dolphin borne; Awful, yet # bright, as lightning shone The face of my Deliverer God. # # “My song for ever shall record That terrible, that joyful hour; I give the # glory to my God, His all the mercy and the power.” # # # Nearly all joined in singing this hymn, which swelled high above the howling of # the storm. A brief pause ensued; the preacher slowly turned over the leaves of # the Bible, and at last, folding his hand down upon the proper page, said: # “Beloved shipmates, clinch the last verse of the first chapter of Jonah—‘And God # had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah.’” # # “Shipmates, this book, containing only four chapters—four yarns—is one of the # smallest strands in the mighty cable of the Scriptures. Yet what depths of the # soul does Jonah’s deep sealine sound! what a pregnant lesson to us is this # prophet! What a noble thing is that canticle in the fish’s belly! How # billow-like and boisterously grand! We feel the floods surging over us; we sound # with him to the kelpy bottom of the waters; sea-weed and all the slime of the # sea is about us! But what is this lesson that the book of Jonah teaches? # Shipmates, it is a two-stranded lesson; a lesson to us all as sinful men, and a # lesson to me as a pilot of the living God. As sinful men, it is a lesson to us # all, because it is a story of the sin, hard-heartedness, suddenly awakened # fears, the swift punishment, repentance, prayers, and finally the deliverance # and joy of Jonah. As with all sinners among men, the sin of this son of Amittai # was in his wilful disobedience of the command of God—never mind now what that # command was, or how conveyed—which he found a hard command. But all the things # that God would have us do are hard for us to do—remember that—and hence, he # oftener commands us than endeavors to persuade. And if we obey God, we must # disobey ourselves; and it is in this disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness # of obeying God consists. # # “With this sin of disobedience in him, Jonah still further flouts at God, by # seeking to flee from Him. He thinks that a ship made by men will carry him into # countries where God does not reign, but only the Captains of this earth. He # skulks about the wharves of Joppa, and seeks a ship that’s bound for Tarshish. # There lurks, perhaps, a hitherto unheeded meaning here. By all accounts Tarshish # could have been no other city than the modern Cadiz. That’s the opinion of # learned men. And where is Cadiz, shipmates? Cadiz is in Spain; as far by water, # from Joppa, as Jonah could possibly have sailed in those ancient days, when the # Atlantic was an almost unknown sea. Because Joppa, the modern Jaffa, shipmates, # is on the most easterly coast of the Mediterranean, the Syrian; and Tarshish or # Cadiz more than two thousand miles to the westward from that, just outside the # Straits of Gibraltar. See ye not then, shipmates, that Jonah sought to flee # world-wide from God? Miserable man! Oh! most contemptible and worthy of all # scorn; with slouched hat and guilty eye, skulking from his God; prowling among # the shipping like a vile burglar hastening to cross the seas. So disordered, # self-condemning is his look, that had there been policemen in those days, Jonah, # on the mere suspicion of something wrong, had been arrested ere he touched a # deck. How plainly he’s a fugitive! no baggage, not a hat-box, valise, or # carpet-bag,—no friends accompany him to the wharf with their adieux. At last, # after much dodging search, he finds the Tarshish ship receiving the last items # of her cargo; and as he steps on board to see its Captain in the cabin, all the # sailors for the moment desist from hoisting in the goods, to mark the stranger’s # evil eye. Jonah sees this; but in vain he tries to look all ease and confidence; # in vain essays his wretched smile. Strong intuitions of the man assure the # mariners he can be no innocent. In their gamesome but still serious way, one # whispers to the other—“Jack, he’s robbed a widow;” or, “Joe, do you mark him; # he’s a bigamist;” or, “Harry lad, I guess he’s the adulterer that broke jail in # old Gomorrah, or belike, one of the missing murderers from Sodom.” Another runs # to read the bill that’s stuck against the spile upon the wharf to which the ship # is moored, offering five hundred gold coins for the apprehension of a parricide, # and containing a description of his person. He reads, and looks from Jonah to # the bill; while all his sympathetic shipmates now crowd round Jonah, prepared to # lay their hands upon him. Frighted Jonah trembles, and summoning all his # boldness to his face, only looks so much the more a coward. He will not confess # himself suspected; but that itself is strong suspicion. So he makes the best of # it; and when the sailors find him not to be the man that is advertised, they let # him pass, and he descends into the cabin. # # “‘Who’s there?’ cries the Captain at his busy desk, hurriedly making out his # papers for the Customs—‘Who’s there?’ Oh! how that harmless question mangles # Jonah! For the instant he almost turns to flee again. But he rallies. ‘I seek a # passage in this ship to Tarshish; how soon sail ye, sir?’ Thus far the busy # Captain had not looked up to Jonah, though the man now stands before him; but no # sooner does he hear that hollow voice, than he darts a scrutinizing glance. ‘We # sail with the next coming tide,’ at last he slowly answered, still intently # eyeing him. ‘No sooner, sir?’—‘Soon enough for any honest man that goes a # passenger.’ Ha! Jonah, that’s another stab. But he swiftly calls away the # Captain from that scent. ‘I’ll sail with ye,’—he says,—‘the passage money how # much is that?—I’ll pay now.’ For it is particularly written, shipmates, as if it # were a thing not to be overlooked in this history, ‘that he paid the fare # thereof’ ere the craft did sail. And taken with the context, this is full of # meaning. # # “Now Jonah’s Captain, shipmates, was one whose discernment detects crime in any, # but whose cupidity exposes it only in the penniless. In this world, shipmates, # sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas Virtue, # if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers. So Jonah’s Captain prepares to test # the length of Jonah’s purse, ere he judge him openly. He charges him thrice the # usual sum; and it’s assented to. Then the Captain knows that Jonah is a # fugitive; but at the same time resolves to help a flight that paves its rear # with gold. Yet when Jonah fairly takes out his purse, prudent suspicions still # molest the Captain. He rings every coin to find a counterfeit. Not a forger, any # way, he mutters; and Jonah is put down for his passage. ‘Point out my # state-room, Sir,’ says Jonah now, ‘I’m travel-weary; I need sleep.’ ‘Thou # lookest like it,’ says the Captain, ‘there’s thy room.’ Jonah enters, and would # lock the door, but the lock contains no key. Hearing him foolishly fumbling # there, the Captain laughs lowly to himself, and mutters something about the # doors of convicts’ cells being never allowed to be locked within. All dressed # and dusty as he is, Jonah throws himself into his berth, and finds the little # state-room ceiling almost resting on his forehead. The air is close, and Jonah # gasps. Then, in that contracted hole, sunk, too, beneath the ship’s water-line, # Jonah feels the heralding presentiment of that stifling hour, when the whale # shall hold him in the smallest of his bowels’ wards. # # “Screwed at its axis against the side, a swinging lamp slightly oscillates in # Jonah’s room; and the ship, heeling over towards the wharf with the weight of # the last bales received, the lamp, flame and all, though in slight motion, still # maintains a permanent obliquity with reference to the room; though, in truth, # infallibly straight itself, it but made obvious the false, lying levels among # which it hung. The lamp alarms and frightens Jonah; as lying in his berth his # tormented eyes roll round the place, and this thus far successful fugitive finds # no refuge for his restless glance. But that contradiction in the lamp more and # more appals him. The floor, the ceiling, and the side, are all awry. ‘Oh! so my # conscience hangs in me!’ he groans, ‘straight upwards, so it burns; but the # chambers of my soul are all in crookedness!’ # # “Like one who after a night of drunken revelry hies to his bed, still reeling, # but with conscience yet pricking him, as the plungings of the Roman race-horse # but so much the more strike his steel tags into him; as one who in that # miserable plight still turns and turns in giddy anguish, praying God for # annihilation until the fit be passed; and at last amid the whirl of woe he # feels, a deep stupor steals over him, as over the man who bleeds to death, for # conscience is the wound, and there’s naught to staunch it; so, after sore # wrestlings in his berth, Jonah’s prodigy of ponderous misery drags him drowning # down to sleep. # # “And now the time of tide has come; the ship casts off her cables; and from the # deserted wharf the uncheered ship for Tarshish, all careening, glides to sea. # That ship, my friends, was the first of recorded smugglers! the contraband was # Jonah. But the sea rebels; he will not bear the wicked burden. A dreadful storm # comes on, the ship is like to break. But now when the boatswain calls all hands # to lighten her; when boxes, bales, and jars are clattering overboard; when the # wind is shrieking, and the men are yelling, and every plank thunders with # trampling feet right over Jonah’s head; in all this raging tumult, Jonah sleeps # his hideous sleep. He sees no black sky and raging sea, feels not the reeling # timbers, and little hears he or heeds he the far rush of the mighty whale, which # even now with open mouth is cleaving the seas after him. Aye, shipmates, Jonah # was gone down into the sides of the ship—a berth in the cabin as I have taken # it, and was fast asleep. But the frightened master comes to him, and shrieks in # his dead ear, ‘What meanest thou, O, sleeper! arise!’ Startled from his lethargy # by that direful cry, Jonah staggers to his feet, and stumbling to the deck, # grasps a shroud, to look out upon the sea. But at that moment he is sprung upon # by a panther billow leaping over the bulwarks. Wave after wave thus leaps into # the ship, and finding no speedy vent runs roaring fore and aft, till the # mariners come nigh to drowning while yet afloat. And ever, as the white moon # shows her affrighted face from the steep gullies in the blackness overhead, # aghast Jonah sees the rearing bowsprit pointing high upward, but soon beat # downward again towards the tormented deep. # # “Terrors upon terrors run shouting through his soul. In all his cringing # attitudes, the God-fugitive is now too plainly known. The sailors mark him; more # and more certain grow their suspicions of him, and at last, fully to test the # truth, by referring the whole matter to high Heaven, they fall to casting lots, # to see for whose cause this great tempest was upon them. The lot is Jonah’s; # that discovered, then how furiously they mob him with their questions. ‘What is # thine occupation? Whence comest thou? Thy country? What people? But mark now, my # shipmates, the behavior of poor Jonah. The eager mariners but ask him who he is, # and where from; whereas, they not only receive an answer to those questions, but # likewise another answer to a question not put by them, but the unsolicited # answer is forced from Jonah by the hard hand of God that is upon him. # # “‘I am a Hebrew,’ he cries—and then—‘I fear the Lord the God of Heaven who hath # made the sea and the dry land!’ Fear him, O Jonah? Aye, well mightest thou fear # the Lord God then! Straightway, he now goes on to make a full confession; # whereupon the mariners became more and more appalled, but still are pitiful. For # when Jonah, not yet supplicating God for mercy, since he but too well knew the # darkness of his deserts,—when wretched Jonah cries out to them to take him and # cast him forth into the sea, for he knew that for his sake this great tempest # was upon them; they mercifully turn from him, and seek by other means to save # the ship. But all in vain; the indignant gale howls louder; then, with one hand # raised invokingly to God, with the other they not unreluctantly lay hold of # Jonah. # # “And now behold Jonah taken up as an anchor and dropped into the sea; when # instantly an oily calmness floats out from the east, and the sea is still, as # Jonah carries down the gale with him, leaving smooth water behind. He goes down # in the whirling heart of such a masterless commotion that he scarce heeds the # moment when he drops seething into the yawning jaws awaiting him; and the whale # shoots-to all his ivory teeth, like so many white bolts, upon his prison. Then # Jonah prayed unto the Lord out of the fish’s belly. But observe his prayer, and # learn a weighty lesson. For sinful as he is, Jonah does not weep and wail for # direct deliverance. He feels that his dreadful punishment is just. He leaves all # his deliverance to God, contenting himself with this, that spite of all his # pains and pangs, he will still look towards His holy temple. And here, # shipmates, is true and faithful repentance; not clamorous for pardon, but # grateful for punishment. And how pleasing to God was this conduct in Jonah, is # shown in the eventual deliverance of him from the sea and the whale. Shipmates, # I do not place Jonah before you to be copied for his sin but I do place him # before you as a model for repentance. Sin not; but if you do, take heed to # repent of it like Jonah.” # # While he was speaking these words, the howling of the shrieking, slanting storm # without seemed to add new power to the preacher, who, when describing Jonah’s # sea-storm, seemed tossed by a storm himself. His deep chest heaved as with a # ground-swell; his tossed arms seemed the warring elements at work; and the # thunders that rolled away from off his swarthy brow, and the light leaping from # his eye, made all his simple hearers look on him with a quick fear that was # strange to them. # # There now came a lull in his look, as he silently turned over the leaves of the # Book once more; and, at last, standing motionless, with closed eyes, for the # moment, seemed communing with God and himself. # # But again he leaned over towards the people, and bowing his head lowly, with an # aspect of the deepest yet manliest humility, he spake these words: # # “Shipmates, God has laid but one hand upon you; both his hands press upon me. I # have read ye by what murky light may be mine the lesson that Jonah teaches to # all sinners; and therefore to ye, and still more to me, for I am a greater # sinner than ye. And now how gladly would I come down from this mast-head and sit # on the hatches there where you sit, and listen as you listen, while some one of # you reads me that other and more awful lesson which Jonah teaches to me, as a # pilot of the living God. How being an anointed pilot-prophet, or speaker of true # things, and bidden by the Lord to sound those unwelcome truths in the ears of a # wicked Nineveh, Jonah, appalled at the hostility he should raise, fled from his # mission, and sought to escape his duty and his God by taking ship at Joppa. But # God is everywhere; Tarshish he never reached. As we have seen, God came upon him # in the whale, and swallowed him down to living gulfs of doom, and with swift # slantings tore him along ‘into the midst of the seas,’ where the eddying depths # sucked him ten thousand fathoms down, and ‘the weeds were wrapped about his # head,’ and all the watery world of woe bowled over him. Yet even then beyond the # reach of any plummet—‘out of the belly of hell’—when the whale grounded upon the # ocean’s utmost bones, even then, God heard the engulphed, repenting prophet when # he cried. Then God spake unto the fish; and from the shuddering cold and # blackness of the sea, the whale came breeching up towards the warm and pleasant # sun, and all the delights of air and earth; and ‘vomited out Jonah upon the dry # land;’ when the word of the Lord came a second time; and Jonah, bruised and # beaten—his ears, like two sea-shells, still multitudinously murmuring of the # ocean—Jonah did the Almighty’s bidding. And what was that, shipmates? To preach # the Truth to the face of Falsehood! That was it! # # “This, shipmates, this is that other lesson; and woe to that pilot of the living # God who slights it. Woe to him whom this world charms from Gospel duty! Woe to # him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a gale! # Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appal! Woe to him whose good name # is more to him than goodness! Woe to him who, in this world, courts not # dishonor! Woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were # salvation! Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it, while preaching # to others is himself a castaway!” # # He dropped and fell away from himself for a moment; then lifting his face to # them again, showed a deep joy in his eyes, as he cried out with a heavenly # enthusiasm,—“But oh! shipmates! on the starboard hand of every woe, there is a # sure delight; and higher the top of that delight, than the bottom of the woe is # deep. Is not the main-truck higher than the kelson is low? Delight is to him—a # far, far upward, and inward delight—who against the proud gods and commodores of # this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self. Delight is to him whose # strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base treacherous world has # gone down beneath him. Delight is to him, who gives no quarter in the truth, and # kills, burns, and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from under the robes # of Senators and Judges. Delight,—top-gallant delight is to him, who acknowledges # no law or lord, but the Lord his God, and is only a patriot to heaven. Delight # is to him, whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of the boisterous mob # can never shake from this sure Keel of the Ages. And eternal delight and # deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final # breath—O Father!—chiefly known to me by Thy rod—mortal or immortal, here I die. # I have striven to be Thine, more than to be this world’s, or mine own. Yet this # is nothing: I leave eternity to Thee; for what is man that he should live out # the lifetime of his God?” # # He said no more, but slowly waving a benediction, covered his face with his # hands, and so remained kneeling, till all the people had departed, and he was # left alone in the place. # # # # # # CHAPTER 10. A Bosom Friend. # # Returning to the Spouter-Inn from the Chapel, I found Queequeg there quite # alone; he having left the Chapel before the benediction some time. He was # sitting on a bench before the fire, with his feet on the stove hearth, and in # one hand was holding close up to his face that little negro idol of his; peering # hard into its face, and with a jack-knife gently whittling away at its nose, # meanwhile humming to himself in his heathenish way. # # But being now interrupted, he put up the image; and pretty soon, going to the # table, took up a large book there, and placing it on his lap began counting the # pages with deliberate regularity; at every fiftieth page—as I fancied—stopping a # moment, looking vacantly around him, and giving utterance to a long-drawn # gurgling whistle of astonishment. He would then begin again at the next fifty; # seeming to commence at number one each time, as though he could not count more # than fifty, and it was only by such a large number of fifties being found # together, that his astonishment at the multitude of pages was excited. # # With much interest I sat watching him. Savage though he was, and hideously # marred about the face—at least to my taste—his countenance yet had a something # in it which was by no means disagreeable. You cannot hide the soul. Through all # his unearthly tattooings, I thought I saw the traces of a simple honest heart; # and in his large, deep eyes, fiery black and bold, there seemed tokens of a # spirit that would dare a thousand devils. And besides all this, there was a # certain lofty bearing about the Pagan, which even his uncouthness could not # altogether maim. He looked like a man who had never cringed and never had had a # creditor. Whether it was, too, that his head being shaved, his forehead was # drawn out in freer and brighter relief, and looked more expansive than it # otherwise would, this I will not venture to decide; but certain it was his head # was phrenologically an excellent one. It may seem ridiculous, but it reminded me # of General Washington’s head, as seen in the popular busts of him. It had the # same long regularly graded retreating slope from above the brows, which were # likewise very projecting, like two long promontories thickly wooded on top. # Queequeg was George Washington cannibalistically developed. # # Whilst I was thus closely scanning him, half-pretending meanwhile to be looking # out at the storm from the casement, he never heeded my presence, never troubled # himself with so much as a single glance; but appeared wholly occupied with # counting the pages of the marvellous book. Considering how sociably we had been # sleeping together the night previous, and especially considering the # affectionate arm I had found thrown over me upon waking in the morning, I # thought this indifference of his very strange. But savages are strange beings; # at times you do not know exactly how to take them. At first they are overawing; # their calm self-collectedness of simplicity seems a Socratic wisdom. I had # noticed also that Queequeg never consorted at all, or but very little, with the # other seamen in the inn. He made no advances whatever; appeared to have no # desire to enlarge the circle of his acquaintances. All this struck me as mighty # singular; yet, upon second thoughts, there was something almost sublime in it. # Here was a man some twenty thousand miles from home, by the way of Cape Horn, # that is—which was the only way he could get there—thrown among people as strange # to him as though he were in the planet Jupiter; and yet he seemed entirely at # his ease; preserving the utmost serenity; content with his own companionship; # always equal to himself. Surely this was a touch of fine philosophy; though no # doubt he had never heard there was such a thing as that. But, perhaps, to be # true philosophers, we mortals should not be conscious of so living or so # striving. So soon as I hear that such or such a man gives himself out for a # philosopher, I conclude that, like the dyspeptic old woman, he must have “broken # his digester.” # # As I sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in that mild stage # when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it then only glows to be # looked at; the evening shades and phantoms gathering round the casements, and # peering in upon us silent, solitary twain; the storm booming without in solemn # swells; I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. No # more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish # world. This soothing savage had redeemed it. There he sat, his very indifference # speaking a nature in which there lurked no civilized hypocrisies and bland # deceits. Wild he was; a very sight of sights to see; yet I began to feel myself # mysteriously drawn towards him. And those same things that would have repelled # most others, they were the very magnets that thus drew me. I’ll try a pagan # friend, thought I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy. I # drew my bench near him, and made some friendly signs and hints, doing my best to # talk with him meanwhile. At first he little noticed these advances; but # presently, upon my referring to his last night’s hospitalities, he made out to # ask me whether we were again to be bedfellows. I told him yes; whereat I thought # he looked pleased, perhaps a little complimented. # # We then turned over the book together, and I endeavored to explain to him the # purpose of the printing, and the meaning of the few pictures that were in it. # Thus I soon engaged his interest; and from that we went to jabbering the best we # could about the various outer sights to be seen in this famous town. Soon I # proposed a social smoke; and, producing his pouch and tomahawk, he quietly # offered me a puff. And then we sat exchanging puffs from that wild pipe of his, # and keeping it regularly passing between us. # # If there yet lurked any ice of indifference towards me in the Pagan’s breast, # this pleasant, genial smoke we had, soon thawed it out, and left us cronies. He # seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our # smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the # waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country’s # phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should # be. In a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would have seemed far too # premature, a thing to be much distrusted; but in this simple savage those old # rules would not apply. # # After supper, and another social chat and smoke, we went to our room together. # He made me a present of his embalmed head; took out his enormous tobacco wallet, # and groping under the tobacco, drew out some thirty dollars in silver; then # spreading them on the table, and mechanically dividing them into two equal # portions, pushed one of them towards me, and said it was mine. I was going to # remonstrate; but he silenced me by pouring them into my trowsers’ pockets. I let # them stay. He then went about his evening prayers, took out his idol, and # removed the paper fireboard. By certain signs and symptoms, I thought he seemed # anxious for me to join him; but well knowing what was to follow, I deliberated a # moment whether, in case he invited me, I would comply or otherwise. # # I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible # Presbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolator in # worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thought I. Do you suppose # now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—pagans and all # included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? # Impossible! But what is worship?—to do the will of God—that is worship. And what # is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do # to me—that is the will of God. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I # wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular # Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; # ergo, I must turn idolator. So I kindled the shavings; helped prop up the # innocent little idol; offered him burnt biscuit with Queequeg; salamed before # him twice or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to # bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. But we did not go to # sleep without some little chat. # # How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential # disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom # of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old # times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts’ honeymoon, lay I and # Queequeg—a cosy, loving pair. # # # # # # CHAPTER 11. Nightgown. # # We had lain thus in bed, chatting and napping at short intervals, and Queequeg # now and then affectionately throwing his brown tattooed legs over mine, and then # drawing them back; so entirely sociable and free and easy were we; when, at # last, by reason of our confabulations, what little nappishness remained in us # altogether departed, and we felt like getting up again, though day-break was yet # some way down the future. # # Yes, we became very wakeful; so much so that our recumbent position began to # grow wearisome, and by little and little we found ourselves sitting up; the # clothes well tucked around us, leaning against the head-board with our four # knees drawn up close together, and our two noses bending over them, as if our # kneepans were warming-pans. We felt very nice and snug, the more so since it was # so chilly out of doors; indeed out of bed-clothes too, seeing that there was no # fire in the room. The more so, I say, because truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some # small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is # not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter # yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then # you cannot be said to be comfortable any more. But if, like Queequeg and me in # the bed, the tip of your nose or the crown of your head be slightly chilled, why # then, indeed, in the general consciousness you feel most delightfully and # unmistakably warm. For this reason a sleeping apartment should never be # furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich. # For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket # between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. Then there you lie # like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal. # # We had been sitting in this crouching manner for some time, when all at once I # thought I would open my eyes; for when between sheets, whether by day or by # night, and whether asleep or awake, I have a way of always keeping my eyes shut, # in order the more to concentrate the snugness of being in bed. Because no man # can ever feel his own identity aright except his eyes be closed; as if darkness # were indeed the proper element of our essences, though light be more congenial # to our clayey part. Upon opening my eyes then, and coming out of my own pleasant # and self-created darkness into the imposed and coarse outer gloom of the # unilluminated twelve-o’clock-at-night, I experienced a disagreeable revulsion. # Nor did I at all object to the hint from Queequeg that perhaps it were best to # strike a light, seeing that we were so wide awake; and besides he felt a strong # desire to have a few quiet puffs from his Tomahawk. Be it said, that though I # had felt such a strong repugnance to his smoking in the bed the night before, # yet see how elastic our stiff prejudices grow when love once comes to bend them. # For now I liked nothing better than to have Queequeg smoking by me, even in bed, # because he seemed to be full of such serene household joy then. I no more felt # unduly concerned for the landlord’s policy of insurance. I was only alive to the # condensed confidential comfortableness of sharing a pipe and a blanket with a # real friend. With our shaggy jackets drawn about our shoulders, we now passed # the Tomahawk from one to the other, till slowly there grew over us a blue # hanging tester of smoke, illuminated by the flame of the new-lit lamp. # # Whether it was that this undulating tester rolled the savage away to far distant # scenes, I know not, but he now spoke of his native island; and, eager to hear # his history, I begged him to go on and tell it. He gladly complied. Though at # the time I but ill comprehended not a few of his words, yet subsequent # disclosures, when I had become more familiar with his broken phraseology, now # enable me to present the whole story such as it may prove in the mere skeleton I # give. # # # # # # CHAPTER 12. Biographical. # # Queequeg was a native of Rokovoko, an island far away to the West and South. It # is not down in any map; true places never are. # # When a new-hatched savage running wild about his native woodlands in a grass # clout, followed by the nibbling goats, as if he were a green sapling; even then, # in Queequeg’s ambitious soul, lurked a strong desire to see something more of # Christendom than a specimen whaler or two. His father was a High Chief, a King; # his uncle a High Priest; and on the maternal side he boasted aunts who were the # wives of unconquerable warriors. There was excellent blood in his veins—royal # stuff; though sadly vitiated, I fear, by the cannibal propensity he nourished in # his untutored youth. # # A Sag Harbor ship visited his father’s bay, and Queequeg sought a passage to # Christian lands. But the ship, having her full complement of seamen, spurned his # suit; and not all the King his father’s influence could prevail. But Queequeg # vowed a vow. Alone in his canoe, he paddled off to a distant strait, which he # knew the ship must pass through when she quitted the island. On one side was a # coral reef; on the other a low tongue of land, covered with mangrove thickets # that grew out into the water. Hiding his canoe, still afloat, among these # thickets, with its prow seaward, he sat down in the stern, paddle low in hand; # and when the ship was gliding by, like a flash he darted out; gained her side; # with one backward dash of his foot capsized and sank his canoe; climbed up the # chains; and throwing himself at full length upon the deck, grappled a ring-bolt # there, and swore not to let it go, though hacked in pieces. # # In vain the captain threatened to throw him overboard; suspended a cutlass over # his naked wrists; Queequeg was the son of a King, and Queequeg budged not. # Struck by his desperate dauntlessness, and his wild desire to visit Christendom, # the captain at last relented, and told him he might make himself at home. But # this fine young savage—this sea Prince of Wales, never saw the Captain’s cabin. # They put him down among the sailors, and made a whaleman of him. But like Czar # Peter content to toil in the shipyards of foreign cities, Queequeg disdained no # seeming ignominy, if thereby he might happily gain the power of enlightening his # untutored countrymen. For at bottom—so he told me—he was actuated by a profound # desire to learn among the Christians, the arts whereby to make his people still # happier than they were; and more than that, still better than they were. But, # alas! the practices of whalemen soon convinced him that even Christians could be # both miserable and wicked; infinitely more so, than all his father’s heathens. # Arrived at last in old Sag Harbor; and seeing what the sailors did there; and # then going on to Nantucket, and seeing how they spent their wages in that place # also, poor Queequeg gave it up for lost. Thought he, it’s a wicked world in all # meridians; I’ll die a pagan. # # And thus an old idolator at heart, he yet lived among these Christians, wore # their clothes, and tried to talk their gibberish. Hence the queer ways about # him, though now some time from home. # # By hints, I asked him whether he did not propose going back, and having a # coronation; since he might now consider his father dead and gone, he being very # old and feeble at the last accounts. He answered no, not yet; and added that he # was fearful Christianity, or rather Christians, had unfitted him for ascending # the pure and undefiled throne of thirty pagan Kings before him. But by and by, # he said, he would return,—as soon as he felt himself baptized again. For the # nonce, however, he proposed to sail about, and sow his wild oats in all four # oceans. They had made a harpooneer of him, and that barbed iron was in lieu of a # sceptre now. # # I asked him what might be his immediate purpose, touching his future movements. # He answered, to go to sea again, in his old vocation. Upon this, I told him that # whaling was my own design, and informed him of my intention to sail out of # Nantucket, as being the most promising port for an adventurous whaleman to # embark from. He at once resolved to accompany me to that island, ship aboard the # same vessel, get into the same watch, the same boat, the same mess with me, in # short to share my every hap; with both my hands in his, boldly dip into the # Potluck of both worlds. To all this I joyously assented; for besides the # affection I now felt for Queequeg, he was an experienced harpooneer, and as # such, could not fail to be of great usefulness to one, who, like me, was wholly # ignorant of the mysteries of whaling, though well acquainted with the sea, as # known to merchant seamen. # # His story being ended with his pipe’s last dying puff, Queequeg embraced me, # pressed his forehead against mine, and blowing out the light, we rolled over # from each other, this way and that, and very soon were sleeping. # # # # # # CHAPTER 13. Wheelbarrow. # # Next morning, Monday, after disposing of the embalmed head to a barber, for a # block, I settled my own and comrade’s bill; using, however, my comrade’s money. # The grinning landlord, as well as the boarders, seemed amazingly tickled at the # sudden friendship which had sprung up between me and Queequeg—especially as # Peter Coffin’s cock and bull stories about him had previously so much alarmed me # concerning the very person whom I now companied with. # # We borrowed a wheelbarrow, and embarking our things, including my own poor # carpet-bag, and Queequeg’s canvas sack and hammock, away we went down to “the # Moss,” the little Nantucket packet schooner moored at the wharf. As we were # going along the people stared; not at Queequeg so much—for they were used to # seeing cannibals like him in their streets,—but at seeing him and me upon such # confidential terms. But we heeded them not, going along wheeling the barrow by # turns, and Queequeg now and then stopping to adjust the sheath on his harpoon # barbs. I asked him why he carried such a troublesome thing with him ashore, and # whether all whaling ships did not find their own harpoons. To this, in # substance, he replied, that though what I hinted was true enough, yet he had a # particular affection for his own harpoon, because it was of assured stuff, well # tried in many a mortal combat, and deeply intimate with the hearts of whales. In # short, like many inland reapers and mowers, who go into the farmers’ meadows # armed with their own scythes—though in no wise obliged to furnish them—even so, # Queequeg, for his own private reasons, preferred his own harpoon. # # Shifting the barrow from my hand to his, he told me a funny story about the # first wheelbarrow he had ever seen. It was in Sag Harbor. The owners of his # ship, it seems, had lent him one, in which to carry his heavy chest to his # boarding house. Not to seem ignorant about the thing—though in truth he was # entirely so, concerning the precise way in which to manage the barrow—Queequeg # puts his chest upon it; lashes it fast; and then shoulders the barrow and # marches up the wharf. “Why,” said I, “Queequeg, you might have known better than # that, one would think. Didn’t the people laugh?” # # Upon this, he told me another story. The people of his island of Rokovoko, it # seems, at their wedding feasts express the fragrant water of young cocoanuts # into a large stained calabash like a punchbowl; and this punchbowl always forms # the great central ornament on the braided mat where the feast is held. Now a # certain grand merchant ship once touched at Rokovoko, and its commander—from all # accounts, a very stately punctilious gentleman, at least for a sea captain—this # commander was invited to the wedding feast of Queequeg’s sister, a pretty young # princess just turned of ten. Well; when all the wedding guests were assembled at # the bride’s bamboo cottage, this Captain marches in, and being assigned the post # of honor, placed himself over against the punchbowl, and between the High Priest # and his majesty the King, Queequeg’s father. Grace being said,—for those people # have their grace as well as we—though Queequeg told me that unlike us, who at # such times look downwards to our platters, they, on the contrary, copying the # ducks, glance upwards to the great Giver of all feasts—Grace, I say, being said, # the High Priest opens the banquet by the immemorial ceremony of the island; that # is, dipping his consecrated and consecrating fingers into the bowl before the # blessed beverage circulates. Seeing himself placed next the Priest, and noting # the ceremony, and thinking himself—being Captain of a ship—as having plain # precedence over a mere island King, especially in the King’s own house—the # Captain coolly proceeds to wash his hands in the punchbowl;—taking it I suppose # for a huge finger-glass. “Now,” said Queequeg, “what you tink now?—Didn’t our # people laugh?” # # At last, passage paid, and luggage safe, we stood on board the schooner. # Hoisting sail, it glided down the Acushnet river. On one side, New Bedford rose # in terraces of streets, their ice-covered trees all glittering in the clear, # cold air. Huge hills and mountains of casks on casks were piled upon her # wharves, and side by side the world-wandering whale ships lay silent and safely # moored at last; while from others came a sound of carpenters and coopers, with # blended noises of fires and forges to melt the pitch, all betokening that new # cruises were on the start; that one most perilous and long voyage ended, only # begins a second; and a second ended, only begins a third, and so on, for ever # and for aye. Such is the endlessness, yea, the intolerableness of all earthly # effort. # # Gaining the more open water, the bracing breeze waxed fresh; the little Moss # tossed the quick foam from her bows, as a young colt his snortings. How I # snuffed that Tartar air!—how I spurned that turnpike earth!—that common highway # all over dented with the marks of slavish heels and hoofs; and turned me to # admire the magnanimity of the sea which will permit no records. # # At the same foam-fountain, Queequeg seemed to drink and reel with me. His dusky # nostrils swelled apart; he showed his filed and pointed teeth. On, on we flew; # and our offing gained, the Moss did homage to the blast; ducked and dived her # bows as a slave before the Sultan. Sideways leaning, we sideways darted; every # ropeyarn tingling like a wire; the two tall masts buckling like Indian canes in # land tornadoes. So full of this reeling scene were we, as we stood by the # plunging bowsprit, that for some time we did not notice the jeering glances of # the passengers, a lubber-like assembly, who marvelled that two fellow beings # should be so companionable; as though a white man were anything more dignified # than a whitewashed negro. But there were some boobies and bumpkins there, who, # by their intense greenness, must have come from the heart and centre of all # verdure. Queequeg caught one of these young saplings mimicking him behind his # back. I thought the bumpkin’s hour of doom was come. Dropping his harpoon, the # brawny savage caught him in his arms, and by an almost miraculous dexterity and # strength, sent him high up bodily into the air; then slightly tapping his stern # in mid-somerset, the fellow landed with bursting lungs upon his feet, while # Queequeg, turning his back upon him, lighted his tomahawk pipe and passed it to # me for a puff. # # “Capting! Capting!” yelled the bumpkin, running towards that officer; “Capting, # Capting, here’s the devil.” # # “Hallo, you sir,” cried the Captain, a gaunt rib of the sea, stalking up to # Queequeg, “what in thunder do you mean by that? Don’t you know you might have # killed that chap?” # # “What him say?” said Queequeg, as he mildly turned to me. # # “He say,” said I, “that you came near kill-e that man there,” pointing to the # still shivering greenhorn. # # “Kill-e,” cried Queequeg, twisting his tattooed face into an unearthly # expression of disdain, “ah! him bevy small-e fish-e; Queequeg no kill-e so # small-e fish-e; Queequeg kill-e big whale!” # # “Look you,” roared the Captain, “I’ll kill-e you, you cannibal, if you try any # more of your tricks aboard here; so mind your eye.” # # But it so happened just then, that it was high time for the Captain to mind his # own eye. The prodigious strain upon the main-sail had parted the weather-sheet, # and the tremendous boom was now flying from side to side, completely sweeping # the entire after part of the deck. The poor fellow whom Queequeg had handled so # roughly, was swept overboard; all hands were in a panic; and to attempt # snatching at the boom to stay it, seemed madness. It flew from right to left, # and back again, almost in one ticking of a watch, and every instant seemed on # the point of snapping into splinters. Nothing was done, and nothing seemed # capable of being done; those on deck rushed towards the bows, and stood eyeing # the boom as if it were the lower jaw of an exasperated whale. In the midst of # this consternation, Queequeg dropped deftly to his knees, and crawling under the # path of the boom, whipped hold of a rope, secured one end to the bulwarks, and # then flinging the other like a lasso, caught it round the boom as it swept over # his head, and at the next jerk, the spar was that way trapped, and all was safe. # The schooner was run into the wind, and while the hands were clearing away the # stern boat, Queequeg, stripped to the waist, darted from the side with a long # living arc of a leap. For three minutes or more he was seen swimming like a dog, # throwing his long arms straight out before him, and by turns revealing his # brawny shoulders through the freezing foam. I looked at the grand and glorious # fellow, but saw no one to be saved. The greenhorn had gone down. Shooting # himself perpendicularly from the water, Queequeg, now took an instant’s glance # around him, and seeming to see just how matters were, dived down and # disappeared. A few minutes more, and he rose again, one arm still striking out, # and with the other dragging a lifeless form. The boat soon picked them up. The # poor bumpkin was restored. All hands voted Queequeg a noble trump; the captain # begged his pardon. From that hour I clove to Queequeg like a barnacle; yea, till # poor Queequeg took his last long dive. # # Was there ever such unconsciousness? He did not seem to think that he at all # deserved a medal from the Humane and Magnanimous Societies. He only asked for # water—fresh water—something to wipe the brine off; that done, he put on dry # clothes, lighted his pipe, and leaning against the bulwarks, and mildly eyeing # those around him, seemed to be saying to himself—“It’s a mutual, joint-stock # world, in all meridians. We cannibals must help these Christians.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 14. Nantucket. # # Nothing more happened on the passage worthy the mentioning; so, after a fine # run, we safely arrived in Nantucket. # # Nantucket! Take out your map and look at it. See what a real corner of the world # it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the Eddystone # lighthouse. Look at it—a mere hillock, and elbow of sand; all beach, without a # background. There is more sand there than you would use in twenty years as a # substitute for blotting paper. Some gamesome wights will tell you that they have # to plant weeds there, they don’t grow naturally; that they import Canada # thistles; that they have to send beyond seas for a spile to stop a leak in an # oil cask; that pieces of wood in Nantucket are carried about like bits of the # true cross in Rome; that people there plant toadstools before their houses, to # get under the shade in summer time; that one blade of grass makes an oasis, # three blades in a day’s walk a prairie; that they wear quicksand shoes, # something like Laplander snow-shoes; that they are so shut up, belted about, # every way inclosed, surrounded, and made an utter island of by the ocean, that # to their very chairs and tables small clams will sometimes be found adhering, as # to the backs of sea turtles. But these extravaganzas only show that Nantucket is # no Illinois. # # Look now at the wondrous traditional story of how this island was settled by the # red-men. Thus goes the legend. In olden times an eagle swooped down upon the New # England coast, and carried off an infant Indian in his talons. With loud lament # the parents saw their child borne out of sight over the wide waters. They # resolved to follow in the same direction. Setting out in their canoes, after a # perilous passage they discovered the island, and there they found an empty ivory # casket,—the poor little Indian’s skeleton. # # What wonder, then, that these Nantucketers, born on a beach, should take to the # sea for a livelihood! They first caught crabs and quohogs in the sand; grown # bolder, they waded out with nets for mackerel; more experienced, they pushed off # in boats and captured cod; and at last, launching a navy of great ships on the # sea, explored this watery world; put an incessant belt of circumnavigations # round it; peeped in at Behring’s Straits; and in all seasons and all oceans # declared everlasting war with the mightiest animated mass that has survived the # flood; most monstrous and most mountainous! That Himmalehan, salt-sea Mastodon, # clothed with such portentousness of unconscious power, that his very panics are # more to be dreaded than his most fearless and malicious assaults! # # And thus have these naked Nantucketers, these sea hermits, issuing from their # ant-hill in the sea, overrun and conquered the watery world like so many # Alexanders; parcelling out among them the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans, # as the three pirate powers did Poland. Let America add Mexico to Texas, and pile # Cuba upon Canada; let the English overswarm all India, and hang out their # blazing banner from the sun; two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the # Nantucketer’s. For the sea is his; he owns it, as Emperors own empires; other # seamen having but a right of way through it. Merchant ships are but extension # bridges; armed ones but floating forts; even pirates and privateers, though # following the sea as highwaymen the road, they but plunder other ships, other # fragments of the land like themselves, without seeking to draw their living from # the bottomless deep itself. The Nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the # sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing # it as his own special plantation. There is his home; there lies his business, # which a Noah’s flood would not interrupt, though it overwhelmed all the millions # in China. He lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among # the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps. For years he knows # not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, # more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman. With the landless gull, that # at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at # nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him # to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales. # # # # # # CHAPTER 15. Chowder. # # It was quite late in the evening when the little Moss came snugly to anchor, and # Queequeg and I went ashore; so we could attend to no business that day, at least # none but a supper and a bed. The landlord of the Spouter-Inn had recommended us # to his cousin Hosea Hussey of the Try Pots, whom he asserted to be the # proprietor of one of the best kept hotels in all Nantucket, and moreover he had # assured us that Cousin Hosea, as he called him, was famous for his chowders. In # short, he plainly hinted that we could not possibly do better than try pot-luck # at the Try Pots. But the directions he had given us about keeping a yellow # warehouse on our starboard hand till we opened a white church to the larboard, # and then keeping that on the larboard hand till we made a corner three points to # the starboard, and that done, then ask the first man we met where the place was: # these crooked directions of his very much puzzled us at first, especially as, at # the outset, Queequeg insisted that the yellow warehouse—our first point of # departure—must be left on the larboard hand, whereas I had understood Peter # Coffin to say it was on the starboard. However, by dint of beating about a # little in the dark, and now and then knocking up a peaceable inhabitant to # inquire the way, we at last came to something which there was no mistaking. # # Two enormous wooden pots painted black, and suspended by asses’ ears, swung from # the cross-trees of an old top-mast, planted in front of an old doorway. The # horns of the cross-trees were sawed off on the other side, so that this old # top-mast looked not a little like a gallows. Perhaps I was over sensitive to # such impressions at the time, but I could not help staring at this gallows with # a vague misgiving. A sort of crick was in my neck as I gazed up to the two # remaining horns; yes, two of them, one for Queequeg, and one for me. It’s # ominous, thinks I. A Coffin my Innkeeper upon landing in my first whaling port; # tombstones staring at me in the whalemen’s chapel; and here a gallows! and a # pair of prodigious black pots too! Are these last throwing out oblique hints # touching Tophet? # # I was called from these reflections by the sight of a freckled woman with yellow # hair and a yellow gown, standing in the porch of the inn, under a dull red lamp # swinging there, that looked much like an injured eye, and carrying on a brisk # scolding with a man in a purple woollen shirt. # # “Get along with ye,” said she to the man, “or I’ll be combing ye!” # # “Come on, Queequeg,” said I, “all right. There’s Mrs. Hussey.” # # And so it turned out; Mr. Hosea Hussey being from home, but leaving Mrs. Hussey # entirely competent to attend to all his affairs. Upon making known our desires # for a supper and a bed, Mrs. Hussey, postponing further scolding for the # present, ushered us into a little room, and seating us at a table spread with # the relics of a recently concluded repast, turned round to us and said—“Clam or # Cod?” # # “What’s that about Cods, ma’am?” said I, with much politeness. # # “Clam or Cod?” she repeated. # # “A clam for supper? a cold clam; is that what you mean, Mrs. Hussey?” says I, # “but that’s a rather cold and clammy reception in the winter time, ain’t it, # Mrs. Hussey?” # # But being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the purple Shirt, who # was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to hear nothing but the word # “clam,” Mrs. Hussey hurried towards an open door leading to the kitchen, and # bawling out “clam for two,” disappeared. # # “Queequeg,” said I, “do you think that we can make out a supper for us both on # one clam?” # # However, a warm savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the apparently # cheerless prospect before us. But when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery # was delightfully explained. Oh, sweet friends! hearken to me. It was made of # small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship # biscuit, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with # butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt. Our appetites being # sharpened by the frosty voyage, and in particular, Queequeg seeing his favourite # fishing food before him, and the chowder being surpassingly excellent, we # despatched it with great expedition: when leaning back a moment and bethinking # me of Mrs. Hussey’s clam and cod announcement, I thought I would try a little # experiment. Stepping to the kitchen door, I uttered the word “cod” with great # emphasis, and resumed my seat. In a few moments the savoury steam came forth # again, but with a different flavor, and in good time a fine cod-chowder was # placed before us. # # We resumed business; and while plying our spoons in the bowl, thinks I to # myself, I wonder now if this here has any effect on the head? What’s that # stultifying saying about chowder-headed people? “But look, Queequeg, ain’t that # a live eel in your bowl? Where’s your harpoon?” # # Fishiest of all fishy places was the Try Pots, which well deserved its name; for # the pots there were always boiling chowders. Chowder for breakfast, and chowder # for dinner, and chowder for supper, till you began to look for fish-bones coming # through your clothes. The area before the house was paved with clam-shells. Mrs. # Hussey wore a polished necklace of codfish vertebra; and Hosea Hussey had his # account books bound in superior old shark-skin. There was a fishy flavor to the # milk, too, which I could not at all account for, till one morning happening to # take a stroll along the beach among some fishermen’s boats, I saw Hosea’s # brindled cow feeding on fish remnants, and marching along the sand with each # foot in a cod’s decapitated head, looking very slip-shod, I assure ye. # # Supper concluded, we received a lamp, and directions from Mrs. Hussey concerning # the nearest way to bed; but, as Queequeg was about to precede me up the stairs, # the lady reached forth her arm, and demanded his harpoon; she allowed no harpoon # in her chambers. “Why not?” said I; “every true whaleman sleeps with his # harpoon—but why not?” “Because it’s dangerous,” says she. “Ever since young # Stiggs coming from that unfort’nt v’y’ge of his, when he was gone four years and # a half, with only three barrels of ile, was found dead in my first floor back, # with his harpoon in his side; ever since then I allow no boarders to take sich # dangerous weepons in their rooms at night. So, Mr. Queequeg” (for she had # learned his name), “I will just take this here iron, and keep it for you till # morning. But the chowder; clam or cod to-morrow for breakfast, men?” # # “Both,” says I; “and let’s have a couple of smoked herring by way of variety.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 16. The Ship. # # In bed we concocted our plans for the morrow. But to my surprise and no small # concern, Queequeg now gave me to understand, that he had been diligently # consulting Yojo—the name of his black little god—and Yojo had told him two or # three times over, and strongly insisted upon it everyway, that instead of our # going together among the whaling-fleet in harbor, and in concert selecting our # craft; instead of this, I say, Yojo earnestly enjoined that the selection of the # ship should rest wholly with me, inasmuch as Yojo purposed befriending us; and, # in order to do so, had already pitched upon a vessel, which, if left to myself, # I, Ishmael, should infallibly light upon, for all the world as though it had # turned out by chance; and in that vessel I must immediately ship myself, for the # present irrespective of Queequeg. # # I have forgotten to mention that, in many things, Queequeg placed great # confidence in the excellence of Yojo’s judgment and surprising forecast of # things; and cherished Yojo with considerable esteem, as a rather good sort of # god, who perhaps meant well enough upon the whole, but in all cases did not # succeed in his benevolent designs. # # Now, this plan of Queequeg’s, or rather Yojo’s, touching the selection of our # craft; I did not like that plan at all. I had not a little relied upon # Queequeg’s sagacity to point out the whaler best fitted to carry us and our # fortunes securely. But as all my remonstrances produced no effect upon Queequeg, # I was obliged to acquiesce; and accordingly prepared to set about this business # with a determined rushing sort of energy and vigor, that should quickly settle # that trifling little affair. Next morning early, leaving Queequeg shut up with # Yojo in our little bedroom—for it seemed that it was some sort of Lent or # Ramadan, or day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer with Queequeg and Yojo that # day; how it was I never could find out, for, though I applied myself to it # several times, I never could master his liturgies and XXXIX Articles—leaving # Queequeg, then, fasting on his tomahawk pipe, and Yojo warming himself at his # sacrificial fire of shavings, I sallied out among the shipping. After much # prolonged sauntering and many random inquiries, I learnt that there were three # ships up for three-years’ voyages—The Devil-dam, the Tit-bit, and the Pequod. # Devil-Dam, I do not know the origin of; Tit-bit is obvious; Pequod, you will no # doubt remember, was the name of a celebrated tribe of Massachusetts Indians; now # extinct as the ancient Medes. I peered and pryed about the Devil-dam; from her, # hopped over to the Tit-bit; and finally, going on board the Pequod, looked # around her for a moment, and then decided that this was the very ship for us. # # You may have seen many a quaint craft in your day, for aught I know;—square-toed # luggers; mountainous Japanese junks; butter-box galliots, and what not; but take # my word for it, you never saw such a rare old craft as this same rare old # Pequod. She was a ship of the old school, rather small if anything; with an # old-fashioned claw-footed look about her. Long seasoned and weather-stained in # the typhoons and calms of all four oceans, her old hull’s complexion was # darkened like a French grenadier’s, who has alike fought in Egypt and Siberia. # Her venerable bows looked bearded. Her masts—cut somewhere on the coast of # Japan, where her original ones were lost overboard in a gale—her masts stood # stiffly up like the spines of the three old kings of Cologne. Her ancient decks # were worn and wrinkled, like the pilgrim-worshipped flag-stone in Canterbury # Cathedral where Becket bled. But to all these her old antiquities, were added # new and marvellous features, pertaining to the wild business that for more than # half a century she had followed. Old Captain Peleg, many years her chief-mate, # before he commanded another vessel of his own, and now a retired seaman, and one # of the principal owners of the Pequod,—this old Peleg, during the term of his # chief-mateship, had built upon her original grotesqueness, and inlaid it, all # over, with a quaintness both of material and device, unmatched by anything # except it be Thorkill-Hake’s carved buckler or bedstead. She was apparelled like # any barbaric Ethiopian emperor, his neck heavy with pendants of polished ivory. # She was a thing of trophies. A cannibal of a craft, tricking herself forth in # the chased bones of her enemies. All round, her unpanelled, open bulwarks were # garnished like one continuous jaw, with the long sharp teeth of the sperm whale, # inserted there for pins, to fasten her old hempen thews and tendons to. Those # thews ran not through base blocks of land wood, but deftly travelled over # sheaves of sea-ivory. Scorning a turnstile wheel at her reverend helm, she # sported there a tiller; and that tiller was in one mass, curiously carved from # the long narrow lower jaw of her hereditary foe. The helmsman who steered by # that tiller in a tempest, felt like the Tartar, when he holds back his fiery # steed by clutching its jaw. A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy! All # noble things are touched with that. # # Now when I looked about the quarter-deck, for some one having authority, in # order to propose myself as a candidate for the voyage, at first I saw nobody; # but I could not well overlook a strange sort of tent, or rather wigwam, pitched # a little behind the main-mast. It seemed only a temporary erection used in port. # It was of a conical shape, some ten feet high; consisting of the long, huge # slabs of limber black bone taken from the middle and highest part of the jaws of # the right-whale. Planted with their broad ends on the deck, a circle of these # slabs laced together, mutually sloped towards each other, and at the apex united # in a tufted point, where the loose hairy fibres waved to and fro like the # top-knot on some old Pottowottamie Sachem’s head. A triangular opening faced # towards the bows of the ship, so that the insider commanded a complete view # forward. # # And half concealed in this queer tenement, I at length found one who by his # aspect seemed to have authority; and who, it being noon, and the ship’s work # suspended, was now enjoying respite from the burden of command. He was seated on # an old-fashioned oaken chair, wriggling all over with curious carving; and the # bottom of which was formed of a stout interlacing of the same elastic stuff of # which the wigwam was constructed. # # There was nothing so very particular, perhaps, about the appearance of the # elderly man I saw; he was brown and brawny, like most old seamen, and heavily # rolled up in blue pilot-cloth, cut in the Quaker style; only there was a fine # and almost microscopic net-work of the minutest wrinkles interlacing round his # eyes, which must have arisen from his continual sailings in many hard gales, and # always looking to windward;—for this causes the muscles about the eyes to become # pursed together. Such eye-wrinkles are very effectual in a scowl. # # “Is this the Captain of the Pequod?” said I, advancing to the door of the tent. # # “Supposing it be the captain of the Pequod, what dost thou want of him?” he # demanded. # # “I was thinking of shipping.” # # “Thou wast, wast thou? I see thou art no Nantucketer—ever been in a stove boat?” # # “No, Sir, I never have.” # # “Dost know nothing at all about whaling, I dare say—eh? # # “Nothing, Sir; but I have no doubt I shall soon learn. I’ve been several voyages # in the merchant service, and I think that—” # # “Merchant service be damned. Talk not that lingo to me. Dost see that leg?—I’ll # take that leg away from thy stern, if ever thou talkest of the marchant service # to me again. Marchant service indeed! I suppose now ye feel considerable proud # of having served in those marchant ships. But flukes! man, what makes thee want # to go a whaling, eh?—it looks a little suspicious, don’t it, eh?—Hast not been a # pirate, hast thou?—Didst not rob thy last Captain, didst thou?—Dost not think of # murdering the officers when thou gettest to sea?” # # I protested my innocence of these things. I saw that under the mask of these # half humorous innuendoes, this old seaman, as an insulated Quakerish # Nantucketer, was full of his insular prejudices, and rather distrustful of all # aliens, unless they hailed from Cape Cod or the Vineyard. # # “But what takes thee a-whaling? I want to know that before I think of shipping # ye.” # # “Well, sir, I want to see what whaling is. I want to see the world.” # # “Want to see what whaling is, eh? Have ye clapped eye on Captain Ahab?” # # “Who is Captain Ahab, sir?” # # “Aye, aye, I thought so. Captain Ahab is the Captain of this ship.” # # “I am mistaken then. I thought I was speaking to the Captain himself.” # # “Thou art speaking to Captain Peleg—that’s who ye are speaking to, young man. It # belongs to me and Captain Bildad to see the Pequod fitted out for the voyage, # and supplied with all her needs, including crew. We are part owners and agents. # But as I was going to say, if thou wantest to know what whaling is, as thou # tellest ye do, I can put ye in a way of finding it out before ye bind yourself # to it, past backing out. Clap eye on Captain Ahab, young man, and thou wilt find # that he has only one leg.” # # “What do you mean, sir? Was the other one lost by a whale?” # # “Lost by a whale! Young man, come nearer to me: it was devoured, chewed up, # crunched by the monstrousest parmacetty that ever chipped a boat!—ah, ah!” # # I was a little alarmed by his energy, perhaps also a little touched at the # hearty grief in his concluding exclamation, but said as calmly as I could, “What # you say is no doubt true enough, sir; but how could I know there was any # peculiar ferocity in that particular whale, though indeed I might have inferred # as much from the simple fact of the accident.” # # “Look ye now, young man, thy lungs are a sort of soft, d’ye see; thou dost not # talk shark a bit. Sure, ye’ve been to sea before now; sure of that?” # # “Sir,” said I, “I thought I told you that I had been four voyages in the # merchant—” # # “Hard down out of that! Mind what I said about the marchant service—don’t # aggravate me—I won’t have it. But let us understand each other. I have given # thee a hint about what whaling is; do ye yet feel inclined for it?” # # “I do, sir.” # # “Very good. Now, art thou the man to pitch a harpoon down a live whale’s throat, # and then jump after it? Answer, quick!” # # “I am, sir, if it should be positively indispensable to do so; not to be got rid # of, that is; which I don’t take to be the fact.” # # “Good again. Now then, thou not only wantest to go a-whaling, to find out by # experience what whaling is, but ye also want to go in order to see the world? # Was not that what ye said? I thought so. Well then, just step forward there, and # take a peep over the weather-bow, and then back to me and tell me what ye see # there.” # # For a moment I stood a little puzzled by this curious request, not knowing # exactly how to take it, whether humorously or in earnest. But concentrating all # his crow’s feet into one scowl, Captain Peleg started me on the errand. # # Going forward and glancing over the weather bow, I perceived that the ship # swinging to her anchor with the flood-tide, was now obliquely pointing towards # the open ocean. The prospect was unlimited, but exceedingly monotonous and # forbidding; not the slightest variety that I could see. # # “Well, what’s the report?” said Peleg when I came back; “what did ye see?” # # “Not much,” I replied—“nothing but water; considerable horizon though, and # there’s a squall coming up, I think.” # # “Well, what does thou think then of seeing the world? Do ye wish to go round # Cape Horn to see any more of it, eh? Can’t ye see the world where you stand?” # # I was a little staggered, but go a-whaling I must, and I would; and the Pequod # was as good a ship as any—I thought the best—and all this I now repeated to # Peleg. Seeing me so determined, he expressed his willingness to ship me. # # “And thou mayest as well sign the papers right off,” he added—“come along with # ye.” And so saying, he led the way below deck into the cabin. # # Seated on the transom was what seemed to me a most uncommon and surprising # figure. It turned out to be Captain Bildad, who along with Captain Peleg was one # of the largest owners of the vessel; the other shares, as is sometimes the case # in these ports, being held by a crowd of old annuitants; widows, fatherless # children, and chancery wards; each owning about the value of a timber head, or a # foot of plank, or a nail or two in the ship. People in Nantucket invest their # money in whaling vessels, the same way that you do yours in approved state # stocks bringing in good interest. # # Now, Bildad, like Peleg, and indeed many other Nantucketers, was a Quaker, the # island having been originally settled by that sect; and to this day its # inhabitants in general retain in an uncommon measure the peculiarities of the # Quaker, only variously and anomalously modified by things altogether alien and # heterogeneous. For some of these same Quakers are the most sanguinary of all # sailors and whale-hunters. They are fighting Quakers; they are Quakers with a # vengeance. # # So that there are instances among them of men, who, named with Scripture names—a # singularly common fashion on the island—and in childhood naturally imbibing the # stately dramatic thee and thou of the Quaker idiom; still, from the audacious, # daring, and boundless adventure of their subsequent lives, strangely blend with # these unoutgrown peculiarities, a thousand bold dashes of character, not # unworthy a Scandinavian sea-king, or a poetical Pagan Roman. And when these # things unite in a man of greatly superior natural force, with a globular brain # and a ponderous heart; who has also by the stillness and seclusion of many long # night-watches in the remotest waters, and beneath constellations never seen here # at the north, been led to think untraditionally and independently; receiving all # nature’s sweet or savage impressions fresh from her own virgin voluntary and # confiding breast, and thereby chiefly, but with some help from accidental # advantages, to learn a bold and nervous lofty language—that man makes one in a # whole nation’s census—a mighty pageant creature, formed for noble tragedies. Nor # will it at all detract from him, dramatically regarded, if either by birth or # other circumstances, he have what seems a half wilful overruling morbidness at # the bottom of his nature. For all men tragically great are made so through a # certain morbidness. Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is # but disease. But, as yet we have not to do with such an one, but with quite # another; and still a man, who, if indeed peculiar, it only results again from # another phase of the Quaker, modified by individual circumstances. # # Like Captain Peleg, Captain Bildad was a well-to-do, retired whaleman. But # unlike Captain Peleg—who cared not a rush for what are called serious things, # and indeed deemed those self-same serious things the veriest of all # trifles—Captain Bildad had not only been originally educated according to the # strictest sect of Nantucket Quakerism, but all his subsequent ocean life, and # the sight of many unclad, lovely island creatures, round the Horn—all that had # not moved this native born Quaker one single jot, had not so much as altered one # angle of his vest. Still, for all this immutableness, was there some lack of # common consistency about worthy Captain Bildad. Though refusing, from # conscientious scruples, to bear arms against land invaders, yet himself had # illimitably invaded the Atlantic and Pacific; and though a sworn foe to human # bloodshed, yet had he in his straight-bodied coat, spilled tuns upon tuns of # leviathan gore. How now in the contemplative evening of his days, the pious # Bildad reconciled these things in the reminiscence, I do not know; but it did # not seem to concern him much, and very probably he had long since come to the # sage and sensible conclusion that a man’s religion is one thing, and this # practical world quite another. This world pays dividends. Rising from a little # cabin-boy in short clothes of the drabbest drab, to a harpooneer in a broad # shad-bellied waistcoat; from that becoming boat-header, chief-mate, and captain, # and finally a ship owner; Bildad, as I hinted before, had concluded his # adventurous career by wholly retiring from active life at the goodly age of # sixty, and dedicating his remaining days to the quiet receiving of his # well-earned income. # # Now, Bildad, I am sorry to say, had the reputation of being an incorrigible old # hunks, and in his sea-going days, a bitter, hard task-master. They told me in # Nantucket, though it certainly seems a curious story, that when he sailed the # old Categut whaleman, his crew, upon arriving home, were mostly all carried # ashore to the hospital, sore exhausted and worn out. For a pious man, especially # for a Quaker, he was certainly rather hard-hearted, to say the least. He never # used to swear, though, at his men, they said; but somehow he got an inordinate # quantity of cruel, unmitigated hard work out of them. When Bildad was a # chief-mate, to have his drab-coloured eye intently looking at you, made you feel # completely nervous, till you could clutch something—a hammer or a marling-spike, # and go to work like mad, at something or other, never mind what. Indolence and # idleness perished before him. His own person was the exact embodiment of his # utilitarian character. On his long, gaunt body, he carried no spare flesh, no # superfluous beard, his chin having a soft, economical nap to it, like the worn # nap of his broad-brimmed hat. # # Such, then, was the person that I saw seated on the transom when I followed # Captain Peleg down into the cabin. The space between the decks was small; and # there, bolt-upright, sat old Bildad, who always sat so, and never leaned, and # this to save his coat tails. His broad-brim was placed beside him; his legs were # stiffly crossed; his drab vesture was buttoned up to his chin; and spectacles on # nose, he seemed absorbed in reading from a ponderous volume. # # “Bildad,” cried Captain Peleg, “at it again, Bildad, eh? Ye have been studying # those Scriptures, now, for the last thirty years, to my certain knowledge. How # far ye got, Bildad?” # # As if long habituated to such profane talk from his old shipmate, Bildad, # without noticing his present irreverence, quietly looked up, and seeing me, # glanced again inquiringly towards Peleg. # # “He says he’s our man, Bildad,” said Peleg, “he wants to ship.” # # “Dost thee?” said Bildad, in a hollow tone, and turning round to me. # # “I dost,” said I unconsciously, he was so intense a Quaker. # # “What do ye think of him, Bildad?” said Peleg. # # “He’ll do,” said Bildad, eyeing me, and then went on spelling away at his book # in a mumbling tone quite audible. # # I thought him the queerest old Quaker I ever saw, especially as Peleg, his # friend and old shipmate, seemed such a blusterer. But I said nothing, only # looking round me sharply. Peleg now threw open a chest, and drawing forth the # ship’s articles, placed pen and ink before him, and seated himself at a little # table. I began to think it was high time to settle with myself at what terms I # would be willing to engage for the voyage. I was already aware that in the # whaling business they paid no wages; but all hands, including the captain, # received certain shares of the profits called lays, and that these lays were # proportioned to the degree of importance pertaining to the respective duties of # the ship’s company. I was also aware that being a green hand at whaling, my own # lay would not be very large; but considering that I was used to the sea, could # steer a ship, splice a rope, and all that, I made no doubt that from all I had # heard I should be offered at least the 275th lay—that is, the 275th part of the # clear net proceeds of the voyage, whatever that might eventually amount to. And # though the 275th lay was what they call a rather long lay, yet it was better # than nothing; and if we had a lucky voyage, might pretty nearly pay for the # clothing I would wear out on it, not to speak of my three years’ beef and board, # for which I would not have to pay one stiver. # # It might be thought that this was a poor way to accumulate a princely # fortune—and so it was, a very poor way indeed. But I am one of those that never # take on about princely fortunes, and am quite content if the world is ready to # board and lodge me, while I am putting up at this grim sign of the Thunder # Cloud. Upon the whole, I thought that the 275th lay would be about the fair # thing, but would not have been surprised had I been offered the 200th, # considering I was of a broad-shouldered make. # # But one thing, nevertheless, that made me a little distrustful about receiving a # generous share of the profits was this: Ashore, I had heard something of both # Captain Peleg and his unaccountable old crony Bildad; how that they being the # principal proprietors of the Pequod, therefore the other and more inconsiderable # and scattered owners, left nearly the whole management of the ship’s affairs to # these two. And I did not know but what the stingy old Bildad might have a mighty # deal to say about shipping hands, especially as I now found him on board the # Pequod, quite at home there in the cabin, and reading his Bible as if at his own # fireside. Now while Peleg was vainly trying to mend a pen with his jack-knife, # old Bildad, to my no small surprise, considering that he was such an interested # party in these proceedings; Bildad never heeded us, but went on mumbling to # himself out of his book, “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where # moth—” # # “Well, Captain Bildad,” interrupted Peleg, “what d’ye say, what lay shall we # give this young man?” # # “Thou knowest best,” was the sepulchral reply, “the seven hundred and # seventy-seventh wouldn’t be too much, would it?—‘where moth and rust do corrupt, # but lay—’” # # Lay, indeed, thought I, and such a lay! the seven hundred and seventy-seventh! # Well, old Bildad, you are determined that I, for one, shall not lay up many lays # here below, where moth and rust do corrupt. It was an exceedingly long lay that, # indeed; and though from the magnitude of the figure it might at first deceive a # landsman, yet the slightest consideration will show that though seven hundred # and seventy-seven is a pretty large number, yet, when you come to make a teenth # of it, you will then see, I say, that the seven hundred and seventy-seventh part # of a farthing is a good deal less than seven hundred and seventy-seven gold # doubloons; and so I thought at the time. # # “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 soul-bolts, # 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-coloured 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.” # # “Captain Peleg,” said I, “I have a friend with me who wants to ship too—shall I # bring him down to-morrow?” # # “To be sure,” said Peleg. “Fetch him along, and we’ll look at him.” # # “What lay does he want?” groaned Bildad, glancing up from the book in which he # had again been burying himself. # # “Oh! never thee mind about that, Bildad,” said Peleg. “Has he ever whaled it # any?” turning to me. # # “Killed more whales than I can count, Captain Peleg.” # # “Well, bring him along then.” # # And, after signing the papers, off I went; nothing doubting but that I had done # a good morning’s work, and that the Pequod was the identical ship that Yojo had # provided to carry Queequeg and me round the Cape. # # But I had not proceeded far, when I began to bethink me that the Captain with # whom I was to sail yet remained unseen by me; though, indeed, in many cases, a # whale-ship will be completely fitted out, and receive all her crew on board, ere # the captain makes himself visible by arriving to take command; for sometimes # these voyages are so prolonged, and the shore intervals at home so exceedingly # brief, that if the captain have a family, or any absorbing concernment of that # sort, he does not trouble himself much about his ship in port, but leaves her to # the owners till all is ready for sea. However, it is always as well to have a # look at him before irrevocably committing yourself into his hands. Turning back # I accosted Captain Peleg, inquiring where Captain Ahab was to be found. # # “And what dost thou want of Captain Ahab? It’s all right enough; thou art # shipped.” # # “Yes, but I should like to see him.” # # “But I don’t think thou wilt be able to at present. I don’t know exactly what’s # the matter with him; but he keeps close inside the house; a sort of sick, and # yet he don’t look so. In fact, he ain’t sick; but no, he isn’t well either. Any # how, young man, he won’t always see me, so I don’t suppose he will thee. He’s a # queer man, Captain Ahab—so some think—but a good one. Oh, thou’lt like him well # enough; no fear, no fear. He’s a grand, ungodly, god-like man, Captain Ahab; # doesn’t speak much; but, when he does speak, then you may well listen. Mark ye, # be forewarned; Ahab’s above the common; Ahab’s been in colleges, as well as # ’mong the cannibals; been used to deeper wonders than the waves; fixed his fiery # lance in mightier, stranger foes than whales. His lance! aye, the keenest and # the surest that out of all our isle! Oh! he ain’t Captain Bildad; no, and he # ain’t Captain Peleg; he’s Ahab, boy; and Ahab of old, thou knowest, was a # crowned king!” # # “And a very vile one. When that wicked king was slain, the dogs, did they not # lick his blood?” # # “Come hither to me—hither, hither,” said Peleg, with a significance in his eye # that almost startled me. “Look ye, lad; never say that on board the Pequod. # Never say it anywhere. Captain Ahab did not name himself. ’Twas a foolish, # ignorant whim of his crazy, widowed mother, who died when he was only a # twelvemonth old. And yet the old squaw Tistig, at Gayhead, said that the name # would somehow prove prophetic. And, perhaps, other fools like her may tell thee # the same. I wish to warn thee. It’s a lie. I know Captain Ahab well; I’ve sailed # with him as mate years ago; I know what he is—a good man—not a pious, good man, # like Bildad, but a swearing good man—something like me—only there’s a good deal # more of him. Aye, aye, I know that he was never very jolly; and I know that on # the passage home, he was a little out of his mind for a spell; but it was the # sharp shooting pains in his bleeding stump that brought that about, as any one # might see. I know, too, that ever since he lost his leg last voyage by that # accursed whale, he’s been a kind of moody—desperate moody, and savage sometimes; # but that will all pass off. And once for all, let me tell thee and assure thee, # young man, it’s better to sail with a moody good captain than a laughing bad # one. So good-bye to thee—and wrong not Captain Ahab, because he happens to have # a wicked name. Besides, my boy, he has a wife—not three voyages wedded—a sweet, # resigned girl. Think of that; by that sweet girl that old man has a child: hold # ye then there can be any utter, hopeless harm in Ahab? No, no, my lad; stricken, # blasted, if he be, Ahab has his humanities!” # # As I walked away, I was full of thoughtfulness; what had been incidentally # revealed to me of Captain Ahab, filled me with a certain wild vagueness of # painfulness concerning him. And somehow, at the time, I felt a sympathy and a # sorrow for him, but for I don’t know what, unless it was the cruel loss of his # leg. And yet I also felt a strange awe of him; but that sort of awe, which I # cannot at all describe, was not exactly awe; I do not know what it was. But I # felt it; and it did not disincline me towards him; though I felt impatience at # what seemed like mystery in him, so imperfectly as he was known to me then. # However, my thoughts were at length carried in other directions, so that for the # present dark Ahab slipped my mind. # # # # # # CHAPTER 17. The Ramadan. # # As Queequeg’s Ramadan, or Fasting and Humiliation, was to continue all day, I # did not choose to disturb him till towards night-fall; for I cherish the # greatest respect towards everybody’s religious obligations, never mind how # comical, and could not find it in my heart to undervalue even a congregation of # ants worshipping a toad-stool; or those other creatures in certain parts of our # earth, who with a degree of footmanism quite unprecedented in other planets, bow # down before the torso of a deceased landed proprietor merely on account of the # inordinate possessions yet owned and rented in his name. # # I say, we good Presbyterian Christians should be charitable in these things, and # not fancy ourselves so vastly superior to other mortals, pagans and what not, # because of their half-crazy conceits on these subjects. There was Queequeg, now, # certainly entertaining the most absurd notions about Yojo and his Ramadan;—but # what of that? Queequeg thought he knew what he was about, I suppose; he seemed # to be content; and there let him rest. All our arguing with him would not avail; # let him be, I say: and Heaven have mercy on us all—Presbyterians and Pagans # alike—for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need # mending. # # Towards evening, when I felt assured that all his performances and rituals must # be over, I went up to his room and knocked at the door; but no answer. I tried # to open it, but it was fastened inside. “Queequeg,” said I softly through the # key-hole:—all silent. “I say, Queequeg! why don’t you speak? It’s I—Ishmael.” # But all remained still as before. I began to grow alarmed. I had allowed him # such abundant time; I thought he might have had an apoplectic fit. I looked # through the key-hole; but the door opening into an odd corner of the room, the # key-hole prospect was but a crooked and sinister one. I could only see part of # the foot-board of the bed and a line of the wall, but nothing more. I was # surprised to behold resting against the wall the wooden shaft of Queequeg’s # harpoon, which the landlady the evening previous had taken from him, before our # mounting to the chamber. That’s strange, thought I; but at any rate, since the # harpoon stands yonder, and he seldom or never goes abroad without it, therefore # he must be inside here, and no possible mistake. # # “Queequeg!—Queequeg!”—all still. Something must have happened. Apoplexy! I tried # to burst open the door; but it stubbornly resisted. Running down stairs, I # quickly stated my suspicions to the first person I met—the chamber-maid. “La! # la!” she cried, “I thought something must be the matter. I went to make the bed # after breakfast, and the door was locked; and not a mouse to be heard; and it’s # been just so silent ever since. But I thought, may be, you had both gone off and # locked your baggage in for safe keeping. La! la, ma’am!—Mistress! murder! Mrs. # Hussey! apoplexy!”—and with these cries, she ran towards the kitchen, I # following. # # Mrs. Hussey soon appeared, with a mustard-pot in one hand and a vinegar-cruet in # the other, having just broken away from the occupation of attending to the # castors, and scolding her little black boy meantime. # # “Wood-house!” cried I, “which way to it? Run for God’s sake, and fetch something # to pry open the door—the axe!—the axe! he’s had a stroke; depend upon it!”—and # so saying I was unmethodically rushing up stairs again empty-handed, when Mrs. # Hussey interposed the mustard-pot and vinegar-cruet, and the entire castor of # her countenance. # # “What’s the matter with you, young man?” # # “Get the axe! For God’s sake, run for the doctor, some one, while I pry it # open!” # # “Look here,” said the landlady, quickly putting down the vinegar-cruet, so as to # have one hand free; “look here; are you talking about prying open any of my # doors?”—and with that she seized my arm. “What’s the matter with you? What’s the # matter with you, shipmate?” # # In as calm, but rapid a manner as possible, I gave her to understand the whole # case. Unconsciously clapping the vinegar-cruet to one side of her nose, she # ruminated for an instant; then exclaimed—“No! I haven’t seen it since I put it # there.” Running to a little closet under the landing of the stairs, she glanced # in, and returning, told me that Queequeg’s harpoon was missing. “He’s killed # himself,” she cried. “It’s unfort’nate Stiggs done over again—there goes another # counterpane—God pity his poor mother!—it will be the ruin of my house. Has the # poor lad a sister? Where’s that girl?—there, Betty, go to Snarles the Painter, # and tell him to paint me a sign, with—“no suicides permitted here, and no # smoking in the parlor;”—might as well kill both birds at once. Kill? The Lord be # merciful to his ghost! What’s that noise there? You, young man, avast there!” # # And running up after me, she caught me as I was again trying to force open the # door. # # “I don’t allow it; I won’t have my premises spoiled. Go for the locksmith, # there’s one about a mile from here. But avast!” putting her hand in her # side-pocket, “here’s a key that’ll fit, I guess; let’s see.” And with that, she # turned it in the lock; but, alas! Queequeg’s supplemental bolt remained # unwithdrawn within. # # “Have to burst it open,” said I, and was running down the entry a little, for a # good start, when the landlady caught at me, again vowing I should not break down # her premises; but I tore from her, and with a sudden bodily rush dashed myself # full against the mark. # # With a prodigious noise the door flew open, and the knob slamming against the # wall, sent the plaster to the ceiling; and there, good heavens! there sat # Queequeg, altogether cool and self-collected; right in the middle of the room; # squatting on his hams, and holding Yojo on top of his head. He looked neither # one way nor the other way, but sat like a carved image with scarce a sign of # active life. # # “Queequeg,” said I, going up to him, “Queequeg, what’s the matter with you?” # # “He hain’t been a sittin’ so all day, has he?” said the landlady. # # But all we said, not a word could we drag out of him; I almost felt like pushing # him over, so as to change his position, for it was almost intolerable, it seemed # so painfully and unnaturally constrained; especially, as in all probability he # had been sitting so for upwards of eight or ten hours, going too without his # regular meals. # # “Mrs. Hussey,” said I, “he’s alive at all events; so leave us, if you please, # and I will see to this strange affair myself.” # # Closing the door upon the landlady, I endeavored to prevail upon Queequeg to # take a chair; but in vain. There he sat; and all he could do—for all my polite # arts and blandishments—he would not move a peg, nor say a single word, nor even # look at me, nor notice my presence in the slightest way. # # I wonder, thought I, if this can possibly be a part of his Ramadan; do they fast # on their hams that way in his native island. It must be so; yes, it’s part of # his creed, I suppose; well, then, let him rest; he’ll get up sooner or later, no # doubt. It can’t last for ever, thank God, and his Ramadan only comes once a # year; and I don’t believe it’s very punctual then. # # I went down to supper. After sitting a long time listening to the long stories # of some sailors who had just come from a plum-pudding voyage, as they called it # (that is, a short whaling-voyage in a schooner or brig, confined to the north of # the line, in the Atlantic Ocean only); after listening to these plum-puddingers # till nearly eleven o’clock, I went up stairs to go to bed, feeling quite sure by # this time Queequeg must certainly have brought his Ramadan to a termination. But # no; there he was just where I had left him; he had not stirred an inch. I began # to grow vexed with him; it seemed so downright senseless and insane to be # sitting there all day and half the night on his hams in a cold room, holding a # piece of wood on his head. # # “For heaven’s sake, Queequeg, get up and shake yourself; get up and have some # supper. You’ll starve; you’ll kill yourself, Queequeg.” But not a word did he # reply. # # Despairing of him, therefore, I determined to go to bed and to sleep; and no # doubt, before a great while, he would follow me. But previous to turning in, I # took my heavy bearskin jacket, and threw it over him, as it promised to be a # very cold night; and he had nothing but his ordinary round jacket on. For some # time, do all I would, I could not get into the faintest doze. I had blown out # the candle; and the mere thought of Queequeg—not four feet off—sitting there in # that uneasy position, stark alone in the cold and dark; this made me really # wretched. Think of it; sleeping all night in the same room with a wide awake # pagan on his hams in this dreary, unaccountable Ramadan! # # But somehow I dropped off at last, and knew nothing more till break of day; # when, looking over the bedside, there squatted Queequeg, as if he had been # screwed down to the floor. But as soon as the first glimpse of sun entered the # window, up he got, with stiff and grating joints, but with a cheerful look; # limped towards me where I lay; pressed his forehead again against mine; and said # his Ramadan was over. # # Now, as I before hinted, I have no objection to any person’s religion, be it # what it may, so long as that person does not kill or insult any other person, # because that other person don’t believe it also. But when a man’s religion # becomes really frantic; when it is a positive torment to him; and, in fine, # makes this earth of ours an uncomfortable inn to lodge in; then I think it high # time to take that individual aside and argue the point with him. # # And just so I now did with Queequeg. “Queequeg,” said I, “get into bed now, and # lie and listen to me.” I then went on, beginning with the rise and progress of # the primitive religions, and coming down to the various religions of the present # time, during which time I labored to show Queequeg that all these Lents, # Ramadans, and prolonged ham-squattings in cold, cheerless rooms were stark # nonsense; bad for the health; useless for the soul; opposed, in short, to the # obvious laws of Hygiene and common sense. I told him, too, that he being in # other things such an extremely sensible and sagacious savage, it pained me, very # badly pained me, to see him now so deplorably foolish about this ridiculous # Ramadan of his. Besides, argued I, fasting makes the body cave in; hence the # spirit caves in; and all thoughts born of a fast must necessarily be # half-starved. This is the reason why most dyspeptic religionists cherish such # melancholy notions about their hereafters. In one word, Queequeg, said I, rather # digressively; hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and # since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans. # # I then asked Queequeg whether he himself was ever troubled with dyspepsia; # expressing the idea very plainly, so that he could take it in. He said no; only # upon one memorable occasion. It was after a great feast given by his father the # king, on the gaining of a great battle wherein fifty of the enemy had been # killed by about two o’clock in the afternoon, and all cooked and eaten that very # evening. # # “No more, Queequeg,” said I, shuddering; “that will do;” for I knew the # inferences without his further hinting them. I had seen a sailor who had visited # that very island, and he told me that it was the custom, when a great battle had # been gained there, to barbecue all the slain in the yard or garden of the # victor; and then, one by one, they were placed in great wooden trenchers, and # garnished round like a pilau, with breadfruit and cocoanuts; and with some # parsley in their mouths, were sent round with the victor’s compliments to all # his friends, just as though these presents were so many Christmas turkeys. # # After all, I do not think that my remarks about religion made much impression # upon Queequeg. Because, in the first place, he somehow seemed dull of hearing on # that important subject, unless considered from his own point of view; and, in # the second place, he did not more than one third understand me, couch my ideas # simply as I would; and, finally, he no doubt thought he knew a good deal more # about the true religion than I did. He looked at me with a sort of condescending # concern and compassion, as though he thought it a great pity that such a # sensible young man should be so hopelessly lost to evangelical pagan piety. # # At last we rose and dressed; and Queequeg, taking a prodigiously hearty # breakfast of chowders of all sorts, so that the landlady should not make much # profit by reason of his Ramadan, we sallied out to board the Pequod, sauntering # along, and picking our teeth with halibut bones. # # # # # # CHAPTER 18. His Mark. # # As we were walking down the end of the wharf towards the ship, Queequeg carrying # his harpoon, Captain Peleg in his gruff voice loudly hailed us from his wigwam, # saying he had not suspected my friend was a cannibal, and furthermore announcing # that he let no cannibals on board that craft, unless they previously produced # their papers. # # “What do you mean by that, Captain Peleg?” said I, now jumping on the bulwarks, # and leaving my comrade standing on the wharf. # # “I mean,” he replied, “he must show his papers.” # # “Yes,” said Captain Bildad in his hollow voice, sticking his head from behind # Peleg’s, out of the wigwam. “He must show that he’s converted. Son of darkness,” # he added, turning to Queequeg, “art thou at present in communion with any # Christian church?” # # “Why,” said I, “he’s a member of the first Congregational Church.” Here be it # said, that many tattooed savages sailing in Nantucket ships at last come to be # converted into the churches. # # “First Congregational Church,” cried Bildad, “what! that worships in Deacon # Deuteronomy Coleman’s meeting-house?” and so saying, taking out his spectacles, # he rubbed them with his great yellow bandana handkerchief, and putting them on # very carefully, came out of the wigwam, and leaning stiffly over the bulwarks, # took a good long look at Queequeg. # # “How long hath he been a member?” he then said, turning to me; “not very long, I # rather guess, young man.” # # “No,” said Peleg, “and he hasn’t been baptized right either, or it would have # washed some of that devil’s blue off his face.” # # “Do tell, now,” cried Bildad, “is this Philistine a regular member of Deacon # Deuteronomy’s meeting? I never saw him going there, and I pass it every Lord’s # day.” # # “I don’t know anything about Deacon Deuteronomy or his meeting,” said I; “all I # know is, that Queequeg here is a born member of the First Congregational Church. # He is a deacon himself, Queequeg is.” # # “Young man,” said Bildad sternly, “thou art skylarking with me—explain thyself, # thou young Hittite. What church dost thee mean? answer me.” # # Finding myself thus hard pushed, I replied. “I mean, sir, the same ancient # Catholic Church to which you and I, and Captain Peleg there, and Queequeg here, # and all of us, and every mother’s son and soul of us belong; the great and # everlasting First Congregation of this whole worshipping world; we all belong to # that; only some of us cherish some queer crotchets no ways touching the grand # belief; in that we all join hands.” # # “Splice, thou mean’st splice hands,” cried Peleg, drawing nearer. “Young man, # you’d better ship for a missionary, instead of a fore-mast hand; I never heard a # better sermon. Deacon Deuteronomy—why Father Mapple himself couldn’t beat it, # and he’s reckoned something. Come aboard, come aboard; never mind about the # papers. I say, tell Quohog there—what’s that you call him? tell Quohog to step # along. By the great anchor, what a harpoon he’s got there! looks like good stuff # that; and he handles it about right. I say, Quohog, or whatever your name is, # did you ever stand in the head of a whale-boat? did you ever strike a fish?” # # Without saying a word, Queequeg, in his wild sort of way, jumped upon the # bulwarks, from thence into the bows of one of the whale-boats hanging to the # side; and then bracing his left knee, and poising his harpoon, cried out in some # such way as this:— # # “Cap’ain, you see him small drop tar on water dere? You see him? well, spose him # one whale eye, well, den!” and taking sharp aim at it, he darted the iron right # over old Bildad’s broad brim, clean across the ship’s decks, and struck the # glistening tar spot out of sight. # # “Now,” said Queequeg, quietly hauling in the line, “spos-ee him whale-e eye; # why, dad whale dead.” # # “Quick, Bildad,” said Peleg, his partner, who, aghast at the close vicinity of # the flying harpoon, had retreated towards the cabin gangway. “Quick, I say, you # Bildad, and get the ship’s papers. We must have Hedgehog there, I mean Quohog, # in one of our boats. Look ye, Quohog, we’ll give ye the ninetieth lay, and # that’s more than ever was given a harpooneer yet out of Nantucket.” # # So down we went into the cabin, and to my great joy Queequeg was soon enrolled # among the same ship’s company to which I myself belonged. # # When all preliminaries were over and Peleg had got everything ready for signing, # he turned to me and said, “I guess, Quohog there don’t know how to write, does # he? I say, Quohog, blast ye! dost thou sign thy name or make thy mark?” # # But at this question, Queequeg, who had twice or thrice before taken part in # similar ceremonies, looked no ways abashed; but taking the offered pen, copied # upon the paper, in the proper place, an exact counterpart of a queer round # figure which was tattooed upon his arm; so that through Captain Peleg’s # obstinate mistake touching his appellative, it stood something like this:— # # Quohog. his X mark. # # Meanwhile Captain Bildad sat earnestly and steadfastly eyeing Queequeg, and at # last rising solemnly and fumbling in the huge pockets of his broad-skirted drab # coat, took out a bundle of tracts, and selecting one entitled “The Latter Day # Coming; or No Time to Lose,” placed it in Queequeg’s hands, and then grasping # them and the book with both his, looked earnestly into his eyes, and said, “Son # of darkness, I must do my duty by thee; I am part owner of this ship, and feel # concerned for the souls of all its crew; if thou still clingest to thy Pagan # ways, which I sadly fear, I beseech thee, remain not for aye a Belial bondsman. # Spurn the idol Bell, and the hideous dragon; turn from the wrath to come; mind # thine eye, I say; oh! goodness gracious! steer clear of the fiery pit!” # # Something of the salt sea yet lingered in old Bildad’s language, heterogeneously # mixed with Scriptural and domestic phrases. # # “Avast there, avast there, Bildad, avast now spoiling our harpooneer,” cried # Peleg. “Pious harpooneers never make good voyagers—it takes the shark out of # ’em; no harpooneer is worth a straw who aint pretty sharkish. There was young # Nat Swaine, once the bravest boat-header out of all Nantucket and the Vineyard; # he joined the meeting, and never came to good. He got so frightened about his # plaguy soul, that he shrinked and sheered away from whales, for fear of # after-claps, in case he got stove and went to Davy Jones.” # # “Peleg! Peleg!” said Bildad, lifting his eyes and hands, “thou thyself, as I # myself, hast seen many a perilous time; thou knowest, Peleg, what it is to have # the fear of death; how, then, can’st thou prate in this ungodly guise. Thou # beliest thine own heart, Peleg. Tell me, when this same Pequod here had her # three masts overboard in that typhoon on Japan, that same voyage when thou went # mate with Captain Ahab, did’st thou not think of Death and the Judgment then?” # # “Hear him, hear him now,” cried Peleg, marching across the cabin, and thrusting # his hands far down into his pockets,—“hear him, all of ye. Think of that! When # every moment we thought the ship would sink! Death and the Judgment then? What? # With all three masts making such an everlasting thundering against the side; and # every sea breaking over us, fore and aft. Think of Death and the Judgment then? # No! no time to think about Death then. Life was what Captain Ahab and I was # thinking of; and how to save all hands—how to rig jury-masts—how to get into the # nearest port; that was what I was thinking of.” # # Bildad said no more, but buttoning up his coat, stalked on deck, where we # followed him. There he stood, very quietly overlooking some sailmakers who were # mending a top-sail in the waist. Now and then he stooped to pick up a patch, or # save an end of tarred twine, which otherwise might have been wasted. # # # # # # CHAPTER 19. The Prophet. # # “Shipmates, have ye shipped in that ship?” # # Queequeg and I had just left the Pequod, and were sauntering away from the # water, for the moment each occupied with his own thoughts, when the above words # were put to us by a stranger, who, pausing before us, levelled his massive # forefinger at the vessel in question. He was but shabbily apparelled in faded # jacket and patched trowsers; a rag of a black handkerchief investing his neck. A # confluent small-pox had in all directions flowed over his face, and left it like # the complicated ribbed bed of a torrent, when the rushing waters have been dried # up. # # “Have ye shipped in her?” he repeated. # # “You mean the ship Pequod, I suppose,” said I, trying to gain a little more time # for an uninterrupted look at him. # # “Aye, the Pequod—that ship there,” he said, drawing back his whole arm, and then # rapidly shoving it straight out from him, with the fixed bayonet of his pointed # finger darted full at the object. # # “Yes,” said I, “we have just signed the articles.” # # “Anything down there about your souls?” # # “About what?” # # “Oh, perhaps you hav’n’t got any,” he said quickly. “No matter though, I know # many chaps that hav’n’t got any,—good luck to ’em; and they are all the better # off for it. A soul’s a sort of a fifth wheel to a wagon.” # # “What are you jabbering about, shipmate?” said I. # # “He’s got enough, though, to make up for all deficiencies of that sort in other # chaps,” abruptly said the stranger, placing a nervous emphasis upon the word he. # # “Queequeg,” said I, “let’s go; this fellow has broken loose from somewhere; he’s # talking about something and somebody we don’t know.” # # “Stop!” cried the stranger. “Ye said true—ye hav’n’t seen Old Thunder yet, have # ye?” # # “Who’s Old Thunder?” said I, again riveted with the insane earnestness of his # manner. # # “Captain Ahab.” # # “What! the captain of our ship, the Pequod?” # # “Aye, among some of us old sailor chaps, he goes by that name. Ye hav’n’t seen # him yet, have ye?” # # “No, we hav’n’t. He’s sick they say, but is getting better, and will be all # right again before long.” # # “All right again before long!” laughed the stranger, with a solemnly derisive # sort of laugh. “Look ye; when Captain Ahab is all right, then this left arm of # mine will be all right; not before.” # # “What do you know about him?” # # “What did they tell you about him? Say that!” # # “They didn’t tell much of anything about him; only I’ve heard that he’s a good # whale-hunter, and a good captain to his crew.” # # “That’s true, that’s true—yes, both true enough. But you must jump when he gives # an order. Step and growl; growl and go—that’s the word with Captain Ahab. But # nothing about that thing that happened to him off Cape Horn, long ago, when he # lay like dead for three days and nights; nothing about that deadly skrimmage # with the Spaniard afore the altar in Santa?—heard nothing about that, eh? # Nothing about the silver calabash he spat into? And nothing about his losing his # leg last voyage, according to the prophecy. Didn’t ye hear a word about them # matters and something more, eh? No, I don’t think ye did; how could ye? Who # knows it? Not all Nantucket, I guess. But hows’ever, mayhap, ye’ve heard tell # about the leg, and how he lost it; aye, ye have heard of that, I dare say. Oh # yes, that every one knows a’most—I mean they know he’s only one leg; and that a # parmacetti took the other off.” # # “My friend,” said I, “what all this gibberish of yours is about, I don’t know, # and I don’t much care; for it seems to me that you must be a little damaged in # the head. But if you are speaking of Captain Ahab, of that ship there, the # Pequod, then let me tell you, that I know all about the loss of his leg.” # # “All about it, eh—sure you do?—all?” # # “Pretty sure.” # # With finger pointed and eye levelled at the Pequod, the beggar-like stranger # stood a moment, as if in a troubled reverie; then starting a little, turned and # said:—“Ye’ve shipped, have ye? Names down on the papers? Well, well, what’s # signed, is signed; and what’s to be, will be; and then again, perhaps it won’t # be, after all. Anyhow, it’s all fixed and arranged a’ready; and some sailors or # other must go with him, I suppose; as well these as any other men, God pity ’em! # Morning to ye, shipmates, morning; the ineffable heavens bless ye; I’m sorry I # stopped ye.” # # “Look here, friend,” said I, “if you have anything important to tell us, out # with it; but if you are only trying to bamboozle us, you are mistaken in your # game; that’s all I have to say.” # # “And it’s said very well, and I like to hear a chap talk up that way; you are # just the man for him—the likes of ye. Morning to ye, shipmates, morning! Oh! # when ye get there, tell ’em I’ve concluded not to make one of ’em.” # # “Ah, my dear fellow, you can’t fool us that way—you can’t fool us. It is the # easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in # him.” # # “Morning to ye, shipmates, morning.” # # “Morning it is,” said I. “Come along, Queequeg, let’s leave this crazy man. But # stop, tell me your name, will you?” # # “Elijah.” # # Elijah! thought I, and we walked away, both commenting, after each other’s # fashion, upon this ragged old sailor; and agreed that he was nothing but a # humbug, trying to be a bugbear. But we had not gone perhaps above a hundred # yards, when chancing to turn a corner, and looking back as I did so, who should # be seen but Elijah following us, though at a distance. Somehow, the sight of him # struck me so, that I said nothing to Queequeg of his being behind, but passed on # with my comrade, anxious to see whether the stranger would turn the same corner # that we did. He did; and then it seemed to me that he was dogging us, but with # what intent I could not for the life of me imagine. This circumstance, coupled # with his ambiguous, half-hinting, half-revealing, shrouded sort of talk, now # begat in me all kinds of vague wonderments and half-apprehensions, and all # connected with the Pequod; and Captain Ahab; and the leg he had lost; and the # Cape Horn fit; and the silver calabash; and what Captain Peleg had said of him, # when I left the ship the day previous; and the prediction of the squaw Tistig; # and the voyage we had bound ourselves to sail; and a hundred other shadowy # things. # # I was resolved to satisfy myself whether this ragged Elijah was really dogging # us or not, and with that intent crossed the way with Queequeg, and on that side # of it retraced our steps. But Elijah passed on, without seeming to notice us. # This relieved me; and once more, and finally as it seemed to me, I pronounced # him in my heart, a humbug. # # # # # # CHAPTER 20. All Astir. # # A day or two passed, and there was great activity aboard the Pequod. Not only # were the old sails being mended, but new sails were coming on board, and bolts # of canvas, and coils of rigging; in short, everything betokened that the ship’s # preparations were hurrying to a close. Captain Peleg seldom or never went # ashore, but sat in his wigwam keeping a sharp look-out upon the hands: Bildad # did all the purchasing and providing at the stores; and the men employed in the # hold and on the rigging were working till long after night-fall. # # On the day following Queequeg’s signing the articles, word was given at all the # inns where the ship’s company were stopping, that their chests must be on board # before night, for there was no telling how soon the vessel might be sailing. So # Queequeg and I got down our traps, resolving, however, to sleep ashore till the # last. But it seems they always give very long notice in these cases, and the # ship did not sail for several days. But no wonder; there was a good deal to be # done, and there is no telling how many things to be thought of, before the # Pequod was fully equipped. # # Every one knows what a multitude of things—beds, sauce-pans, knives and forks, # shovels and tongs, napkins, nut-crackers, and what not, are indispensable to the # business of housekeeping. Just so with whaling, which necessitates a # three-years’ housekeeping upon the wide ocean, far from all grocers, # costermongers, doctors, bakers, and bankers. And though this also holds true of # merchant vessels, yet not by any means to the same extent as with whalemen. For # besides the great length of the whaling voyage, the numerous articles peculiar # to the prosecution of the fishery, and the impossibility of replacing them at # the remote harbors usually frequented, it must be remembered, that of all ships, # whaling vessels are the most exposed to accidents of all kinds, and especially # to the destruction and loss of the very things upon which the success of the # voyage most depends. Hence, the spare boats, spare spars, and spare lines and # harpoons, and spare everythings, almost, but a spare Captain and duplicate ship. # # At the period of our arrival at the Island, the heaviest storage of the Pequod # had been almost completed; comprising her beef, bread, water, fuel, and iron # hoops and staves. But, as before hinted, for some time there was a continual # fetching and carrying on board of divers odds and ends of things, both large and # small. # # Chief among those who did this fetching and carrying was Captain Bildad’s # sister, a lean old lady of a most determined and indefatigable spirit, but # withal very kindhearted, who seemed resolved that, if she could help it, nothing # should be found wanting in the Pequod, after once fairly getting to sea. At one # time she would come on board with a jar of pickles for the steward’s pantry; # another time with a bunch of quills for the chief mate’s desk, where he kept his # log; a third time with a roll of flannel for the small of some one’s rheumatic # back. Never did any woman better deserve her name, which was Charity—Aunt # Charity, as everybody called her. And like a sister of charity did this # charitable Aunt Charity bustle about hither and thither, ready to turn her hand # and heart to anything that promised to yield safety, comfort, and consolation to # all on board a ship in which her beloved brother Bildad was concerned, and in # which she herself owned a score or two of well-saved dollars. # # But it was startling to see this excellent hearted Quakeress coming on board, as # she did the last day, with a long oil-ladle in one hand, and a still longer # whaling lance in the other. Nor was Bildad himself nor Captain Peleg at all # backward. As for Bildad, he carried about with him a long list of the articles # needed, and at every fresh arrival, down went his mark opposite that article # upon the paper. Every once in a while Peleg came hobbling out of his whalebone # den, roaring at the men down the hatchways, roaring up to the riggers at the # mast-head, and then concluded by roaring back into his wigwam. # # During these days of preparation, Queequeg and I often visited the craft, and as # often I asked about Captain Ahab, and how he was, and when he was going to come # on board his ship. To these questions they would answer, that he was getting # better and better, and was expected aboard every day; meantime, the two # captains, Peleg and Bildad, could attend to everything necessary to fit the # vessel for the voyage. If I had been downright honest with myself, I would have # seen very plainly in my heart that I did but half fancy being committed this way # to so long a voyage, without once laying my eyes on the man who was to be the # absolute dictator of it, so soon as the ship sailed out upon the open sea. But # when a man suspects any wrong, it sometimes happens that if he be already # involved in the matter, he insensibly strives to cover up his suspicions even # from himself. And much this way it was with me. I said nothing, and tried to # think nothing. # # At last it was given out that some time next day the ship would certainly sail. # So next morning, Queequeg and I took a very early start. # # # # # # CHAPTER 21. Going Aboard. # # It was nearly six o’clock, but only grey imperfect misty dawn, when we drew nigh # the wharf. # # “There are some sailors running ahead there, if I see right,” said I to # Queequeg, “it can’t be shadows; she’s off by sunrise, I guess; come on!” # # “Avast!” cried a voice, whose owner at the same time coming close behind us, # laid a hand upon both our shoulders, and then insinuating himself between us, # stood stooping forward a little, in the uncertain twilight, strangely peering # from Queequeg to me. It was Elijah. # # “Going aboard?” # # “Hands off, will you,” said I. # # “Lookee here,” said Queequeg, shaking himself, “go ’way!” # # “Ain’t going aboard, then?” # # “Yes, we are,” said I, “but what business is that of yours? Do you know, Mr. # Elijah, that I consider you a little impertinent?” # # “No, no, no; I wasn’t aware of that,” said Elijah, slowly and wonderingly # looking from me to Queequeg, with the most unaccountable glances. # # “Elijah,” said I, “you will oblige my friend and me by withdrawing. We are going # to the Indian and Pacific Oceans, and would prefer not to be detained.” # # “Ye be, be ye? Coming back afore breakfast?” # # “He’s cracked, Queequeg,” said I, “come on.” # # “Holloa!” cried stationary Elijah, hailing us when we had removed a few paces. # # “Never mind him,” said I, “Queequeg, come on.” # # But he stole up to us again, and suddenly clapping his hand on my shoulder, # said—“Did ye see anything looking like men going towards that ship a while ago?” # # Struck by this plain matter-of-fact question, I answered, saying, “Yes, I # thought I did see four or five men; but it was too dim to be sure.” # # “Very dim, very dim,” said Elijah. “Morning to ye.” # # Once more we quitted him; but once more he came softly after us; and touching my # shoulder again, said, “See if you can find ’em now, will ye? # # “Find who?” # # “Morning to ye! morning to ye!” he rejoined, again moving off. “Oh! I was going # to warn ye against—but never mind, never mind—it’s all one, all in the family # too;—sharp frost this morning, ain’t it? Good-bye to ye. Shan’t see ye again # very soon, I guess; unless it’s before the Grand Jury.” And with these cracked # words he finally departed, leaving me, for the moment, in no small wonderment at # his frantic impudence. # # At last, stepping on board the Pequod, we found everything in profound quiet, # not a soul moving. The cabin entrance was locked within; the hatches were all # on, and lumbered with coils of rigging. Going forward to the forecastle, we # found the slide of the scuttle open. Seeing a light, we went down, and found # only an old rigger there, wrapped in a tattered pea-jacket. He was thrown at # whole length upon two chests, his face downwards and inclosed in his folded # arms. The profoundest slumber slept upon him. # # “Those sailors we saw, Queequeg, where can they have gone to?” said I, looking # dubiously at the sleeper. But it seemed that, when on the wharf, Queequeg had # not at all noticed what I now alluded to; hence I would have thought myself to # have been optically deceived in that matter, were it not for Elijah’s otherwise # inexplicable question. But I beat the thing down; and again marking the sleeper, # jocularly hinted to Queequeg that perhaps we had best sit up with the body; # telling him to establish himself accordingly. He put his hand upon the sleeper’s # rear, as though feeling if it was soft enough; and then, without more ado, sat # quietly down there. # # “Gracious! Queequeg, don’t sit there,” said I. # # “Oh! perry dood seat,” said Queequeg, “my country way; won’t hurt him face.” # # “Face!” said I, “call that his face? very benevolent countenance then; but how # hard he breathes, he’s heaving himself; get off, Queequeg, you are heavy, it’s # grinding the face of the poor. Get off, Queequeg! Look, he’ll twitch you off # soon. I wonder he don’t wake.” # # Queequeg removed himself to just beyond the head of the sleeper, and lighted his # tomahawk pipe. I sat at the feet. We kept the pipe passing over the sleeper, # from one to the other. Meanwhile, upon questioning him in his broken fashion, # Queequeg gave me to understand that, in his land, owing to the absence of # settees and sofas of all sorts, the king, chiefs, and great people generally, # were in the custom of fattening some of the lower orders for ottomans; and to # furnish a house comfortably in that respect, you had only to buy up eight or ten # lazy fellows, and lay them round in the piers and alcoves. Besides, it was very # convenient on an excursion; much better than those garden-chairs which are # convertible into walking-sticks; upon occasion, a chief calling his attendant, # and desiring him to make a settee of himself under a spreading tree, perhaps in # some damp marshy place. # # While narrating these things, every time Queequeg received the tomahawk from me, # he flourished the hatchet-side of it over the sleeper’s head. # # “What’s that for, Queequeg?” # # “Perry easy, kill-e; oh! perry easy!” # # He was going on with some wild reminiscences about his tomahawk-pipe, which, it # seemed, had in its two uses both brained his foes and soothed his soul, when we # were directly attracted to the sleeping rigger. The strong vapor now completely # filling the contracted hole, it began to tell upon him. He breathed with a sort # of muffledness; then seemed troubled in the nose; then revolved over once or # twice; then sat up and rubbed his eyes. # # “Holloa!” he breathed at last, “who be ye smokers?” # # “Shipped men,” answered I, “when does she sail?” # # “Aye, aye, ye are going in her, be ye? She sails to-day. The Captain came aboard # last night.” # # “What Captain?—Ahab?” # # “Who but him indeed?” # # I was going to ask him some further questions concerning Ahab, when we heard a # noise on deck. # # “Holloa! Starbuck’s astir,” said the rigger. “He’s a lively chief mate, that; # good man, and a pious; but all alive now, I must turn to.” And so saying he went # on deck, and we followed. # # It was now clear sunrise. Soon the crew came on board in twos and threes; the # riggers bestirred themselves; the mates were actively engaged; and several of # the shore people were busy in bringing various last things on board. Meanwhile # Captain Ahab remained invisibly enshrined within his cabin. # # # # # # CHAPTER 22. Merry Christmas. # # At length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship’s riggers, and # after the Pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the # ever-thoughtful Charity had come off in a whale-boat, with her last gift—a # night-cap for Stubb, the second mate, her brother-in-law, and a spare Bible for # the steward—after all this, the two Captains, Peleg and Bildad, issued from the # cabin, and turning to the chief mate, Peleg said: # # “Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is right? Captain Ahab is all # ready—just spoke to him—nothing more to be got from shore, eh? Well, call all # hands, then. Muster ’em aft here—blast ’em!” # # “No need of profane words, however great the hurry, Peleg,” said Bildad, “but # away with thee, friend Starbuck, and do our bidding.” # # How now! Here upon the very point of starting for the voyage, Captain Peleg and # Captain Bildad were going it with a high hand on the quarter-deck, just as if # they were to be joint-commanders at sea, as well as to all appearances in port. # And, as for Captain Ahab, no sign of him was yet to be seen; only, they said he # was in the cabin. But then, the idea was, that his presence was by no means # necessary in getting the ship under weigh, and steering her well out to sea. # Indeed, as that was not at all his proper business, but the pilot’s; and as he # was not yet completely recovered—so they said—therefore, Captain Ahab stayed # below. And all this seemed natural enough; especially as in the merchant service # many captains never show themselves on deck for a considerable time after # heaving up the anchor, but remain over the cabin table, having a farewell # merry-making with their shore friends, before they quit the ship for good with # the pilot. # # But there was not much chance to think over the matter, for Captain Peleg was # now all alive. He seemed to do most of the talking and commanding, and not # Bildad. # # “Aft here, ye sons of bachelors,” he cried, as the sailors lingered at the # main-mast. “Mr. Starbuck, drive ’em aft.” # # “Strike the tent there!”—was the next order. As I hinted before, this whalebone # marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the Pequod, for thirty # years, the order to strike the tent was well known to be the next thing to # heaving up the anchor. # # “Man the capstan! Blood and thunder!—jump!”—was the next command, and the crew # sprang for the handspikes. # # Now in getting under weigh, the station generally occupied by the pilot is the # forward part of the ship. And here Bildad, who, with Peleg, be it known, in # addition to his other officers, was one of the licensed pilots of the port—he # being suspected to have got himself made a pilot in order to save the Nantucket # pilot-fee to all the ships he was concerned in, for he never piloted any other # craft—Bildad, I say, might now be seen actively engaged in looking over the bows # for the approaching anchor, and at intervals singing what seemed a dismal stave # of psalmody, to cheer the hands at the windlass, who roared forth some sort of a # chorus about the girls in Booble Alley, with hearty good will. Nevertheless, not # three days previous, Bildad had told them that no profane songs would be allowed # on board the Pequod, particularly in getting under weigh; and Charity, his # sister, had placed a small choice copy of Watts in each seaman’s berth. # # Meantime, overseeing the other part of the ship, Captain Peleg ripped and swore # astern in the most frightful manner. I almost thought he would sink the ship # before the anchor could be got up; involuntarily I paused on my handspike, and # told Queequeg to do the same, thinking of the perils we both ran, in starting on # the voyage with such a devil for a pilot. I was comforting myself, however, with # the thought that in pious Bildad might be found some salvation, spite of his # seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay; when I felt a sudden sharp poke in my # rear, and turning round, was horrified at the apparition of Captain Peleg in the # act of withdrawing his leg from my immediate vicinity. That was my first kick. # # “Is that the way they heave in the marchant service?” he roared. “Spring, thou # sheep-head; spring, and break thy backbone! Why don’t ye spring, I say, all of # ye—spring! Quohog! spring, thou chap with the red whiskers; spring there, # Scotch-cap; spring, thou green pants. Spring, I say, all of ye, and spring your # eyes out!” And so saying, he moved along the windlass, here and there using his # leg very freely, while imperturbable Bildad kept leading off with his psalmody. # Thinks I, Captain Peleg must have been drinking something to-day. # # At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a # short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found # ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in # ice, as in polished armor. The long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in # the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast # curving icicles depended from the bows. # # Lank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the old # craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over her, # and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were heard,— # # “Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green. # So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.” # # Never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. They were full # of hope and fruition. Spite of this frigid winter night in the boisterous # Atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it then seemed # to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, # that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer. # # At last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no longer. The # stout sail-boat that had accompanied us began ranging alongside. # # It was curious and not unpleasing, how Peleg and Bildad were affected at this # juncture, especially Captain Bildad. For loath to depart, yet; very loath to # leave, for good, a ship bound on so long and perilous a voyage—beyond both # stormy Capes; a ship in which some thousands of his hard earned dollars were # invested; a ship, in which an old shipmate sailed as captain; a man almost as # old as he, once more starting to encounter all the terrors of the pitiless jaw; # loath to say good-bye to a thing so every way brimful of every interest to # him,—poor old Bildad lingered long; paced the deck with anxious strides; ran # down into the cabin to speak another farewell word there; again came on deck, # and looked to windward; looked towards the wide and endless waters, only bounded # by the far-off unseen Eastern Continents; looked towards the land; looked aloft; # looked right and left; looked everywhere and nowhere; and at last, mechanically # coiling a rope upon its pin, convulsively grasped stout Peleg by the hand, and # holding up a lantern, for a moment stood gazing heroically in his face, as much # as to say, “Nevertheless, friend Peleg, I can stand it; yes, I can.” # # As for Peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all his # philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern came too # near. And he, too, did not a little run from cabin to deck—now a word below, and # now a word with Starbuck, the chief mate. # # But, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about # him,—“Captain Bildad—come, old shipmate, we must go. Back the main-yard there! # Boat ahoy! Stand by to come close alongside, now! Careful, careful!—come, # Bildad, boy—say your last. Luck to ye, Starbuck—luck to ye, Mr. Stubb—luck to # ye, Mr. Flask—good-bye and good luck to ye all—and this day three years I’ll # have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket. Hurrah and away!” # # “God bless ye, and have ye in His holy keeping, men,” murmured old Bildad, # almost incoherently. “I hope ye’ll have fine weather now, so that Captain Ahab # may soon be moving among ye—a pleasant sun is all he needs, and ye’ll have # plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go. Be careful in the hunt, ye mates. # Don’t stave the boats needlessly, ye harpooneers; good white cedar plank is # raised full three per cent. within the year. Don’t forget your prayers, either. # Mr. Starbuck, mind that cooper don’t waste the spare staves. Oh! the # sail-needles are in the green locker! Don’t whale it too much a’ Lord’s days, # men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting Heaven’s good gifts. # Have an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a little leaky, I thought. # If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of fornication. Good-bye, # good-bye! Don’t keep that cheese too long down in the hold, Mr. Starbuck; it’ll # spoil. Be careful with the butter—twenty cents the pound it was, and mind ye, # if—” # # “Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering,—away!” and with that, Peleg # hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat. # # Ship and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a screaming # gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three heavy-hearted # cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone Atlantic. # # # # # # CHAPTER 23. The Lee Shore. # # Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, # encountered in New Bedford at the inn. # # When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows # into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but # Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in # mid-winter just landed from a four years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly # push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to # his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield # no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me # only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably # drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is # pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, # friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the # land, is that ship’s direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of # land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. # With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights ’gainst # the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea’s # landlessness again; for refuge’s sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only # friend her bitterest foe! # # Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable # truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to # keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and # earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore? # # But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as # God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously # dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who # would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? # Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the # spray of thy ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis! # # # # # # CHAPTER 24. The Advocate. # # As Queequeg and I are now fairly embarked in this business of whaling; and as # this business of whaling has somehow come to be regarded among landsmen as a # rather unpoetical and disreputable pursuit; therefore, I am all anxiety to # convince ye, ye landsmen, of the injustice hereby done to us hunters of whales. # # In the first place, it may be deemed almost superfluous to establish the fact, # that among people at large, the business of whaling is not accounted on a level # with what are called the liberal professions. If a stranger were introduced into # any miscellaneous metropolitan society, it would but slightly advance the # general opinion of his merits, were he presented to the company as a harpooneer, # say; and if in emulation of the naval officers he should append the initials # S.W.F. (Sperm Whale Fishery) to his visiting card, such a procedure would be # deemed pre-eminently presuming and ridiculous. # # Doubtless one leading reason why the world declines honoring us whalemen, is # this: they think that, at best, our vocation amounts to a butchering sort of # business; and that when actively engaged therein, we are surrounded by all # manner of defilements. Butchers we are, that is true. But butchers, also, and # butchers of the bloodiest badge have been all Martial Commanders whom the world # invariably delights to honor. And as for the matter of the alleged uncleanliness # of our business, ye shall soon be initiated into certain facts hitherto pretty # generally unknown, and which, upon the whole, will triumphantly plant the sperm # whale-ship at least among the cleanliest things of this tidy earth. But even # granting the charge in question to be true; what disordered slippery decks of a # whale-ship are comparable to the unspeakable carrion of those battle-fields from # which so many soldiers return to drink in all ladies’ plaudits? And if the idea # of peril so much enhances the popular conceit of the soldier’s profession; let # me assure ye that many a veteran who has freely marched up to a battery, would # quickly recoil at the apparition of the sperm whale’s vast tail, fanning into # eddies the air over his head. For what are the comprehensible terrors of man # compared with the interlinked terrors and wonders of God! # # But, though the world scouts at us whale hunters, yet does it unwittingly pay us # the profoundest homage; yea, an all-abounding adoration! for almost all the # tapers, lamps, and candles that burn round the globe, burn, as before so many # shrines, to our glory! # # But look at this matter in other lights; weigh it in all sorts of scales; see # what we whalemen are, and have been. # # Why did the Dutch in De Witt’s time have admirals of their whaling fleets? Why # did Louis XVI. of France, at his own personal expense, fit out whaling ships # from Dunkirk, and politely invite to that town some score or two of families # from our own island of Nantucket? Why did Britain between the years 1750 and # 1788 pay to her whalemen in bounties upwards of £1,000,000? And lastly, how # comes it that we whalemen of America now outnumber all the rest of the banded # whalemen in the world; sail a navy of upwards of seven hundred vessels; manned # by eighteen thousand men; yearly consuming 4,000,000 of dollars; the ships # worth, at the time of sailing, $20,000,000! and every year importing into our # harbors a well reaped harvest of $7,000,000. How comes all this, if there be not # something puissant in whaling? # # But this is not the half; look again. # # I freely assert, that the cosmopolite philosopher cannot, for his life, point # out one single peaceful influence, which within the last sixty years has # operated more potentially upon the whole broad world, taken in one aggregate, # than the high and mighty business of whaling. One way and another, it has # begotten events so remarkable in themselves, and so continuously momentous in # their sequential issues, that whaling may well be regarded as that Egyptian # mother, who bore offspring themselves pregnant from her womb. It would be a # hopeless, endless task to catalogue all these things. Let a handful suffice. For # many years past the whale-ship has been the pioneer in ferreting out the # remotest and least known parts of the earth. She has explored seas and # archipelagoes which had no chart, where no Cook or Vancouver had ever sailed. If # American and European men-of-war now peacefully ride in once savage harbors, let # them fire salutes to the honor and glory of the whale-ship, which originally # showed them the way, and first interpreted between them and the savages. They # may celebrate as they will the heroes of Exploring Expeditions, your Cooks, your # Krusensterns; but I say that scores of anonymous Captains have sailed out of # Nantucket, that were as great, and greater than your Cook and your Krusenstern. # For in their succourless empty-handedness, they, in the heathenish sharked # waters, and by the beaches of unrecorded, javelin islands, battled with virgin # wonders and terrors that Cook with all his marines and muskets would not # willingly have dared. All that is made such a flourish of in the old South Sea # Voyages, those things were but the life-time commonplaces of our heroic # Nantucketers. Often, adventures which Vancouver dedicates three chapters to, # these men accounted unworthy of being set down in the ship’s common log. Ah, the # world! Oh, the world! # # Until the whale fishery rounded Cape Horn, no commerce but colonial, scarcely # any intercourse but colonial, was carried on between Europe and the long line of # the opulent Spanish provinces on the Pacific coast. It was the whaleman who # first broke through the jealous policy of the Spanish crown, touching those # colonies; and, if space permitted, it might be distinctly shown how from those # whalemen at last eventuated the liberation of Peru, Chili, and Bolivia from the # yoke of Old Spain, and the establishment of the eternal democracy in those # parts. # # That great America on the other side of the sphere, Australia, was given to the # enlightened world by the whaleman. After its first blunder-born discovery by a # Dutchman, all other ships long shunned those shores as pestiferously barbarous; # but the whale-ship touched there. The whale-ship is the true mother of that now # mighty colony. Moreover, in the infancy of the first Australian settlement, the # emigrants were several times saved from starvation by the benevolent biscuit of # the whale-ship luckily dropping an anchor in their waters. The uncounted isles # of all Polynesia confess the same truth, and do commercial homage to the # whale-ship, that cleared the way for the missionary and the merchant, and in # many cases carried the primitive missionaries to their first destinations. If # that double-bolted land, Japan, is ever to become hospitable, it is the # whale-ship alone to whom the credit will be due; for already she is on the # threshold. # # But if, in the face of all this, you still declare that whaling has no # æsthetically noble associations connected with it, then am I ready to shiver # fifty lances with you there, and unhorse you with a split helmet every time. # # The whale has no famous author, and whaling no famous chronicler, you will say. # # The whale no famous author, and whaling no famous chronicler? Who wrote the # first account of our Leviathan? Who but mighty Job! And who composed the first # narrative of a whaling-voyage? Who, but no less a prince than Alfred the Great, # who, with his own royal pen, took down the words from Other, the Norwegian # whale-hunter of those times! And who pronounced our glowing eulogy in # Parliament? Who, but Edmund Burke! # # True enough, but then whalemen themselves are poor devils; they have no good # blood in their veins. # # No good blood in their veins? They have something better than royal blood there. # The grandmother of Benjamin Franklin was Mary Morrel; afterwards, by marriage, # Mary Folger, one of the old settlers of Nantucket, and the ancestress to a long # line of Folgers and harpooneers—all kith and kin to noble Benjamin—this day # darting the barbed iron from one side of the world to the other. # # Good again; but then all confess that somehow whaling is not respectable. # # Whaling not respectable? Whaling is imperial! By old English statutory law, the # whale is declared “a royal fish.” * # # Oh, that’s only nominal! The whale himself has never figured in any grand # imposing way. # # The whale never figured in any grand imposing way? In one of the mighty triumphs # given to a Roman general upon his entering the world’s capital, the bones of a # whale, brought all the way from the Syrian coast, were the most conspicuous # object in the cymballed procession.* # # *See subsequent chapters for something more on this head. # # Grant it, since you cite it; but, say what you will, there is no real dignity in # whaling. # # No dignity in whaling? The dignity of our calling the very heavens attest. Cetus # is a constellation in the South! No more! Drive down your hat in presence of the # Czar, and take it off to Queequeg! No more! I know a man that, in his lifetime, # has taken three hundred and fifty whales. I account that man more honorable than # that great captain of antiquity who boasted of taking as many walled towns. # # And, as for me, if, by any possibility, there be any as yet undiscovered prime # thing in me; if I shall ever deserve any real repute in that small but high # hushed world which I might not be unreasonably ambitious of; if hereafter I # shall do anything that, upon the whole, a man might rather have done than to # have left undone; if, at my death, my executors, or more properly my creditors, # find any precious MSS. in my desk, then here I prospectively ascribe all the # honor and the glory to whaling; for a whale-ship was my Yale College and my # Harvard. # # # # # # CHAPTER 25. Postscript. # # In behalf of the dignity of whaling, I would fain advance naught but # substantiated facts. But after embattling his facts, an advocate who should # wholly suppress a not unreasonable surmise, which might tell eloquently upon his # cause—such an advocate, would he not be blameworthy? # # It is well known that at the coronation of kings and queens, even modern ones, a # certain curious process of seasoning them for their functions is gone through. # There is a saltcellar of state, so called, and there may be a castor of state. # How they use the salt, precisely—who knows? Certain I am, however, that a king’s # head is solemnly oiled at his coronation, even as a head of salad. Can it be, # though, that they anoint it with a view of making its interior run well, as they # anoint machinery? Much might be ruminated here, concerning the essential dignity # of this regal process, because in common life we esteem but meanly and # contemptibly a fellow who anoints his hair, and palpably smells of that # anointing. In truth, a mature man who uses hair-oil, unless medicinally, that # man has probably got a quoggy spot in him somewhere. As a general rule, he can’t # amount to much in his totality. # # But the only thing to be considered here, is this—what kind of oil is used at # coronations? Certainly it cannot be olive oil, nor macassar oil, nor castor oil, # nor bear’s oil, nor train oil, nor cod-liver oil. What then can it possibly be, # but sperm oil in its unmanufactured, unpolluted state, the sweetest of all oils? # # Think of that, ye loyal Britons! we whalemen supply your kings and queens with # coronation stuff! # # # # # # CHAPTER 26. Knights and Squires. # # The chief mate of the Pequod was Starbuck, a native of Nantucket, and a Quaker # by descent. He was a long, earnest man, and though born on an icy coast, seemed # well adapted to endure hot latitudes, his flesh being hard as twice-baked # biscuit. Transported to the Indies, his live blood would not spoil like bottled # ale. He must have been born in some time of general drought and famine, or upon # one of those fast days for which his state is famous. Only some thirty arid # summers had he seen; those summers had dried up all his physical # superfluousness. But this, his thinness, so to speak, seemed no more the token # of wasting anxieties and cares, than it seemed the indication of any bodily # blight. It was merely the condensation of the man. He was by no means # ill-looking; quite the contrary. His pure tight skin was an excellent fit; and # closely wrapped up in it, and embalmed with inner health and strength, like a # revivified Egyptian, this Starbuck seemed prepared to endure for long ages to # come, and to endure always, as now; for be it Polar snow or torrid sun, like a # patent chronometer, his interior vitality was warranted to do well in all # climates. Looking into his eyes, you seemed to see there the yet lingering # images of those thousand-fold perils he had calmly confronted through life. A # staid, steadfast man, whose life for the most part was a telling pantomime of # action, and not a tame chapter of sounds. Yet, for all his hardy sobriety and # fortitude, there were certain qualities in him which at times affected, and in # some cases seemed well nigh to overbalance all the rest. Uncommonly # conscientious for a seaman, and endued with a deep natural reverence, the wild # watery loneliness of his life did therefore strongly incline him to # superstition; but to that sort of superstition, which in some organizations # seems rather to spring, somehow, from intelligence than from ignorance. Outward # portents and inward presentiments were his. And if at times these things bent # the welded iron of his soul, much more did his far-away domestic memories of his # young Cape wife and child, tend to bend him still more from the original # ruggedness of his nature, and open him still further to those latent influences # which, in some honest-hearted men, restrain the gush of dare-devil daring, so # often evinced by others in the more perilous vicissitudes of the fishery. “I # will have no man in my boat,” said Starbuck, “who is not afraid of a whale.” By # this, he seemed to mean, not only that the most reliable and useful courage was # that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril, but that an # utterly fearless man is a far more dangerous comrade than a coward. # # “Aye, aye,” said Stubb, the second mate, “Starbuck, there, is as careful a man # as you’ll find anywhere in this fishery.” But we shall ere long see what that # word “careful” precisely means when used by a man like Stubb, or almost any # other whale hunter. # # Starbuck was no crusader after perils; in him courage was not a sentiment; but a # thing simply useful to him, and always at hand upon all mortally practical # occasions. Besides, he thought, perhaps, that in this business of whaling, # courage was one of the great staple outfits of the ship, like her beef and her # bread, and not to be foolishly wasted. Wherefore he had no fancy for lowering # for whales after sun-down; nor for persisting in fighting a fish that too much # persisted in fighting him. For, thought Starbuck, I am here in this critical # ocean to kill whales for my living, and not to be killed by them for theirs; and # that hundreds of men had been so killed Starbuck well knew. What doom was his # own father’s? Where, in the bottomless deeps, could he find the torn limbs of # his brother? # # With memories like these in him, and, moreover, given to a certain # superstitiousness, as has been said; the courage of this Starbuck which could, # nevertheless, still flourish, must indeed have been extreme. But it was not in # reasonable nature that a man so organized, and with such terrible experiences # and remembrances as he had; it was not in nature that these things should fail # in latently engendering an element in him, which, under suitable circumstances, # would break out from its confinement, and burn all his courage up. And brave as # he might be, it was that sort of bravery chiefly, visible in some intrepid men, # which, while generally abiding firm in the conflict with seas, or winds, or # whales, or any of the ordinary irrational horrors of the world, yet cannot # withstand those more terrific, because more spiritual terrors, which sometimes # menace you from the concentrating brow of an enraged and mighty man. # # But were the coming narrative to reveal in any instance, the complete abasement # of poor Starbuck’s fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it # is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valour in the # soul. Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, # fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, # in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, # that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw # their costliest robes. That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so # far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; # bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man. Nor # can piety itself, at such a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings # against the permitting stars. But this august dignity I treat of, is not the # dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which has no robed # investiture. Thou shalt see it shining in the arm that wields a pick or drives a # spike; that democratic dignity which, on all hands, radiates without end from # God; Himself! The great God absolute! The centre and circumference of all # democracy! His omnipresence, our divine equality! # # If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter # ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the # most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift # himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman’s arm with some # ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then # against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, # which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! Bear me out in # it, thou great democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart convict, # Bunyan, the pale, poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered # leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old Cervantes; Thou who # didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a # war-horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! Thou who, in all Thy # mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly # commons; bear me out in it, O God! # # # # # # CHAPTER 27. Knights and Squires. # # Stubb was the second mate. He was a native of Cape Cod; and hence, according to # local usage, was called a Cape-Cod-man. A happy-go-lucky; neither craven nor # valiant; taking perils as they came with an indifferent air; and while engaged # in the most imminent crisis of the chase, toiling away, calm and collected as a # journeyman joiner engaged for the year. Good-humored, easy, and careless, he # presided over his whale-boat as if the most deadly encounter were but a dinner, # and his crew all invited guests. He was as particular about the comfortable # arrangement of his part of the boat, as an old stage-driver is about the # snugness of his box. When close to the whale, in the very death-lock of the # fight, he handled his unpitying lance coolly and off-handedly, as a whistling # tinker his hammer. He would hum over his old rigadig tunes while flank and flank # with the most exasperated monster. Long usage had, for this Stubb, converted the # jaws of death into an easy chair. What he thought of death itself, there is no # telling. Whether he ever thought of it at all, might be a question; but, if he # ever did chance to cast his mind that way after a comfortable dinner, no doubt, # like a good sailor, he took it to be a sort of call of the watch to tumble # aloft, and bestir themselves there, about something which he would find out when # he obeyed the order, and not sooner. # # What, perhaps, with other things, made Stubb such an easy-going, unfearing man, # so cheerily trudging off with the burden of life in a world full of grave # pedlars, all bowed to the ground with their packs; what helped to bring about # that almost impious good-humor of his; that thing must have been his pipe. For, # like his nose, his short, black little pipe was one of the regular features of # his face. You would almost as soon have expected him to turn out of his bunk # without his nose as without his pipe. He kept a whole row of pipes there ready # loaded, stuck in a rack, within easy reach of his hand; and, whenever he turned # in, he smoked them all out in succession, lighting one from the other to the end # of the chapter; then loading them again to be in readiness anew. For, when Stubb # dressed, instead of first putting his legs into his trowsers, he put his pipe # into his mouth. # # I say this continual smoking must have been one cause, at least, of his peculiar # disposition; for every one knows that this earthly air, whether ashore or # afloat, is terribly infected with the nameless miseries of the numberless # mortals who have died exhaling it; and as in time of the cholera, some people go # about with a camphorated handkerchief to their mouths; so, likewise, against all # mortal tribulations, Stubb’s tobacco smoke might have operated as a sort of # disinfecting agent. # # The third mate was Flask, a native of Tisbury, in Martha’s Vineyard. A short, # stout, ruddy young fellow, very pugnacious concerning whales, who somehow seemed # to think that the great leviathans had personally and hereditarily affronted # him; and therefore it was a sort of point of honor with him, to destroy them # whenever encountered. So utterly lost was he to all sense of reverence for the # many marvels of their majestic bulk and mystic ways; and so dead to anything # like an apprehension of any possible danger from encountering them; that in his # poor opinion, the wondrous whale was but a species of magnified mouse, or at # least water-rat, requiring only a little circumvention and some small # application of time and trouble in order to kill and boil. This ignorant, # unconscious fearlessness of his made him a little waggish in the matter of # whales; he followed these fish for the fun of it; and a three years’ voyage # round Cape Horn was only a jolly joke that lasted that length of time. As a # carpenter’s nails are divided into wrought nails and cut nails; so mankind may # be similarly divided. Little Flask was one of the wrought ones; made to clinch # tight and last long. They called him King-Post on board of the Pequod; because, # in form, he could be well likened to the short, square timber known by that name # in Arctic whalers; and which by the means of many radiating side timbers # inserted into it, serves to brace the ship against the icy concussions of those # battering seas. # # Now these three mates—Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, were momentous men. They it # was who by universal prescription commanded three of the Pequod’s boats as # headsmen. In that grand order of battle in which Captain Ahab would probably # marshal his forces to descend on the whales, these three headsmen were as # captains of companies. Or, being armed with their long keen whaling spears, they # were as a picked trio of lancers; even as the harpooneers were flingers of # javelins. # # And since in this famous fishery, each mate or headsman, like a Gothic Knight of # old, is always accompanied by his boat-steerer or harpooneer, who in certain # conjunctures provides him with a fresh lance, when the former one has been badly # twisted, or elbowed in the assault; and moreover, as there generally subsists # between the two, a close intimacy and friendliness; it is therefore but meet, # that in this place we set down who the Pequod’s harpooneers were, and to what # headsman each of them belonged. # # First of all was Queequeg, whom Starbuck, the chief mate, had selected for his # squire. But Queequeg is already known. # # Next was Tashtego, an unmixed Indian from Gay Head, the most westerly promontory # of Martha’s Vineyard, where there still exists the last remnant of a village of # red men, which has long supplied the neighboring island of Nantucket with many # of her most daring harpooneers. In the fishery, they usually go by the generic # name of Gay-Headers. Tashtego’s long, lean, sable hair, his high cheek bones, # and black rounding eyes—for an Indian, Oriental in their largeness, but # Antarctic in their glittering expression—all this sufficiently proclaimed him an # inheritor of the unvitiated blood of those proud warrior hunters, who, in quest # of the great New England moose, had scoured, bow in hand, the aboriginal forests # of the main. But no longer snuffing in the trail of the wild beasts of the # woodland, Tashtego now hunted in the wake of the great whales of the sea; the # unerring harpoon of the son fitly replacing the infallible arrow of the sires. # To look at the tawny brawn of his lithe snaky limbs, you would almost have # credited the superstitions of some of the earlier Puritans, and half-believed # this wild Indian to be a son of the Prince of the Powers of the Air. Tashtego # was Stubb the second mate’s squire. # # Third among the harpooneers was Daggoo, a gigantic, coal-black negro-savage, # with a lion-like tread—an Ahasuerus to behold. Suspended from his ears were two # golden hoops, so large that the sailors called them ring-bolts, and would talk # of securing the top-sail halyards to them. In his youth Daggoo had voluntarily # shipped on board of a whaler, lying in a lonely bay on his native coast. And # never having been anywhere in the world but in Africa, Nantucket, and the pagan # harbors most frequented by whalemen; and having now led for many years the bold # life of the fishery in the ships of owners uncommonly heedful of what manner of # men they shipped; Daggoo retained all his barbaric virtues, and erect as a # giraffe, moved about the decks in all the pomp of six feet five in his socks. # There was a corporeal humility in looking up at him; and a white man standing # before him seemed a white flag come to beg truce of a fortress. Curious to tell, # this imperial negro, Ahasuerus Daggoo, was the Squire of little Flask, who # looked like a chess-man beside him. As for the residue of the Pequod’s company, # be it said, that at the present day not one in two of the many thousand men # before the mast employed in the American whale fishery, are Americans born, # though pretty nearly all the officers are. Herein it is the same with the # American whale fishery as with the American army and military and merchant # navies, and the engineering forces employed in the construction of the American # Canals and Railroads. The same, I say, because in all these cases the native # American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously # supplying the muscles. No small number of these whaling seamen belong to the # Azores, where the outward bound Nantucket whalers frequently touch to augment # their crews from the hardy peasants of those rocky shores. In like manner, the # Greenland whalers sailing out of Hull or London, put in at the Shetland Islands, # to receive the full complement of their crew. Upon the passage homewards, they # drop them there again. How it is, there is no telling, but Islanders seem to # make the best whalemen. They were nearly all Islanders in the Pequod, Isolatoes # too, I call such, not acknowledging the common continent of men, but each # Isolato living on a separate continent of his own. Yet now, federated along one # keel, what a set these Isolatoes were! An Anacharsis Clootz deputation from all # the isles of the sea, and all the ends of the earth, accompanying Old Ahab in # the Pequod to lay the world’s grievances before that bar from which not very # many of them ever come back. Black Little Pip—he never did—oh, no! he went # before. Poor Alabama boy! On the grim Pequod’s forecastle, ye shall ere long see # him, beating his tambourine; prelusive of the eternal time, when sent for, to # the great quarter-deck on high, he was bid strike in with angels, and beat his # tambourine in glory; called a coward here, hailed a hero there! # # # # # # CHAPTER 28. Ahab. # # For several days after leaving Nantucket, nothing above hatches was seen of # Captain Ahab. The mates regularly relieved each other at the watches, and for # aught that could be seen to the contrary, they seemed to be the only commanders # of the ship; only they sometimes issued from the cabin with orders so sudden and # peremptory, that after all it was plain they but commanded vicariously. Yes, # their supreme lord and dictator was there, though hitherto unseen by any eyes # not permitted to penetrate into the now sacred retreat of the cabin. # # Every time I ascended to the deck from my watches below, I instantly gazed aft # to mark if any strange face were visible; for my first vague disquietude # touching the unknown captain, now in the seclusion of the sea, became almost a # perturbation. This was strangely heightened at times by the ragged Elijah’s # diabolical incoherences uninvitedly recurring to me, with a subtle energy I # could not have before conceived of. But poorly could I withstand them, much as # in other moods I was almost ready to smile at the solemn whimsicalities of that # outlandish prophet of the wharves. But whatever it was of apprehensiveness or # uneasiness—to call it so—which I felt, yet whenever I came to look about me in # the ship, it seemed against all warrantry to cherish such emotions. For though # the harpooneers, with the great body of the crew, were a far more barbaric, # heathenish, and motley set than any of the tame merchant-ship companies which my # previous experiences had made me acquainted with, still I ascribed this—and # rightly ascribed it—to the fierce uniqueness of the very nature of that wild # Scandinavian vocation in which I had so abandonedly embarked. But it was # especially the aspect of the three chief officers of the ship, the mates, which # was most forcibly calculated to allay these colourless misgivings, and induce # confidence and cheerfulness in every presentment of the voyage. Three better, # more likely sea-officers and men, each in his own different way, could not # readily be found, and they were every one of them Americans; a Nantucketer, a # Vineyarder, a Cape man. Now, it being Christmas when the ship shot from out her # harbor, for a space we had biting Polar weather, though all the time running # away from it to the southward; and by every degree and minute of latitude which # we sailed, gradually leaving that merciless winter, and all its intolerable # weather behind us. It was one of those less lowering, but still grey and gloomy # enough mornings of the transition, when with a fair wind the ship was rushing # through the water with a vindictive sort of leaping and melancholy rapidity, # that as I mounted to the deck at the call of the forenoon watch, so soon as I # levelled my glance towards the taffrail, foreboding shivers ran over me. Reality # outran apprehension; Captain Ahab stood upon his quarter-deck. # # There seemed no sign of common bodily illness about him, nor of the recovery # from any. He looked like a man cut away from the stake, when the fire has # overrunningly wasted all the limbs without consuming them, or taking away one # particle from their compacted aged robustness. His whole high, broad form, # seemed made of solid bronze, and shaped in an unalterable mould, like Cellini’s # cast Perseus. Threading its way out from among his grey hairs, and continuing # right down one side of his tawny scorched face and neck, till it disappeared in # his clothing, you saw a slender rod-like mark, lividly whitish. It resembled # that perpendicular seam sometimes made in the straight, lofty trunk of a great # tree, when the upper lightning tearingly darts down it, and without wrenching a # single twig, peels and grooves out the bark from top to bottom, ere running off # into the soil, leaving the tree still greenly alive, but branded. Whether that # mark was born with him, or whether it was the scar left by some desperate wound, # no one could certainly say. By some tacit consent, throughout the voyage little # or no allusion was made to it, especially by the mates. But once Tashtego’s # senior, an old Gay-Head Indian among the crew, superstitiously asserted that not # till he was full forty years old did Ahab become that way branded, and then it # came upon him, not in the fury of any mortal fray, but in an elemental strife at # sea. Yet, this wild hint seemed inferentially negatived, by what a grey Manxman # insinuated, an old sepulchral man, who, having never before sailed out of # Nantucket, had never ere this laid eye upon wild Ahab. Nevertheless, the old # sea-traditions, the immemorial credulities, popularly invested this old Manxman # with preternatural powers of discernment. So that no white sailor seriously # contradicted him when he said that if ever Captain Ahab should be tranquilly # laid out—which might hardly come to pass, so he muttered—then, whoever should do # that last office for the dead, would find a birth-mark on him from crown to # sole. # # So powerfully did the whole grim aspect of Ahab affect me, and the livid brand # which streaked it, that for the first few moments I hardly noted that not a # little of this overbearing grimness was owing to the barbaric white leg upon # which he partly stood. It had previously come to me that this ivory leg had at # sea been fashioned from the polished bone of the sperm whale’s jaw. “Aye, he was # dismasted off Japan,” said the old Gay-Head Indian once; “but like his dismasted # craft, he shipped another mast without coming home for it. He has a quiver of # ’em.” # # I was struck with the singular posture he maintained. Upon each side of the # Pequod’s quarter deck, and pretty close to the mizzen shrouds, there was an # auger hole, bored about half an inch or so, into the plank. His bone leg # steadied in that hole; one arm elevated, and holding by a shroud; Captain Ahab # stood erect, looking straight out beyond the ship’s ever-pitching prow. There # was an infinity of firmest fortitude, a determinate, unsurrenderable wilfulness, # in the fixed and fearless, forward dedication of that glance. Not a word he # spoke; nor did his officers say aught to him; though by all their minutest # gestures and expressions, they plainly showed the uneasy, if not painful, # consciousness of being under a troubled master-eye. And not only that, but moody # stricken Ahab stood before them with a crucifixion in his face; in all the # nameless regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe. # # Ere long, from his first visit in the air, he withdrew into his cabin. But after # that morning, he was every day visible to the crew; either standing in his # pivot-hole, or seated upon an ivory stool he had; or heavily walking the deck. # As the sky grew less gloomy; indeed, began to grow a little genial, he became # still less and less a recluse; as if, when the ship had sailed from home, # nothing but the dead wintry bleakness of the sea had then kept him so secluded. # And, by and by, it came to pass, that he was almost continually in the air; but, # as yet, for all that he said, or perceptibly did, on the at last sunny deck, he # seemed as unnecessary there as another mast. But the Pequod was only making a # passage now; not regularly cruising; nearly all whaling preparatives needing # supervision the mates were fully competent to, so that there was little or # nothing, out of himself, to employ or excite Ahab, now; and thus chase away, for # that one interval, the clouds that layer upon layer were piled upon his brow, as # ever all clouds choose the loftiest peaks to pile themselves upon. # # Nevertheless, ere long, the warm, warbling persuasiveness of the pleasant, # holiday weather we came to, seemed gradually to charm him from his mood. For, as # when the red-cheeked, dancing girls, April and May, trip home to the wintry, # misanthropic woods; even the barest, ruggedest, most thunder-cloven old oak will # at least send forth some few green sprouts, to welcome such glad-hearted # visitants; so Ahab did, in the end, a little respond to the playful allurings of # that girlish air. More than once did he put forth the faint blossom of a look, # which, in any other man, would have soon flowered out in a smile. # # # # # # CHAPTER 29. Enter Ahab; to Him, Stubb. # # Some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling # through the bright Quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the # threshold of the eternal August of the Tropic. The warmly cool, clear, ringing, # perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian # sherbet, heaped up—flaked up, with rose-water snow. The starred and stately # nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely # pride, the memory of their absent conquering Earls, the golden helmeted suns! # For sleeping man, ’twas hard to choose between such winsome days and such # seducing nights. But all the witcheries of that unwaning weather did not merely # lend new spells and potencies to the outward world. Inward they turned upon the # soul, especially when the still mild hours of eve came on; then, memory shot her # crystals as the clear ice most forms of noiseless twilights. And all these # subtle agencies, more and more they wrought on Ahab’s texture. # # Old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has # to do with aught that looks like death. Among sea-commanders, the old greybeards # will oftenest leave their berths to visit the night-cloaked deck. It was so with # Ahab; only that now, of late, he seemed so much to live in the open air, that # truly speaking, his visits were more to the cabin, than from the cabin to the # planks. “It feels like going down into one’s tomb,”—he would mutter to # himself—“for an old captain like me to be descending this narrow scuttle, to go # to my grave-dug berth.” # # So, almost every twenty-four hours, when the watches of the night were set, and # the band on deck sentinelled the slumbers of the band below; and when if a rope # was to be hauled upon the forecastle, the sailors flung it not rudely down, as # by day, but with some cautiousness dropt it to its place for fear of disturbing # their slumbering shipmates; when this sort of steady quietude would begin to # prevail, habitually, the silent steersman would watch the cabin-scuttle; and ere # long the old man would emerge, gripping at the iron banister, to help his # crippled way. Some considering touch of humanity was in him; for at times like # these, he usually abstained from patrolling the quarter-deck; because to his # wearied mates, seeking repose within six inches of his ivory heel, such would # have been the reverberating crack and din of that bony step, that their dreams # would have been on the crunching teeth of sharks. But once, the mood was on him # too deep for common regardings; and as with heavy, lumber-like pace he was # measuring the ship from taffrail to mainmast, Stubb, the old second mate, came # up from below, with a certain unassured, deprecating humorousness, hinted that # if Captain Ahab was pleased to walk the planks, then, no one could say nay; but # there might be some way of muffling the noise; hinting something indistinctly # and hesitatingly about a globe of tow, and the insertion into it, of the ivory # heel. Ah! Stubb, thou didst not know Ahab then. # # “Am I a cannon-ball, Stubb,” said Ahab, “that thou wouldst wad me that fashion? # But go thy ways; I had forgot. Below to thy nightly grave; where such as ye # sleep between shrouds, to use ye to the filling one at last.—Down, dog, and # kennel!” # # Starting at the unforseen concluding exclamation of the so suddenly scornful old # man, Stubb was speechless a moment; then said excitedly, “I am not used to be # spoken to that way, sir; I do but less than half like it, sir.” # # “Avast! gritted Ahab between his set teeth, and violently moving away, as if to # avoid some passionate temptation. # # “No, sir; not yet,” said Stubb, emboldened, “I will not tamely be called a dog, # sir.” # # “Then be called ten times a donkey, and a mule, and an ass, and begone, or I’ll # clear the world of thee!” # # As he said this, Ahab advanced upon him with such overbearing terrors in his # aspect, that Stubb involuntarily retreated. # # “I was never served so before without giving a hard blow for it,” 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. Didn’t that # Dough-Boy, the steward, tell me that of a morning he always finds the old man’s # hammock clothes all rumpled and tumbled, and the sheets down at the foot, and # the coverlid almost tied into knots, and the pillow a sort of frightful hot, as # though a baked brick had been on it? A hot old man! I guess he’s got what some # folks ashore call a conscience; it’s a kind of Tic-Dolly-row they say—worse nor # a toothache. Well, well; I don’t know what it is, but the Lord keep me from # catching it. He’s full of riddles; I wonder what he goes into the after hold # for, every night, as Dough-Boy tells me he suspects; what’s that for, I should # like to know? Who’s made appointments with him in the hold? Ain’t that queer, # now? But there’s no telling, it’s the old game—Here goes for a snooze. Damn me, # it’s worth a fellow’s while to be born into the world, if only to fall right # asleep. And now that I think of it, that’s about the first thing babies do, and # that’s a sort of queer, too. Damn me, but all things are queer, come to think of # ’em. But that’s against my principles. Think not, is my eleventh commandment; # and sleep when you can, is my twelfth—So here goes again. But how’s that? didn’t # he call me a dog? blazes! he called me ten times a donkey, and piled a lot of # jackasses on top of that! He might as well have kicked me, and done with it. # Maybe he did kick me, and I didn’t observe it, I was so taken all aback with his # brow, somehow. It flashed like a bleached bone. What the devil’s the matter with # me? I don’t stand right on my legs. Coming afoul of that old man has a sort of # turned me wrong side out. By the Lord, I must have been dreaming, though—How? # how? how?—but the only way’s to stash it; so here goes to hammock again; and in # the morning, I’ll see how this plaguey juggling thinks over by daylight.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 30. The Pipe. # # When Stubb had departed, Ahab stood for a while leaning over the bulwarks; and # then, as had been usual with him of late, calling a sailor of the watch, he sent # him below for his ivory stool, and also his pipe. Lighting the pipe at the # binnacle lamp and planting the stool on the weather side of the deck, he sat and # smoked. # # In old Norse times, the thrones of the sea-loving Danish kings were fabricated, # saith tradition, of the tusks of the narwhale. How could one look at Ahab then, # seated on that tripod of bones, without bethinking him of the royalty it # symbolized? For a Khan of the plank, and a king of the sea, and a great lord of # Leviathans was Ahab. # # Some moments passed, during which the thick vapor came from his mouth in quick # and constant puffs, which blew back again into his face. “How now,” he # soliloquized at last, withdrawing the tube, “this smoking no longer soothes. Oh, # my pipe! hard must it go with me if thy charm be gone! Here have I been # unconsciously toiling, not pleasuring—aye, and ignorantly smoking to windward # all the while; to windward, and with such nervous whiffs, as if, like the dying # whale, my final jets were the strongest and fullest of trouble. What business # have I with this pipe? This thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild # white vapors among mild white hairs, not among torn iron-grey locks like mine. # I’ll smoke no more—” # # He tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea. The fire hissed in the waves; the # same instant the ship shot by the bubble the sinking pipe made. With slouched # hat, Ahab lurchingly paced the planks. # # # # # # CHAPTER 31. Queen Mab. # # Next morning Stubb accosted Flask. # # “Such a queer dream, King-Post, I never had. You know the old man’s ivory leg, # well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to kick back, upon my # soul, my little man, I kicked my leg right off! And then, presto! Ahab seemed a # pyramid, and I, like a blazing fool, kept kicking at it. But what was still more # curious, Flask—you know how curious all dreams are—through all this rage that I # was in, I somehow seemed to be thinking to myself, that after all, it was not # much of an insult, that kick from Ahab. ‘Why,’ thinks I, ‘what’s the row? It’s # not a real leg, only a false leg.’ And there’s a mighty difference between a # living thump and a dead thump. That’s what makes a blow from the hand, Flask, # fifty times more savage to bear than a blow from a cane. The living member—that # makes the living insult, my little man. And thinks I to myself all the while, # mind, while I was stubbing my silly toes against that cursed pyramid—so # confoundedly contradictory was it all, all the while, I say, I was thinking to # myself, ‘what’s his leg now, but a cane—a whalebone cane. Yes,’ thinks I, ‘it # was only a playful cudgelling—in fact, only a whaleboning that he gave me—not a # base kick. Besides,’ thinks I, ‘look at it once; why, the end of it—the foot # part—what a small sort of end it is; whereas, if a broad footed farmer kicked # me, there’s a devilish broad insult. But this insult is whittled down to a point # only.’ But now comes the greatest joke of the dream, Flask. While I was # battering away at the pyramid, a sort of badger-haired old merman, with a hump # on his back, takes me by the shoulders, and slews me round. ‘What are you # ’bout?’ says he. Slid! man, but I was frightened. Such a phiz! But, somehow, # next moment I was over the fright. ‘What am I about?’ says I at last. ‘And what # business is that of yours, I should like to know, Mr. Humpback? Do you want a # kick?’ By the lord, Flask, I had no sooner said that, than he turned round his # stern to me, bent over, and dragging up a lot of seaweed he had for a clout—what # do you think, I saw?—why thunder alive, man, his stern was stuck full of # marlinspikes, with the points out. Says I, on second thoughts, ‘I guess I won’t # kick you, old fellow.’ ‘Wise Stubb,’ said he, ‘wise Stubb;’ and kept muttering # it all the time, a sort of eating of his own gums like a chimney hag. Seeing he # wasn’t going to stop saying over his ‘wise Stubb, wise Stubb,’ I thought I might # as well fall to kicking the pyramid again. But I had only just lifted my foot # for it, when he roared out, ‘Stop that kicking!’ ‘Halloa,’ says I, ‘what’s the # matter now, old fellow?’ ‘Look ye here,’ says he; ‘let’s argue the insult. # Captain Ahab kicked ye, didn’t he?’ ‘Yes, he did,’ says I—‘right here it was.’ # ‘Very good,’ says he—‘he used his ivory leg, didn’t he?’ ‘Yes, he did,’ says I. # ‘Well then,’ says he, ‘wise Stubb, what have you to complain of? Didn’t he kick # with right good will? it wasn’t a common pitch pine leg he kicked with, was it? # No, you were kicked by a great man, and with a beautiful ivory leg, Stubb. It’s # an honor; I consider it an honor. Listen, wise Stubb. In old England the # greatest lords think it great glory to be slapped by a queen, and made # garter-knights of; but, be your boast, Stubb, that ye were kicked by old Ahab, # and made a wise man of. Remember what I say; be kicked by him; account his kicks # honors; and on no account kick back; for you can’t help yourself, wise Stubb. # Don’t you see that pyramid?’ With that, he all of a sudden seemed somehow, in # some queer fashion, to swim off into the air. I snored; rolled over; and there I # was in my hammock! Now, what do you think of that dream, Flask?” # # “I don’t know; it seems a sort of foolish to me, tho.’” # # “May be; may be. But it’s made a wise man of me, Flask. D’ye see Ahab standing # there, sideways looking over the stern? Well, the best thing you can do, Flask, # is to let the old man alone; never speak to him, whatever he says. Halloa! # What’s that he shouts? Hark!” # # “Mast-head, there! Look sharp, all of ye! There are whales hereabouts! # # “If ye see a white one, split your lungs for him! # # “What do you think of that now, Flask? ain’t there a small drop of something # queer about that, eh? A white whale—did ye mark that, man? Look ye—there’s # something special in the wind. Stand by for it, Flask. Ahab has that that’s # bloody on his mind. But, mum; he comes this way.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 32. Cetology. # # Already we are boldly launched upon the deep; but soon we shall be lost in its # unshored, harbourless immensities. Ere that come to pass; ere the Pequod’s weedy # hull rolls side by side with the barnacled hulls of the leviathan; at the outset # it is but well to attend to a matter almost indispensable to a thorough # appreciative understanding of the more special leviathanic revelations and # allusions of all sorts which are to follow. # # It is some systematized exhibition of the whale in his broad genera, that I # would now fain put before you. Yet is it no easy task. The classification of the # constituents of a chaos, nothing less is here essayed. Listen to what the best # and latest authorities have laid down. # # “No branch of Zoology is so much involved as that which is entitled Cetology,” # says Captain Scoresby, A.D. 1820. # # “It is not my intention, were it in my power, to enter into the inquiry as to # the true method of dividing the cetacea into groups and families. * * * Utter # confusion exists among the historians of this animal” (sperm whale), says # Surgeon Beale, A.D. 1839. # # “Unfitness to pursue our research in the unfathomable waters.” “Impenetrable # veil covering our knowledge of the cetacea.” “A field strewn with thorns.” “All # these incomplete indications but serve to torture us naturalists.” # # Thus speak of the whale, the great Cuvier, and John Hunter, and Lesson, those # lights of zoology and anatomy. Nevertheless, though of real knowledge there be # little, yet of books there are a plenty; and so in some small degree, with # cetology, or the science of whales. Many are the men, small and great, old and # new, landsmen and seamen, who have at large or in little, written of the whale. # Run over a few:—The Authors of the Bible; Aristotle; Pliny; Aldrovandi; Sir # Thomas Browne; Gesner; Ray; Linnæus; Rondeletius; Willoughby; Green; Artedi; # Sibbald; Brisson; Marten; Lacépède; Bonneterre; Desmarest; Baron Cuvier; # Frederick Cuvier; John Hunter; Owen; Scoresby; Beale; Bennett; J. Ross Browne; # the Author of Miriam Coffin; Olmstead; and the Rev. T. Cheever. But to what # ultimate generalizing purpose all these have written, the above cited extracts # will show. # # Of the names in this list of whale authors, only those following Owen ever saw # living whales; and but one of them was a real professional harpooneer and # whaleman. I mean Captain Scoresby. On the separate subject of the Greenland or # right-whale, he is the best existing authority. But Scoresby knew nothing and # says nothing of the great sperm whale, compared with which the Greenland whale # is almost unworthy mentioning. And here be it said, that the Greenland whale is # an usurper upon the throne of the seas. He is not even by any means the largest # of the whales. Yet, owing to the long priority of his claims, and the profound # ignorance which, till some seventy years back, invested the then fabulous or # utterly unknown sperm-whale, and which ignorance to this present day still # reigns in all but some few scientific retreats and whale-ports; this usurpation # has been every way complete. Reference to nearly all the leviathanic allusions # in the great poets of past days, will satisfy you that the Greenland whale, # without one rival, was to them the monarch of the seas. But the time has at last # come for a new proclamation. This is Charing Cross; hear ye! good people # all,—the Greenland whale is deposed,—the great sperm whale now reigneth! # # There are only two books in being which at all pretend to put the living sperm # whale before you, and at the same time, in the remotest degree succeed in the # attempt. Those books are Beale’s and Bennett’s; both in their time surgeons to # English South-Sea whale-ships, and both exact and reliable men. The original # matter touching the sperm whale to be found in their volumes is necessarily # small; but so far as it goes, it is of excellent quality, though mostly confined # to scientific description. As yet, however, the sperm whale, scientific or # poetic, lives not complete in any literature. Far above all other hunted whales, # his is an unwritten life. # # Now the various species of whales need some sort of popular comprehensive # classification, if only an easy outline one for the present, hereafter to be # filled in all its departments by subsequent laborers. As no better man advances # to take this matter in hand, I hereupon offer my own poor endeavors. I promise # nothing complete; because any human thing supposed to be complete, must for that # very reason infallibly be faulty. I shall not pretend to a minute anatomical # description of the various species, or—in this place at least—to much of any # description. My object here is simply to project the draught of a # systematization of cetology. I am the architect, not the builder. # # But it is a ponderous task; no ordinary letter-sorter in the Post-Office is # equal to it. To grope down into the bottom of the sea after them; to have one’s # hands among the unspeakable foundations, ribs, and very pelvis of the world; # this is a fearful thing. What am I that I should essay to hook the nose of this # leviathan! The awful tauntings in Job might well appal me. Will he (the # leviathan) make a covenant with thee? Behold the hope of him is vain! But I have # swam through libraries and sailed through oceans; I have had to do with whales # with these visible hands; I am in earnest; and I will try. There are some # preliminaries to settle. # # First: The uncertain, unsettled condition of this science of Cetology is in the # very vestibule attested by the fact, that in some quarters it still remains a # moot point whether a whale be a fish. In his System of Nature, A.D. 1776, # Linnæus declares, “I hereby separate the whales from the fish.” But of my own # knowledge, I know that down to the year 1850, sharks and shad, alewives and # herring, against Linnæus’s express edict, were still found dividing the # possession of the same seas with the Leviathan. # # The grounds upon which Linnæus would fain have banished the whales from the # waters, he states as follows: “On account of their warm bilocular heart, their # lungs, their movable eyelids, their hollow ears, penem intrantem feminam mammis # lactantem,” and finally, “ex lege naturæ jure meritoque.” I submitted all this # to my friends Simeon Macey and Charley Coffin, of Nantucket, both messmates of # mine in a certain voyage, and they united in the opinion that the reasons set # forth were altogether insufficient. Charley profanely hinted they were humbug. # # Be it known that, waiving all argument, I take the good old fashioned ground # that the whale is a fish, and call upon holy Jonah to back me. This fundamental # thing settled, the next point is, in what internal respect does the whale differ # from other fish. Above, Linnæus has given you those items. But in brief, they # are these: lungs and warm blood; whereas, all other fish are lungless and cold # blooded. # # Next: how shall we define the whale, by his obvious externals, so as # conspicuously to label him for all time to come? To be short, then, a whale is a # spouting fish with a horizontal tail. There you have him. However contracted, # that definition is the result of expanded meditation. A walrus spouts much like # a whale, but the walrus is not a fish, because he is amphibious. But the last # term of the definition is still more cogent, as coupled with the first. Almost # any one must have noticed that all the fish familiar to landsmen have not a # flat, but a vertical, or up-and-down tail. Whereas, among spouting fish the # tail, though it may be similarly shaped, invariably assumes a horizontal # position. # # By the above definition of what a whale is, I do by no means exclude from the # leviathanic brotherhood any sea creature hitherto identified with the whale by # the best informed Nantucketers; nor, on the other hand, link with it any fish # hitherto authoritatively regarded as alien.* Hence, all the smaller, spouting, # and horizontal tailed fish must be included in this ground-plan of Cetology. # Now, then, come the grand divisions of the entire whale host. # # *I am aware that down to the present time, the fish styled Lamatins and Dugongs # (Pig-fish and Sow-fish of the Coffins of Nantucket) are included by many # naturalists among the whales. But as these pig-fish are a noisy, contemptible # set, mostly lurking in the mouths of rivers, and feeding on wet hay, and # especially as they do not spout, I deny their credentials as whales; and have # presented them with their passports to quit the Kingdom of Cetology. # # First: According to magnitude I divide the whales into three primary BOOKS # (subdivisible into CHAPTERS), and these shall comprehend them all, both small # and large. # # I. THE FOLIO WHALE; II. the OCTAVO WHALE; III. the DUODECIMO WHALE. # # As the type of the FOLIO I present the Sperm Whale; of the OCTAVO, the Grampus; # of the DUODECIMO, the Porpoise. # # FOLIOS. Among these I here include the following chapters:—I. The Sperm Whale; # II. the Right Whale; III. the Fin-Back Whale; IV. the Hump-backed Whale; V. the # Razor Back Whale; VI. the Sulphur Bottom Whale. # # BOOK I. (Folio), CHAPTER I. (Sperm Whale).—This whale, among the English of old # vaguely known as the Trumpa whale, and the Physeter whale, and the Anvil Headed # whale, is the present Cachalot of the French, and the Pottsfich of the Germans, # and the Macrocephalus of the Long Words. He is, without doubt, the largest # inhabitant of the globe; the most formidable of all whales to encounter; the # most majestic in aspect; and lastly, by far the most valuable in commerce; he # being the only creature from which that valuable substance, spermaceti, is # obtained. All his peculiarities will, in many other places, be enlarged upon. It # is chiefly with his name that I now have to do. Philologically considered, it is # absurd. Some centuries ago, when the Sperm whale was almost wholly unknown in # his own proper individuality, and when his oil was only accidentally obtained # from the stranded fish; in those days spermaceti, it would seem, was popularly # supposed to be derived from a creature identical with the one then known in # England as the Greenland or Right Whale. It was the idea also, that this same # spermaceti was that quickening humor of the Greenland Whale which the first # syllable of the word literally expresses. In those times, also, spermaceti was # exceedingly scarce, not being used for light, but only as an ointment and # medicament. It was only to be had from the druggists as you nowadays buy an # ounce of rhubarb. When, as I opine, in the course of time, the true nature of # spermaceti became known, its original name was still retained by the dealers; no # doubt to enhance its value by a notion so strangely significant of its scarcity. # And so the appellation must at last have come to be bestowed upon the whale from # which this spermaceti was really derived. # # BOOK I. (Folio), CHAPTER II. (Right Whale).—In one respect this is the most # venerable of the leviathans, being the one first regularly hunted by man. It # yields the article commonly known as whalebone or baleen; and the oil specially # known as “whale oil,” an inferior article in commerce. Among the fishermen, he # is indiscriminately designated by all the following titles: The Whale; the # Greenland Whale; the Black Whale; the Great Whale; the True Whale; the Right # Whale. There is a deal of obscurity concerning the identity of the species thus # multitudinously baptised. What then is the whale, which I include in the second # species of my Folios? It is the Great Mysticetus of the English naturalists; the # Greenland Whale of the English whalemen; the Baleine Ordinaire of the French # whalemen; the Growlands Walfish of the Swedes. It is the whale which for more # than two centuries past has been hunted by the Dutch and English in the Arctic # seas; it is the whale which the American fishermen have long pursued in the # Indian ocean, on the Brazil Banks, on the Nor’ West Coast, and various other # parts of the world, designated by them Right Whale Cruising Grounds. # # Some pretend to see a difference between the Greenland whale of the English and # the right whale of the Americans. But they precisely agree in all their grand # features; nor has there yet been presented a single determinate fact upon which # to ground a radical distinction. It is by endless subdivisions based upon the # most inconclusive differences, that some departments of natural history become # so repellingly intricate. The right whale will be elsewhere treated of at some # length, with reference to elucidating the sperm whale. # # BOOK I. (Folio), CHAPTER III. (Fin-Back).—Under this head I reckon a monster # which, by the various names of Fin-Back, Tall-Spout, and Long-John, has been # seen almost in every sea and is commonly the whale whose distant jet is so often # descried by passengers crossing the Atlantic, in the New York packet-tracks. In # the length he attains, and in his baleen, the Fin-back resembles the right # whale, but is of a less portly girth, and a lighter colour, approaching to # olive. His great lips present a cable-like aspect, formed by the intertwisting, # slanting folds of large wrinkles. His grand distinguishing feature, the fin, # from which he derives his name, is often a conspicuous object. This fin is some # three or four feet long, growing vertically from the hinder part of the back, of # an angular shape, and with a very sharp pointed end. Even if not the slightest # other part of the creature be visible, this isolated fin will, at times, be seen # plainly projecting from the surface. When the sea is moderately calm, and # slightly marked with spherical ripples, and this gnomon-like fin stands up and # casts shadows upon the wrinkled surface, it may well be supposed that the watery # circle surrounding it somewhat resembles a dial, with its style and wavy # hour-lines graved on it. On that Ahaz-dial the shadow often goes back. The # Fin-Back is not gregarious. He seems a whale-hater, as some men are man-haters. # Very shy; always going solitary; unexpectedly rising to the surface in the # remotest and most sullen waters; his straight and single lofty jet rising like a # tall misanthropic spear upon a barren plain; gifted with such wondrous power and # velocity in swimming, as to defy all present pursuit from man; this leviathan # seems the banished and unconquerable Cain of his race, bearing for his mark that # style upon his back. From having the baleen in his mouth, the Fin-Back is # sometimes included with the right whale, among a theoretic species denominated # Whalebone whales, that is, whales with baleen. Of these so called Whalebone # whales, there would seem to be several varieties, most of which, however, are # little known. Broad-nosed whales and beaked whales; pike-headed whales; bunched # whales; under-jawed whales and rostrated whales, are the fishermen’s names for a # few sorts. # # In connection with this appellative of “Whalebone whales,” it is of great # importance to mention, that however such a nomenclature may be convenient in # facilitating allusions to some kind of whales, yet it is in vain to attempt a # clear classification of the Leviathan, founded upon either his baleen, or hump, # or fin, or teeth; notwithstanding that those marked parts or features very # obviously seem better adapted to afford the basis for a regular system of # Cetology than any other detached bodily distinctions, which the whale, in his # kinds, presents. How then? The baleen, hump, back-fin, and teeth; these are # things whose peculiarities are indiscriminately dispersed among all sorts of # whales, without any regard to what may be the nature of their structure in other # and more essential particulars. Thus, the sperm whale and the humpbacked whale, # each has a hump; but there the similitude ceases. Then, this same humpbacked # whale and the Greenland whale, each of these has baleen; but there again the # similitude ceases. And it is just the same with the other parts above mentioned. # In various sorts of whales, they form such irregular combinations; or, in the # case of any one of them detached, such an irregular isolation; as utterly to # defy all general methodization formed upon such a basis. On this rock every one # of the whale-naturalists has split. # # But it may possibly be conceived that, in the internal parts of the whale, in # his anatomy—there, at least, we shall be able to hit the right classification. # Nay; what thing, for example, is there in the Greenland whale’s anatomy more # striking than his baleen? Yet we have seen that by his baleen it is impossible # correctly to classify the Greenland whale. And if you descend into the bowels of # the various leviathans, why there you will not find distinctions a fiftieth part # as available to the systematizer as those external ones already enumerated. What # then remains? nothing but to take hold of the whales bodily, in their entire # liberal volume, and boldly sort them that way. And this is the Bibliographical # system here adopted; and it is the only one that can possibly succeed, for it # alone is practicable. To proceed. # # BOOK I. (Folio) CHAPTER IV. (Hump Back).—This whale is often seen on the # northern American coast. He has been frequently captured there, and towed into # harbor. He has a great pack on him like a peddler; or you might call him the # Elephant and Castle whale. At any rate, the popular name for him does not # sufficiently distinguish him, since the sperm whale also has a hump though a # smaller one. His oil is not very valuable. He has baleen. He is the most # gamesome and light-hearted of all the whales, making more gay foam and white # water generally than any other of them. # # BOOK I. (Folio), CHAPTER V. (Razor Back).—Of this whale little is known but his # name. I have seen him at a distance off Cape Horn. Of a retiring nature, he # eludes both hunters and philosophers. Though no coward, he has never yet shown # any part of him but his back, which rises in a long sharp ridge. Let him go. I # know little more of him, nor does anybody else. # # BOOK I. (Folio), CHAPTER VI. (Sulphur Bottom).—Another retiring gentleman, with # a brimstone belly, doubtless got by scraping along the Tartarian tiles in some # of his profounder divings. He is seldom seen; at least I have never seen him # except in the remoter southern seas, and then always at too great a distance to # study his countenance. He is never chased; he would run away with rope-walks of # line. Prodigies are told of him. Adieu, Sulphur Bottom! I can say nothing more # that is true of ye, nor can the oldest Nantucketer. # # Thus ends BOOK I. (Folio), and now begins BOOK II. (Octavo). # # OCTAVOES.*—These embrace the whales of middling magnitude, among which present # may be numbered:—I., the Grampus; II., the Black Fish; III., the Narwhale; IV., # the Thrasher; V., the Killer. # # *Why this book of whales is not denominated the Quarto is very plain. Because, # while the whales of this order, though smaller than those of the former order, # nevertheless retain a proportionate likeness to them in figure, yet the # bookbinder’s Quarto volume in its dimensioned form does not preserve the shape # of the Folio volume, but the Octavo volume does. # # BOOK II. (Octavo), CHAPTER I. (Grampus).—Though this fish, whose loud sonorous # breathing, or rather blowing, has furnished a proverb to landsmen, is so well # known a denizen of the deep, yet is he not popularly classed among whales. But # possessing all the grand distinctive features of the leviathan, most naturalists # have recognised him for one. He is of moderate octavo size, varying from fifteen # to twenty-five feet in length, and of corresponding dimensions round the waist. # He swims in herds; he is never regularly hunted, though his oil is considerable # in quantity, and pretty good for light. By some fishermen his approach is # regarded as premonitory of the advance of the great sperm whale. # # BOOK II. (Octavo), CHAPTER II. (Black Fish).—I give the popular fishermen’s # names for all these fish, for generally they are the best. Where any name # happens to be vague or inexpressive, I shall say so, and suggest another. I do # so now, touching the Black Fish, so-called, because blackness is the rule among # almost all whales. So, call him the Hyena Whale, if you please. His voracity is # well known, and from the circumstance that the inner angles of his lips are # curved upwards, he carries an everlasting Mephistophelean grin on his face. This # whale averages some sixteen or eighteen feet in length. He is found in almost # all latitudes. He has a peculiar way of showing his dorsal hooked fin in # swimming, which looks something like a Roman nose. When not more profitably # employed, the sperm whale hunters sometimes capture the Hyena whale, to keep up # the supply of cheap oil for domestic employment—as some frugal housekeepers, in # the absence of company, and quite alone by themselves, burn unsavory tallow # instead of odorous wax. Though their blubber is very thin, some of these whales # will yield you upwards of thirty gallons of oil. # # BOOK II. (Octavo), CHAPTER III. (Narwhale), that is, Nostril whale.—Another # instance of a curiously named whale, so named I suppose from his peculiar horn # being originally mistaken for a peaked nose. The creature is some sixteen feet # in length, while its horn averages five feet, though some exceed ten, and even # attain to fifteen feet. Strictly speaking, this horn is but a lengthened tusk, # growing out from the jaw in a line a little depressed from the horizontal. But # it is only found on the sinister side, which has an ill effect, giving its owner # something analogous to the aspect of a clumsy left-handed man. What precise # purpose this ivory horn or lance answers, it would be hard to say. It does not # seem to be used like the blade of the sword-fish and bill-fish; though some # sailors tell me that the Narwhale employs it for a rake in turning over the # bottom of the sea for food. Charley Coffin said it was used for an ice-piercer; # for the Narwhale, rising to the surface of the Polar Sea, and finding it sheeted # with ice, thrusts his horn up, and so breaks through. But you cannot prove # either of these surmises to be correct. My own opinion is, that however this # one-sided horn may really be used by the Narwhale—however that may be—it would # certainly be very convenient to him for a folder in reading pamphlets. The # Narwhale I have heard called the Tusked whale, the Horned whale, and the Unicorn # whale. He is certainly a curious example of the Unicornism to be found in almost # every kingdom of animated nature. From certain cloistered old authors I have # gathered that this same sea-unicorn’s horn was in ancient days regarded as the # great antidote against poison, and as such, preparations of it brought immense # prices. It was also distilled to a volatile salts for fainting ladies, the same # way that the horns of the male deer are manufactured into hartshorn. Originally # it was in itself accounted an object of great curiosity. Black Letter tells me # that Sir Martin Frobisher on his return from that voyage, when Queen Bess did # gallantly wave her jewelled hand to him from a window of Greenwich Palace, as # his bold ship sailed down the Thames; “when Sir Martin returned from that # voyage,” saith Black Letter, “on bended knees he presented to her highness a # prodigious long horn of the Narwhale, which for a long period after hung in the # castle at Windsor.” An Irish author avers that the Earl of Leicester, on bended # knees, did likewise present to her highness another horn, pertaining to a land # beast of the unicorn nature. # # The Narwhale has a very picturesque, leopard-like look, being of a milk-white # ground colour, dotted with round and oblong spots of black. His oil is very # superior, clear and fine; but there is little of it, and he is seldom hunted. He # is mostly found in the circumpolar seas. # # BOOK II. (Octavo), CHAPTER IV. (Killer).—Of this whale little is precisely known # to the Nantucketer, and nothing at all to the professed naturalist. From what I # have seen of him at a distance, I should say that he was about the bigness of a # grampus. He is very savage—a sort of Feegee fish. He sometimes takes the great # Folio whales by the lip, and hangs there like a leech, till the mighty brute is # worried to death. The Killer is never hunted. I never heard what sort of oil he # has. Exception might be taken to the name bestowed upon this whale, on the # ground of its indistinctness. For we are all killers, on land and on sea; # Bonapartes and Sharks included. # # BOOK II. (Octavo), CHAPTER V. (Thrasher).—This gentleman is famous for his tail, # which he uses for a ferule in thrashing his foes. He mounts the Folio whale’s # back, and as he swims, he works his passage by flogging him; as some # schoolmasters get along in the world by a similar process. Still less is known # of the Thrasher than of the Killer. Both are outlaws, even in the lawless seas. # # Thus ends BOOK II. (Octavo), and begins BOOK III. (Duodecimo). # # DUODECIMOES.—These include the smaller whales. I. The Huzza Porpoise. II. The # Algerine Porpoise. III. The Mealy-mouthed Porpoise. # # To those who have not chanced specially to study the subject, it may possibly # seem strange, that fishes not commonly exceeding four or five feet should be # marshalled among WHALES—a word, which, in the popular sense, always conveys an # idea of hugeness. But the creatures set down above as Duodecimoes are infallibly # whales, by the terms of my definition of what a whale is—i.e. a spouting fish, # with a horizontal tail. # # BOOK III. (Duodecimo), CHAPTER 1. (Huzza Porpoise).—This is the common porpoise # found almost all over the globe. The name is of my own bestowal; for there are # more than one sort of porpoises, and something must be done to distinguish them. # I call him thus, because he always swims in hilarious shoals, which upon the # broad sea keep tossing themselves to heaven like caps in a Fourth-of-July crowd. # Their appearance is generally hailed with delight by the mariner. Full of fine # spirits, they invariably come from the breezy billows to windward. They are the # lads that always live before the wind. They are accounted a lucky omen. If you # yourself can withstand three cheers at beholding these vivacious fish, then # heaven help ye; the spirit of godly gamesomeness is not in ye. A well-fed, plump # Huzza Porpoise will yield you one good gallon of good oil. But the fine and # delicate fluid extracted from his jaws is exceedingly valuable. It is in request # among jewellers and watchmakers. Sailors put it on their hones. Porpoise meat is # good eating, you know. It may never have occurred to you that a porpoise spouts. # Indeed, his spout is so small that it is not very readily discernible. But the # next time you have a chance, watch him; and you will then see the great Sperm # whale himself in miniature. # # BOOK III. (Duodecimo), CHAPTER II. (Algerine Porpoise).—A pirate. Very savage. # He is only found, I think, in the Pacific. He is somewhat larger than the Huzza # Porpoise, but much of the same general make. Provoke him, and he will buckle to # a shark. I have lowered for him many times, but never yet saw him captured. # # BOOK III. (Duodecimo), CHAPTER III. (Mealy-mouthed Porpoise).—The largest kind # of Porpoise; and only found in the Pacific, so far as it is known. The only # English name, by which he has hitherto been designated, is that of the # fishers—Right-Whale Porpoise, from the circumstance that he is chiefly found in # the vicinity of that Folio. In shape, he differs in some degree from the Huzza # Porpoise, being of a less rotund and jolly girth; indeed, he is of quite a neat # and gentleman-like figure. He has no fins on his back (most other porpoises # have), he has a lovely tail, and sentimental Indian eyes of a hazel hue. But his # mealy-mouth spoils all. Though his entire back down to his side fins is of a # deep sable, yet a boundary line, distinct as the mark in a ship’s hull, called # the “bright waist,” that line streaks him from stem to stern, with two separate # colours, black above and white below. The white comprises part of his head, and # the whole of his mouth, which makes him look as if he had just escaped from a # felonious visit to a meal-bag. A most mean and mealy aspect! His oil is much # like that of the common porpoise. # # * * * * * * # # Beyond the DUODECIMO, this system does not proceed, inasmuch as the Porpoise is # the smallest of the whales. Above, you have all the Leviathans of note. But # there are a rabble of uncertain, fugitive, half-fabulous whales, which, as an # American whaleman, I know by reputation, but not personally. I shall enumerate # them by their fore-castle appellations; for possibly such a list may be valuable # to future investigators, who may complete what I have here but begun. If any of # the following whales, shall hereafter be caught and marked, then he can readily # be incorporated into this System, according to his Folio, Octavo, or Duodecimo # magnitude:—The Bottle-Nose Whale; the Junk Whale; the Pudding-Headed Whale; the # Cape Whale; the Leading Whale; the Cannon Whale; the Scragg Whale; the Coppered # Whale; the Elephant Whale; the Iceberg Whale; the Quog Whale; the Blue Whale; # etc. From Icelandic, Dutch, and old English authorities, there might be quoted # other lists of uncertain whales, blessed with all manner of uncouth names. But I # omit them as altogether obsolete; and can hardly help suspecting them for mere # sounds, full of Leviathanism, but signifying nothing. # # Finally: It was stated at the outset, that this system would not be here, and at # once, perfected. You cannot but plainly see that I have kept my word. But I now # leave my cetological System standing thus unfinished, even as the great # Cathedral of Cologne was left, with the crane still standing upon the top of the # uncompleted tower. For small erections may be finished by their first # architects; grand ones, true ones, ever leave the copestone to posterity. God # keep me from ever completing anything. This whole book is but a draught—nay, but # the draught of a draught. Oh, Time, Strength, Cash, and Patience! # # # # # # CHAPTER 33. The Specksnyder. # # Concerning the officers of the whale-craft, this seems as good a place as any to # set down a little domestic peculiarity on ship-board, arising from the existence # of the harpooneer class of officers, a class unknown of course in any other # marine than the whale-fleet. # # The large importance attached to the harpooneer’s vocation is evinced by the # fact, that originally in the old Dutch Fishery, two centuries and more ago, the # command of a whale ship was not wholly lodged in the person now called the # captain, but was divided between him and an officer called the Specksnyder. # Literally this word means Fat-Cutter; usage, however, in time made it equivalent # to Chief Harpooneer. In those days, the captain’s authority was restricted to # the navigation and general management of the vessel; while over the # whale-hunting department and all its concerns, the Specksnyder or Chief # Harpooneer reigned supreme. In the British Greenland Fishery, under the # corrupted title of Specksioneer, this old Dutch official is still retained, but # his former dignity is sadly abridged. At present he ranks simply as senior # Harpooneer; and as such, is but one of the captain’s more inferior subalterns. # Nevertheless, as upon the good conduct of the harpooneers the success of a # whaling voyage largely depends, and since in the American Fishery he is not only # an important officer in the boat, but under certain circumstances (night watches # on a whaling ground) the command of the ship’s deck is also his; therefore the # grand political maxim of the sea demands, that he should nominally live apart # from the men before the mast, and be in some way distinguished as their # professional superior; though always, by them, familiarly regarded as their # social equal. # # Now, the grand distinction drawn between officer and man at sea, is this—the # first lives aft, the last forward. Hence, in whale-ships and merchantmen alike, # the mates have their quarters with the captain; and so, too, in most of the # American whalers the harpooneers are lodged in the after part of the ship. That # is to say, they take their meals in the captain’s cabin, and sleep in a place # indirectly communicating with it. # # Though the long period of a Southern whaling voyage (by far the longest of all # voyages now or ever made by man), the peculiar perils of it, and the community # of interest prevailing among a company, all of whom, high or low, depend for # their profits, not upon fixed wages, but upon their common luck, together with # their common vigilance, intrepidity, and hard work; though all these things do # in some cases tend to beget a less rigorous discipline than in merchantmen # generally; yet, never mind how much like an old Mesopotamian family these # whalemen may, in some primitive instances, live together; for all that, the # punctilious externals, at least, of the quarter-deck are seldom materially # relaxed, and in no instance done away. Indeed, many are the Nantucket ships in # which you will see the skipper parading his quarter-deck with an elated grandeur # not surpassed in any military navy; nay, extorting almost as much outward homage # as if he wore the imperial purple, and not the shabbiest of pilot-cloth. # # And though of all men the moody captain of the Pequod was the least given to # that sort of shallowest assumption; and though the only homage he ever exacted, # was implicit, instantaneous obedience; though he required no man to remove the # shoes from his feet ere stepping upon the quarter-deck; and though there were # times when, owing to peculiar circumstances connected with events hereafter to # be detailed, he addressed them in unusual terms, whether of condescension or in # terrorem, or otherwise; yet even Captain Ahab was by no means unobservant of the # paramount forms and usages of the sea. # # Nor, perhaps, will it fail to be eventually perceived, that behind those forms # and usages, as it were, he sometimes masked himself; incidentally making use of # them for other and more private ends than they were legitimately intended to # subserve. That certain sultanism of his brain, which had otherwise in a good # degree remained unmanifested; through those forms that same sultanism became # incarnate in an irresistible dictatorship. For be a man’s intellectual # superiority what it will, it can never assume the practical, available supremacy # over other men, without the aid of some sort of external arts and entrenchments, # always, in themselves, more or less paltry and base. This it is, that for ever # keeps God’s true princes of the Empire from the world’s hustings; and leaves the # highest honors that this air can give, to those men who become famous more # through their infinite inferiority to the choice hidden handful of the Divine # Inert, than through their undoubted superiority over the dead level of the mass. # Such large virtue lurks in these small things when extreme political # superstitions invest them, that in some royal instances even to idiot imbecility # they have imparted potency. But when, as in the case of Nicholas the Czar, the # ringed crown of geographical empire encircles an imperial brain; then, the # plebeian herds crouch abased before the tremendous centralization. Nor, will the # tragic dramatist who would depict mortal indomitableness in its fullest sweep # and direct swing, ever forget a hint, incidentally so important in his art, as # the one now alluded to. # # But Ahab, my Captain, still moves before me in all his Nantucket grimness and # shagginess; and in this episode touching Emperors and Kings, I must not conceal # that I have only to do with a poor old whale-hunter like him; and, therefore, # all outward majestical trappings and housings are denied me. Oh, Ahab! what # shall be grand in thee, it must needs be plucked at from the skies, and dived # for in the deep, and featured in the unbodied air! # # # # # # CHAPTER 34. The Cabin-Table. # # It is noon; and Dough-Boy, the steward, thrusting his pale loaf-of-bread face # from the cabin-scuttle, announces dinner to his lord and master; who, sitting in # the lee quarter-boat, has just been taking an observation of the sun; and is now # mutely reckoning the latitude on the smooth, medallion-shaped tablet, reserved # for that daily purpose on the upper part of his ivory leg. From his complete # inattention to the tidings, you would think that moody Ahab had not heard his # menial. But presently, catching hold of the mizen shrouds, he swings himself to # the deck, and in an even, unexhilarated voice, saying, “Dinner, Mr. Starbuck,” # disappears into the cabin. # # When the last echo of his sultan’s step has died away, and Starbuck, the first # Emir, has every reason to suppose that he is seated, then Starbuck rouses from # his quietude, takes a few turns along the planks, and, after a grave peep into # the binnacle, says, with some touch of pleasantness, “Dinner, Mr. Stubb,” and # descends the scuttle. The second Emir lounges about the rigging awhile, and then # slightly shaking the main brace, to see whether it will be all right with that # important rope, he likewise takes up the old burden, and with a rapid “Dinner, # Mr. Flask,” follows after his predecessors. # # But the third Emir, now seeing himself all alone on the quarter-deck, seems to # feel relieved from some curious restraint; for, tipping all sorts of knowing # winks in all sorts of directions, and kicking off his shoes, he strikes into a # sharp but noiseless squall of a hornpipe right over the Grand Turk’s head; and # then, by a dexterous sleight, pitching his cap up into the mizentop for a shelf, # he goes down rollicking so far at least as he remains visible from the deck, # reversing all other processions, by bringing up the rear with music. But ere # stepping into the cabin doorway below, he pauses, ships a new face altogether, # and, then, independent, hilarious little Flask enters King Ahab’s presence, in # the character of Abjectus, or the Slave. # # It is not the least among the strange things bred by the intense artificialness # of sea-usages, that while in the open air of the deck some officers will, upon # provocation, bear themselves boldly and defyingly enough towards their # commander; yet, ten to one, let those very officers the next moment go down to # their customary dinner in that same commander’s cabin, and straightway their # inoffensive, not to say deprecatory and humble air towards him, as he sits at # the head of the table; this is marvellous, sometimes most comical. Wherefore # this difference? A problem? Perhaps not. To have been Belshazzar, King of # Babylon; and to have been Belshazzar, not haughtily but courteously, therein # certainly must have been some touch of mundane grandeur. But he who in the # rightly regal and intelligent spirit presides over his own private dinner-table # of invited guests, that man’s unchallenged power and dominion of individual # influence for the time; that man’s royalty of state transcends Belshazzar’s, for # Belshazzar was not the greatest. Who has but once dined his friends, has tasted # what it is to be Cæsar. It is a witchery of social czarship which there is no # withstanding. Now, if to this consideration you superadd the official supremacy # of a ship-master, then, by inference, you will derive the cause of that # peculiarity of sea-life just mentioned. # # Over his ivory-inlaid table, Ahab presided like a mute, maned sea-lion on the # white coral beach, surrounded by his warlike but still deferential cubs. In his # own proper turn, each officer waited to be served. They were as little children # before Ahab; and yet, in Ahab, there seemed not to lurk the smallest social # arrogance. With one mind, their intent eyes all fastened upon the old man’s # knife, as he carved the chief dish before him. I do not suppose that for the # world they would have profaned that moment with the slightest observation, even # upon so neutral a topic as the weather. No! And when reaching out his knife and # fork, between which the slice of beef was locked, Ahab thereby motioned # Starbuck’s plate towards him, the mate received his meat as though receiving # alms; and cut it tenderly; and a little started if, perchance, the knife grazed # against the plate; and chewed it noiselessly; and swallowed it, not without # circumspection. For, like the Coronation banquet at Frankfort, where the German # Emperor profoundly dines with the seven Imperial Electors, so these cabin meals # were somehow solemn meals, eaten in awful silence; and yet at table old Ahab # forbade not conversation; only he himself was dumb. What a relief it was to # choking Stubb, when a rat made a sudden racket in the hold below. And poor # little Flask, he was the youngest son, and little boy of this weary family # party. His were the shinbones of the saline beef; his would have been the # drumsticks. For Flask to have presumed to help himself, this must have seemed to # him tantamount to larceny in the first degree. Had he helped himself at that # table, doubtless, never more would he have been able to hold his head up in this # honest world; nevertheless, strange to say, Ahab never forbade him. And had # Flask helped himself, the chances were Ahab had never so much as noticed it. # Least of all, did Flask presume to help himself to butter. Whether he thought # the owners of the ship denied it to him, on account of its clotting his clear, # sunny complexion; or whether he deemed that, on so long a voyage in such # marketless waters, butter was at a premium, and therefore was not for him, a # subaltern; however it was, Flask, alas! was a butterless man! # # Another thing. Flask was the last person down at the dinner, and Flask is the # first man up. Consider! For hereby Flask’s dinner was badly jammed in point of # time. Starbuck and Stubb both had the start of him; and yet they also have the # privilege of lounging in the rear. If Stubb even, who is but a peg higher than # Flask, happens to have but a small appetite, and soon shows symptoms of # concluding his repast, then Flask must bestir himself, he will not get more than # three mouthfuls that day; for it is against holy usage for Stubb to precede # Flask to the deck. Therefore it was that Flask once admitted in private, that # ever since he had arisen to the dignity of an officer, from that moment he had # never known what it was to be otherwise than hungry, more or less. For what he # ate did not so much relieve his hunger, as keep it immortal in him. Peace and # satisfaction, thought Flask, have for ever departed from my stomach. I am an # officer; but, how I wish I could fish a bit of old-fashioned beef in the # forecastle, as I used to when I was before the mast. There’s the fruits of # promotion now; there’s the vanity of glory: there’s the insanity of life! # Besides, if it were so that any mere sailor of the Pequod had a grudge against # Flask in Flask’s official capacity, all that sailor had to do, in order to # obtain ample vengeance, was to go aft at dinner-time, and get a peep at Flask # through the cabin sky-light, sitting silly and dumfoundered before awful Ahab. # # Now, Ahab and his three mates formed what may be called the first table in the # Pequod’s cabin. After their departure, taking place in inverted order to their # arrival, the canvas cloth was cleared, or rather was restored to some hurried # order by the pallid steward. And then the three harpooneers were bidden to the # feast, they being its residuary legatees. They made a sort of temporary # servants’ hall of the high and mighty cabin. # # In strange contrast to the hardly tolerable constraint and nameless invisible # domineerings of the captain’s table, was the entire care-free license and ease, # the almost frantic democracy of those inferior fellows the harpooneers. While # their masters, the mates, seemed afraid of the sound of the hinges of their own # jaws, the harpooneers chewed their food with such a relish that there was a # report to it. They dined like lords; they filled their bellies like Indian ships # all day loading with spices. Such portentous appetites had Queequeg and # Tashtego, that to fill out the vacancies made by the previous repast, often the # pale Dough-Boy was fain to bring on a great baron of salt-junk, seemingly # quarried out of the solid ox. And if he were not lively about it, if he did not # go with a nimble hop-skip-and-jump, then Tashtego had an ungentlemanly way of # accelerating him by darting a fork at his back, harpoon-wise. And once Daggoo, # seized with a sudden humor, assisted Dough-Boy’s memory by snatching him up # bodily, and thrusting his head into a great empty wooden trencher, while # Tashtego, knife in hand, began laying out the circle preliminary to scalping # him. He was naturally a very nervous, shuddering sort of little fellow, this # bread-faced steward; the progeny of a bankrupt baker and a hospital nurse. And # what with the standing spectacle of the black terrific Ahab, and the periodical # tumultuous visitations of these three savages, Dough-Boy’s whole life was one # continual lip-quiver. Commonly, after seeing the harpooneers furnished with all # things they demanded, he would escape from their clutches into his little pantry # adjoining, and fearfully peep out at them through the blinds of its door, till # all was over. # # It was a sight to see Queequeg seated over against Tashtego, opposing his filed # teeth to the Indian’s: crosswise to them, Daggoo seated on the floor, for a # bench would have brought his hearse-plumed head to the low carlines; at every # motion of his colossal limbs, making the low cabin framework to shake, as when # an African elephant goes passenger in a ship. But for all this, the great negro # was wonderfully abstemious, not to say dainty. It seemed hardly possible that by # such comparatively small mouthfuls he could keep up the vitality diffused # through so broad, baronial, and superb a person. But, doubtless, this noble # savage fed strong and drank deep of the abounding element of air; and through # his dilated nostrils snuffed in the sublime life of the worlds. Not by beef or # by bread, are giants made or nourished. But Queequeg, he had a mortal, barbaric # smack of the lip in eating—an ugly sound enough—so much so, that the trembling # Dough-Boy almost looked to see whether any marks of teeth lurked in his own lean # arms. And when he would hear Tashtego singing out for him to produce himself, # that his bones might be picked, the simple-witted steward all but shattered the # crockery hanging round him in the pantry, by his sudden fits of the palsy. Nor # did the whetstone which the harpooneers carried in their pockets, for their # lances and other weapons; and with which whetstones, at dinner, they would # ostentatiously sharpen their knives; that grating sound did not at all tend to # tranquillize poor Dough-Boy. How could he forget that in his Island days, # Queequeg, for one, must certainly have been guilty of some murderous, convivial # indiscretions. Alas! Dough-Boy! hard fares the white waiter who waits upon # cannibals. Not a napkin should he carry on his arm, but a buckler. In good time, # though, to his great delight, the three salt-sea warriors would rise and depart; # to his credulous, fable-mongering ears, all their martial bones jingling in them # at every step, like Moorish scimetars in scabbards. # # But, though these barbarians dined in the cabin, and nominally lived there; # still, being anything but sedentary in their habits, they were scarcely ever in # it except at mealtimes, and just before sleeping-time, when they passed through # it to their own peculiar quarters. # # In this one matter, Ahab seemed no exception to most American whale captains, # who, as a set, rather incline to the opinion that by rights the ship’s cabin # belongs to them; and that it is by courtesy alone that anybody else is, at any # time, permitted there. So that, in real truth, the mates and harpooneers of the # Pequod might more properly be said to have lived out of the cabin than in it. # For when they did enter it, it was something as a street-door enters a house; # turning inwards for a moment, only to be turned out the next; and, as a # permanent thing, residing in the open air. Nor did they lose much hereby; in the # cabin was no companionship; socially, Ahab was inaccessible. Though nominally # included in the census of Christendom, he was still an alien to it. He lived in # the world, as the last of the Grisly Bears lived in settled Missouri. And as # when Spring and Summer had departed, that wild Logan of the woods, burying # himself in the hollow of a tree, lived out the winter there, sucking his own # paws; so, in his inclement, howling old age, Ahab’s soul, shut up in the caved # trunk of his body, there fed upon the sullen paws of its gloom! # # # # # # CHAPTER 35. The Mast-Head. # # It was during the more pleasant weather, that in due rotation with the other # seamen my first mast-head came round. # # In most American whalemen the mast-heads are manned almost simultaneously with # the vessel’s leaving her port; even though she may have fifteen thousand miles, # and more, to sail ere reaching her proper cruising ground. And if, after a # three, four, or five years’ voyage she is drawing nigh home with anything empty # in her—say, an empty vial even—then, her mast-heads are kept manned to the last; # and not till her skysail-poles sail in among the spires of the port, does she # altogether relinquish the hope of capturing one whale more. # # Now, as the business of standing mast-heads, ashore or afloat, is a very ancient # and interesting one, let us in some measure expatiate here. I take it, that the # earliest standers of mast-heads were the old Egyptians; because, in all my # researches, I find none prior to them. For though their progenitors, the # builders of Babel, must doubtless, by their tower, have intended to rear the # loftiest mast-head in all Asia, or Africa either; yet (ere the final truck was # put to it) as that great stone mast of theirs may be said to have gone by the # board, in the dread gale of God’s wrath; therefore, we cannot give these Babel # builders priority over the Egyptians. And that the Egyptians were a nation of # mast-head standers, is an assertion based upon the general belief among # archæologists, that the first pyramids were founded for astronomical purposes: a # theory singularly supported by the peculiar stair-like formation of all four # sides of those edifices; whereby, with prodigious long upliftings of their legs, # those old astronomers were wont to mount to the apex, and sing out for new # stars; even as the look-outs of a modern ship sing out for a sail, or a whale # just bearing in sight. In Saint Stylites, the famous Christian hermit of old # times, who built him a lofty stone pillar in the desert and spent the whole # latter portion of his life on its summit, hoisting his food from the ground with # a tackle; in him we have a remarkable instance of a dauntless # stander-of-mast-heads; who was not to be driven from his place by fogs or # frosts, rain, hail, or sleet; but valiantly facing everything out to the last, # literally died at his post. Of modern standers-of-mast-heads we have but a # lifeless set; mere stone, iron, and bronze men; who, though well capable of # facing out a stiff gale, are still entirely incompetent to the business of # singing out upon discovering any strange sight. There is Napoleon; who, upon the # top of the column of Vendome, stands with arms folded, some one hundred and # fifty feet in the air; careless, now, who rules the decks below; whether Louis # Philippe, Louis Blanc, or Louis the Devil. Great Washington, too, stands high # aloft on his towering main-mast in Baltimore, and like one of Hercules’ pillars, # his column marks that point of human grandeur beyond which few mortals will go. # Admiral Nelson, also, on a capstan of gun-metal, stands his mast-head in # Trafalgar Square; and ever when most obscured by that London smoke, token is yet # given that a hidden hero is there; for where there is smoke, must be fire. But # neither great Washington, nor Napoleon, nor Nelson, will answer a single hail # from below, however madly invoked to befriend by their counsels the distracted # decks upon which they gaze; however it may be surmised, that their spirits # penetrate through the thick haze of the future, and descry what shoals and what # rocks must be shunned. # # It may seem unwarrantable to couple in any respect the mast-head standers of the # land with those of the sea; but that in truth it is not so, is plainly evinced # by an item for which Obed Macy, the sole historian of Nantucket, stands # accountable. The worthy Obed tells us, that in the early times of the whale # fishery, ere ships were regularly launched in pursuit of the game, the people of # that island erected lofty spars along the sea-coast, to which the look-outs # ascended by means of nailed cleats, something as fowls go upstairs in a # hen-house. A few years ago this same plan was adopted by the Bay whalemen of New # Zealand, who, upon descrying the game, gave notice to the ready-manned boats # nigh the beach. But this custom has now become obsolete; turn we then to the one # proper mast-head, that of a whale-ship at sea. The three mast-heads are kept # manned from sun-rise to sun-set; the seamen taking their regular turns (as at # the helm), and relieving each other every two hours. In the serene weather of # the tropics it is exceedingly pleasant the mast-head; nay, to a dreamy # meditative man it is delightful. There you stand, a hundred feet above the # silent decks, striding along the deep, as if the masts were gigantic stilts, # while beneath you and between your legs, as it were, swim the hugest monsters of # the sea, even as ships once sailed between the boots of the famous Colossus at # old Rhodes. There you stand, lost in the infinite series of the sea, with # nothing ruffled but the waves. The tranced ship indolently rolls; the drowsy # trade winds blow; everything resolves you into languor. For the most part, in # this tropic whaling life, a sublime uneventfulness invests you; you hear no # news; read no gazettes; extras with startling accounts of commonplaces never # delude you into unnecessary excitements; you hear of no domestic afflictions; # bankrupt securities; fall of stocks; are never troubled with the thought of what # you shall have for dinner—for all your meals for three years and more are snugly # stowed in casks, and your bill of fare is immutable. # # In one of those southern whalesmen, on a long three or four years’ voyage, as # often happens, the sum of the various hours you spend at the mast-head would # amount to several entire months. And it is much to be deplored that the place to # which you devote so considerable a portion of the whole term of your natural # life, should be so sadly destitute of anything approaching to a cosy # inhabitiveness, or adapted to breed a comfortable localness of feeling, such as # pertains to a bed, a hammock, a hearse, a sentry box, a pulpit, a coach, or any # other of those small and snug contrivances in which men temporarily isolate # themselves. Your most usual point of perch is the head of the t’ gallant-mast, # where you stand upon two thin parallel sticks (almost peculiar to whalemen) # called the t’ gallant cross-trees. Here, tossed about by the sea, the beginner # feels about as cosy as he would standing on a bull’s horns. To be sure, in cold # weather you may carry your house aloft with you, in the shape of a watch-coat; # but properly speaking the thickest watch-coat is no more of a house than the # unclad body; for as the soul is glued inside of its fleshy tabernacle, and # cannot freely move about in it, nor even move out of it, without running great # risk of perishing (like an ignorant pilgrim crossing the snowy Alps in winter); # so a watch-coat is not so much of a house as it is a mere envelope, or # additional skin encasing you. You cannot put a shelf or chest of drawers in your # body, and no more can you make a convenient closet of your watch-coat. # # Concerning all this, it is much to be deplored that the mast-heads of a southern # whale ship are unprovided with those enviable little tents or pulpits, called # crow’s-nests, in which the look-outs of a Greenland whaler are protected from # the inclement weather of the frozen seas. In the fireside narrative of Captain # Sleet, entitled “A Voyage among the Icebergs, in quest of the Greenland Whale, # and incidentally for the re-discovery of the Lost Icelandic Colonies of Old # Greenland;” in this admirable volume, all standers of mast-heads are furnished # with a charmingly circumstantial account of the then recently invented # crow’s-nest of the Glacier, which was the name of Captain Sleet’s good craft. He # called it the Sleet’s crow’s-nest, in honor of himself; he being the original # inventor and patentee, and free from all ridiculous false delicacy, and holding # that if we call our own children after our own names (we fathers being the # original inventors and patentees), so likewise should we denominate after # ourselves any other apparatus we may beget. In shape, the Sleet’s crow’s-nest is # something like a large tierce or pipe; it is open above, however, where it is # furnished with a movable side-screen to keep to windward of your head in a hard # gale. Being fixed on the summit of the mast, you ascend into it through a little # trap-hatch in the bottom. On the after side, or side next the stern of the ship, # is a comfortable seat, with a locker underneath for umbrellas, comforters, and # coats. In front is a leather rack, in which to keep your speaking trumpet, pipe, # telescope, and other nautical conveniences. When Captain Sleet in person stood # his mast-head in this crow’s-nest of his, he tells us that he always had a rifle # with him (also fixed in the rack), together with a powder flask and shot, for # the purpose of popping off the stray narwhales, or vagrant sea unicorns # infesting those waters; for you cannot successfully shoot at them from the deck # owing to the resistance of the water, but to shoot down upon them is a very # different thing. Now, it was plainly a labor of love for Captain Sleet to # describe, as he does, all the little detailed conveniences of his crow’s-nest; # but though he so enlarges upon many of these, and though he treats us to a very # scientific account of his experiments in this crow’s-nest, with a small compass # he kept there for the purpose of counteracting the errors resulting from what is # called the “local attraction” of all binnacle magnets; an error ascribable to # the horizontal vicinity of the iron in the ship’s planks, and in the Glacier’s # case, perhaps, to there having been so many broken-down blacksmiths among her # crew; I say, that though the Captain is very discreet and scientific here, yet, # for all his learned “binnacle deviations,” “azimuth compass observations,” and # “approximate errors,” he knows very well, Captain Sleet, that he was not so much # immersed in those profound magnetic meditations, as to fail being attracted # occasionally towards that well replenished little case-bottle, so nicely tucked # in on one side of his crow’s nest, within easy reach of his hand. Though, upon # the whole, I greatly admire and even love the brave, the honest, and learned # Captain; yet I take it very ill of him that he should so utterly ignore that # case-bottle, seeing what a faithful friend and comforter it must have been, # while with mittened fingers and hooded head he was studying the mathematics # aloft there in that bird’s nest within three or four perches of the pole. # # But if we Southern whale-fishers are not so snugly housed aloft as Captain Sleet # and his Greenlandmen were; yet that disadvantage is greatly counter-balanced by # the widely contrasting serenity of those seductive seas in which we South # fishers mostly float. For one, I used to lounge up the rigging very leisurely, # resting in the top to have a chat with Queequeg, or any one else off duty whom I # might find there; then ascending a little way further, and throwing a lazy leg # over the top-sail yard, take a preliminary view of the watery pastures, and so # at last mount to my ultimate destination. # # Let me make a clean breast of it here, and frankly admit that I kept but sorry # guard. With the problem of the universe revolving in me, how could I—being left # completely to myself at such a thought-engendering altitude—how could I but # lightly hold my obligations to observe all whale-ships’ standing orders, “Keep # your weather eye open, and sing out every time.” # # And let me in this place movingly admonish you, ye ship-owners of Nantucket! # Beware of enlisting in your vigilant fisheries any lad with lean brow and hollow # eye; given to unseasonable meditativeness; and who offers to ship with the # Phædon instead of Bowditch in his head. Beware of such an one, I say; your # whales must be seen before they can be killed; and this sunken-eyed young # Platonist will tow you ten wakes round the world, and never make you one pint of # sperm the richer. Nor are these monitions at all unneeded. For nowadays, the # whale-fishery furnishes an asylum for many romantic, melancholy, and # absent-minded young men, disgusted with the carking cares of earth, and seeking # sentiment in tar and blubber. Childe Harold not unfrequently perches himself # upon the mast-head of some luckless disappointed whale-ship, and in moody phrase # ejaculates:— # # “Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand # blubber-hunters sweep over thee in vain.” # # Very often do the captains of such ships take those absent-minded young # philosophers to task, upbraiding them with not feeling sufficient “interest” in # the voyage; half-hinting that they are so hopelessly lost to all honorable # ambition, as that in their secret souls they would rather not see whales than # otherwise. But all in vain; those young Platonists have a notion that their # vision is imperfect; they are short-sighted; what use, then, to strain the # visual nerve? They have left their opera-glasses at home. # # “Why, thou monkey,” said a harpooneer to one of these lads, “we’ve been cruising # now hard upon three years, and thou hast not raised a whale yet. Whales are # scarce as hen’s teeth whenever thou art up here.” Perhaps they were; or perhaps # there might have been shoals of them in the far horizon; but lulled into such an # opium-like listlessness of vacant, unconscious reverie is this absent-minded # youth by the blending cadence of waves with thoughts, that at last he loses his # identity; takes the mystic ocean at his feet for the visible image of that deep, # blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature; and every strange, # half-seen, gliding, beautiful thing that eludes him; every dimly-discovered, # uprising fin of some undiscernible form, seems to him the embodiment of those # elusive thoughts that only people the soul by continually flitting through it. # In this enchanted mood, thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused # through time and space; like Cranmer’s sprinkled Pantheistic ashes, forming at # last a part of every shore the round globe over. # # There is no life in thee, now, except that rocking life imparted by a gently # rolling ship; by her, borrowed from the sea; by the sea, from the inscrutable # tides of God. But while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand # an inch; slip your hold at all; and your identity comes back in horror. Over # Descartian vortices you hover. And perhaps, at mid-day, in the fairest weather, # with one half-throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the # summer sea, no more to rise for ever. Heed it well, ye Pantheists! # # # # # # CHAPTER 36. The Quarter-Deck. # # (Enter Ahab: Then, all.) # # It was not a great while after the affair of the pipe, that one morning shortly # after breakfast, Ahab, as was his wont, ascended the cabin-gangway to the deck. # There most sea-captains usually walk at that hour, as country gentlemen, after # the same meal, take a few turns in the garden. # # Soon his steady, ivory stride was heard, as to and fro he paced his old rounds, # upon planks so familiar to his tread, that they were all over dented, like # geological stones, with the peculiar mark of his walk. Did you fixedly gaze, # too, upon that ribbed and dented brow; there also, you would see still stranger # foot-prints—the foot-prints of his one unsleeping, ever-pacing thought. # # But on the occasion in question, those dents looked deeper, even as his nervous # step that morning left a deeper mark. And, so full of his thought was Ahab, that # at every uniform turn that he made, now at the main-mast and now at the # binnacle, you could almost see that thought turn in him as he turned, and pace # in him as he paced; so completely possessing him, indeed, that it all but seemed # the inward mould of every outer movement. # # “D’ye mark him, Flask?” whispered Stubb; “the chick that’s in him pecks the # shell. ’Twill soon be out.” # # The hours wore on;—Ahab now shut up within his cabin; anon, pacing the deck, # with the same intense bigotry of purpose in his aspect. # # It drew near the close of day. Suddenly he came to a halt by the bulwarks, and # inserting his bone leg into the auger-hole there, and with one hand grasping a # shroud, he ordered Starbuck to send everybody aft. # # “Sir!” said the mate, astonished at an order seldom or never given on ship-board # except in some extraordinary case. # # “Send everybody aft,” repeated Ahab. “Mast-heads, there! come down!” # # When the entire ship’s company were assembled, and with curious and not wholly # unapprehensive faces, were eyeing him, for he looked not unlike the weather # horizon when a storm is coming up, Ahab, after rapidly glancing over the # bulwarks, and then darting his eyes among the crew, started from his standpoint; # and as though not a soul were nigh him resumed his heavy turns upon the deck. # With bent head and half-slouched hat he continued to pace, unmindful of the # wondering whispering among the men; till Stubb cautiously whispered to Flask, # that Ahab must have summoned them there for the purpose of witnessing a # pedestrian feat. But this did not last long. Vehemently pausing, he cried:— # # “What do ye do when ye see a whale, men?” # # “Sing out for him!” was the impulsive rejoinder from a score of clubbed voices. # # “Good!” cried Ahab, with a wild approval in his tones; observing the hearty # animation into which his unexpected question had so magnetically thrown them. # # “And what do ye next, men?” # # “Lower away, and after him!” # # “And what tune is it ye pull to, men?” # # “A dead whale or a stove boat!” # # More and more strangely and fiercely glad and approving, grew the countenance of # the old man at every shout; while the mariners began to gaze curiously at each # other, as if marvelling how it was that they themselves became so excited at # such seemingly purposeless questions. # # But, they were all eagerness again, as Ahab, now half-revolving in his # pivot-hole, with one hand reaching high up a shroud, and tightly, almost # convulsively grasping it, addressed them thus:— # # “All ye mast-headers have before now heard me give orders about a white whale. # Look ye! d’ye see this Spanish ounce of gold?”—holding up a broad bright coin to # the sun—“it is a sixteen dollar piece, men. D’ye see it? Mr. Starbuck, hand me # yon top-maul.” # # While the mate was getting the hammer, Ahab, without speaking, was slowly # rubbing the gold piece against the skirts of his jacket, as if to heighten its # lustre, and without using any words was meanwhile lowly humming to himself, # producing a sound so strangely muffled and inarticulate that it seemed the # mechanical humming of the wheels of his vitality in him. # # Receiving the top-maul from Starbuck, he advanced towards the main-mast with the # hammer uplifted in one hand, exhibiting the gold with the other, and with a high # raised voice exclaiming: “Whosoever of ye raises me a white-headed whale with a # wrinkled brow and a crooked jaw; whosoever of ye raises me that white-headed # whale, with three holes punctured in his starboard fluke—look ye, whosoever of # ye raises me that same white whale, he shall have this gold ounce, my boys!” # # “Huzza! huzza!” cried the seamen, as with swinging tarpaulins they hailed the # act of nailing the gold to the mast. # # “It’s a white whale, I say,” resumed Ahab, as he threw down the topmaul: “a # white whale. Skin your eyes for him, men; look sharp for white water; if ye see # but a bubble, sing out.” # # All this while Tashtego, Daggoo, and Queequeg had looked on with even more # intense interest and surprise than the rest, and at the mention of the wrinkled # brow and crooked jaw they had started as if each was separately touched by some # specific recollection. # # “Captain Ahab,” said Tashtego, “that white whale must be the same that some call # Moby Dick.” # # “Moby Dick?” shouted Ahab. “Do ye know the white whale then, Tash?” # # “Does he fan-tail a little curious, sir, before he goes down?” said the # Gay-Header deliberately. # # “And has he a curious spout, too,” said Daggoo, “very bushy, even for a # parmacetty, and mighty quick, Captain Ahab?” # # “And he have one, two, three—oh! good many iron in him hide, too, Captain,” # cried Queequeg disjointedly, “all twiske-tee be-twisk, like him—him—” faltering # hard for a word, and screwing his hand round and round as though uncorking a # bottle—“like him—him—” # # “Corkscrew!” cried Ahab, “aye, Queequeg, the harpoons lie all twisted and # wrenched in him; aye, Daggoo, his spout is a big one, like a whole shock of # wheat, and white as a pile of our Nantucket wool after the great annual # sheep-shearing; aye, Tashtego, and he fan-tails like a split jib in a squall. # Death and devils! men, it is Moby Dick ye have seen—Moby Dick—Moby Dick!” # # “Captain Ahab,” said Starbuck, who, with Stubb and Flask, had thus far been # eyeing his superior with increasing surprise, but at last seemed struck with a # thought which somewhat explained all the wonder. “Captain Ahab, I have heard of # Moby Dick—but it was not Moby Dick that took off thy leg?” # # “Who told thee that?” cried Ahab; then pausing, “Aye, Starbuck; aye, my hearties # all round; it was Moby Dick that dismasted me; Moby Dick that brought me to this # dead stump I stand on now. Aye, aye,” he shouted with a terrific, loud, animal # sob, like that of a heart-stricken moose; “Aye, aye! it was that accursed white # whale that razed me; made a poor pegging lubber of me for ever and a day!” Then # tossing both arms, with measureless imprecations he shouted out: “Aye, aye! and # I’ll chase him round Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway # Maelstrom, and round perdition’s flames before I give him up. And this is what # ye have shipped for, men! to chase that white whale on both sides of land, and # over all sides of earth, till he spouts black blood and rolls fin out. What say # ye, men, will ye splice hands on it, now? I think ye do look brave.” # # “Aye, aye!” shouted the harpooneers and seamen, running closer to the excited # old man: “A sharp eye for the white whale; a sharp lance for Moby Dick!” # # “God bless ye,” he seemed to half sob and half shout. “God bless ye, men. # Steward! go draw the great measure of grog. But what’s this long face about, Mr. # Starbuck; wilt thou not chase the white whale? art not game for Moby Dick?” # # “I am game for his crooked jaw, and for the jaws of Death too, Captain Ahab, if # it fairly comes in the way of the business we follow; but I came here to hunt # whales, not my commander’s vengeance. How many barrels will thy vengeance yield # thee even if thou gettest it, Captain Ahab? it will not fetch thee much in our # Nantucket market.” # # “Nantucket market! Hoot! But come closer, Starbuck; thou requirest a little # lower layer. If money’s to be the measurer, man, and the accountants have # computed their great counting-house the globe, by girdling it with guineas, one # to every three parts of an inch; then, let me tell thee, that my vengeance will # fetch a great premium here!” # # “He smites his chest,” whispered Stubb, “what’s that for? methinks it rings most # vast, but hollow.” # # “Vengeance on a dumb brute!” cried Starbuck, “that simply smote thee from # blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems # blasphemous.” # # “Hark ye yet again—the little lower layer. All visible objects, man, are but as # pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, # some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features # from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! # How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, # the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there’s # naught beyond. But ’tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him # outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable # thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white # whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him. Talk not to me of blasphemy, # man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted me. For could the sun do that, then could # I do the other; since there is ever a sort of fair play herein, jealousy # presiding over all creations. But not my master, man, is even that fair play. # Who’s over me? Truth hath no confines. Take off thine eye! more intolerable than # fiends’ glarings is a doltish stare! So, so; thou reddenest and palest; my heat # has melted thee to anger-glow. But look ye, Starbuck, what is said in heat, that # thing unsays itself. There are men from whom warm words are small indignity. I # meant not to incense thee. Let it go. Look! see yonder Turkish cheeks of spotted # tawn—living, breathing pictures painted by the sun. The Pagan leopards—the # unrecking and unworshipping things, that live; and seek, and give no reasons for # the torrid life they feel! The crew, man, the crew! Are they not one and all # with Ahab, in this matter of the whale? See Stubb! he laughs! See yonder # Chilian! he snorts to think of it. Stand up amid the general hurricane, thy one # tost sapling cannot, Starbuck! And what is it? Reckon it. ’Tis but to help # strike a fin; no wondrous feat for Starbuck. What is it more? From this one poor # hunt, then, the best lance out of all Nantucket, surely he will not hang back, # when every foremast-hand has clutched a whetstone? Ah! constrainings seize thee; # I see! the billow lifts thee! Speak, but speak!—Aye, aye! thy silence, then, # that voices thee. (Aside) Something shot from my dilated nostrils, he has # inhaled it in his lungs. Starbuck now is mine; cannot oppose me now, without # rebellion.” # # “God keep me!—keep us all!” murmured Starbuck, lowly. # # But in his joy at the enchanted, tacit acquiescence of the mate, Ahab did not # hear his foreboding invocation; nor yet the low laugh from the hold; nor yet the # presaging vibrations of the winds in the cordage; nor yet the hollow flap of the # sails against the masts, as for a moment their hearts sank in. For again # Starbuck’s downcast eyes lighted up with the stubbornness of life; the # subterranean laugh died away; the winds blew on; the sails filled out; the ship # heaved and rolled as before. Ah, ye admonitions and warnings! why stay ye not # when ye come? But rather are ye predictions than warnings, ye shadows! Yet not # so much predictions from without, as verifications of the foregoing things # within. For with little external to constrain us, the innermost necessities in # our being, these still drive us on. # # “The measure! the measure!” cried Ahab. # # Receiving the brimming pewter, and turning to the harpooneers, he ordered them # to produce their weapons. Then ranging them before him near the capstan, with # their harpoons in their hands, while his three mates stood at his side with # their lances, and the rest of the ship’s company formed a circle round the # group; he stood for an instant searchingly eyeing every man of his crew. But # those wild eyes met his, as the bloodshot eyes of the prairie wolves meet the # eye of their leader, ere he rushes on at their head in the trail of the bison; # but, alas! only to fall into the hidden snare of the Indian. # # “Drink and pass!” he cried, handing the heavy charged flagon to the nearest # seaman. “The crew alone now drink. Round with it, round! Short draughts—long # swallows, men; ’tis hot as Satan’s hoof. So, so; it goes round excellently. It # spiralizes in ye; forks out at the serpent-snapping eye. Well done; almost # drained. That way it went, this way it comes. Hand it me—here’s a hollow! Men, # ye seem the years; so brimming life is gulped and gone. Steward, refill! # # “Attend now, my braves. I have mustered ye all round this capstan; and ye mates, # flank me with your lances; and ye harpooneers, stand there with your irons; and # ye, stout mariners, ring me in, that I may in some sort revive a noble custom of # my fisherman fathers before me. O men, you will yet see that—Ha! boy, come back? # bad pennies come not sooner. Hand it me. Why, now, this pewter had run brimming # again, wer’t not thou St. Vitus’ imp—away, thou ague! # # “Advance, ye mates! Cross your lances full before me. Well done! Let me touch # the axis.” So saying, with extended arm, he grasped the three level, radiating # lances at their crossed centre; while so doing, suddenly and nervously twitched # them; meanwhile, glancing intently from Starbuck to Stubb; from Stubb to Flask. # It seemed as though, by some nameless, interior volition, he would fain have # shocked into them the same fiery emotion accumulated within the Leyden jar of # his own magnetic life. The three mates quailed before his strong, sustained, and # mystic aspect. Stubb and Flask looked sideways from him; the honest eye of # Starbuck fell downright. # # “In vain!” cried Ahab; “but, maybe, ’tis well. For did ye three but once take # the full-forced shock, then mine own electric thing, that had perhaps expired # from out me. Perchance, too, it would have dropped ye dead. Perchance ye need it # not. Down lances! And now, ye mates, I do appoint ye three cupbearers to my # three pagan kinsmen there—yon three most honorable gentlemen and noblemen, my # valiant harpooneers. Disdain the task? What, when the great Pope washes the feet # of beggars, using his tiara for ewer? Oh, my sweet cardinals! your own # condescension, that shall bend ye to it. I do not order ye; ye will it. Cut your # seizings and draw the poles, ye harpooneers!” # # Silently obeying the order, the three harpooneers now stood with the detached # iron part of their harpoons, some three feet long, held, barbs up, before him. # # “Stab me not with that keen steel! Cant them; cant them over! know ye not the # goblet end? Turn up the socket! So, so; now, ye cup-bearers, advance. The irons! # take them; hold them while I fill!” Forthwith, slowly going from one officer to # the other, he brimmed the harpoon sockets with the fiery waters from the pewter. # # “Now, three to three, ye stand. Commend the murderous chalices! Bestow them, ye # who are now made parties to this indissoluble league. Ha! Starbuck! but the deed # is done! Yon ratifying sun now waits to sit upon it. Drink, ye harpooneers! # drink and swear, ye men that man the deathful whaleboat’s bow—Death to Moby # Dick! God hunt us all, if we do not hunt Moby Dick to his death!” The long, # barbed steel goblets were lifted; and to cries and maledictions against the # white whale, the spirits were simultaneously quaffed down with a hiss. Starbuck # paled, and turned, and shivered. Once more, and finally, the replenished pewter # went the rounds among the frantic crew; when, waving his free hand to them, they # all dispersed; and Ahab retired within his cabin. # # # # # # CHAPTER 37. Sunset. # # The cabin; by the stern windows; Ahab sitting alone, and gazing out. # # I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where’er I sail. The # envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass. # # Yonder, by ever-brimming goblet’s rim, the warm waves blush like wine. The gold # brow plumbs the blue. The diver sun—slow dived from noon—goes down; my soul # mounts up! she wearies with her endless hill. Is, then, the crown too heavy that # I wear? this Iron Crown of Lombardy. Yet is it bright with many a gem; I the # wearer, see not its far flashings; but darkly feel that I wear that, that # dazzlingly confounds. ’Tis iron—that I know—not gold. ’Tis split, too—that I # feel; the jagged edge galls me so, my brain seems to beat against the solid # metal; aye, steel skull, mine; the sort that needs no helmet in the most # brain-battering fight! # # Dry heat upon my brow? Oh! time was, when as the sunrise nobly spurred me, so # the sunset soothed. No more. This lovely light, it lights not me; all loveliness # is anguish to me, since I can ne’er enjoy. Gifted with the high perception, I # lack the low, enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly! damned # in the midst of Paradise! Good night—good night! (waving his hand, he moves from # the window.) # # ’Twas not so hard a task. I thought to find one stubborn, at the least; but my # one cogged circle fits into all their various wheels, and they revolve. Or, if # you will, like so many ant-hills of powder, they all stand before me; and I # their match. Oh, hard! that to fire others, the match itself must needs be # wasting! What I’ve dared, I’ve willed; and what I’ve willed, I’ll do! They think # me mad—Starbuck does; but I’m demoniac, I am madness maddened! That wild madness # that’s only calm to comprehend itself! The prophecy was that I should be # dismembered; and—Aye! I lost this leg. I now prophesy that I will dismember my # dismemberer. Now, then, be the prophet and the fulfiller one. That’s more than # ye, ye great gods, ever were. I laugh and hoot at ye, ye cricket-players, ye # pugilists, ye deaf Burkes and blinded Bendigoes! I will not say as schoolboys do # to bullies—Take some one of your own size; don’t pommel me! No, ye’ve knocked me # down, and I am up again; but ye have run and hidden. Come forth from behind your # cotton bags! I have no long gun to reach ye. Come, Ahab’s compliments to ye; # come and see if ye can swerve me. Swerve me? ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve # yourselves! man has ye there. Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid # with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, # through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents’ beds, unerringly I rush! # Naught’s an obstacle, naught’s an angle to the iron way! # # # # # # CHAPTER 38. Dusk. # # By the Mainmast; Starbuck leaning against it. # # My soul is more than matched; she’s overmanned; and by a madman! Insufferable # sting, that sanity should ground arms on such a field! But he drilled deep down, # and blasted all my reason out of me! I think I see his impious end; but feel # that I must help him to it. Will I, nill I, the ineffable thing has tied me to # him; tows me with a cable I have no knife to cut. Horrible old man! Who’s over # him, he cries;—aye, he would be a democrat to all above; look, how he lords it # over all below! Oh! I plainly see my miserable office,—to obey, rebelling; and # worse yet, to hate with touch of pity! For in his eyes I read some lurid woe # would shrivel me up, had I it. Yet is there hope. Time and tide flow wide. The # hated whale has the round watery world to swim in, as the small gold-fish has # its glassy globe. His heaven-insulting purpose, God may wedge aside. I would up # heart, were it not like lead. But my whole clock’s run down; my heart the # all-controlling weight, I have no key to lift again. # # [A burst of revelry from the forecastle.] # # Oh, God! to sail with such a heathen crew that have small touch of human mothers # in them! Whelped somewhere by the sharkish sea. The white whale is their # demigorgon. Hark! the infernal orgies! that revelry is forward! mark the # unfaltering silence aft! Methinks it pictures life. Foremost through the # sparkling sea shoots on the gay, embattled, bantering bow, but only to drag dark # Ahab after it, where he broods within his sternward cabin, builded over the dead # water of the wake, and further on, hunted by its wolfish gurglings. The long # howl thrills me through! Peace! ye revellers, and set the watch! Oh, life! ’tis # in an hour like this, with soul beat down and held to knowledge,—as wild, # untutored things are forced to feed—Oh, life! ’tis now that I do feel the latent # horror in thee! but ’tis not me! that horror’s out of me! and with the soft # feeling of the human in me, yet will I try to fight ye, ye grim, phantom # futures! Stand by me, hold me, bind me, O ye blessed influences! # # # # # # CHAPTER 39. First Night-Watch. # # Fore-Top. # # (Stubb solus, and mending a brace.) # # Ha! ha! ha! ha! hem! clear my throat!—I’ve been thinking over it ever since, and # that ha, ha’s the final consequence. Why so? Because a laugh’s the wisest, # easiest answer to all that’s queer; and come what will, one comfort’s always # left—that unfailing comfort is, it’s all predestinated. I heard not all his talk # with Starbuck; but to my poor eye Starbuck then looked something as I the other # evening felt. Be sure the old Mogul has fixed him, too. I twigged it, knew it; # had had the gift, might readily have prophesied it—for when I clapped my eye # upon his skull I saw it. Well, Stubb, wise Stubb—that’s my title—well, Stubb, # what of it, Stubb? Here’s a carcase. I know not all that may be coming, but be # it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing. Such a waggish leering as lurks in all # your horribles! I feel funny. Fa, la! lirra, skirra! What’s my juicy little pear # at home doing now? Crying its eyes out?—Giving a party to the last arrived # harpooneers, I dare say, gay as a frigate’s pennant, and so am I—fa, la! lirra, # skirra! Oh— # # We’ll drink to-night with hearts as light, To love, as gay and fleeting As # bubbles that swim, on the beaker’s brim, And break on the lips while # meeting. # # A brave stave that—who calls? Mr. Starbuck? Aye, aye, sir—(Aside) he’s my # superior, he has his too, if I’m not mistaken.—Aye, aye, sir, just through with # this job—coming. # # # # # # CHAPTER 40. Midnight, Forecastle. # # HARPOONEERS AND SAILORS. # # (Foresail rises and discovers the watch standing, lounging, leaning, and lying # in various attitudes, all singing in chorus.) # # Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies! Farewell and adieu to you, # ladies of Spain! Our captain’s commanded.— # # 1ST NANTUCKET SAILOR. Oh, boys, don’t be sentimental; it’s bad for the # digestion! Take a tonic, follow me! # # (Sings, and all follow.) # # Our captain stood upon the deck, A spy-glass in his hand, A viewing of those # gallant whales That blew at every strand. Oh, your tubs in your boats, my # boys, And by your braces stand, And we’ll have one of those fine whales, # Hand, boys, over hand! So, be cheery, my lads! may your hearts never fail! # While the bold harpooner is striking the whale! # # MATE’S VOICE FROM THE QUARTER-DECK. Eight bells there, forward! # # 2ND NANTUCKET SAILOR. Avast the chorus! Eight bells there! d’ye hear, bell-boy? # Strike the bell eight, thou Pip! thou blackling! and let me call the watch. I’ve # the sort of mouth for that—the hogshead mouth. So, so, (thrusts his head down # the scuttle,) Star-bo-l-e-e-n-s, a-h-o-y! Eight bells there below! Tumble up! # # DUTCH SAILOR. Grand snoozing to-night, maty; fat night for that. I mark this in # our old Mogul’s wine; it’s quite as deadening to some as filliping to others. We # sing; they sleep—aye, lie down there, like ground-tier butts. At ’em again! # There, take this copper-pump, and hail ’em through it. Tell ’em to avast # dreaming of their lasses. Tell ’em it’s the resurrection; they must kiss their # last, and come to judgment. That’s the way—that’s it; thy throat ain’t spoiled # with eating Amsterdam butter. # # FRENCH SAILOR. Hist, boys! let’s have a jig or two before we ride to anchor in # Blanket Bay. What say ye? There comes the other watch. Stand by all legs! Pip! # little Pip! hurrah with your tambourine! # # PIP. (Sulky and sleepy.) Don’t know where it is. # # FRENCH SAILOR. Beat thy belly, then, and wag thy ears. Jig it, men, I say; # merry’s the word; hurrah! Damn me, won’t you dance? Form, now, Indian-file, and # gallop into the double-shuffle? Throw yourselves! Legs! legs! # # ICELAND SAILOR. I don’t like your floor, maty; it’s too springy to my taste. I’m # used to ice-floors. I’m sorry to throw cold water on the subject; but excuse me. # # MALTESE SAILOR. Me too; where’s your girls? Who but a fool would take his left # hand by his right, and say to himself, how d’ye do? Partners! I must have # partners! # # SICILIAN SAILOR. Aye; girls and a green!—then I’ll hop with ye; yea, turn # grasshopper! # # LONG-ISLAND SAILOR. Well, well, ye sulkies, there’s plenty more of us. Hoe corn # when you may, say I. All legs go to harvest soon. Ah! here comes the music; now # for it! # # AZORE SAILOR. (Ascending, and pitching the tambourine up the scuttle.) Here you # are, Pip; and there’s the windlass-bitts; up you mount! Now, boys! (The half of # them dance to the tambourine; some go below; some sleep or lie among the coils # of rigging. Oaths a-plenty.) # # AZORE SAILOR. (Dancing) Go it, Pip! Bang it, bell-boy! Rig it, dig it, stig it, # quig it, bell-boy! Make fire-flies; break the jinglers! # # PIP. Jinglers, you say?—there goes another, dropped off; I pound it so. # # CHINA SAILOR. Rattle thy teeth, then, and pound away; make a pagoda of thyself. # # FRENCH SAILOR. Merry-mad! Hold up thy hoop, Pip, till I jump through it! Split # jibs! tear yourselves! # # TASHTEGO. (Quietly smoking.) That’s a white man; he calls that fun: humph! I # save my sweat. # # OLD MANX SAILOR. I wonder whether those jolly lads bethink them of what they are # dancing over. I’ll dance over your grave, I will—that’s the bitterest threat of # your night-women, that beat head-winds round corners. O Christ! to think of the # green navies and the green-skulled crews! Well, well; belike the whole world’s a # ball, as you scholars have it; and so ’tis right to make one ballroom of it. # Dance on, lads, you’re young; I was once. # # 3D NANTUCKET SAILOR. Spell oh!—whew! this is worse than pulling after whales in # a calm—give us a whiff, Tash. # # (They cease dancing, and gather in clusters. Meantime the sky darkens—the wind # rises.) # # LASCAR SAILOR. By Brahma! boys, it’ll be douse sail soon. The sky-born, # high-tide Ganges turned to wind! Thou showest thy black brow, Seeva! # # MALTESE SAILOR. (Reclining and shaking his cap.) It’s the waves—the snow’s caps # turn to jig it now. They’ll shake their tassels soon. Now would all the waves # were women, then I’d go drown, and chassee with them evermore! There’s naught so # sweet on earth—heaven may not match it!—as those swift glances of warm, wild # bosoms in the dance, when the over-arboring arms hide such ripe, bursting # grapes. # # SICILIAN SAILOR. (Reclining.) Tell me not of it! Hark ye, lad—fleet interlacings # of the limbs—lithe swayings—coyings—flutterings! lip! heart! hip! all graze: # unceasing touch and go! not taste, observe ye, else come satiety. Eh, Pagan? # (Nudging.) # # TAHITAN SAILOR. (Reclining on a mat.) Hail, holy nakedness of our dancing # girls!—the Heeva-Heeva! Ah! low veiled, high palmed Tahiti! I still rest me on # thy mat, but the soft soil has slid! I saw thee woven in the wood, my mat! green # the first day I brought ye thence; now worn and wilted quite. Ah me!—not thou # nor I can bear the change! How then, if so be transplanted to yon sky? Hear I # the roaring streams from Pirohitee’s peak of spears, when they leap down the # crags and drown the villages?—The blast! the blast! Up, spine, and meet it! # (Leaps to his feet.) # # PORTUGUESE SAILOR. How the sea rolls swashing ’gainst the side! Stand by for # reefing, hearties! the winds are just crossing swords, pell-mell they’ll go # lunging presently. # # DANISH SAILOR. Crack, crack, old ship! so long as thou crackest, thou holdest! # Well done! The mate there holds ye to it stiffly. He’s no more afraid than the # isle fort at Cattegat, put there to fight the Baltic with storm-lashed guns, on # which the sea-salt cakes! # # 4TH NANTUCKET SAILOR. He has his orders, mind ye that. I heard old Ahab tell him # he must always kill a squall, something as they burst a waterspout with a # pistol—fire your ship right into it! # # ENGLISH SAILOR. Blood! but that old man’s a grand old cove! We are the lads to # hunt him up his whale! # # ALL. Aye! aye! # # OLD MANX SAILOR. How the three pines shake! Pines are the hardest sort of tree # to live when shifted to any other soil, and here there’s none but the crew’s # cursed clay. Steady, helmsman! steady. This is the sort of weather when brave # hearts snap ashore, and keeled hulls split at sea. Our captain has his # birthmark; look yonder, boys, there’s another in the sky—lurid-like, ye see, all # else pitch black. # # DAGGOO. What of that? Who’s afraid of black’s afraid of me! I’m quarried out of # it! # # SPANISH SAILOR. (Aside.) He wants to bully, ah!—the old grudge makes me touchy # (Advancing.) Aye, harpooneer, thy race is the undeniable dark side of # mankind—devilish dark at that. No offence. # # DAGGOO (grimly). None. # # ST. JAGO’S SAILOR. That Spaniard’s mad or drunk. But that can’t be, or else in # his one case our old Mogul’s fire-waters are somewhat long in working. # # 5TH NANTUCKET SAILOR. What’s that I saw—lightning? Yes. # # SPANISH SAILOR. No; Daggoo showing his teeth. # # DAGGOO (springing). Swallow thine, mannikin! White skin, white liver! # # SPANISH SAILOR (meeting him). Knife thee heartily! big frame, small spirit! # # ALL. A row! a row! a row! # # TASHTEGO (with a whiff). A row a’low, and a row aloft—Gods and men—both # brawlers! Humph! # # BELFAST SAILOR. A row! arrah a row! The Virgin be blessed, a row! Plunge in with # ye! # # ENGLISH SAILOR. Fair play! Snatch the Spaniard’s knife! A ring, a ring! # # OLD MANX SAILOR. Ready formed. There! the ringed horizon. In that ring Cain # struck Abel. Sweet work, right work! No? Why then, God, mad’st thou the ring? # # MATE’S VOICE FROM THE QUARTER-DECK. Hands by the halyards! in top-gallant sails! # Stand by to reef topsails! # # ALL. The squall! the squall! jump, my jollies! (They scatter.) # # PIP (shrinking under the windlass). Jollies? Lord help such jollies! Crish, # crash! there goes the jib-stay! Blang-whang! God! Duck lower, Pip, here comes # the royal yard! It’s worse than being in the whirled woods, the last day of the # year! Who’d go climbing after chestnuts now? But there they go, all cursing, and # here I don’t. Fine prospects to ’em; they’re on the road to heaven. Hold on # hard! Jimmini, what a squall! But those chaps there are worse yet—they are your # white squalls, they. White squalls? white whale, shirr! shirr! Here have I heard # all their chat just now, and the white whale—shirr! shirr!—but spoken of once! # and only this evening—it makes me jingle all over like my tambourine—that # anaconda of an old man swore ’em in to hunt him! Oh, thou big white God aloft # there somewhere in yon darkness, have mercy on this small black boy down here; # preserve him from all men that have no bowels to feel fear! # # # # # # CHAPTER 41. Moby Dick. # # I, Ishmael, was one of that crew; my shouts had gone up with the rest; my oath # had been welded with theirs; and stronger I shouted, and more did I hammer and # clinch my oath, because of the dread in my soul. A wild, mystical, sympathetical # feeling was in me; Ahab’s quenchless feud seemed mine. With greedy ears I # learned the history of that murderous monster against whom I and all the others # had taken our oaths of violence and revenge. # # For some time past, though at intervals only, the unaccompanied, secluded White # Whale had haunted those uncivilized seas mostly frequented by the Sperm Whale # fishermen. But not all of them knew of his existence; only a few of them, # comparatively, had knowingly seen him; while the number who as yet had actually # and knowingly given battle to him, was small indeed. For, owing to the large # number of whale-cruisers; the disorderly way they were sprinkled over the entire # watery circumference, many of them adventurously pushing their quest along # solitary latitudes, so as seldom or never for a whole twelvemonth or more on a # stretch, to encounter a single news-telling sail of any sort; the inordinate # length of each separate voyage; the irregularity of the times of sailing from # home; all these, with other circumstances, direct and indirect, long obstructed # the spread through the whole world-wide whaling-fleet of the special # individualizing tidings concerning Moby Dick. It was hardly to be doubted, that # several vessels reported to have encountered, at such or such a time, or on such # or such a meridian, a Sperm Whale of uncommon magnitude and malignity, which # whale, after doing great mischief to his assailants, had completely escaped # them; to some minds it was not an unfair presumption, I say, that the whale in # question must have been no other than Moby Dick. Yet as of late the Sperm Whale # fishery had been marked by various and not unfrequent instances of great # ferocity, cunning, and malice in the monster attacked; therefore it was, that # those who by accident ignorantly gave battle to Moby Dick; such hunters, # perhaps, for the most part, were content to ascribe the peculiar terror he bred, # more, as it were, to the perils of the Sperm Whale fishery at large, than to the # individual cause. In that way, mostly, the disastrous encounter between Ahab and # the whale had hitherto been popularly regarded. # # And as for those who, previously hearing of the White Whale, by chance caught # sight of him; in the beginning of the thing they had every one of them, almost, # as boldly and fearlessly lowered for him, as for any other whale of that # species. But at length, such calamities did ensue in these assaults—not # restricted to sprained wrists and ankles, broken limbs, or devouring # amputations—but fatal to the last degree of fatality; those repeated disastrous # repulses, all accumulating and piling their terrors upon Moby Dick; those things # had gone far to shake the fortitude of many brave hunters, to whom the story of # the White Whale had eventually come. # # Nor did wild rumors of all sorts fail to exaggerate, and still the more horrify # the true histories of these deadly encounters. For not only do fabulous rumors # naturally grow out of the very body of all surprising terrible events,—as the # smitten tree gives birth to its fungi; but, in maritime life, far more than in # that of terra firma, wild rumors abound, wherever there is any adequate reality # for them to cling to. And as the sea surpasses the land in this matter, so the # whale fishery surpasses every other sort of maritime life, in the wonderfulness # and fearfulness of the rumors which sometimes circulate there. For not only are # whalemen as a body unexempt from that ignorance and superstitiousness hereditary # to all sailors; but of all sailors, they are by all odds the most directly # brought into contact with whatever is appallingly astonishing in the sea; face # to face they not only eye its greatest marvels, but, hand to jaw, give battle to # them. Alone, in such remotest waters, that though you sailed a thousand miles, # and passed a thousand shores, you would not come to any chiseled hearth-stone, # or aught hospitable beneath that part of the sun; in such latitudes and # longitudes, pursuing too such a calling as he does, the whaleman is wrapped by # influences all tending to make his fancy pregnant with many a mighty birth. # # No wonder, then, that ever gathering volume from the mere transit over the # widest watery spaces, the outblown rumors of the White Whale did in the end # incorporate with themselves all manner of morbid hints, and half-formed fœtal # suggestions of supernatural agencies, which eventually invested Moby Dick with # new terrors unborrowed from anything that visibly appears. So that in many cases # such a panic did he finally strike, that few who by those rumors, at least, had # heard of the White Whale, few of those hunters were willing to encounter the # perils of his jaw. # # But there were still other and more vital practical influences at work. Not even # at the present day has the original prestige of the Sperm Whale, as fearfully # distinguished from all other species of the leviathan, died out of the minds of # the whalemen as a body. There are those this day among them, who, though # intelligent and courageous enough in offering battle to the Greenland or Right # whale, would perhaps—either from professional inexperience, or incompetency, or # timidity, decline a contest with the Sperm Whale; at any rate, there are plenty # of whalemen, especially among those whaling nations not sailing under the # American flag, who have never hostilely encountered the Sperm Whale, but whose # sole knowledge of the leviathan is restricted to the ignoble monster primitively # pursued in the North; seated on their hatches, these men will hearken with a # childish fireside interest and awe, to the wild, strange tales of Southern # whaling. Nor is the pre-eminent tremendousness of the great Sperm Whale anywhere # more feelingly comprehended, than on board of those prows which stem him. # # And as if the now tested reality of his might had in former legendary times # thrown its shadow before it; we find some book naturalists—Olassen and # Povelson—declaring the Sperm Whale not only to be a consternation to every other # creature in the sea, but also to be so incredibly ferocious as continually to be # athirst for human blood. Nor even down to so late a time as Cuvier’s, were these # or almost similar impressions effaced. For in his Natural History, the Baron # himself affirms that at sight of the Sperm Whale, all fish (sharks included) are # “struck with the most lively terrors,” and “often in the precipitancy of their # flight dash themselves against the rocks with such violence as to cause # instantaneous death.” And however the general experiences in the fishery may # amend such reports as these; yet in their full terribleness, even to the # bloodthirsty item of Povelson, the superstitious belief in them is, in some # vicissitudes of their vocation, revived in the minds of the hunters. # # So that overawed by the rumors and portents concerning him, not a few of the # fishermen recalled, in reference to Moby Dick, the earlier days of the Sperm # Whale fishery, when it was oftentimes hard to induce long practised Right # whalemen to embark in the perils of this new and daring warfare; such men # protesting that although other leviathans might be hopefully pursued, yet to # chase and point lance at such an apparition as the Sperm Whale was not for # mortal man. That to attempt it, would be inevitably to be torn into a quick # eternity. On this head, there are some remarkable documents that may be # consulted. # # Nevertheless, some there were, who even in the face of these things were ready # to give chase to Moby Dick; and a still greater number who, chancing only to # hear of him distantly and vaguely, without the specific details of any certain # calamity, and without superstitious accompaniments, were sufficiently hardy not # to flee from the battle if offered. # # One of the wild suggestions referred to, as at last coming to be linked with the # White Whale in the minds of the superstitiously inclined, was the unearthly # conceit that Moby Dick was ubiquitous; that he had actually been encountered in # opposite latitudes at one and the same instant of time. # # Nor, credulous as such minds must have been, was this conceit altogether without # some faint show of superstitious probability. For as the secrets of the currents # in the seas have never yet been divulged, even to the most erudite research; so # the hidden ways of the Sperm Whale when beneath the surface remain, in great # part, unaccountable to his pursuers; and from time to time have originated the # most curious and contradictory speculations regarding them, especially # concerning the mystic modes whereby, after sounding to a great depth, he # transports himself with such vast swiftness to the most widely distant points. # # It is a thing well known to both American and English whale-ships, and as well a # thing placed upon authoritative record years ago by Scoresby, that some whales # have been captured far north in the Pacific, in whose bodies have been found the # barbs of harpoons darted in the Greenland seas. Nor is it to be gainsaid, that # in some of these instances it has been declared that the interval of time # between the two assaults could not have exceeded very many days. Hence, by # inference, it has been believed by some whalemen, that the Nor’ West Passage, so # long a problem to man, was never a problem to the whale. So that here, in the # real living experience of living men, the prodigies related in old times of the # inland Strello mountain in Portugal (near whose top there was said to be a lake # in which the wrecks of ships floated up to the surface); and that still more # wonderful story of the Arethusa fountain near Syracuse (whose waters were # believed to have come from the Holy Land by an underground passage); these # fabulous narrations are almost fully equalled by the realities of the whalemen. # # Forced into familiarity, then, with such prodigies as these; and knowing that # after repeated, intrepid assaults, the White Whale had escaped alive; it cannot # be much matter of surprise that some whalemen should go still further in their # superstitions; declaring Moby Dick not only ubiquitous, but immortal (for # immortality is but ubiquity in time); that though groves of spears should be # planted in his flanks, he would still swim away unharmed; or if indeed he should # ever be made to spout thick blood, such a sight would be but a ghastly # deception; for again in unensanguined billows hundreds of leagues away, his # unsullied jet would once more be seen. # # But even stripped of these supernatural surmisings, there was enough in the # earthly make and incontestable character of the monster to strike the # imagination with unwonted power. For, it was not so much his uncommon bulk that # so much distinguished him from other sperm whales, but, as was elsewhere thrown # out—a peculiar snow-white wrinkled forehead, and a high, pyramidical white hump. # These were his prominent features; the tokens whereby, even in the limitless, # uncharted seas, he revealed his identity, at a long distance, to those who knew # him. # # The rest of his body was so streaked, and spotted, and marbled with the same # shrouded hue, that, in the end, he had gained his distinctive appellation of the # White Whale; a name, indeed, literally justified by his vivid aspect, when seen # gliding at high noon through a dark blue sea, leaving a milky-way wake of creamy # foam, all spangled with golden gleamings. # # Nor was it his unwonted magnitude, nor his remarkable hue, nor yet his deformed # lower jaw, that so much invested the whale with natural terror, as that # unexampled, intelligent malignity which, according to specific accounts, he had # over and over again evinced in his assaults. More than all, his treacherous # retreats struck more of dismay than perhaps aught else. For, when swimming # before his exulting pursuers, with every apparent symptom of alarm, he had # several times been known to turn round suddenly, and, bearing down upon them, # either stave their boats to splinters, or drive them back in consternation to # their ship. # # Already several fatalities had attended his chase. But though similar disasters, # however little bruited ashore, were by no means unusual in the fishery; yet, in # most instances, such seemed the White Whale’s infernal aforethought of ferocity, # that every dismembering or death that he caused, was not wholly regarded as # having been inflicted by an unintelligent agent. # # Judge, then, to what pitches of inflamed, distracted fury the minds of his more # desperate hunters were impelled, when amid the chips of chewed boats, and the # sinking limbs of torn comrades, they swam out of the white curds of the whale’s # direful wrath into the serene, exasperating sunlight, that smiled on, as if at a # birth or a bridal. # # His three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; # one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the # whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade # to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab. And then it # was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw beneath him, Moby Dick # had reaped away Ahab’s leg, as a mower a blade of grass in the field. No # turbaned Turk, no hired Venetian or Malay, could have smote him with more # seeming malice. Small reason was there to doubt, then, that ever since that # almost fatal encounter, Ahab had cherished a wild vindictiveness against the # whale, all the more fell for that in his frantic morbidness he at last came to # identify with him, not only all his bodily woes, but all his intellectual and # spiritual exasperations. The White Whale swam before him as the monomaniac # incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in # them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung. That # intangible malignity which has been from the beginning; to whose dominion even # the modern Christians ascribe one-half of the worlds; which the ancient Ophites # of the east reverenced in their statue devil;—Ahab did not fall down and worship # it like them; but deliriously transferring its idea to the abhorred white whale, # he pitted himself, all mutilated, against it. All that most maddens and # torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all # that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and # thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically # assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the # general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his # chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it. # # It is not probable that this monomania in him took its instant rise at the # precise time of his bodily dismemberment. Then, in darting at the monster, knife # in hand, he had but given loose to a sudden, passionate, corporal animosity; and # when he received the stroke that tore him, he probably but felt the agonizing # bodily laceration, but nothing more. Yet, when by this collision forced to turn # towards home, and for long months of days and weeks, Ahab and anguish lay # stretched together in one hammock, rounding in mid winter that dreary, howling # Patagonian Cape; then it was, that his torn body and gashed soul bled into one # another; and so interfusing, made him mad. That it was only then, on the # homeward voyage, after the encounter, that the final monomania seized him, seems # all but certain from the fact that, at intervals during the passage, he was a # raving lunatic; and, though unlimbed of a leg, yet such vital strength yet # lurked in his Egyptian chest, and was moreover intensified by his delirium, that # his mates were forced to lace him fast, even there, as he sailed, raving in his # hammock. In a strait-jacket, he swung to the mad rockings of the gales. And, # when running into more sufferable latitudes, the ship, with mild stun’sails # spread, floated across the tranquil tropics, and, to all appearances, the old # man’s delirium seemed left behind him with the Cape Horn swells, and he came # forth from his dark den into the blessed light and air; even then, when he bore # that firm, collected front, however pale, and issued his calm orders once again; # and his mates thanked God the direful madness was now gone; even then, Ahab, in # his hidden self, raved on. Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline # thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some # still subtler form. Ahab’s full lunacy subsided not, but deepeningly contracted; # like the unabated Hudson, when that noble Northman flows narrowly, but # unfathomably through the Highland gorge. But, as in his narrow-flowing # monomania, not one jot of Ahab’s broad madness had been left behind; so in that # broad madness, not one jot of his great natural intellect had perished. That # before living agent, now became the living instrument. If such a furious trope # may stand, his special lunacy stormed his general sanity, and carried it, and # turned all its concentred cannon upon its own mad mark; so that far from having # lost his strength, Ahab, to that one end, did now possess a thousand fold more # potency than ever he had sanely brought to bear upon any one reasonable object. # # This is much; yet Ahab’s larger, darker, deeper part remains unhinted. But vain # to popularize profundities, and all truth is profound. Winding far down from # within the very heart of this spiked Hotel de Cluny where we here stand—however # grand and wonderful, now quit it;—and take your way, ye nobler, sadder souls, to # those vast Roman halls of Thermes; where far beneath the fantastic towers of # man’s upper earth, his root of grandeur, his whole awful essence sits in bearded # state; an antique buried beneath antiquities, and throned on torsoes! So with a # broken throne, the great gods mock that captive king; so like a Caryatid, he # patient sits, upholding on his frozen brow the piled entablatures of ages. Wind # ye down there, ye prouder, sadder souls! question that proud, sad king! A family # likeness! aye, he did beget ye, ye young exiled royalties; and from your grim # sire only will the old State-secret come. # # Now, in his heart, Ahab had some glimpse of this, namely: all my means are sane, # my motive and my object mad. Yet without power to kill, or change, or shun the # fact; he likewise knew that to mankind he did long dissemble; in some sort, did # still. But that thing of his dissembling was only subject to his perceptibility, # not to his will determinate. Nevertheless, so well did he succeed in that # dissembling, that when with ivory leg he stepped ashore at last, no Nantucketer # thought him otherwise than but naturally grieved, and that to the quick, with # the terrible casualty which had overtaken him. # # The report of his undeniable delirium at sea was likewise popularly ascribed to # a kindred cause. And so too, all the added moodiness which always afterwards, to # the very day of sailing in the Pequod on the present voyage, sat brooding on his # brow. Nor is it so very unlikely, that far from distrusting his fitness for # another whaling voyage, on account of such dark symptoms, the calculating people # of that prudent isle were inclined to harbor the conceit, that for those very # reasons he was all the better qualified and set on edge, for a pursuit so full # of rage and wildness as the bloody hunt of whales. Gnawed within and scorched # without, with the infixed, unrelenting fangs of some incurable idea; such an # one, could he be found, would seem the very man to dart his iron and lift his # lance against the most appalling of all brutes. Or, if for any reason thought to # be corporeally incapacitated for that, yet such an one would seem superlatively # competent to cheer and howl on his underlings to the attack. But be all this as # it may, certain it is, that with the mad secret of his unabated rage bolted up # and keyed in him, Ahab had purposely sailed upon the present voyage with the one # only and all-engrossing object of hunting the White Whale. Had any one of his # old acquaintances on shore but half dreamed of what was lurking in him then, how # soon would their aghast and righteous souls have wrenched the ship from such a # fiendish man! They were bent on profitable cruises, the profit to be counted # down in dollars from the mint. He was intent on an audacious, immitigable, and # supernatural revenge. # # Here, then, was this grey-headed, ungodly old man, chasing with curses a Job’s # whale round the world, at the head of a crew, too, chiefly made up of mongrel # renegades, and castaways, and cannibals—morally enfeebled also, by the # incompetence of mere unaided virtue or right-mindedness in Starbuck, the # invulnerable jollity of indifference and recklessness in Stubb, and the # pervading mediocrity in Flask. Such a crew, so officered, seemed specially # picked and packed by some infernal fatality to help him to his monomaniac # revenge. How it was that they so aboundingly responded to the old man’s ire—by # what evil magic their souls were possessed, that at times his hate seemed almost # theirs; the White Whale as much their insufferable foe as his; how all this came # to be—what the White Whale was to them, or how to their unconscious # understandings, also, in some dim, unsuspected way, he might have seemed the # gliding great demon of the seas of life,—all this to explain, would be to dive # deeper than Ishmael can go. The subterranean miner that works in us all, how can # one tell whither leads his shaft by the ever shifting, muffled sound of his # pick? Who does not feel the irresistible arm drag? What skiff in tow of a # seventy-four can stand still? For one, I gave myself up to the abandonment of # the time and the place; but while yet all a-rush to encounter the whale, could # see naught in that brute but the deadliest ill. # # # # # # CHAPTER 42. The Whiteness of the Whale. # # What the white whale was to Ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, # as yet remains unsaid. # # Aside from those more obvious considerations touching Moby Dick, which could not # but occasionally awaken in any man’s soul some alarm, there was another thought, # or rather vague, nameless horror concerning him, which at times by its intensity # completely overpowered all the rest; and yet so mystical and well nigh ineffable # was it, that I almost despair of putting it in a comprehensible form. It was the # whiteness of the whale that above all things appalled me. But how can I hope to # explain myself here; and yet, in some dim, random way, explain myself I must, # else all these chapters might be naught. # # Though in many natural objects, whiteness refiningly enhances beauty, as if # imparting some special virtue of its own, as in marbles, japonicas, and pearls; # and though various nations have in some way recognised a certain royal # preeminence in this hue; even the barbaric, grand old kings of Pegu placing the # title “Lord of the White Elephants” above all their other magniloquent # ascriptions of dominion; and the modern kings of Siam unfurling the same # snow-white quadruped in the royal standard; and the Hanoverian flag bearing the # one figure of a snow-white charger; and the great Austrian Empire, Cæsarian, # heir to overlording Rome, having for the imperial colour the same imperial hue; # and though this pre-eminence in it applies to the human race itself, giving the # white man ideal mastership over every dusky tribe; and though, besides, all # this, whiteness has been even made significant of gladness, for among the Romans # a white stone marked a joyful day; and though in other mortal sympathies and # symbolizings, this same hue is made the emblem of many touching, noble # things—the innocence of brides, the benignity of age; though among the Red Men # of America the giving of the white belt of wampum was the deepest pledge of # honor; though in many climes, whiteness typifies the majesty of Justice in the # ermine of the Judge, and contributes to the daily state of kings and queens # drawn by milk-white steeds; though even in the higher mysteries of the most # august religions it has been made the symbol of the divine spotlessness and # power; by the Persian fire worshippers, the white forked flame being held the # holiest on the altar; and in the Greek mythologies, Great Jove himself being # made incarnate in a snow-white bull; and though to the noble Iroquois, the # midwinter sacrifice of the sacred White Dog was by far the holiest festival of # their theology, that spotless, faithful creature being held the purest envoy # they could send to the Great Spirit with the annual tidings of their own # fidelity; and though directly from the Latin word for white, all Christian # priests derive the name of one part of their sacred vesture, the alb or tunic, # worn beneath the cassock; and though among the holy pomps of the Romish faith, # white is specially employed in the celebration of the Passion of our Lord; # though in the Vision of St. John, white robes are given to the redeemed, and the # four-and-twenty elders stand clothed in white before the great white throne, and # the Holy One that sitteth there white like wool; yet for all these accumulated # associations, with whatever is sweet, and honorable, and sublime, there yet # lurks an elusive something in the innermost idea of this hue, which strikes more # of panic to the soul than that redness which affrights in blood. # # This elusive quality it is, which causes the thought of whiteness, when divorced # from more kindly associations, and coupled with any object terrible in itself, # to heighten that terror to the furthest bounds. Witness the white bear of the # poles, and the white shark of the tropics; what but their smooth, flaky # whiteness makes them the transcendent horrors they are? That ghastly whiteness # it is which imparts such an abhorrent mildness, even more loathsome than # terrific, to the dumb gloating of their aspect. So that not the fierce-fanged # tiger in his heraldic coat can so stagger courage as the white-shrouded bear or # shark.* # # *With reference to the Polar bear, it may possibly be urged by him who would # fain go still deeper into this matter, that it is not the whiteness, separately # regarded, which heightens the intolerable hideousness of that brute; for, # analysed, that heightened hideousness, it might be said, only rises from the # circumstance, that the irresponsible ferociousness of the creature stands # invested in the fleece of celestial innocence and love; and hence, by bringing # together two such opposite emotions in our minds, the Polar bear frightens us # with so unnatural a contrast. But even assuming all this to be true; yet, were # it not for the whiteness, you would not have that intensified terror. # # As for the white shark, the white gliding ghostliness of repose in that # creature, when beheld in his ordinary moods, strangely tallies with the same # quality in the Polar quadruped. This peculiarity is most vividly hit by the # French in the name they bestow upon that fish. The Romish mass for the dead # begins with “Requiem eternam” (eternal rest), whence Requiem denominating the # mass itself, and any other funeral music. Now, in allusion to the white, silent # stillness of death in this shark, and the mild deadliness of his habits, the # French call him Requin. # # Bethink thee of the albatross, whence come those clouds of spiritual wonderment # and pale dread, in which that white phantom sails in all imaginations? Not # Coleridge first threw that spell; but God’s great, unflattering laureate, # Nature.* # # *I remember the first albatross I ever saw. It was during a prolonged gale, in # waters hard upon the Antarctic seas. From my forenoon watch below, I ascended # to the overclouded deck; and there, dashed upon the main hatches, I saw a # regal, feathery thing of unspotted whiteness, and with a hooked, Roman bill # sublime. At intervals, it arched forth its vast archangel wings, as if to # embrace some holy ark. Wondrous flutterings and throbbings shook it. Though # bodily unharmed, it uttered cries, as some king’s ghost in supernatural # distress. Through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought I peeped to # secrets which took hold of God. As Abraham before the angels, I bowed myself; # the white thing was so white, its wings so wide, and in those for ever exiled # waters, I had lost the miserable warping memories of traditions and of towns. # Long I gazed at that prodigy of plumage. I cannot tell, can only hint, the # things that darted through me then. But at last I awoke; and turning, asked a # sailor what bird was this. A goney, he replied. Goney! never had heard that # name before; is it conceivable that this glorious thing is utterly unknown to # men ashore! never! But some time after, I learned that goney was some seaman’s # name for albatross. So that by no possibility could Coleridge’s wild Rhyme have # had aught to do with those mystical impressions which were mine, when I saw # that bird upon our deck. For neither had I then read the Rhyme, nor knew the # bird to be an albatross. Yet, in saying this, I do but indirectly burnish a # little brighter the noble merit of the poem and the poet. # # I assert, then, that in the wondrous bodily whiteness of the bird chiefly lurks # the secret of the spell; a truth the more evinced in this, that by a solecism of # terms there are birds called grey albatrosses; and these I have frequently seen, # but never with such emotions as when I beheld the Antarctic fowl. # # But how had the mystic thing been caught? Whisper it not, and I will tell; with # a treacherous hook and line, as the fowl floated on the sea. At last the Captain # made a postman of it; tying a lettered, leathern tally round its neck, with the # ship’s time and place; and then letting it escape. But I doubt not, that # leathern tally, meant for man, was taken off in Heaven, when the white fowl flew # to join the wing-folding, the invoking, and adoring cherubim! # # Most famous in our Western annals and Indian traditions is that of the White # Steed of the Prairies; a magnificent milk-white charger, large-eyed, # small-headed, bluff-chested, and with the dignity of a thousand monarchs in his # lofty, overscorning carriage. He was the elected Xerxes of vast herds of wild # horses, whose pastures in those days were only fenced by the Rocky Mountains and # the Alleghanies. At their flaming head he westward trooped it like that chosen # star which every evening leads on the hosts of light. The flashing cascade of # his mane, the curving comet of his tail, invested him with housings more # resplendent than gold and silver-beaters could have furnished him. A most # imperial and archangelical apparition of that unfallen, western world, which to # the eyes of the old trappers and hunters revived the glories of those primeval # times when Adam walked majestic as a god, bluff-browed and fearless as this # mighty steed. Whether marching amid his aides and marshals in the van of # countless cohorts that endlessly streamed it over the plains, like an Ohio; or # whether with his circumambient subjects browsing all around at the horizon, the # White Steed gallopingly reviewed them with warm nostrils reddening through his # cool milkiness; in whatever aspect he presented himself, always to the bravest # Indians he was the object of trembling reverence and awe. Nor can it be # questioned from what stands on legendary record of this noble horse, that it was # his spiritual whiteness chiefly, which so clothed him with divineness; and that # this divineness had that in it which, though commanding worship, at the same # time enforced a certain nameless terror. # # But there are other instances where this whiteness loses all that accessory and # strange glory which invests it in the White Steed and Albatross. # # What is it that in the Albino man so peculiarly repels and often shocks the eye, # as that sometimes he is loathed by his own kith and kin! It is that whiteness # which invests him, a thing expressed by the name he bears. The Albino is as well # made as other men—has no substantive deformity—and yet this mere aspect of # all-pervading whiteness makes him more strangely hideous than the ugliest # abortion. Why should this be so? # # Nor, in quite other aspects, does Nature in her least palpable but not the less # malicious agencies, fail to enlist among her forces this crowning attribute of # the terrible. From its snowy aspect, the gauntleted ghost of the Southern Seas # has been denominated the White Squall. Nor, in some historic instances, has the # art of human malice omitted so potent an auxiliary. How wildly it heightens the # effect of that passage in Froissart, when, masked in the snowy symbol of their # faction, the desperate White Hoods of Ghent murder their bailiff in the # market-place! # # Nor, in some things, does the common, hereditary experience of all mankind fail # to bear witness to the supernaturalism of this hue. It cannot well be doubted, # that the one visible quality in the aspect of the dead which most appals the # gazer, is the marble pallor lingering there; as if indeed that pallor were as # much like the badge of consternation in the other world, as of mortal # trepidation here. And from that pallor of the dead, we borrow the expressive hue # of the shroud in which we wrap them. Nor even in our superstitions do we fail to # throw the same snowy mantle round our phantoms; all ghosts rising in a # milk-white fog—Yea, while these terrors seize us, let us add, that even the king # of terrors, when personified by the evangelist, rides on his pallid horse. # # Therefore, in his other moods, symbolize whatever grand or gracious thing he # will by whiteness, no man can deny that in its profoundest idealized # significance it calls up a peculiar apparition to the soul. # # But though without dissent this point be fixed, how is mortal man to account for # it? To analyse it, would seem impossible. Can we, then, by the citation of some # of those instances wherein this thing of whiteness—though for the time either # wholly or in great part stripped of all direct associations calculated to impart # to it aught fearful, but nevertheless, is found to exert over us the same # sorcery, however modified;—can we thus hope to light upon some chance clue to # conduct us to the hidden cause we seek? # # Let us try. But in a matter like this, subtlety appeals to subtlety, and without # imagination no man can follow another into these halls. And though, doubtless, # some at least of the imaginative impressions about to be presented may have been # shared by most men, yet few perhaps were entirely conscious of them at the time, # and therefore may not be able to recall them now. # # Why to the man of untutored ideality, who happens to be but loosely acquainted # with the peculiar character of the day, does the bare mention of Whitsuntide # marshal in the fancy such long, dreary, speechless processions of slow-pacing # pilgrims, down-cast and hooded with new-fallen snow? Or, to the unread, # unsophisticated Protestant of the Middle American States, why does the passing # mention of a White Friar or a White Nun, evoke such an eyeless statue in the # soul? # # Or what is there apart from the traditions of dungeoned warriors and kings # (which will not wholly account for it) that makes the White Tower of London tell # so much more strongly on the imagination of an untravelled American, than those # other storied structures, its neighbors—the Byward Tower, or even the Bloody? # And those sublimer towers, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, whence, in # peculiar moods, comes that gigantic ghostliness over the soul at the bare # mention of that name, while the thought of Virginia’s Blue Ridge is full of a # soft, dewy, distant dreaminess? Or why, irrespective of all latitudes and # longitudes, does the name of the White Sea exert such a spectralness over the # fancy, while that of the Yellow Sea lulls us with mortal thoughts of long # lacquered mild afternoons on the waves, followed by the gaudiest and yet # sleepiest of sunsets? Or, to choose a wholly unsubstantial instance, purely # addressed to the fancy, why, in reading the old fairy tales of Central Europe, # does “the tall pale man” of the Hartz forests, whose changeless pallor # unrustlingly glides through the green of the groves—why is this phantom more # terrible than all the whooping imps of the Blocksburg? # # Nor is it, altogether, the remembrance of her cathedral-toppling earthquakes; # nor the stampedoes of her frantic seas; nor the tearlessness of arid skies that # never rain; nor the sight of her wide field of leaning spires, wrenched # cope-stones, and crosses all adroop (like canted yards of anchored fleets); and # her suburban avenues of house-walls lying over upon each other, as a tossed pack # of cards;—it is not these things alone which make tearless Lima, the strangest, # saddest city thou can’st see. For Lima has taken the white veil; and there is a # higher horror in this whiteness of her woe. Old as Pizarro, this whiteness keeps # her ruins for ever new; admits not the cheerful greenness of complete decay; # spreads over her broken ramparts the rigid pallor of an apoplexy that fixes its # own distortions. # # I know that, to the common apprehension, this phenomenon of whiteness is not # confessed to be the prime agent in exaggerating the terror of objects otherwise # terrible; nor to the unimaginative mind is there aught of terror in those # appearances whose awfulness to another mind almost solely consists in this one # phenomenon, especially when exhibited under any form at all approaching to # muteness or universality. What I mean by these two statements may perhaps be # respectively elucidated by the following examples. # # First: The mariner, when drawing nigh the coasts of foreign lands, if by night # he hear the roar of breakers, starts to vigilance, and feels just enough of # trepidation to sharpen all his faculties; but under precisely similar # circumstances, let him be called from his hammock to view his ship sailing # through a midnight sea of milky whiteness—as if from encircling headlands shoals # of combed white bears were swimming round him, then he feels a silent, # superstitious dread; the shrouded phantom of the whitened waters is horrible to # him as a real ghost; in vain the lead assures him he is still off soundings; # heart and helm they both go down; he never rests till blue water is under him # again. Yet where is the mariner who will tell thee, “Sir, it was not so much the # fear of striking hidden rocks, as the fear of that hideous whiteness that so # stirred me?” # # Second: To the native Indian of Peru, the continual sight of the snow-howdahed # Andes conveys naught of dread, except, perhaps, in the mere fancying of the # eternal frosted desolateness reigning at such vast altitudes, and the natural # conceit of what a fearfulness it would be to lose oneself in such inhuman # solitudes. Much the same is it with the backwoodsman of the West, who with # comparative indifference views an unbounded prairie sheeted with driven snow, no # shadow of tree or twig to break the fixed trance of whiteness. Not so the # sailor, beholding the scenery of the Antarctic seas; where at times, by some # infernal trick of legerdemain in the powers of frost and air, he, shivering and # half shipwrecked, instead of rainbows speaking hope and solace to his misery, # views what seems a boundless churchyard grinning upon him with its lean ice # monuments and splintered crosses. # # But thou sayest, methinks that white-lead chapter about whiteness is but a white # flag hung out from a craven soul; thou surrenderest to a hypo, Ishmael. # # Tell me, why this strong young colt, foaled in some peaceful valley of Vermont, # far removed from all beasts of prey—why is it that upon the sunniest day, if you # but shake a fresh buffalo robe behind him, so that he cannot even see it, but # only smells its wild animal muskiness—why will he start, snort, and with # bursting eyes paw the ground in phrensies of affright? There is no remembrance # in him of any gorings of wild creatures in his green northern home, so that the # strange muskiness he smells cannot recall to him anything associated with the # experience of former perils; for what knows he, this New England colt, of the # black bisons of distant Oregon? # # No: but here thou beholdest even in a dumb brute, the instinct of the knowledge # of the demonism in the world. Though thousands of miles from Oregon, still when # he smells that savage musk, the rending, goring bison herds are as present as to # the deserted wild foal of the prairies, which this instant they may be trampling # into dust. # # Thus, then, the muffled rollings of a milky sea; the bleak rustlings of the # festooned frosts of mountains; the desolate shiftings of the windrowed snows of # prairies; all these, to Ishmael, are as the shaking of that buffalo robe to the # frightened colt! # # Though neither knows where lie the nameless things of which the mystic sign # gives forth such hints; yet with me, as with the colt, somewhere those things # must exist. Though in many of its aspects this visible world seems formed in # love, the invisible spheres were formed in fright. # # But not yet have we solved the incantation of this whiteness, and learned why it # appeals with such power to the soul; and more strange and far more # portentous—why, as we have seen, it is at once the most meaning symbol of # spiritual things, nay, the very veil of the Christian’s Deity; and yet should be # as it is, the intensifying agent in things the most appalling to mankind. # # Is it that by its indefiniteness it shadows forth the heartless voids and # immensities of the universe, and thus stabs us from behind with the thought of # annihilation, when beholding the white depths of the milky way? Or is it, that # as in essence whiteness is not so much a colour as the visible absence of # colour; and at the same time the concrete of all colours; is it for these # reasons that there is such a dumb blankness, full of meaning, in a wide # landscape of snows—a colourless, all-colour of atheism from which we shrink? And # when we consider that other theory of the natural philosophers, that all other # earthly hues—every stately or lovely emblazoning—the sweet tinges of sunset # skies and woods; yea, and the gilded velvets of butterflies, and the butterfly # cheeks of young girls; all these are but subtile deceits, not actually inherent # in substances, but only laid on from without; so that all deified Nature # absolutely paints like the harlot, whose allurements cover nothing but the # charnel-house within; and when we proceed further, and consider that the # mystical cosmetic which produces every one of her hues, the great principle of # light, for ever remains white or colorless in itself, and if operating without # medium upon matter, would touch all objects, even tulips and roses, with its own # blank tinge—pondering all this, the palsied universe lies before us a leper; and # like wilful travellers in Lapland, who refuse to wear coloured and colouring # glasses upon their eyes, so the wretched infidel gazes himself blind at the # monumental white shroud that wraps all the prospect around him. And of all these # things the Albino whale was the symbol. Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt? # # # # # # CHAPTER 43. Hark! # # “HIST! Did you hear that noise, Cabaco?” # # It was the middle-watch: a fair moonlight; the seamen were standing in a cordon, # extending from one of the fresh-water butts in the waist, to the scuttle-butt # near the taffrail. In this manner, they passed the buckets to fill the # scuttle-butt. Standing, for the most part, on the hallowed precincts of the # quarter-deck, they were careful not to speak or rustle their feet. From hand to # hand, the buckets went in the deepest silence, only broken by the occasional # flap of a sail, and the steady hum of the unceasingly advancing keel. # # It was in the midst of this repose, that Archy, one of the cordon, whose post # was near the after-hatches, whispered to his neighbor, a Cholo, the words above. # # “Hist! did you hear that noise, Cabaco?” # # “Take the bucket, will ye, Archy? what noise d’ye mean?” # # “There it is again—under the hatches—don’t you hear it—a cough—it sounded like a # cough.” # # “Cough be damned! Pass along that return bucket.” # # “There again—there it is!—it sounds like two or three sleepers turning over, # now!” # # “Caramba! have done, shipmate, will ye? It’s the three soaked biscuits ye eat # for supper turning over inside of ye—nothing else. Look to the bucket!” # # “Say what ye will, shipmate; I’ve sharp ears.” # # “Aye, you are the chap, ain’t ye, that heard the hum of the old Quakeress’s # knitting-needles fifty miles at sea from Nantucket; you’re the chap.” # # “Grin away; we’ll see what turns up. Hark ye, Cabaco, there is somebody down in # the after-hold that has not yet been seen on deck; and I suspect our old Mogul # knows something of it too. I heard Stubb tell Flask, one morning watch, that # there was something of that sort in the wind.” # # “Tish! the bucket!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 44. The Chart. # # Had you followed Captain Ahab down into his cabin after the squall that took # place on the night succeeding that wild ratification of his purpose with his # crew, you would have seen him go to a locker in the transom, and bringing out a # large wrinkled roll of yellowish sea charts, spread them before him on his # screwed-down table. Then seating himself before it, you would have seen him # intently study the various lines and shadings which there met his eye; and with # slow but steady pencil trace additional courses over spaces that before were # blank. At intervals, he would refer to piles of old log-books beside him, # wherein were set down the seasons and places in which, on various former voyages # of various ships, sperm whales had been captured or seen. # # While thus employed, the heavy pewter lamp suspended in chains over his head, # continually rocked with the motion of the ship, and for ever threw shifting # gleams and shadows of lines upon his wrinkled brow, till it almost seemed that # while he himself was marking out lines and courses on the wrinkled charts, some # invisible pencil was also tracing lines and courses upon the deeply marked chart # of his forehead. # # 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. # # Now, to any one not fully acquainted with the ways of the leviathans, it might # seem an absurdly hopeless task thus to seek out one solitary creature in the # unhooped oceans of this planet. But not so did it seem to Ahab, who knew the # sets of all tides and currents; and thereby calculating the driftings of the # sperm whale’s food; and, also, calling to mind the regular, ascertained seasons # for hunting him in particular latitudes; could arrive at reasonable surmises, # almost approaching to certainties, concerning the timeliest day to be upon this # or that ground in search of his prey. # # So assured, indeed, is the fact concerning the periodicalness of the sperm # whale’s resorting to given waters, that many hunters believe that, could he be # closely observed and studied throughout the world; were the logs for one voyage # of the entire whale fleet carefully collated, then the migrations of the sperm # whale would be found to correspond in invariability to those of the # herring-shoals or the flights of swallows. On this hint, attempts have been made # to construct elaborate migratory charts of the sperm whale.* # # *Since the above was written, the statement is happily borne out by an # official circular, issued by Lieutenant Maury, of the National Observatory, # Washington, April 16th, 1851. By that circular, it appears that precisely # such a chart is in course of completion; and portions of it are presented # in the circular. “This chart divides the ocean into districts of five # degrees of latitude by five degrees of longitude; perpendicularly through # each of which districts are twelve columns for the twelve months; and # horizontally through each of which districts are three lines; one to show # the number of days that have been spent in each month in every district, # and the two others to show the number of days in which whales, sperm or # right, have been seen.” # # # Besides, when making a passage from one feeding-ground to another, the sperm # whales, guided by some infallible instinct—say, rather, secret intelligence from # the Deity—mostly swim in veins, as they are called; continuing their way along a # given ocean-line with such undeviating exactitude, that no ship ever sailed her # course, by any chart, with one tithe of such marvellous precision. Though, in # these cases, the direction taken by any one whale be straight as a surveyor’s # parallel, and though the line of advance be strictly confined to its own # unavoidable, straight wake, yet the arbitrary vein in which at these times he is # said to swim, generally embraces some few miles in width (more or less, as the # vein is presumed to expand or contract); but never exceeds the visual sweep from # the whale-ship’s mast-heads, when circumspectly gliding along this magic zone. # The sum is, that at particular seasons within that breadth and along that path, # migrating whales may with great confidence be looked for. # # And hence not only at substantiated times, upon well known separate # feeding-grounds, could Ahab hope to encounter his prey; but in crossing the # widest expanses of water between those grounds he could, by his art, so place # and time himself on his way, as even then not to be wholly without prospect of a # meeting. # # There was a circumstance which at first sight seemed to entangle his delirious # but still methodical scheme. But not so in the reality, perhaps. Though the # gregarious sperm whales have their regular seasons for particular grounds, yet # in general you cannot conclude that the herds which haunted such and such a # latitude or longitude this year, say, will turn out to be identically the same # with those that were found there the preceding season; though there are peculiar # and unquestionable instances where the contrary of this has proved true. In # general, the same remark, only within a less wide limit, applies to the # solitaries and hermits among the matured, aged sperm whales. So that though Moby # Dick had in a former year been seen, for example, on what is called the # Seychelle ground in the Indian ocean, or Volcano Bay on the Japanese Coast; yet # it did not follow, that were the Pequod to visit either of those spots at any # subsequent corresponding season, she would infallibly encounter him there. So, # too, with some other feeding grounds, where he had at times revealed himself. # But all these seemed only his casual stopping-places and ocean-inns, so to # speak, not his places of prolonged abode. And where Ahab’s chances of # accomplishing his object have hitherto been spoken of, allusion has only been # made to whatever way-side, antecedent, extra prospects were his, ere a # particular set time or place were attained, when all possibilities would become # probabilities, and, as Ahab fondly thought, every possibility the next thing to # a certainty. That particular set time and place were conjoined in the one # technical phrase—the Season-on-the-Line. For there and then, for several # consecutive years, Moby Dick had been periodically descried, lingering in those # waters for awhile, as the sun, in its annual round, loiters for a predicted # interval in any one sign of the Zodiac. There it was, too, that most of the # deadly encounters with the white whale had taken place; there the waves were # storied with his deeds; there also was that tragic spot where the monomaniac old # man had found the awful motive to his vengeance. But in the cautious # comprehensiveness and unloitering vigilance with which Ahab threw his brooding # soul into this unfaltering hunt, he would not permit himself to rest all his # hopes upon the one crowning fact above mentioned, however flattering it might be # to those hopes; nor in the sleeplessness of his vow could he so tranquillize his # unquiet heart as to postpone all intervening quest. # # Now, the Pequod had sailed from Nantucket at the very beginning of the # Season-on-the-Line. No possible endeavor then could enable her commander to make # the great passage southwards, double Cape Horn, and then running down sixty # degrees of latitude arrive in the equatorial Pacific in time to cruise there. # Therefore, he must wait for the next ensuing season. Yet the premature hour of # the Pequod’s sailing had, perhaps, been correctly selected by Ahab, with a view # to this very complexion of things. Because, an interval of three hundred and # sixty-five days and nights was before him; an interval which, instead of # impatiently enduring ashore, he would spend in a miscellaneous hunt; if by # chance the White Whale, spending his vacation in seas far remote from his # periodical feeding-grounds, should turn up his wrinkled brow off the Persian # Gulf, or in the Bengal Bay, or China Seas, or in any other waters haunted by his # race. So that Monsoons, Pampas, Nor’-Westers, Harmattans, Trades; any wind but # the Levanter and Simoon, might blow Moby Dick into the devious zig-zag # world-circle of the Pequod’s circumnavigating wake. # # But granting all this; yet, regarded discreetly and coolly, seems it not but a # mad idea, this; that in the broad boundless ocean, one solitary whale, even if # encountered, should be thought capable of individual recognition from his # hunter, even as a white-bearded Mufti in the thronged thoroughfares of # Constantinople? Yes. For the peculiar snow-white brow of Moby Dick, and his # snow-white hump, could not but be unmistakable. And have I not tallied the # whale, Ahab would mutter to himself, as after poring over his charts till long # after midnight he would throw himself back in reveries—tallied him, and shall he # escape? His broad fins are bored, and scalloped out like a lost sheep’s ear! And # here, his mad mind would run on in a breathless race; till a weariness and # faintness of pondering came over him; and in the open air of the deck he would # seek to recover his strength. Ah, God! what trances of torments does that man # endure who is consumed with one unachieved revengeful desire. He sleeps with # clenched hands; and wakes with his own bloody nails in his palms. # # Often, when forced from his hammock by exhausting and intolerably vivid dreams # of the night, which, resuming his own intense thoughts through the day, carried # them on amid a clashing of phrensies, and whirled them round and round and round # in his blazing brain, till the very throbbing of his life-spot became # insufferable anguish; and when, as was sometimes the case, these spiritual # throes in him heaved his being up from its base, and a chasm seemed opening in # him, from which forked flames and lightnings shot up, and accursed fiends # beckoned him to leap down among them; when this hell in himself yawned beneath # him, a wild cry would be heard through the ship; and with glaring eyes Ahab # would burst from his state room, as though escaping from a bed that was on fire. # Yet these, perhaps, instead of being the unsuppressable symptoms of some latent # weakness, or fright at his own resolve, were but the plainest tokens of its # intensity. For, at such times, crazy Ahab, the scheming, unappeasedly steadfast # hunter of the white whale; this Ahab that had gone to his hammock, was not the # agent that so caused him to burst from it in horror again. The latter was the # eternal, living principle or soul in him; and in sleep, being for the time # dissociated from the characterizing mind, which at other times employed it for # its outer vehicle or agent, it spontaneously sought escape from the scorching # contiguity of the frantic thing, of which, for the time, it was no longer an # integral. But as the mind does not exist unless leagued with the soul, therefore # it must have been that, in Ahab’s case, yielding up all his thoughts and fancies # to his one supreme purpose; that purpose, by its own sheer inveteracy of will, # forced itself against gods and devils into a kind of self-assumed, independent # being of its own. Nay, could grimly live and burn, while the common vitality to # which it was conjoined, fled horror-stricken from the unbidden and unfathered # birth. Therefore, the tormented spirit that glared out of bodily eyes, when what # seemed Ahab rushed from his room, was for the time but a vacated thing, a # formless somnambulistic being, a ray of living light, to be sure, but without an # object to colour, and therefore a blankness in itself. God help thee, old man, # thy thoughts have created a creature in thee; and he whose intense thinking thus # makes him a Prometheus; a vulture feeds upon that heart for ever; that vulture # the very creature he creates. # # # # # # CHAPTER 45. The Affidavit. # # So far as what there may be of a narrative in this book; and, indeed, as # indirectly touching one or two very interesting and curious particulars in the # habits of sperm whales, the foregoing chapter, in its earlier part, is as # important a one as will be found in this volume; but the leading matter of it # requires to be still further and more familiarly enlarged upon, in order to be # adequately understood, and moreover to take away any incredulity which a # profound ignorance of the entire subject may induce in some minds, as to the # natural verity of the main points of this affair. # # I care not to perform this part of my task methodically; but shall be content to # produce the desired impression by separate citations of items, practically or # reliably known to me as a whaleman; and from these citations, I take it—the # conclusion aimed at will naturally follow of itself. # # First: I have personally known three instances where a whale, after receiving a # harpoon, has effected a complete escape; and, after an interval (in one instance # of three years), has been again struck by the same hand, and slain; when the two # irons, both marked by the same private cypher, have been taken from the body. In # the instance where three years intervened between the flinging of the two # harpoons; and I think it may have been something more than that; the man who # darted them happening, in the interval, to go in a trading ship on a voyage to # Africa, went ashore there, joined a discovery party, and penetrated far into the # interior, where he travelled for a period of nearly two years, often endangered # by serpents, savages, tigers, poisonous miasmas, with all the other common # perils incident to wandering in the heart of unknown regions. Meanwhile, the # whale he had struck must also have been on its travels; no doubt it had thrice # circumnavigated the globe, brushing with its flanks all the coasts of Africa; # but to no purpose. This man and this whale again came together, and the one # vanquished the other. I say I, myself, have known three instances similar to # this; that is in two of them I saw the whales struck; and, upon the second # attack, saw the two irons with the respective marks cut in them, afterwards # taken from the dead fish. In the three-year instance, it so fell out that I was # in the boat both times, first and last, and the last time distinctly recognised # a peculiar sort of huge mole under the whale’s eye, which I had observed there # three years previous. I say three years, but I am pretty sure it was more than # that. Here are three instances, then, which I personally know the truth of; but # I have heard of many other instances from persons whose veracity in the matter # there is no good ground to impeach. # # Secondly: It is well known in the Sperm Whale Fishery, however ignorant the # world ashore may be of it, that there have been several memorable historical # instances where a particular whale in the ocean has been at distant times and # places popularly cognisable. Why such a whale became thus marked was not # altogether and originally owing to his bodily peculiarities as distinguished # from other whales; for however peculiar in that respect any chance whale may be, # they soon put an end to his peculiarities by killing him, and boiling him down # into a peculiarly valuable oil. No: the reason was this: that from the fatal # experiences of the fishery there hung a terrible prestige of perilousness about # such a whale as there did about Rinaldo Rinaldini, insomuch that most fishermen # were content to recognise him by merely touching their tarpaulins when he would # be discovered lounging by them on the sea, without seeking to cultivate a more # intimate acquaintance. Like some poor devils ashore that happen to know an # irascible great man, they make distant unobtrusive salutations to him in the # street, lest if they pursued the acquaintance further, they might receive a # summary thump for their presumption. # # But not only did each of these famous whales enjoy great individual # celebrity—Nay, you may call it an ocean-wide renown; not only was he famous in # life and now is immortal in forecastle stories after death, but he was admitted # into all the rights, privileges, and distinctions of a name; had as much a name # indeed as Cambyses or Cæsar. Was it not so, O Timor Tom! thou famed leviathan, # scarred like an iceberg, who so long did’st lurk in the Oriental straits of that # name, whose spout was oft seen from the palmy beach of Ombay? Was it not so, O # New Zealand Jack! thou terror of all cruisers that crossed their wakes in the # vicinity of the Tattoo Land? Was it not so, O Morquan! King of Japan, whose # lofty jet they say at times assumed the semblance of a snow-white cross against # the sky? Was it not so, O Don Miguel! thou Chilian whale, marked like an old # tortoise with mystic hieroglyphics upon the back! In plain prose, here are four # whales as well known to the students of Cetacean History as Marius or Sylla to # the classic scholar. # # But this is not all. New Zealand Tom and Don Miguel, after at various times # creating great havoc among the boats of different vessels, were finally gone in # quest of, systematically hunted out, chased and killed by valiant whaling # captains, who heaved up their anchors with that express object as much in view, # as in setting out through the Narragansett Woods, Captain Butler of old had it # in his mind to capture that notorious murderous savage Annawon, the headmost # warrior of the Indian King Philip. # # I do not know where I can find a better place than just here, to make mention of # one or two other things, which to me seem important, as in printed form # establishing in all respects the reasonableness of the whole story of the White # Whale, more especially the catastrophe. For this is one of those disheartening # instances where truth requires full as much bolstering as error. So ignorant are # most landsmen of some of the plainest and most palpable wonders of the world, # that without some hints touching the plain facts, historical and otherwise, of # the fishery, they might scout at Moby Dick as a monstrous fable, or still worse # and more detestable, a hideous and intolerable allegory. # # First: Though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils of # the grand fishery, yet they have nothing like a fixed, vivid conception of those # perils, and the frequency with which they recur. One reason perhaps is, that not # one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the fishery, # ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately forgotten # that record. Do you suppose that that poor fellow there, who this moment perhaps # caught by the whale-line off the coast of New Guinea, is being carried down to # the bottom of the sea by the sounding leviathan—do you suppose that that poor # fellow’s name will appear in the newspaper obituary you will read to-morrow at # your breakfast? No: because the mails are very irregular between here and New # Guinea. In fact, did you ever hear what might be called regular news direct or # indirect from New Guinea? Yet I tell you that upon one particular voyage which I # made to the Pacific, among many others we spoke thirty different ships, every # one of which had had a death by a whale, some of them more than one, and three # that had each lost a boat’s crew. For God’s sake, be economical with your lamps # and candles! not a gallon you burn, but at least one drop of man’s blood was # spilled for it. # # Secondly: People ashore have indeed some indefinite idea that a whale is an # enormous creature of enormous power; but I have ever found that when narrating # to them some specific example of this two-fold enormousness, they have # significantly complimented me upon my facetiousness; when, I declare upon my # soul, I had no more idea of being facetious than Moses, when he wrote the # history of the plagues of Egypt. # # But fortunately the special point I here seek can be established upon testimony # entirely independent of my own. That point is this: The Sperm Whale is in some # cases sufficiently powerful, knowing, and judiciously malicious, as with direct # aforethought to stave in, utterly destroy, and sink a large ship; and what is # more, the Sperm Whale has done it. # # First: In the year 1820 the ship Essex, Captain Pollard, of Nantucket, was # cruising in the Pacific Ocean. One day she saw spouts, lowered her boats, and # gave chase to a shoal of sperm whales. Ere long, several of the whales were # wounded; when, suddenly, a very large whale escaping from the boats, issued from # the shoal, and bore directly down upon the ship. Dashing his forehead against # her hull, he so stove her in, that in less than “ten minutes” she settled down # and fell over. Not a surviving plank of her has been seen since. After the # severest exposure, part of the crew reached the land in their boats. Being # returned home at last, Captain Pollard once more sailed for the Pacific in # command of another ship, but the gods shipwrecked him again upon unknown rocks # and breakers; for the second time his ship was utterly lost, and forthwith # forswearing the sea, he has never tempted it since. At this day Captain Pollard # is a resident of Nantucket. I have seen Owen Chace, who was chief mate of the # Essex at the time of the tragedy; I have read his plain and faithful narrative; # I have conversed with his son; and all this within a few miles of the scene of # the catastrophe.* # # *The following are extracts from Chace’s narrative: “Every fact seemed to # warrant me in concluding that it was anything but chance which directed his # operations; he made two several attacks upon the ship, at a short interval # between them, both of which, according to their direction, were calculated to # do us the most injury, by being made ahead, and thereby combining the speed of # the two objects for the shock; to effect which, the exact manœuvres which he # made were necessary. His aspect was most horrible, and such as indicated # resentment and fury. He came directly from the shoal which we had just before # entered, and in which we had struck three of his companions, as if fired with # revenge for their sufferings.” Again: “At all events, the whole circumstances # taken together, all happening before my own eyes, and producing, at the time, # impressions in my mind of decided, calculating mischief, on the part of the # whale (many of which impressions I cannot now recall), induce me to be # satisfied that I am correct in my opinion.” # # Here are his reflections some time after quitting the ship, during a black night # in an open boat, when almost despairing of reaching any hospitable shore. “The # dark ocean and swelling waters were nothing; the fears of being swallowed up by # some dreadful tempest, or dashed upon hidden rocks, with all the other ordinary # subjects of fearful contemplation, seemed scarcely entitled to a moment’s # thought; the dismal looking wreck, and the horrid aspect and revenge of the # whale, wholly engrossed my reflections, until day again made its appearance.” # # In another place—p. 45,—he speaks of “the mysterious and mortal attack of the # animal.” # # Secondly: The ship Union, also of Nantucket, was in the year 1807 totally lost # off the Azores by a similar onset, but the authentic particulars of this # catastrophe I have never chanced to encounter, though from the whale hunters I # have now and then heard casual allusions to it. # # Thirdly: Some eighteen or twenty years ago Commodore J——, then commanding an # American sloop-of-war of the first class, happened to be dining with a party of # whaling captains, on board a Nantucket ship in the harbor of Oahu, Sandwich # Islands. Conversation turning upon whales, the Commodore was pleased to be # sceptical touching the amazing strength ascribed to them by the professional # gentlemen present. He peremptorily denied for example, that any whale could so # smite his stout sloop-of-war as to cause her to leak so much as a thimbleful. # Very good; but there is more coming. Some weeks after, the Commodore set sail in # this impregnable craft for Valparaiso. But he was stopped on the way by a portly # sperm whale, that begged a few moments’ confidential business with him. That # business consisted in fetching the Commodore’s craft such a thwack, that with # all his pumps going he made straight for the nearest port to heave down and # repair. I am not superstitious, but I consider the Commodore’s interview with # that whale as providential. Was not Saul of Tarsus converted from unbelief by a # similar fright? I tell you, the sperm whale will stand no nonsense. # # I will now refer you to Langsdorff’s Voyages for a little circumstance in point, # peculiarly interesting to the writer hereof. Langsdorff, you must know by the # way, was attached to the Russian Admiral Krusenstern’s famous Discovery # Expedition in the beginning of the present century. Captain Langsdorff thus # begins his seventeenth chapter: # # “By the thirteenth of May our ship was ready to sail, and the next day we were # out in the open sea, on our way to Ochotsh. The weather was very clear and fine, # but so intolerably cold that we were obliged to keep on our fur clothing. For # some days we had very little wind; it was not till the nineteenth that a brisk # gale from the northwest sprang up. An uncommon large whale, the body of which # was larger than the ship itself, lay almost at the surface of the water, but was # not perceived by any one on board till the moment when the ship, which was in # full sail, was almost upon him, so that it was impossible to prevent its # striking against him. We were thus placed in the most imminent danger, as this # gigantic creature, setting up its back, raised the ship three feet at least out # of the water. The masts reeled, and the sails fell altogether, while we who were # below all sprang instantly upon the deck, concluding that we had struck upon # some rock; instead of this we saw the monster sailing off with the utmost # gravity and solemnity. Captain D’Wolf applied immediately to the pumps to # examine whether or not the vessel had received any damage from the shock, but we # found that very happily it had escaped entirely uninjured.” # # Now, the Captain D’Wolf here alluded to as commanding the ship in question, is a # New Englander, who, after a long life of unusual adventures as a sea-captain, # this day resides in the village of Dorchester near Boston. I have the honor of # being a nephew of his. I have particularly questioned him concerning this # passage in Langsdorff. He substantiates every word. The ship, however, was by no # means a large one: a Russian craft built on the Siberian coast, and purchased by # my uncle after bartering away the vessel in which he sailed from home. # # In that up and down manly book of old-fashioned adventure, so full, too, of # honest wonders—the voyage of Lionel Wafer, one of ancient Dampier’s old chums—I # found a little matter set down so like that just quoted from Langsdorff, that I # cannot forbear inserting it here for a corroborative example, if such be needed. # # Lionel, it seems, was on his way to “John Ferdinando,” as he calls the modern # Juan Fernandes. “In our way thither,” he says, “about four o’clock in the # morning, when we were about one hundred and fifty leagues from the Main of # America, our ship felt a terrible shock, which put our men in such consternation # that they could hardly tell where they were or what to think; but every one # began to prepare for death. And, indeed, the shock was so sudden and violent, # that we took it for granted the ship had struck against a rock; but when the # amazement was a little over, we cast the lead, and sounded, but found no ground. # * * * * * The suddenness of the shock made the guns leap in their carriages, and # several of the men were shaken out of their hammocks. Captain Davis, who lay # with his head on a gun, was thrown out of his cabin!” Lionel then goes on to # impute the shock to an earthquake, and seems to substantiate the imputation by # stating that a great earthquake, somewhere about that time, did actually do # great mischief along the Spanish land. But I should not much wonder if, in the # darkness of that early hour of the morning, the shock was after all caused by an # unseen whale vertically bumping the hull from beneath. # # I might proceed with several more examples, one way or another known to me, of # the great power and malice at times of the sperm whale. In more than one # instance, he has been known, not only to chase the assailing boats back to their # ships, but to pursue the ship itself, and long withstand all the lances hurled # at him from its decks. The English ship Pusie Hall can tell a story on that # head; and, as for his strength, let me say, that there have been examples where # the lines attached to a running sperm whale have, in a calm, been transferred to # the ship, and secured there; the whale towing her great hull through the water, # as a horse walks off with a cart. Again, it is very often observed that, if the # sperm whale, once struck, is allowed time to rally, he then acts, not so often # with blind rage, as with wilful, deliberate designs of destruction to his # pursuers; nor is it without conveying some eloquent indication of his character, # that upon being attacked he will frequently open his mouth, and retain it in # that dread expansion for several consecutive minutes. But I must be content with # only one more and a concluding illustration; a remarkable and most significant # one, by which you will not fail to see, that not only is the most marvellous # event in this book corroborated by plain facts of the present day, but that # these marvels (like all marvels) are mere repetitions of the ages; so that for # the millionth time we say amen with Solomon—Verily there is nothing new under # the sun. # # In the sixth Christian century lived Procopius, a Christian magistrate of # Constantinople, in the days when Justinian was Emperor and Belisarius general. # As many know, he wrote the history of his own times, a work every way of # uncommon value. By the best authorities, he has always been considered a most # trustworthy and unexaggerating historian, except in some one or two particulars, # not at all affecting the matter presently to be mentioned. # # Now, in this history of his, Procopius mentions that, during the term of his # prefecture at Constantinople, a great sea-monster was captured in the # neighboring Propontis, or Sea of Marmora, after having destroyed vessels at # intervals in those waters for a period of more than fifty years. A fact thus set # down in substantial history cannot easily be gainsaid. Nor is there any reason # it should be. Of what precise species this sea-monster was, is not mentioned. # But as he destroyed ships, as well as for other reasons, he must have been a # whale; and I am strongly inclined to think a sperm whale. And I will tell you # why. For a long time I fancied that the sperm whale had been always unknown in # the Mediterranean and the deep waters connecting with it. Even now I am certain # that those seas are not, and perhaps never can be, in the present constitution # of things, a place for his habitual gregarious resort. But further # investigations have recently proved to me, that in modern times there have been # isolated instances of the presence of the sperm whale in the Mediterranean. I am # told, on good authority, that on the Barbary coast, a Commodore Davis of the # British navy found the skeleton of a sperm whale. Now, as a vessel of war # readily passes through the Dardanelles, hence a sperm whale could, by the same # route, pass out of the Mediterranean into the Propontis. # # In the Propontis, as far as I can learn, none of that peculiar substance called # brit is to be found, the aliment of the right whale. But I have every reason to # believe that the food of the sperm whale—squid or cuttle-fish—lurks at the # bottom of that sea, because large creatures, but by no means the largest of that # sort, have been found at its surface. If, then, you properly put these # statements together, and reason upon them a bit, you will clearly perceive that, # according to all human reasoning, Procopius’s sea-monster, that for half a # century stove the ships of a Roman Emperor, must in all probability have been a # sperm whale. # # # # # # CHAPTER 46. Surmises. # # Though, consumed with the hot fire of his purpose, Ahab in all his thoughts and # actions ever had in view the ultimate capture of Moby Dick; though he seemed # ready to sacrifice all mortal interests to that one passion; nevertheless it may # have been that he was by nature and long habituation far too wedded to a fiery # whaleman’s ways, altogether to abandon the collateral prosecution of the voyage. # Or at least if this were otherwise, there were not wanting other motives much # more influential with him. It would be refining too much, perhaps, even # considering his monomania, to hint that his vindictiveness towards the White # Whale might have possibly extended itself in some degree to all sperm whales, # and that the more monsters he slew by so much the more he multiplied the chances # that each subsequently encountered whale would prove to be the hated one he # hunted. But if such an hypothesis be indeed exceptionable, there were still # additional considerations which, though not so strictly according with the # wildness of his ruling passion, yet were by no means incapable of swaying him. # # To accomplish his object Ahab must use tools; and of all tools used in the # shadow of the moon, men are most apt to get out of order. He knew, for example, # that however magnetic his ascendency in some respects was over Starbuck, yet # that ascendency did not cover the complete spiritual man any more than mere # corporeal superiority involves intellectual mastership; for to the purely # spiritual, the intellectual but stand in a sort of corporeal relation. # Starbuck’s body and Starbuck’s coerced will were Ahab’s, so long as Ahab kept # his magnet at Starbuck’s brain; still he knew that for all this the chief mate, # in his soul, abhorred his captain’s quest, and could he, would joyfully # disintegrate himself from it, or even frustrate it. It might be that a long # interval would elapse ere the White Whale was seen. During that long interval # Starbuck would ever be apt to fall into open relapses of rebellion against his # captain’s leadership, unless some ordinary, prudential, circumstantial # influences were brought to bear upon him. Not only that, but the subtle insanity # of Ahab respecting Moby Dick was noways more significantly manifested than in # his superlative sense and shrewdness in foreseeing that, for the present, the # hunt should in some way be stripped of that strange imaginative impiousness # which naturally invested it; that the full terror of the voyage must be kept # withdrawn into the obscure background (for few men’s courage is proof against # protracted meditation unrelieved by action); that when they stood their long # night watches, his officers and men must have some nearer things to think of # than Moby Dick. For however eagerly and impetuously the savage crew had hailed # the announcement of his quest; yet all sailors of all sorts are more or less # capricious and unreliable—they live in the varying outer weather, and they # inhale its fickleness—and when retained for any object remote and blank in the # pursuit, however promissory of life and passion in the end, it is above all # things requisite that temporary interests and employments should intervene and # hold them healthily suspended for the final dash. # # Nor was Ahab unmindful of another thing. In times of strong emotion mankind # disdain all base considerations; but such times are evanescent. The permanent # constitutional condition of the manufactured man, thought Ahab, is sordidness. # Granting that the White Whale fully incites the hearts of this my savage crew, # and playing round their savageness even breeds a certain generous # knight-errantism in them, still, while for the love of it they give chase to # Moby Dick, they must also have food for their more common, daily appetites. For # even the high lifted and chivalric Crusaders of old times were not content to # traverse two thousand miles of land to fight for their holy sepulchre, without # committing burglaries, picking pockets, and gaining other pious perquisites by # the way. Had they been strictly held to their one final and romantic object—that # final and romantic object, too many would have turned from in disgust. I will # not strip these men, thought Ahab, of all hopes of cash—aye, cash. They may # scorn cash now; but let some months go by, and no perspective promise of it to # them, and then this same quiescent cash all at once mutinying in them, this same # cash would soon cashier Ahab. # # Nor was there wanting still another precautionary motive more related to Ahab # personally. Having impulsively, it is probable, and perhaps somewhat prematurely # revealed the prime but private purpose of the Pequod’s voyage, Ahab was now # entirely conscious that, in so doing, he had indirectly laid himself open to the # unanswerable charge of usurpation; and with perfect impunity, both moral and # legal, his crew if so disposed, and to that end competent, could refuse all # further obedience to him, and even violently wrest from him the command. From # even the barely hinted imputation of usurpation, and the possible consequences # of such a suppressed impression gaining ground, Ahab must of course have been # most anxious to protect himself. That protection could only consist in his own # predominating brain and heart and hand, backed by a heedful, closely calculating # attention to every minute atmospheric influence which it was possible for his # crew to be subjected to. # # For all these reasons then, and others perhaps too analytic to be verbally # developed here, Ahab plainly saw that he must still in a good degree continue # true to the natural, nominal purpose of the Pequod’s voyage; observe all # customary usages; and not only that, but force himself to evince all his well # known passionate interest in the general pursuit of his profession. # # Be all this as it may, his voice was now often heard hailing the three # mast-heads and admonishing them to keep a bright look-out, and not omit # reporting even a porpoise. This vigilance was not long without reward. # # # # # # CHAPTER 47. The Mat-Maker. # # It was a cloudy, sultry afternoon; the seamen were lazily lounging about the # decks, or vacantly gazing over into the lead-coloured waters. Queequeg and I # were mildly employed weaving what is called a sword-mat, for an additional # lashing to our boat. So still and subdued and yet somehow preluding was all the # scene, and such an incantation of reverie lurked in the air, that each silent # sailor seemed resolved into his own invisible self. # # I was the attendant or page of Queequeg, while busy at the mat. As I kept # passing and repassing the filling or woof of marline between the long yarns of # the warp, using my own hand for the shuttle, and as Queequeg, standing sideways, # ever and anon slid his heavy oaken sword between the threads, and idly looking # off upon the water, carelessly and unthinkingly drove home every yarn: I say so # strange a dreaminess did there then reign all over the ship and all over the # sea, only broken by the intermitting dull sound of the sword, that it seemed as # if this were the Loom of Time, and I myself were a shuttle mechanically weaving # and weaving away at the Fates. There lay the fixed threads of the warp subject # to but one single, ever returning, unchanging vibration, and that vibration # merely enough to admit of the crosswise interblending of other threads with its # own. This warp seemed necessity; and here, thought I, with my own hand I ply my # own shuttle and weave my own destiny into these unalterable threads. Meantime, # Queequeg’s impulsive, indifferent sword, sometimes hitting the woof slantingly, # or crookedly, or strongly, or weakly, as the case might be; and by this # difference in the concluding blow producing a corresponding contrast in the # final aspect of the completed fabric; this savage’s sword, thought I, which thus # finally shapes and fashions both warp and woof; this easy, indifferent sword # must be chance—aye, chance, free will, and necessity—nowise incompatible—all # interweavingly working together. The straight warp of necessity, not to be # swerved from its ultimate course—its every alternating vibration, indeed, only # tending to that; free will still free to ply her shuttle between given threads; # and chance, though restrained in its play within the right lines of necessity, # and sideways in its motions directed by free will, though thus prescribed to by # both, chance by turns rules either, and has the last featuring blow at events. # # Thus we were weaving and weaving away when I started at a sound so strange, long # drawn, and musically wild and unearthly, that the ball of free will dropped from # my hand, and I stood gazing up at the clouds whence that voice dropped like a # wing. High aloft in the cross-trees 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 # look-outs perched as high in the air; but from few of those lungs could that # accustomed old cry have derived such a marvellous cadence as from Tashtego the # Indian’s. # # As he stood hovering over you half suspended in air, so wildly and eagerly # peering towards the horizon, you would have thought him some prophet or seer # beholding the shadows of Fate, and by those wild cries announcing their coming. # # “There she blows! there! there! there! she blows! she blows!” # # “Where-away?” # # “On the lee-beam, about two miles off! a school of them!” # # Instantly all was commotion. # # The Sperm Whale blows as a clock ticks, with the same undeviating and reliable # uniformity. And thereby whalemen distinguish this fish from other tribes of his # genus. # # “There go flukes!” was now the cry from Tashtego; and the whales disappeared. # # “Quick, steward!” cried Ahab. “Time! time!” # # Dough-Boy hurried below, glanced at the watch, and reported the exact minute to # Ahab. # # The ship was now kept away from the wind, and she went gently rolling before it. # Tashtego reporting that the whales had gone down heading to leeward, we # confidently looked to see them again directly in advance of our bows. For that # singular craft at times evinced by the Sperm Whale when, sounding with his head # in one direction, he nevertheless, while concealed beneath the surface, mills # round, and swiftly swims off in the opposite quarter—this deceitfulness of his # could not now be in action; for there was no reason to suppose that the fish # seen by Tashtego had been in any way alarmed, or indeed knew at all of our # vicinity. One of the men selected for shipkeepers—that is, those not appointed # to the boats, by this time relieved the Indian at the main-mast head. The # sailors at the fore and mizzen had come down; the line tubs were fixed in their # places; the cranes were thrust out; the mainyard was backed, and the three boats # swung over the sea like three samphire baskets over high cliffs. Outside of the # bulwarks their eager crews with one hand clung to the rail, while one foot was # expectantly poised on the gunwale. So look the long line of man-of-war’s men # about to throw themselves on board an enemy’s ship. # # But at this critical instant a sudden exclamation was heard that took every eye # from the whale. With a start all glared at dark Ahab, who was surrounded by five # dusky phantoms that seemed fresh formed out of air. # # # # # # CHAPTER 48. The First Lowering. # # The phantoms, for so they then seemed, were flitting on the other side of the # deck, and, with a noiseless celerity, were casting loose the tackles and bands # of the boat which swung there. This boat had always been deemed one of the spare # boats, though technically called the captain’s, on account of its hanging from # the starboard quarter. The figure that now stood by its bows was tall and swart, # with one white tooth evilly protruding from its steel-like lips. A rumpled # Chinese jacket of black cotton funereally invested him, with wide black trowsers # of the same dark stuff. But strangely crowning this ebonness was a glistening # white plaited turban, the living hair braided and coiled round and round upon # his head. Less swart in aspect, the companions of this figure were of that # vivid, tiger-yellow complexion peculiar to some of the aboriginal natives of the # Manillas;—a race notorious for a certain diabolism of subtilty, and by some # honest white mariners supposed to be the paid spies and secret confidential # agents on the water of the devil, their lord, whose counting-room they suppose # to be elsewhere. # # While yet the wondering ship’s company were gazing upon these strangers, Ahab # cried out to the white-turbaned old man at their head, “All ready there, # Fedallah?” # # “Ready,” was the half-hissed reply. # # “Lower away then; d’ye hear?” shouting across the deck. “Lower away there, I # say.” # # Such was the thunder of his voice, that spite of their amazement the men sprang # over the rail; the sheaves whirled round in the blocks; with a wallow, the three # boats dropped into the sea; while, with a dexterous, off-handed daring, unknown # in any other vocation, the sailors, goat-like, leaped down the rolling ship’s # side into the tossed boats below. # # Hardly had they pulled out from under the ship’s lee, when a fourth keel, coming # from the windward side, pulled round under the stern, and showed the five # strangers rowing Ahab, who, standing erect in the stern, loudly hailed Starbuck, # Stubb, and Flask, to spread themselves widely, so as to cover a large expanse of # water. But with all their eyes again riveted upon the swart Fedallah and his # crew, the inmates of the other boats obeyed not the command. # # “Captain Ahab?—” said Starbuck. # # “Spread yourselves,” cried Ahab; “give way, all four boats. Thou, Flask, pull # out more to leeward!” # # “Aye, aye, sir,” cheerily cried little King-Post, sweeping round his great # steering oar. “Lay back!” addressing his crew. “There!—there!—there again! There # she blows right ahead, boys!—lay back!” # # “Never heed yonder yellow boys, Archy.” # # “Oh, I don’t mind ’em, sir,” said Archy; “I knew it all before now. Didn’t I # hear ’em in the hold? And didn’t I tell Cabaco here of it? What say ye, Cabaco? # They are stowaways, Mr. Flask.” # # “Pull, pull, my fine hearts-alive; pull, my children; pull, my little ones,” # drawlingly and soothingly sighed Stubb to his crew, some of whom still showed # signs of uneasiness. “Why don’t you break your backbones, my boys? What is it # you stare at? Those chaps in yonder boat? Tut! They are only five more hands # come to help us—never mind from where—the more the merrier. Pull, then, do pull; # never mind the brimstone—devils are good fellows enough. So, so; there you are # now; that’s the stroke for a thousand pounds; that’s the stroke to sweep the # stakes! Hurrah for the gold cup of sperm oil, my heroes! Three cheers, men—all # hearts alive! Easy, easy; don’t be in a hurry—don’t be in a hurry. Why don’t you # snap your oars, you rascals? Bite something, you dogs! So, so, so, then:—softly, # softly! That’s it—that’s it! long and strong. Give way there, give way! The # devil fetch ye, ye ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep. Stop snoring, ye # sleepers, and pull. Pull, will ye? pull, can’t ye? pull, won’t ye? Why in the # name of gudgeons and ginger-cakes don’t ye pull?—pull and break something! pull, # and start your eyes out! Here!” whipping out the sharp knife from his girdle; # “every mother’s son of ye draw his knife, and pull with the blade between his # teeth. That’s it—that’s it. Now ye do something; that looks like it, my # steel-bits. Start her—start her, my silver-spoons! Start her, marling-spikes!” # # Stubb’s exordium to his crew is given here at large, because he had rather a # peculiar way of talking to them in general, and especially in inculcating the # religion of rowing. But you must not suppose from this specimen of his # sermonizings that he ever flew into downright passions with his congregation. # Not at all; and therein consisted his chief peculiarity. He would say the most # terrific things to his crew, in a tone so strangely compounded of fun and fury, # and the fury seemed so calculated merely as a spice to the fun, that no oarsman # could hear such queer invocations without pulling for dear life, and yet pulling # for the mere joke of the thing. Besides he all the time looked so easy and # indolent himself, so loungingly managed his steering-oar, and so broadly # gaped—open-mouthed at times—that the mere sight of such a yawning commander, by # sheer force of contrast, acted like a charm upon the crew. Then again, Stubb was # one of those odd sort of humorists, whose jollity is sometimes so curiously # ambiguous, as to put all inferiors on their guard in the matter of obeying them. # # In obedience to a sign from Ahab, Starbuck was now pulling obliquely across # Stubb’s bow; and when for a minute or so the two boats were pretty near to each # other, Stubb hailed the mate. # # “Mr. Starbuck! larboard boat there, ahoy! a word with ye, sir, if ye please!” # # “Halloa!” returned Starbuck, turning round not a single inch as he spoke; still # earnestly but whisperingly urging his crew; his face set like a flint from # Stubb’s. # # “What think ye of those yellow boys, sir!” # # “Smuggled on board, somehow, before the ship sailed. (Strong, strong, boys!)” in # a whisper to his crew, then speaking out loud again: “A sad business, Mr. Stubb! # (seethe her, seethe her, my lads!) but never mind, Mr. Stubb, all for the best. # Let all your crew pull strong, come what will. (Spring, my men, spring!) There’s # hogsheads of sperm ahead, Mr. Stubb, and that’s what ye came for. (Pull, my # boys!) Sperm, sperm’s the play! This at least is duty; duty and profit hand in # hand.” # # “Aye, aye, I thought as much,” soliloquized Stubb, when the boats diverged, “as # soon as I clapt eye on ’em, I thought so. Aye, and that’s what he went into the # after hold for, so often, as Dough-Boy long suspected. They were hidden down # there. The White Whale’s at the bottom of it. Well, well, so be it! Can’t be # helped! All right! Give way, men! It ain’t the White Whale to-day! Give way!” # # Now the advent of these outlandish strangers at such a critical instant as the # lowering of the boats from the deck, this had not unreasonably awakened a sort # of superstitious amazement in some of the ship’s company; but Archy’s fancied # discovery having some time previous got abroad among them, though indeed not # credited then, this had in some small measure prepared them for the event. It # took off the extreme edge of their wonder; and so what with all this and Stubb’s # confident way of accounting for their appearance, they were for the time freed # from superstitious surmisings; though the affair still left abundant room for # all manner of wild conjectures as to dark Ahab’s precise agency in the matter # from the beginning. For me, I silently recalled the mysterious shadows I had # seen creeping on board the Pequod during the dim Nantucket dawn, as well as the # enigmatical hintings of the unaccountable Elijah. # # Meantime, Ahab, out of hearing of his officers, having sided the furthest to # windward, was still ranging ahead of the other boats; a circumstance bespeaking # how potent a crew was pulling him. Those tiger yellow creatures of his seemed # all steel and whalebone; like five trip-hammers they rose and fell with regular # strokes of strength, which periodically started the boat along the water like a # horizontal burst boiler out of a Mississippi steamer. As for Fedallah, who was # seen pulling the harpooneer oar, he had thrown aside his black jacket, and # displayed his naked chest with the whole part of his body above the gunwale, # clearly cut against the alternating depressions of the watery horizon; while at # the other end of the boat Ahab, with one arm, like a fencer’s, thrown half # backward into the air, as if to counterbalance any tendency to trip; Ahab was # seen steadily managing his steering oar as in a thousand boat lowerings ere the # White Whale had torn him. All at once the outstretched arm gave a peculiar # motion and then remained fixed, while the boat’s five oars were seen # simultaneously peaked. Boat and crew sat motionless on the sea. Instantly the # three spread boats in the rear paused on their way. The whales had irregularly # settled bodily down into the blue, thus giving no distantly discernible token of # the movement, though from his closer vicinity Ahab had observed it. # # “Every man look out along his oars!” cried Starbuck. “Thou, Queequeg, stand up!” # # Nimbly springing up on the triangular raised box in the bow, the savage stood # erect there, and with intensely eager eyes gazed off towards the spot where the # chase had last been descried. Likewise upon the extreme stern of the boat where # it was also triangularly platformed level with the gunwale, Starbuck himself was # seen coolly and adroitly balancing himself to the jerking tossings of his chip # of a craft, and silently eyeing the vast blue eye of the sea. # # Not very far distant Flask’s boat was also lying breathlessly still; its # commander recklessly standing upon the top of the loggerhead, a stout sort of # post rooted in the keel, and rising some two feet above the level of the stern # platform. It is used for catching turns with the whale line. Its top is not more # spacious than the palm of a man’s hand, and standing upon such a base as that, # Flask seemed perched at the mast-head of some ship which had sunk to all but her # trucks. But little King-Post was small and short, and at the same time little # King-Post was full of a large and tall ambition, so that this loggerhead # stand-point of his did by no means satisfy King-Post. # # “I can’t see three seas off; tip us up an oar there, and let me on to that.” # # Upon this, Daggoo, with either hand upon the gunwale to steady his way, swiftly # slid aft, and then erecting himself volunteered his lofty shoulders for a # pedestal. # # “Good a mast-head as any, sir. Will you mount?” # # “That I will, and thank ye very much, my fine fellow; only I wish you fifty feet # taller.” # # Whereupon planting his feet firmly against two opposite planks of the boat, the # gigantic negro, stooping a little, presented his flat palm to Flask’s foot, and # then putting Flask’s hand on his hearse-plumed head and bidding him spring as he # himself should toss, with one dexterous fling landed the little man high and dry # on his shoulders. And here was Flask now standing, Daggoo with one lifted arm # furnishing him with a breastband to lean against and steady himself by. # # At any time it is a strange sight to the tyro to see with what wondrous habitude # of unconscious skill the whaleman will maintain an erect posture in his boat, # even when pitched about by the most riotously perverse and cross-running seas. # Still more strange to see him giddily perched upon the loggerhead itself, under # such circumstances. But the sight of little Flask mounted upon gigantic Daggoo # was yet more curious; for sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, # unthought of, barbaric majesty, the noble negro to every roll of the sea # harmoniously rolled his fine form. On his broad back, flaxen-haired Flask seemed # a snow-flake. The bearer looked nobler than the rider. Though truly vivacious, # tumultuous, ostentatious little Flask would now and then stamp with impatience; # but not one added heave did he thereby give to the negro’s lordly chest. So have # I seen Passion and Vanity stamping the living magnanimous earth, but the earth # did not alter her tides and her seasons for that. # # Meanwhile Stubb, the third mate, betrayed no such far-gazing solicitudes. The # whales might have made one of their regular soundings, not a temporary dive from # mere fright; and if that were the case, Stubb, as his wont in such cases, it # seems, was resolved to solace the languishing interval with his pipe. He # withdrew it from his hatband, where he always wore it aslant like a feather. He # loaded it, and rammed home the loading with his thumb-end; but hardly had he # ignited his match across the rough sandpaper of his hand, when Tashtego, his # harpooneer, whose eyes had been setting to windward like two fixed stars, # suddenly dropped like light from his erect attitude to his seat, crying out in a # quick phrensy of hurry, “Down, down all, and give way!—there they are!” # # To a landsman, no whale, nor any sign of a herring, would have been visible at # that moment; nothing but a troubled bit of greenish white water, and thin # scattered puffs of vapor hovering over it, and suffusingly blowing off to # leeward, like the confused scud from white rolling billows. The air around # suddenly vibrated and tingled, as it were, like the air over intensely heated # plates of iron. Beneath this atmospheric waving and curling, and partially # beneath a thin layer of water, also, the whales were swimming. Seen in advance # of all the other indications, the puffs of vapor they spouted, seemed their # forerunning couriers and detached flying outriders. # # All four boats were now in keen pursuit of that one spot of troubled water and # air. But it bade fair to outstrip them; it flew on and on, as a mass of # interblending bubbles borne down a rapid stream from the hills. # # “Pull, pull, my good boys,” said Starbuck, in the lowest possible but intensest # concentrated whisper to his men; while the sharp fixed glance from his eyes # darted straight ahead of the bow, almost seemed as two visible needles in two # unerring binnacle compasses. He did not say much to his crew, though, nor did # his crew say anything to him. Only the silence of the boat was at intervals # startlingly pierced by one of his peculiar whispers, now harsh with command, now # soft with entreaty. # # How different the loud little King-Post. “Sing out and say something, my # hearties. Roar and pull, my thunderbolts! Beach me, beach me on their black # backs, boys; only do that for me, and I’ll sign over to you my Martha’s Vineyard # plantation, boys; including wife and children, boys. Lay me on—lay me on! O # Lord, Lord! but I shall go stark, staring mad! See! see that white water!” And # so shouting, he pulled his hat from his head, and stamped up and down on it; # then picking it up, flirted it far off upon the sea; and finally fell to rearing # and plunging in the boat’s stern like a crazed colt from the prairie. # # “Look at that chap now,” philosophically drawled Stubb, who, with his unlighted # short pipe, mechanically retained between his teeth, at a short distance, # followed after—“He’s got fits, that Flask has. Fits? yes, give him fits—that’s # the very word—pitch fits into ’em. Merrily, merrily, hearts-alive. Pudding for # supper, you know;—merry’s the word. Pull, babes—pull, sucklings—pull, all. But # what the devil are you hurrying about? Softly, softly, and steadily, my men. # Only pull, and keep pulling; nothing more. Crack all your backbones, and bite # your knives in two—that’s all. Take it easy—why don’t ye take it easy, I say, # and burst all your livers and lungs!” # # But what it was that inscrutable Ahab said to that tiger-yellow crew of # his—these were words best omitted here; for you live under the blessed light of # the evangelical land. Only the infidel sharks in the audacious seas may give ear # to such words, when, with tornado brow, and eyes of red murder, and foam-glued # lips, Ahab leaped after his prey. # # Meanwhile, all the boats tore on. The repeated specific allusions of Flask to # “that whale,” as he called the fictitious monster which he declared to be # incessantly tantalizing his boat’s bow with its tail—these allusions of his were # at times so vivid and life-like, that they would cause some one or two of his # men to snatch a fearful look over the shoulder. But this was against all rule; # for the oarsmen must put out their eyes, and ram a skewer through their necks; # usage pronouncing that they must have no organs but ears, and no limbs but arms, # in these critical moments. # # It was a sight full of quick wonder and awe! The vast swells of the omnipotent # sea; the surging, hollow roar they made, as they rolled along the eight # gunwales, like gigantic bowls in a boundless bowling-green; the brief suspended # agony of the boat, as it would tip for an instant on the knife-like edge of the # sharper waves, that almost seemed threatening to cut it in two; the sudden # profound dip into the watery glens and hollows; the keen spurrings and goadings # to gain the top of the opposite hill; the headlong, sled-like slide down its # other side;—all these, with the cries of the headsmen and harpooneers, and the # shuddering gasps of the oarsmen, with the wondrous sight of the ivory Pequod # bearing down upon her boats with outstretched sails, like a wild hen after her # screaming brood;—all this was thrilling. # # Not the raw recruit, marching from the bosom of his wife into the fever heat of # his first battle; not the dead man’s ghost encountering the first unknown # phantom in the other world;—neither of these can feel stranger and stronger # emotions than that man does, who for the first time finds himself pulling into # the charmed, churned circle of the hunted sperm whale. # # The dancing white water made by the chase was now becoming more and more # visible, owing to the increasing darkness of the dun cloud-shadows flung upon # the sea. The jets of vapor no longer blended, but tilted everywhere to right and # left; the whales seemed separating their wakes. The boats were pulled more # apart; Starbuck giving chase to three whales running dead to leeward. Our sail # was now set, and, with the still rising wind, we rushed along; the boat going # with such madness through the water, that the lee oars could scarcely be worked # rapidly enough to escape being torn from the row-locks. # # Soon we were running through a suffusing wide veil of mist; neither ship nor # boat to be seen. # # “Give way, men,” whispered Starbuck, drawing still further aft the sheet of his # sail; “there is time to kill a fish yet before the squall comes. There’s white # water again!—close to! Spring!” # # Soon after, two cries in quick succession on each side of us denoted that the # other boats had got fast; but hardly were they overheard, when with a # lightning-like hurtling whisper Starbuck said: “Stand up!” and Queequeg, harpoon # in hand, sprang to his feet. # # Though not one of the oarsmen was then facing the life and death peril so close # to them ahead, yet with their eyes on the intense countenance of the mate in the # stern of the boat, they knew that the imminent instant had come; they heard, # too, an enormous wallowing sound as of fifty elephants stirring in their litter. # Meanwhile the boat was still booming through the mist, the waves curling and # hissing around us like the erected crests of enraged serpents. # # “That’s his hump. There, there, give it to him!” whispered Starbuck. # # A short rushing sound leaped out of the boat; it was the darted iron of # Queequeg. Then all in one welded commotion came an invisible push from astern, # while forward the boat seemed striking on a ledge; the sail collapsed and # exploded; a gush of scalding vapor shot up near by; something rolled and tumbled # like an earthquake beneath us. The whole crew were half suffocated as they were # tossed helter-skelter into the white curdling cream of the squall. Squall, # whale, and harpoon had all blended together; and the whale, merely grazed by the # iron, escaped. # # Though completely swamped, the boat was nearly unharmed. Swimming round it we # picked up the floating oars, and lashing them across the gunwale, tumbled back # to our places. There we sat up to our knees in the sea, the water covering every # rib and plank, so that to our downward gazing eyes the suspended craft seemed a # coral boat grown up to us from the bottom of the ocean. # # The wind increased to a howl; the waves dashed their bucklers together; the # whole squall roared, forked, and crackled around us like a white fire upon the # prairie, in which, unconsumed, we were burning; immortal in these jaws of death! # In vain we hailed the other boats; as well roar to the live coals down the # chimney of a flaming furnace as hail those boats in that storm. Meanwhile the # driving scud, rack, and mist, grew darker with the shadows of night; no sign of # the ship could be seen. The rising sea forbade all attempts to bale out the # boat. The oars were useless as propellers, performing now the office of # life-preservers. So, cutting the lashing of the waterproof match keg, after many # failures Starbuck contrived to ignite the lamp in the lantern; then stretching # it on a waif pole, handed it to Queequeg as the standard-bearer of this forlorn # hope. There, then, he sat, holding up that imbecile candle in the heart of that # almighty forlornness. There, then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without # faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of despair. # # Wet, drenched through, and shivering cold, despairing of ship or boat, we lifted # up our eyes as the dawn came on. The mist still spread over the sea, the empty # lantern lay crushed in the bottom of the boat. Suddenly Queequeg started to his # feet, hollowing his hand to his ear. We all heard a faint creaking, as of ropes # and yards hitherto muffled by the storm. The sound came nearer and nearer; the # thick mists were dimly parted by a huge, vague form. Affrighted, we all sprang # into the sea as the ship at last loomed into view, bearing right down upon us # within a distance of not much more than its length. # # Floating on the waves we saw the abandoned boat, as for one instant it tossed # and gaped beneath the ship’s bows like a chip at the base of a cataract; and # then the vast hull rolled over it, and it was seen no more till it came up # weltering astern. Again we swam for it, were dashed against it by the seas, and # were at last taken up and safely landed on board. Ere the squall came close to, # the other boats had cut loose from their fish and returned to the ship in good # time. The ship had given us up, but was still cruising, if haply it might light # upon some token of our perishing,—an oar or a lance pole. # # # # # # CHAPTER 49. The Hyena. # # There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call # life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the # wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at # nobody’s expense but his own. However, nothing dispirits, and nothing seems # worth while disputing. He bolts down all events, all creeds, and beliefs, and # persuasions, all hard things visible and invisible, never mind how knobby; as an # ostrich of potent digestion gobbles down bullets and gun flints. And as for # small difficulties and worryings, prospects of sudden disaster, peril of life # and limb; all these, and death itself, seem to him only sly, good-natured hits, # and jolly punches in the side bestowed by the unseen and unaccountable old # joker. That odd sort of wayward mood I am speaking of, comes over a man only in # some time of extreme tribulation; it comes in the very midst of his earnestness, # so that what just before might have seemed to him a thing most momentous, now # seems but a part of the general joke. There is nothing like the perils of # whaling to breed this free and easy sort of genial, desperado philosophy; and # with it I now regarded this whole voyage of the Pequod, and the great White # Whale its object. # # “Queequeg,” said I, when they had dragged me, the last man, to the deck, and I # was still shaking myself in my jacket to fling off the water; “Queequeg, my fine # friend, does this sort of thing often happen?” Without much emotion, though # soaked through just like me, he gave me to understand that such things did often # happen. # # “Mr. Stubb,” said I, turning to that worthy, who, buttoned up in his oil-jacket, # was now calmly smoking his pipe in the rain; “Mr. Stubb, I think I have heard # you say that of all whalemen you ever met, our chief mate, Mr. Starbuck, is by # far the most careful and prudent. I suppose then, that going plump on a flying # whale with your sail set in a foggy squall is the height of a whaleman’s # discretion?” # # “Certain. I’ve lowered for whales from a leaking ship in a gale off Cape Horn.” # # “Mr. Flask,” said I, turning to little King-Post, who was standing close by; # “you are experienced in these things, and I am not. Will you tell me whether it # is an unalterable law in this fishery, Mr. Flask, for an oarsman to break his # own back pulling himself back-foremost into death’s jaws?” # # “Can’t you twist that smaller?” said Flask. “Yes, that’s the law. I should like # to see a boat’s crew backing water up to a whale face foremost. Ha, ha! the # whale would give them squint for squint, mind that!” # # Here then, from three impartial witnesses, I had a deliberate statement of the # entire case. Considering, therefore, that squalls and capsizings in the water # and consequent bivouacks on the deep, were matters of common occurrence in this # kind of life; considering that at the superlatively critical instant of going on # to the whale I must resign my life into the hands of him who steered the # boat—oftentimes a fellow who at that very moment is in his impetuousness upon # the point of scuttling the craft with his own frantic stampings; considering # that the particular disaster to our own particular boat was chiefly to be # imputed to Starbuck’s driving on to his whale almost in the teeth of a squall, # and considering that Starbuck, notwithstanding, was famous for his great # heedfulness in the fishery; considering that I belonged to this uncommonly # prudent Starbuck’s boat; and finally considering in what a devil’s chase I was # implicated, touching the White Whale: taking all things together, I say, I # thought I might as well go below and make a rough draft of my will. “Queequeg,” # said I, “come along, you shall be my lawyer, executor, and legatee.” # # It may seem strange that of all men sailors should be tinkering at their last # wills and testaments, but there are no people in the world more fond of that # diversion. This was the fourth time in my nautical life that I had done the same # thing. After the ceremony was concluded upon the present occasion, I felt all # the easier; a stone was rolled away from my heart. Besides, all the days I # should now live would be as good as the days that Lazarus lived after his # resurrection; a supplementary clean gain of so many months or weeks as the case # might be. I survived myself; my death and burial were locked up in my chest. I # looked round me tranquilly and contentedly, like a quiet ghost with a clean # conscience sitting inside the bars of a snug family vault. # # Now then, thought I, unconsciously rolling up the sleeves of my frock, here goes # for a cool, collected dive at death and destruction, and the devil fetch the # hindmost. # # # # # # CHAPTER 50. Ahab’s Boat and Crew. Fedallah. # # “Who would have thought it, Flask!” cried Stubb; “if I had but one leg you would # not catch me in a boat, unless maybe to stop the plug-hole with my timber toe. # Oh! he’s a wonderful old man!” # # “I don’t think it so strange, after all, on that account,” said Flask. “If his # leg were off at the hip, now, it would be a different thing. That would disable # him; but he has one knee, and good part of the other left, you know.” # # “I don’t know that, my little man; I never yet saw him kneel.” # # Among whale-wise people it has often been argued whether, considering the # paramount importance of his life to the success of the voyage, it is right for a # whaling captain to jeopardize that life in the active perils of the chase. So # Tamerlane’s soldiers often argued with tears in their eyes, whether that # invaluable life of his ought to be carried into the thickest of the fight. # # But with Ahab the question assumed a modified aspect. Considering that with two # legs man is but a hobbling wight in all times of danger; considering that the # pursuit of whales is always under great and extraordinary difficulties; that # every individual moment, indeed, then comprises a peril; under these # circumstances is it wise for any maimed man to enter a whale-boat in the hunt? # As a general thing, the joint-owners of the Pequod must have plainly thought # not. # # Ahab well knew that although his friends at home would think little of his # entering a boat in certain comparatively harmless vicissitudes of the chase, for # the sake of being near the scene of action and giving his orders in person, yet # for Captain Ahab to have a boat actually apportioned to him as a regular # headsman in the hunt—above all for Captain Ahab to be supplied with five extra # men, as that same boat’s crew, he well knew that such generous conceits never # entered the heads of the owners of the Pequod. Therefore he had not solicited a # boat’s crew from them, nor had he in any way hinted his desires on that head. # Nevertheless he had taken private measures of his own touching all that matter. # Until Cabaco’s published discovery, the sailors had little foreseen it, though # to be sure when, after being a little while out of port, all hands had concluded # the customary business of fitting the whaleboats for service; when some time # after this Ahab was now and then found bestirring himself in the matter of # making thole-pins with his own hands for what was thought to be one of the spare # boats, and even solicitously cutting the small wooden skewers, which when the # line is running out are pinned over the groove in the bow: when all this was # observed in him, and particularly his solicitude in having an extra coat of # sheathing in the bottom of the boat, as if to make it better withstand the # pointed pressure of his ivory limb; and also the anxiety he evinced in exactly # shaping the thigh board, or clumsy cleat, as it is sometimes called, the # horizontal piece in the boat’s bow for bracing the knee against in darting or # stabbing at the whale; when it was observed how often he stood up in that boat # with his solitary knee fixed in the semi-circular depression in the cleat, and # with the carpenter’s chisel gouged out a little here and straightened it a # little there; all these things, I say, had awakened much interest and curiosity # at the time. But almost everybody supposed that this particular preparative # heedfulness in Ahab must only be with a view to the ultimate chase of Moby Dick; # for he had already revealed his intention to hunt that mortal monster in person. # But such a supposition did by no means involve the remotest suspicion as to any # boat’s crew being assigned to that boat. # # Now, with the subordinate phantoms, what wonder remained soon waned away; for in # a whaler wonders soon wane. Besides, now and then such unaccountable odds and # ends of strange nations come up from the unknown nooks and ash-holes of the # earth to man these floating outlaws of whalers; and the ships themselves often # pick up such queer castaway creatures found tossing about the open sea on # planks, bits of wreck, oars, whaleboats, canoes, blown-off Japanese junks, and # what not; that Beelzebub himself might climb up the side and step down into the # cabin to chat with the captain, and it would not create any unsubduable # excitement in the forecastle. # # But be all this as it may, certain it is that while the subordinate phantoms # soon found their place among the crew, though still as it were somehow distinct # from them, yet that hair-turbaned Fedallah remained a muffled mystery to the # last. Whence he came in a mannerly world like this, by what sort of # unaccountable tie he soon evinced himself to be linked with Ahab’s peculiar # fortunes; nay, so far as to have some sort of a half-hinted influence; Heaven # knows, but it might have been even authority over him; all this none knew. But # one cannot sustain an indifferent air concerning Fedallah. He was such a # creature as civilized, domestic people in the temperate zone only see in their # dreams, and that but dimly; but the like of whom now and then glide among the # unchanging Asiatic communities, especially the Oriental isles to the east of the # continent—those insulated, immemorial, unalterable countries, which even in # these modern days still preserve much of the ghostly aboriginalness of earth’s # primal generations, when the memory of the first man was a distinct # recollection, and all men his descendants, unknowing whence he came, eyed each # other as real phantoms, and asked of the sun and the moon why they were created # and to what end; when though, according to Genesis, the angels indeed consorted # with the daughters of men, the devils also, add the uncanonical Rabbins, # indulged in mundane amours. # # # # # # CHAPTER 51. The Spirit-Spout. # # Days, weeks passed, and under easy sail, the ivory Pequod had slowly swept # across four several cruising-grounds; that off the Azores; off the Cape de # Verdes; on the Plate (so called), being off the mouth of the Rio de la Plata; # and the Carrol Ground, an unstaked, watery locality, southerly from St. Helena. # # It was while gliding through these latter waters that one serene and moonlight # night, when all the waves rolled by like scrolls of silver; and, by their soft, # suffusing seethings, made what seemed a silvery silence, not a solitude; on such # a silent night a silvery jet was seen far in advance of the white bubbles at the # bow. Lit up by the moon, it looked celestial; seemed some plumed and glittering # god uprising from the sea. Fedallah first descried this jet. For of these # moonlight nights, it was his wont to mount to the main-mast head, and stand a # look-out there, with the same precision as if it had been day. And yet, though # herds of whales were seen by night, not one whaleman in a hundred would venture # a lowering for them. You may think with what emotions, then, the seamen beheld # this old Oriental perched aloft at such unusual hours; his turban and the moon, # companions in one sky. But when, after spending his uniform interval there for # several successive nights without uttering a single sound; when, after all this # silence, his unearthly voice was heard announcing that silvery, moon-lit jet, # every reclining mariner started to his feet as if some winged spirit had lighted # in the rigging, and hailed the mortal crew. “There she blows!” Had the trump of # judgment blown, they could not have quivered more; yet still they felt no # terror; rather pleasure. For though it was a most unwonted hour, yet so # impressive was the cry, and so deliriously exciting, that almost every soul on # board instinctively desired a lowering. # # Walking the deck with quick, side-lunging strides, Ahab commanded the t’gallant # sails and royals to be set, and every stunsail spread. The best man in the ship # must take the helm. Then, with every mast-head manned, the piled-up craft rolled # down before the wind. The strange, upheaving, lifting tendency of the taffrail # breeze filling the hollows of so many sails, made the buoyant, hovering deck to # feel like air beneath the feet; while still she rushed along, as if two # antagonistic influences were struggling in her—one to mount direct to heaven, # the other to drive yawingly to some horizontal goal. And had you watched Ahab’s # face that night, you would have thought that in him also two different things # were warring. While his one live leg made lively echoes along the deck, every # stroke of his dead limb sounded like a coffin-tap. On life and death this old # man walked. But though the ship so swiftly sped, and though from every eye, like # arrows, the eager glances shot, yet the silvery jet was no more seen that night. # Every sailor swore he saw it once, but not a second time. # # This midnight-spout had almost grown a forgotten thing, when, some days after, # lo! at the same silent hour, it was again announced: again it was descried by # all; but upon making sail to overtake it, once more it disappeared as if it had # never been. And so it served us night after night, till no one heeded it but to # wonder at it. Mysteriously jetted into the clear moonlight, or starlight, as the # case might be; disappearing again for one whole day, or two days, or three; and # somehow seeming at every distinct repetition to be advancing still further and # further in our van, this solitary jet seemed for ever alluring us on. # # Nor with the immemorial superstition of their race, and in accordance with the # preternaturalness, as it seemed, which in many things invested the Pequod, were # there wanting some of the seamen who swore that whenever and wherever descried; # at however remote times, or in however far apart latitudes and longitudes, that # unnearable spout was cast by one self-same whale; and that whale, Moby Dick. For # a time, there reigned, too, a sense of peculiar dread at this flitting # apparition, as if it were treacherously beckoning us on and on, in order that # the monster might turn round upon us, and rend us at last in the remotest and # most savage seas. # # These temporary apprehensions, so vague but so awful, derived a wondrous potency # from the contrasting serenity of the weather, in which, beneath all its blue # blandness, some thought there lurked a devilish charm, as for days and days we # voyaged along, through seas so wearily, lonesomely mild, that all space, in # repugnance to our vengeful errand, seemed vacating itself of life before our # urn-like prow. # # But, at last, when turning to the eastward, the Cape winds began howling around # us, and we rose and fell upon the long, troubled seas that are there; when the # ivory-tusked Pequod sharply bowed to the blast, and gored the dark waves in her # madness, till, like showers of silver chips, the foam-flakes flew over her # bulwarks; then all this desolate vacuity of life went away, but gave place to # sights more dismal than before. # # Close to our bows, strange forms in the water darted hither and thither before # us; while thick in our rear flew the inscrutable sea-ravens. And every morning, # perched on our stays, rows of these birds were seen; and spite of our hootings, # for a long time obstinately clung to the hemp, as though they deemed our ship # some drifting, uninhabited craft; a thing appointed to desolation, and therefore # fit roosting-place for their homeless selves. And heaved and heaved, still # unrestingly heaved the black sea, as if its vast tides were a conscience; and # the great mundane soul were in anguish and remorse for the long sin and # suffering it had bred. # # Cape of Good Hope, do they call ye? Rather Cape Tormentoso, as called of yore; # for long allured by the perfidious silences that before had attended us, we # found ourselves launched into this tormented sea, where guilty beings # transformed into those fowls and these fish, seemed condemned to swim on # everlastingly without any haven in store, or beat that black air without any # horizon. But calm, snow-white, and unvarying; still directing its fountain of # feathers to the sky; still beckoning us on from before, the solitary jet would # at times be descried. # # During all this blackness of the elements, Ahab, though assuming for the time # the almost continual command of the drenched and dangerous deck, manifested the # gloomiest reserve; and more seldom than ever addressed his mates. In tempestuous # times like these, after everything above and aloft has been secured, nothing # more can be done but passively to await the issue of the gale. Then Captain and # crew become practical fatalists. So, with his ivory leg inserted into its # accustomed hole, and with one hand firmly grasping a shroud, Ahab for hours and # hours would stand gazing dead to windward, while an occasional squall of sleet # or snow would all but congeal his very eyelashes together. Meantime, the crew # driven from the forward part of the ship by the perilous seas that burstingly # broke over its bows, stood in a line along the bulwarks in the waist; and the # better to guard against the leaping waves, each man had slipped himself into a # sort of bowline secured to the rail, in which he swung as in a loosened belt. # Few or no words were spoken; and the silent ship, as if manned by painted # sailors in wax, day after day tore on through all the swift madness and gladness # of the demoniac waves. By night the same muteness of humanity before the shrieks # of the ocean prevailed; still in silence the men swung in the bowlines; still # wordless Ahab stood up to the blast. Even when wearied nature seemed demanding # repose he would not seek that repose in his hammock. Never could Starbuck forget # the old man’s aspect, when one night going down into the cabin to mark how the # barometer stood, he saw him with closed eyes sitting straight in his # floor-screwed chair; the rain and half-melted sleet of the storm from which he # had some time before emerged, still slowly dripping from the unremoved hat and # coat. On the table beside him lay unrolled one of those charts of tides and # currents which have previously been spoken of. His lantern swung from his # tightly clenched hand. Though the body was erect, the head was thrown back so # that the closed eyes were pointed towards the needle of the tell-tale that swung # from a beam in the ceiling.* # # *The cabin-compass is called the tell-tale, because without going to the compass # at the helm, the Captain, while below, can inform himself of the course of the # ship. # # Terrible old man! thought Starbuck with a shudder, sleeping in this gale, still # thou steadfastly eyest thy purpose. # # # # # # CHAPTER 52. The Albatross. # # South-eastward from the Cape, off the distant Crozetts, a good cruising ground # for Right Whalemen, a sail loomed ahead, the Goney (Albatross) by name. As she # slowly drew nigh, from my lofty perch at the fore-mast-head, I had a good view # of that sight so remarkable to a tyro in the far ocean fisheries—a whaler at # sea, and long absent from home. # # As if the waves had been fullers, this craft was bleached like the skeleton of a # stranded walrus. All down her sides, this spectral appearance was traced with # long channels of reddened rust, while all her spars and her rigging were like # the thick branches of trees furred over with hoar-frost. Only her lower sails # were set. A wild sight it was to see her long-bearded look-outs at those three # mast-heads. They seemed clad in the skins of beasts, so torn and bepatched the # raiment that had survived nearly four years of cruising. Standing in iron hoops # nailed to the mast, they swayed and swung over a fathomless sea; and though, # when the ship slowly glided close under our stern, we six men in the air came so # nigh to each other that we might almost have leaped from the mast-heads of one # ship to those of the other; yet, those forlorn-looking fishermen, mildly eyeing # us as they passed, said not one word to our own look-outs, while the # quarter-deck hail was being heard from below. # # “Ship ahoy! Have ye seen the White Whale?” # # But as the strange captain, leaning over the pallid bulwarks, was in the act of # putting his trumpet to his mouth, it somehow fell from his hand into the sea; # and the wind now rising amain, he in vain strove to make himself heard without # it. Meantime his ship was still increasing the distance between. While in # various silent ways the seamen of the Pequod were evincing their observance of # this ominous incident at the first mere mention of the White Whale’s name to # another ship, Ahab for a moment paused; it almost seemed as though he would have # lowered a boat to board the stranger, had not the threatening wind forbade. But # taking advantage of his windward position, he again seized his trumpet, and # knowing by her aspect that the stranger vessel was a Nantucketer and shortly # bound home, he loudly hailed—“Ahoy there! This is the Pequod, bound round the # world! Tell them to address all future letters to the Pacific ocean! and this # time three years, if I am not at home, tell them to address them to ——” # # At that moment the two wakes were fairly crossed, and instantly, then, in # accordance with their singular ways, shoals of small harmless fish, that for # some days before had been placidly swimming by our side, darted away with what # seemed shuddering fins, and ranged themselves fore and aft with the stranger’s # flanks. Though in the course of his continual voyagings Ahab must often before # have noticed a similar sight, yet, to any monomaniac man, the veriest trifles # capriciously carry meanings. # # “Swim away from me, do ye?” murmured Ahab, gazing over into the water. There # seemed but little in the words, but the tone conveyed more of deep helpless # sadness than the insane old man had ever before evinced. But turning to the # steersman, who thus far had been holding the ship in the wind to diminish her # headway, he cried out in his old lion voice,—“Up helm! Keep her off round the # world!” # # Round the world! There is much in that sound to inspire proud feelings; but # whereto does all that circumnavigation conduct? Only through numberless perils # to the very point whence we started, where those that we left behind secure, # were all the time before us. # # Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could for ever # reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any # Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. But # in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of that # demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while # chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes or # midway leave us whelmed. # # # # # # CHAPTER 53. The Gam. # # The ostensible reason why Ahab did not go on board of the whaler we had spoken # was this: the wind and sea betokened storms. But even had this not been the # case, he would not after all, perhaps, have boarded her—judging by his # subsequent conduct on similar occasions—if so it had been that, by the process # of hailing, he had obtained a negative answer to the question he put. For, as it # eventually turned out, he cared not to consort, even for five minutes, with any # stranger captain, except he could contribute some of that information he so # absorbingly sought. But all this might remain inadequately estimated, were not # something said here of the peculiar usages of whaling-vessels when meeting each # other in foreign seas, and especially on a common cruising-ground. # # If two strangers crossing the Pine Barrens in New York State, or the equally # desolate Salisbury Plain in England; if casually encountering each other in such # inhospitable wilds, these twain, for the life of them, cannot well avoid a # mutual salutation; and stopping for a moment to interchange the news; and, # perhaps, sitting down for a while and resting in concert: then, how much more # natural that upon the illimitable Pine Barrens and Salisbury Plains of the sea, # two whaling vessels descrying each other at the ends of the earth—off lone # Fanning’s Island, or the far away King’s Mills; how much more natural, I say, # that under such circumstances these ships should not only interchange hails, but # come into still closer, more friendly and sociable contact. And especially would # this seem to be a matter of course, in the case of vessels owned in one seaport, # and whose captains, officers, and not a few of the men are personally known to # each other; and consequently, have all sorts of dear domestic things to talk # about. # # For the long absent ship, the outward-bounder, perhaps, has letters on board; at # any rate, she will be sure to let her have some papers of a date a year or two # later than the last one on her blurred and thumb-worn files. And in return for # that courtesy, the outward-bound ship would receive the latest whaling # intelligence from the cruising-ground to which she may be destined, a thing of # the utmost importance to her. And in degree, all this will hold true concerning # whaling vessels crossing each other’s track on the cruising-ground itself, even # though they are equally long absent from home. For one of them may have received # a transfer of letters from some third, and now far remote vessel; and some of # those letters may be for the people of the ship she now meets. Besides, they # would exchange the whaling news, and have an agreeable chat. For not only would # they meet with all the sympathies of sailors, but likewise with all the peculiar # congenialities arising from a common pursuit and mutually shared privations and # perils. # # Nor would difference of country make any very essential difference; that is, so # long as both parties speak one language, as is the case with Americans and # English. Though, to be sure, from the small number of English whalers, such # meetings do not very often occur, and when they do occur there is too apt to be # a sort of shyness between them; for your Englishman is rather reserved, and your # Yankee, he does not fancy that sort of thing in anybody but himself. Besides, # the English whalers sometimes affect a kind of metropolitan superiority over the # American whalers; regarding the long, lean Nantucketer, with his nondescript # provincialisms, as a sort of sea-peasant. But where this superiority in the # English whalemen does really consist, it would be hard to say, seeing that the # Yankees in one day, collectively, kill more whales than all the English, # collectively, in ten years. But this is a harmless little foible in the English # whale-hunters, which the Nantucketer does not take much to heart; probably, # because he knows that he has a few foibles himself. # # So, then, we see that of all ships separately sailing the sea, the whalers have # most reason to be sociable—and they are so. Whereas, some merchant ships # crossing each other’s wake in the mid-Atlantic, will oftentimes pass on without # so much as a single word of recognition, mutually cutting each other on the high # seas, like a brace of dandies in Broadway; and all the time indulging, perhaps, # in finical criticism upon each other’s rig. As for Men-of-War, when they chance # to meet at sea, they first go through such a string of silly bowings and # scrapings, such a ducking of ensigns, that there does not seem to be much # right-down hearty good-will and brotherly love about it at all. As touching # Slave-ships meeting, why, they are in such a prodigious hurry, they run away # from each other as soon as possible. And as for Pirates, when they chance to # cross each other’s cross-bones, the first hail is—“How many skulls?”—the same # way that whalers hail—“How many barrels?” And that question once answered, # pirates straightway steer apart, for they are infernal villains on both sides, # and don’t like to see overmuch of each other’s villanous likenesses. # # But look at the godly, honest, unostentatious, hospitable, sociable, # free-and-easy whaler! What does the whaler do when she meets another whaler in # any sort of decent weather? She has a “Gam,” a thing so utterly unknown to all # other ships that they never heard of the name even; and if by chance they should # hear of it, they only grin at it, and repeat gamesome stuff about “spouters” and # “blubber-boilers,” and such like pretty exclamations. Why it is that all # Merchant-seamen, and also all Pirates and Man-of-War’s men, and Slave-ship # sailors, cherish such a scornful feeling towards Whale-ships; this is a question # it would be hard to answer. Because, in the case of pirates, say, I should like # to know whether that profession of theirs has any peculiar glory about it. It # sometimes ends in uncommon elevation, indeed; but only at the gallows. And # besides, when a man is elevated in that odd fashion, he has no proper foundation # for his superior altitude. Hence, I conclude, that in boasting himself to be # high lifted above a whaleman, in that assertion the pirate has no solid basis to # stand on. # # But what is a Gam? You might wear out your index-finger running up and down the # columns of dictionaries, and never find the word. Dr. Johnson never attained to # that erudition; Noah Webster’s ark does not hold it. Nevertheless, this same # expressive word has now for many years been in constant use among some fifteen # thousand true born Yankees. Certainly, it needs a definition, and should be # incorporated into the Lexicon. With that view, let me learnedly define it. # # GAM. NOUN—A social meeting of two (or more) Whaleships, generally on a # cruising-ground; when, after exchanging hails, they exchange visits by boats’ # crews: the two captains remaining, for the time, on board of one ship, and the # two chief mates on the other. # # There is another little item about Gamming which must not be forgotten here. All # professions have their own little peculiarities of detail; so has the whale # fishery. In a pirate, man-of-war, or slave ship, when the captain is rowed # anywhere in his boat, he always sits in the stern sheets on a comfortable, # sometimes cushioned seat there, and often steers himself with a pretty little # milliner’s tiller decorated with gay cords and ribbons. But the whale-boat has # no seat astern, no sofa of that sort whatever, and no tiller at all. High times # indeed, if whaling captains were wheeled about the water on castors like gouty # old aldermen in patent chairs. And as for a tiller, the whale-boat never admits # of any such effeminacy; and therefore as in gamming a complete boat’s crew must # leave the ship, and hence as the boat steerer or harpooneer is of the number, # that subordinate is the steersman upon the occasion, and the captain, having no # place to sit in, is pulled off to his visit all standing like a pine tree. And # often you will notice that being conscious of the eyes of the whole visible # world resting on him from the sides of the two ships, this standing captain is # all alive to the importance of sustaining his dignity by maintaining his legs. # Nor is this any very easy matter; for in his rear is the immense projecting # steering oar hitting him now and then in the small of his back, the after-oar # reciprocating by rapping his knees in front. He is thus completely wedged before # and behind, and can only expand himself sideways by settling down on his # stretched legs; but a sudden, violent pitch of the boat will often go far to # topple him, because length of foundation is nothing without corresponding # breadth. Merely make a spread angle of two poles, and you cannot stand them up. # Then, again, it would never do in plain sight of the world’s riveted eyes, it # would never do, I say, for this straddling captain to be seen steadying himself # the slightest particle by catching hold of anything with his hands; indeed, as # token of his entire, buoyant self-command, he generally carries his hands in his # trowsers’ pockets; but perhaps being generally very large, heavy hands, he # carries them there for ballast. Nevertheless there have occurred instances, well # authenticated ones too, where the captain has been known for an uncommonly # critical moment or two, in a sudden squall say—to seize hold of the nearest # oarsman’s hair, and hold on there like grim death. # # # # # # CHAPTER 54. The Town-Ho’s Story. # # (As told at the Golden Inn.) # # The Cape of Good Hope, and all the watery region round about there, is much like # some noted four corners of a great highway, where you meet more travellers than # in any other part. # # It was not very long after speaking the Goney that another homeward-bound # whaleman, the Town-Ho,* was encountered. She was manned almost wholly by # Polynesians. In the short gam that ensued she gave us strong news of Moby Dick. # To some the general interest in the White Whale was now wildly heightened by a # circumstance of the Town-Ho’s story, which seemed obscurely to involve with the # whale a certain wondrous, inverted visitation of one of those so called # judgments of God which at times are said to overtake some men. This latter # circumstance, with its own particular accompaniments, forming what may be called # the secret part of the tragedy about to be narrated, never reached the ears of # Captain Ahab or his mates. For that secret part of the story was unknown to the # captain of the Town-Ho himself. It was the private property of three confederate # white seamen of that ship, one of whom, it seems, communicated it to Tashtego # with Romish injunctions of secrecy, but the following night Tashtego rambled in # his sleep, and revealed so much of it in that way, that when he was wakened he # could not well withhold the rest. Nevertheless, so potent an influence did this # thing have on those seamen in the Pequod who came to the full knowledge of it, # and by such a strange delicacy, to call it so, were they governed in this # matter, that they kept the secret among themselves so that it never transpired # abaft the Pequod’s main-mast. Interweaving in its proper place this darker # thread with the story as publicly narrated on the ship, the whole of this # strange affair I now proceed to put on lasting record. # # *The ancient whale-cry upon first sighting a whale from the mast-head, still # used by whalemen in hunting the famous Gallipagos terrapin. # # For my humor’s sake, I shall preserve the style in which I once narrated it at # Lima, to a lounging circle of my Spanish friends, one saint’s eve, smoking upon # the thick-gilt tiled piazza of the Golden Inn. Of those fine cavaliers, the # young Dons, Pedro and Sebastian, were on the closer terms with me; and hence the # interluding questions they occasionally put, and which are duly answered at the # time. # # “Some two years prior to my first learning the events which I am about # rehearsing to you, gentlemen, the Town-Ho, Sperm Whaler of Nantucket, was # cruising in your Pacific here, not very many days’ sail eastward from the eaves # of this good Golden Inn. She was somewhere to the northward of the Line. One # morning upon handling the pumps, according to daily usage, it was observed that # she made more water in her hold than common. They supposed a sword-fish had # stabbed her, gentlemen. But the captain, having some unusual reason for # believing that rare good luck awaited him in those latitudes; and therefore # being very averse to quit them, and the leak not being then considered at all # dangerous, though, indeed, they could not find it after searching the hold as # low down as was possible in rather heavy weather, the ship still continued her # cruisings, the mariners working at the pumps at wide and easy intervals; but no # good luck came; more days went by, and not only was the leak yet undiscovered, # but it sensibly increased. So much so, that now taking some alarm, the captain, # making all sail, stood away for the nearest harbor among the islands, there to # have his hull hove out and repaired. # # “Though no small passage was before her, yet, if the commonest chance favoured, # he did not at all fear that his ship would founder by the way, because his pumps # were of the best, and being periodically relieved at them, those six-and-thirty # men of his could easily keep the ship free; never mind if the leak should double # on her. In truth, well nigh the whole of this passage being attended by very # prosperous breezes, the Town-Ho had all but certainly arrived in perfect safety # at her port without the occurrence of the least fatality, had it not been for # the brutal overbearing of Radney, the mate, a Vineyarder, and the bitterly # provoked vengeance of Steelkilt, a Lakeman and desperado from Buffalo. # # “‘Lakeman!—Buffalo! Pray, what is a Lakeman, and where is Buffalo?’ said Don # Sebastian, rising in his swinging mat of grass. # # “On the eastern shore of our Lake Erie, Don; but—I crave your courtesy—may be, # you shall soon hear further of all that. Now, gentlemen, in square-sail brigs # and three-masted ships, well-nigh as large and stout as any that ever sailed out # of your old Callao to far Manilla; this Lakeman, in the land-locked heart of our # America, had yet been nurtured by all those agrarian freebooting impressions # popularly connected with the open ocean. For in their interflowing aggregate, # those grand fresh-water seas of ours,—Erie, and Ontario, and Huron, and # Superior, and Michigan,—possess an ocean-like expansiveness, with many of the # ocean’s noblest traits; with many of its rimmed varieties of races and of # climes. They contain round archipelagoes of romantic isles, even as the # Polynesian waters do; in large part, are shored by two great contrasting # nations, as the Atlantic is; they furnish long maritime approaches to our # numerous territorial colonies from the East, dotted all round their banks; here # and there are frowned upon by batteries, and by the goat-like craggy guns of # lofty Mackinaw; they have heard the fleet thunderings of naval victories; at # intervals, they yield their beaches to wild barbarians, whose red painted faces # flash from out their peltry wigwams; for leagues and leagues are flanked by # ancient and unentered forests, where the gaunt pines stand like serried lines of # kings in Gothic genealogies; those same woods harboring wild Afric beasts of # prey, and silken creatures whose exported furs give robes to Tartar Emperors; # they mirror the paved capitals of Buffalo and Cleveland, as well as Winnebago # villages; they float alike the full-rigged merchant ship, the armed cruiser of # the State, the steamer, and the beech canoe; they are swept by Borean and # dismasting blasts as direful as any that lash the salted wave; they know what # shipwrecks are, for out of sight of land, however inland, they have drowned full # many a midnight ship with all its shrieking crew. Thus, gentlemen, though an # inlander, Steelkilt was wild-ocean born, and wild-ocean nurtured; as much of an # audacious mariner as any. And for Radney, though in his infancy he may have laid # him down on the lone Nantucket beach, to nurse at his maternal sea; though in # after life he had long followed our austere Atlantic and your contemplative # Pacific; yet was he quite as vengeful and full of social quarrel as the # backwoods seaman, fresh from the latitudes of buck-horn handled Bowie-knives. # Yet was this Nantucketer a man with some good-hearted traits; and this Lakeman, # a mariner, who though a sort of devil indeed, might yet by inflexible firmness, # only tempered by that common decency of human recognition which is the meanest # slave’s right; thus treated, this Steelkilt had long been retained harmless and # docile. At all events, he had proved so thus far; but Radney was doomed and made # mad, and Steelkilt—but, gentlemen, you shall hear. # # “It was not more than a day or two at the furthest after pointing her prow for # her island haven, that the Town-Ho’s leak seemed again increasing, but only so # as to require an hour or more at the pumps every day. You must know that in a # settled and civilized ocean like our Atlantic, for example, some skippers think # little of pumping their whole way across it; though of a still, sleepy night, # should the officer of the deck happen to forget his duty in that respect, the # probability would be that he and his shipmates would never again remember it, on # account of all hands gently subsiding to the bottom. Nor in the solitary and # savage seas far from you to the westward, gentlemen, is it altogether unusual # for ships to keep clanging at their pump-handles in full chorus even for a # voyage of considerable length; that is, if it lie along a tolerably accessible # coast, or if any other reasonable retreat is afforded them. It is only when a # leaky vessel is in some very out of the way part of those waters, some really # landless latitude, that her captain begins to feel a little anxious. # # “Much this way had it been with the Town-Ho; so when her leak was found gaining # once more, there was in truth some small concern manifested by several of her # company; especially by Radney the mate. He commanded the upper sails to be well # hoisted, sheeted home anew, and every way expanded to the breeze. Now this # Radney, I suppose, was as little of a coward, and as little inclined to any sort # of nervous apprehensiveness touching his own person as any fearless, unthinking # creature on land or on sea that you can conveniently imagine, gentlemen. # Therefore when he betrayed this solicitude about the safety of the ship, some of # the seamen declared that it was only on account of his being a part owner in # her. So when they were working that evening at the pumps, there was on this head # no small gamesomeness slily going on among them, as they stood with their feet # continually overflowed by the rippling clear water; clear as any mountain # spring, gentlemen—that bubbling from the pumps ran across the deck, and poured # itself out in steady spouts at the lee scupper-holes. # # “Now, as you well know, it is not seldom the case in this conventional world of # ours—watery or otherwise; that when a person placed in command over his # fellow-men finds one of them to be very significantly his superior in general # pride of manhood, straightway against that man he conceives an unconquerable # dislike and bitterness; and if he have a chance he will pull down and pulverize # that subaltern’s tower, and make a little heap of dust of it. Be this conceit of # mine as it may, gentlemen, at all events Steelkilt was a tall and noble animal # with a head like a Roman, and a flowing golden beard like the tasseled housings # of your last viceroy’s snorting charger; and a brain, and a heart, and a soul in # him, gentlemen, which had made Steelkilt Charlemagne, had he been born son to # Charlemagne’s father. But Radney, the mate, was ugly as a mule; yet as hardy, as # stubborn, as malicious. He did not love Steelkilt, and Steelkilt knew it. # # “Espying the mate drawing near as he was toiling at the pump with the rest, the # Lakeman affected not to notice him, but unawed, went on with his gay banterings. # # “‘Aye, aye, my merry lads, it’s a lively leak this; hold a cannikin, one of ye, # and let’s have a taste. By the Lord, it’s worth bottling! I tell ye what, men, # old Rad’s investment must go for it! he had best cut away his part of the hull # and tow it home. The fact is, boys, that sword-fish only began the job; he’s # come back again with a gang of ship-carpenters, saw-fish, and file-fish, and # what not; and the whole posse of ’em are now hard at work cutting and slashing # at the bottom; making improvements, I suppose. If old Rad were here now, I’d # tell him to jump overboard and scatter ’em. They’re playing the devil with his # estate, I can tell him. But he’s a simple old soul,—Rad, and a beauty too. Boys, # they say the rest of his property is invested in looking-glasses. I wonder if # he’d give a poor devil like me the model of his nose.’ # # “‘Damn your eyes! what’s that pump stopping for?’ roared Radney, pretending not # to have heard the sailors’ talk. ‘Thunder away at it!’ # # “‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said Steelkilt, merry as a cricket. ‘Lively, boys, lively, # now!’ And with that the pump clanged like fifty fire-engines; the men tossed # their hats off to it, and ere long that peculiar gasping of the lungs was heard # which denotes the fullest tension of life’s utmost energies. # # “Quitting the pump at last, with the rest of his band, the Lakeman went forward # all panting, and sat himself down on the windlass; his face fiery red, his eyes # bloodshot, and wiping the profuse sweat from his brow. Now what cozening fiend # it was, gentlemen, that possessed Radney to meddle with such a man in that # corporeally exasperated state, I know not; but so it happened. Intolerably # striding along the deck, the mate commanded him to get a broom and sweep down # the planks, and also a shovel, and remove some offensive matters consequent upon # allowing a pig to run at large. # # “Now, gentlemen, sweeping a ship’s deck at sea is a piece of household work # which in all times but raging gales is regularly attended to every evening; it # has been known to be done in the case of ships actually foundering at the time. # Such, gentlemen, is the inflexibility of sea-usages and the instinctive love of # neatness in seamen; some of whom would not willingly drown without first washing # their faces. But in all vessels this broom business is the prescriptive province # of the boys, if boys there be aboard. Besides, it was the stronger men in the # Town-Ho that had been divided into gangs, taking turns at the pumps; and being # the most athletic seaman of them all, Steelkilt had been regularly assigned # captain of one of the gangs; consequently he should have been freed from any # trivial business not connected with truly nautical duties, such being the case # with his comrades. I mention all these particulars so that you may understand # exactly how this affair stood between the two men. # # “But there was more than this: the order about the shovel was almost as plainly # meant to sting and insult Steelkilt, as though Radney had spat in his face. Any # man who has gone sailor in a whale-ship will understand this; and all this and # doubtless much more, the Lakeman fully comprehended when the mate uttered his # command. But as he sat still for a moment, and as he steadfastly looked into the # mate’s malignant eye and perceived the stacks of powder-casks heaped up in him # and the slow-match silently burning along towards them; as he instinctively saw # all this, that strange forbearance and unwillingness to stir up the deeper # passionateness in any already ireful being—a repugnance most felt, when felt at # all, by really valiant men even when aggrieved—this nameless phantom feeling, # gentlemen, stole over Steelkilt. # # “Therefore, in his ordinary tone, only a little broken by the bodily exhaustion # he was temporarily in, he answered him saying that sweeping the deck was not his # business, and he would not do it. And then, without at all alluding to the # shovel, he pointed to three lads as the customary sweepers; who, not being # billeted at the pumps, had done little or nothing all day. To this, Radney # replied with an oath, in a most domineering and outrageous manner # unconditionally reiterating his command; meanwhile advancing upon the still # seated Lakeman, with an uplifted cooper’s club hammer which he had snatched from # a cask near by. # # “Heated and irritated as he was by his spasmodic toil at the pumps, for all his # first nameless feeling of forbearance the sweating Steelkilt could but ill brook # this bearing in the mate; but somehow still smothering the conflagration within # him, without speaking he remained doggedly rooted to his seat, till at last the # incensed Radney shook the hammer within a few inches of his face, furiously # commanding him to do his bidding. # # “Steelkilt rose, and slowly retreating round the windlass, steadily followed by # the mate with his menacing hammer, deliberately repeated his intention not to # obey. Seeing, however, that his forbearance had not the slightest effect, by an # awful and unspeakable intimation with his twisted hand he warned off the foolish # and infatuated man; but it was to no purpose. And in this way the two went once # slowly round the windlass; when, resolved at last no longer to retreat, # bethinking him that he had now forborne as much as comported with his humor, the # Lakeman paused on the hatches and thus spoke to the officer: # # “‘Mr. Radney, I will not obey you. Take that hammer away, or look to yourself.’ # But the predestinated mate coming still closer to him, where the Lakeman stood # fixed, now shook the heavy hammer within an inch of his teeth; meanwhile # repeating a string of insufferable maledictions. Retreating not the thousandth # part of an inch; stabbing him in the eye with the unflinching poniard of his # glance, Steelkilt, clenching his right hand behind him and creepingly drawing it # back, told his persecutor that if the hammer but grazed his cheek he (Steelkilt) # would murder him. But, gentlemen, the fool had been branded for the slaughter by # the gods. Immediately the hammer touched the cheek; the next instant the lower # jaw of the mate was stove in his head; he fell on the hatch spouting blood like # a whale. # # “Ere the cry could go aft Steelkilt was shaking one of the backstays leading far # aloft to where two of his comrades were standing their mastheads. They were both # Canallers. # # “‘Canallers!’ cried Don Pedro. ‘We have seen many whale-ships in our harbours, # but never heard of your Canallers. Pardon: who and what are they?’ # # “‘Canallers, Don, are the boatmen belonging to our grand Erie Canal. You must # have heard of it.’ # # “‘Nay, Senor; hereabouts in this dull, warm, most lazy, and hereditary land, we # know but little of your vigorous North.’ # # “‘Aye? Well then, Don, refill my cup. Your chicha’s very fine; and ere # proceeding further I will tell ye what our Canallers are; for such information # may throw side-light upon my story.’ # # “For three hundred and sixty miles, gentlemen, through the entire breadth of the # state of New York; through numerous populous cities and most thriving villages; # through long, dismal, uninhabited swamps, and affluent, cultivated fields, # unrivalled for fertility; by billiard-room and bar-room; through the # holy-of-holies of great forests; on Roman arches over Indian rivers; through sun # and shade; by happy hearts or broken; through all the wide contrasting scenery # of those noble Mohawk counties; and especially, by rows of snow-white chapels, # whose spires stand almost like milestones, flows one continual stream of # Venetianly corrupt and often lawless life. There’s your true Ashantee, # gentlemen; there howl your pagans; where you ever find them, next door to you; # under the long-flung shadow, and the snug patronising lee of churches. For by # some curious fatality, as it is often noted of your metropolitan freebooters # that they ever encamp around the halls of justice, so sinners, gentlemen, most # abound in holiest vicinities. # # “‘Is that a friar passing?’ said Don Pedro, looking downwards into the crowded # plazza, with humorous concern. # # “‘Well for our northern friend, Dame Isabella’s Inquisition wanes in Lima,’ # laughed Don Sebastian. ‘Proceed, Senor.’ # # “‘A moment! Pardon!’ cried another of the company. ‘In the name of all us # Limeese, I but desire to express to you, sir sailor, that we have by no means # overlooked your delicacy in not substituting present Lima for distant Venice in # your corrupt comparison. Oh! do not bow and look surprised; you know the proverb # all along this coast—“Corrupt as Lima.” It but bears out your saying, too; # churches more plentiful than billiard-tables, and for ever open—and “Corrupt as # Lima.” So, too, Venice; I have been there; the holy city of the blessed # evangelist, St. Mark!—St. Dominic, purge it! Your cup! Thanks: here I refill; # now, you pour out again.’ # # “Freely depicted in his own vocation, gentlemen, the Canaller would make a fine # dramatic hero, so abundantly and picturesquely wicked is he. Like Mark Antony, # for days and days along his green-turfed, flowery Nile, he indolently floats, # openly toying with his red-cheeked Cleopatra, ripening his apricot thigh upon # the sunny deck. But ashore, all this effeminacy is dashed. The brigandish guise # which the Canaller so proudly sports; his slouched and gaily-ribboned hat # betoken his grand features. A terror to the smiling innocence of the villages # through which he floats; his swart visage and bold swagger are not unshunned in # cities. Once a vagabond on his own canal, I have received good turns from one of # these Canallers; I thank him heartily; would fain be not ungrateful; but it is # often one of the prime redeeming qualities of your man of violence, that at # times he has as stiff an arm to back a poor stranger in a strait, as to plunder # a wealthy one. In sum, gentlemen, what the wildness of this canal life is, is # emphatically evinced by this; that our wild whale-fishery contains so many of # its most finished graduates, and that scarce any race of mankind, except Sydney # men, are so much distrusted by our whaling captains. Nor does it at all diminish # the curiousness of this matter, that to many thousands of our rural boys and # young men born along its line, the probationary life of the Grand Canal # furnishes the sole transition between quietly reaping in a Christian corn-field, # and recklessly ploughing the waters of the most barbaric seas. # # “‘I see! I see!’ impetuously exclaimed Don Pedro, spilling his chicha upon his # silvery ruffles. ‘No need to travel! The world’s one Lima. I had thought, now, # that at your temperate North the generations were cold and holy as the # hills.—But the story.’ # # “I left off, gentlemen, where the Lakeman shook the backstay. Hardly had he done # so, when he was surrounded by the three junior mates and the four harpooneers, # who all crowded him to the deck. But sliding down the ropes like baleful comets, # the two Canallers rushed into the uproar, and sought to drag their man out of it # towards the forecastle. Others of the sailors joined with them in this attempt, # and a twisted turmoil ensued; while standing out of harm’s way, the valiant # captain danced up and down with a whale-pike, calling upon his officers to # manhandle that atrocious scoundrel, and smoke him along to the quarter-deck. At # intervals, he ran close up to the revolving border of the confusion, and prying # into the heart of it with his pike, sought to prick out the object of his # resentment. But Steelkilt and his desperadoes were too much for them all; they # succeeded in gaining the forecastle deck, where, hastily slewing about three or # four large casks in a line with the windlass, these sea-Parisians entrenched # themselves behind the barricade. # # “‘Come out of that, ye pirates!’ roared the captain, now menacing them with a # pistol in each hand, just brought to him by the steward. ‘Come out of that, ye # cut-throats!’ # # “Steelkilt leaped on the barricade, and striding up and down there, defied the # worst the pistols could do; but gave the captain to understand distinctly, that # his (Steelkilt’s) death would be the signal for a murderous mutiny on the part # of all hands. Fearing in his heart lest this might prove but too true, the # captain a little desisted, but still commanded the insurgents instantly to # return to their duty. # # “‘Will you promise not to touch us, if we do?’ demanded their ringleader. # # “‘Turn to! turn to!—I make no promise;—to your duty! Do you want to sink the # ship, by knocking off at a time like this? Turn to!’ and he once more raised a # pistol. # # “‘Sink the ship?’ cried Steelkilt. ‘Aye, let her sink. Not a man of us turns to, # unless you swear not to raise a rope-yarn against us. What say ye, men?’ turning # to his comrades. A fierce cheer was their response. # # “The Lakeman now patrolled the barricade, all the while keeping his eye on the # Captain, and jerking out such sentences as these:—‘It’s not our fault; we didn’t # want it; I told him to take his hammer away; it was boy’s business; he might # have known me before this; I told him not to prick the buffalo; I believe I have # broken a finger here against his cursed jaw; ain’t those mincing knives down in # the forecastle there, men? look to those handspikes, my hearties. Captain, by # God, look to yourself; say the word; don’t be a fool; forget it all; we are # ready to turn to; treat us decently, and we’re your men; but we won’t be # flogged.’ # # “‘Turn to! I make no promises, turn to, I say!’ # # “‘Look ye, now,’ cried the Lakeman, flinging out his arm towards him, ‘there are # a few of us here (and I am one of them) who have shipped for the cruise, d’ye # see; now as you well know, sir, we can claim our discharge as soon as the anchor # is down; so we don’t want a row; it’s not our interest; we want to be peaceable; # we are ready to work, but we won’t be flogged.’ # # “‘Turn to!’ roared the Captain. # # “Steelkilt glanced round him a moment, and then said:—‘I tell you what it is # now, Captain, rather than kill ye, and be hung for such a shabby rascal, we # won’t lift a hand against ye unless ye attack us; but till you say the word # about not flogging us, we don’t do a hand’s turn.’ # # “‘Down into the forecastle then, down with ye, I’ll keep ye there till ye’re # sick of it. Down ye go.’ # # “‘Shall we?’ cried the ringleader to his men. Most of them were against it; but # at length, in obedience to Steelkilt, they preceded him down into their dark # den, growlingly disappearing, like bears into a cave. # # “As the Lakeman’s bare head was just level with the planks, the Captain and his # posse leaped the barricade, and rapidly drawing over the slide of the scuttle, # planted their group of hands upon it, and loudly called for the steward to bring # the heavy brass padlock belonging to the companionway. Then opening the slide a # little, the Captain whispered something down the crack, closed it, and turned # the key upon them—ten in number—leaving on deck some twenty or more, who thus # far had remained neutral. # # “All night a wide-awake watch was kept by all the officers, forward and aft, # especially about the forecastle scuttle and fore hatchway; at which last place # it was feared the insurgents might emerge, after breaking through the bulkhead # below. But the hours of darkness passed in peace; the men who still remained at # their duty toiling hard at the pumps, whose clinking and clanking at intervals # through the dreary night dismally resounded through the ship. # # “At sunrise the Captain went forward, and knocking on the deck, summoned the # prisoners to work; but with a yell they refused. Water was then lowered down to # them, and a couple of handfuls of biscuit were tossed after it; when again # turning the key upon them and pocketing it, the Captain returned to the # quarter-deck. Twice every day for three days this was repeated; but on the # fourth morning a confused wrangling, and then a scuffling was heard, as the # customary summons was delivered; and suddenly four men burst up from the # forecastle, saying they were ready to turn to. The fetid closeness of the air, # and a famishing diet, united perhaps to some fears of ultimate retribution, had # constrained them to surrender at discretion. Emboldened by this, the Captain # reiterated his demand to the rest, but Steelkilt shouted up to him a terrific # hint to stop his babbling and betake himself where he belonged. On the fifth # morning three others of the mutineers bolted up into the air from the desperate # arms below that sought to restrain them. Only three were left. # # “‘Better turn to, now?’ said the Captain with a heartless jeer. # # “‘Shut us up again, will ye!’ cried Steelkilt. # # “‘Oh certainly,’ said the Captain, and the key clicked. # # “It was at this point, gentlemen, that enraged by the defection of seven of his # former associates, and stung by the mocking voice that had last hailed him, and # maddened by his long entombment in a place as black as the bowels of despair; it # was then that Steelkilt proposed to the two Canallers, thus far apparently of # one mind with him, to burst out of their hole at the next summoning of the # garrison; and armed with their keen mincing knives (long, crescentic, heavy # implements with a handle at each end) run amuck from the bowsprit to the # taffrail; and if by any devilishness of desperation possible, seize the ship. # For himself, he would do this, he said, whether they joined him or not. That was # the last night he should spend in that den. But the scheme met with no # opposition on the part of the other two; they swore they were ready for that, or # for any other mad thing, for anything in short but a surrender. And what was # more, they each insisted upon being the first man on deck, when the time to make # the rush should come. But to this their leader as fiercely objected, reserving # that priority for himself; particularly as his two comrades would not yield, the # one to the other, in the matter; and both of them could not be first, for the # ladder would but admit one man at a time. And here, gentlemen, the foul play of # these miscreants must come out. # # “Upon hearing the frantic project of their leader, each in his own separate soul # had suddenly lighted, it would seem, upon the same piece of treachery, namely: # to be foremost in breaking out, in order to be the first of the three, though # the last of the ten, to surrender; and thereby secure whatever small chance of # pardon such conduct might merit. But when Steelkilt made known his determination # still to lead them to the last, they in some way, by some subtle chemistry of # villany, mixed their before secret treacheries together; and when their leader # fell into a doze, verbally opened their souls to each other in three sentences; # and bound the sleeper with cords, and gagged him with cords; and shrieked out # for the Captain at midnight. # # “Thinking murder at hand, and smelling in the dark for the blood, he and all his # armed mates and harpooneers rushed for the forecastle. In a few minutes the # scuttle was opened, and, bound hand and foot, the still struggling ringleader # was shoved up into the air by his perfidious allies, who at once claimed the # honor of securing a man who had been fully ripe for murder. But all these were # collared, and dragged along the deck like dead cattle; and, side by side, were # seized up into the mizzen rigging, like three quarters of meat, and there they # hung till morning. ‘Damn ye,’ cried the Captain, pacing to and fro before them, # ‘the vultures would not touch ye, ye villains!’ # # “At sunrise he summoned all hands; and separating those who had rebelled from # those who had taken no part in the mutiny, he told the former that he had a good # mind to flog them all round—thought, upon the whole, he would do so—he ought # to—justice demanded it; but for the present, considering their timely surrender, # he would let them go with a reprimand, which he accordingly administered in the # vernacular. # # “‘But as for you, ye carrion rogues,’ turning to the three men in the # rigging—‘for you, I mean to mince ye up for the try-pots;’ and, seizing a rope, # he applied it with all his might to the backs of the two traitors, till they # yelled no more, but lifelessly hung their heads sideways, as the two crucified # thieves are drawn. # # “‘My wrist is sprained with ye!’ he cried, at last; ‘but there is still rope # enough left for you, my fine bantam, that wouldn’t give up. Take that gag from # his mouth, and let us hear what he can say for himself.’ # # “For a moment the exhausted mutineer made a tremulous motion of his cramped # jaws, and then painfully twisting round his head, said in a sort of hiss, ‘What # I say is this—and mind it well—if you flog me, I murder you!’ # # “‘Say ye so? then see how ye frighten me’—and the Captain drew off with the rope # to strike. # # “‘Best not,’ hissed the Lakeman. # # “‘But I must,’—and the rope was once more drawn back for the stroke. # # “Steelkilt here hissed out something, inaudible to all but the Captain; who, to # the amazement of all hands, started back, paced the deck rapidly two or three # times, and then suddenly throwing down his rope, said, ‘I won’t do it—let him # go—cut him down: d’ye hear?’ # # “But as the junior mates were hurrying to execute the order, a pale man, with a # bandaged head, arrested them—Radney the chief mate. Ever since the blow, he had # lain in his berth; but that morning, hearing the tumult on the deck, he had # crept out, and thus far had watched the whole scene. Such was the state of his # mouth, that he could hardly speak; but mumbling something about his being # willing and able to do what the captain dared not attempt, he snatched the rope # and advanced to his pinioned foe. # # “‘You are a coward!’ hissed the Lakeman. # # “‘So I am, but take that.’ The mate was in the very act of striking, when # another hiss stayed his uplifted arm. He paused: and then pausing no more, made # good his word, spite of Steelkilt’s threat, whatever that might have been. The # three men were then cut down, all hands were turned to, and, sullenly worked by # the moody seamen, the iron pumps clanged as before. # # “Just after dark that day, when one watch had retired below, a clamor was heard # in the forecastle; and the two trembling traitors running up, besieged the cabin # door, saying they durst not consort with the crew. Entreaties, cuffs, and kicks # could not drive them back, so at their own instance they were put down in the # ship’s run for salvation. Still, no sign of mutiny reappeared among the rest. On # the contrary, it seemed, that mainly at Steelkilt’s instigation, they had # resolved to maintain the strictest peacefulness, obey all orders to the last, # and, when the ship reached port, desert her in a body. But in order to insure # the speediest end to the voyage, they all agreed to another thing—namely, not to # sing out for whales, in case any should be discovered. For, spite of her leak, # and spite of all her other perils, the Town-Ho still maintained her mast-heads, # and her captain was just as willing to lower for a fish that moment, as on the # day his craft first struck the cruising ground; and Radney the mate was quite as # ready to change his berth for a boat, and with his bandaged mouth seek to gag in # death the vital jaw of the whale. # # “But though the Lakeman had induced the seamen to adopt this sort of passiveness # in their conduct, he kept his own counsel (at least till all was over) # concerning his own proper and private revenge upon the man who had stung him in # the ventricles of his heart. He was in Radney the chief mate’s watch; and as if # the infatuated man sought to run more than half way to meet his doom, after the # scene at the rigging, he insisted, against the express counsel of the captain, # upon resuming the head of his watch at night. Upon this, and one or two other # circumstances, Steelkilt systematically built the plan of his revenge. # # “During the night, Radney had an unseamanlike way of sitting on the bulwarks of # the quarter-deck, and leaning his arm upon the gunwale of the boat which was # hoisted up there, a little above the ship’s side. In this attitude, it was well # known, he sometimes dozed. There was a considerable vacancy between the boat and # the ship, and down between this was the sea. Steelkilt calculated his time, and # found that his next trick at the helm would come round at two o’clock, in the # morning of the third day from that in which he had been betrayed. At his # leisure, he employed the interval in braiding something very carefully in his # watches below. # # “‘What are you making there?’ said a shipmate. # # “‘What do you think? what does it look like?’ # # “‘Like a lanyard for your bag; but it’s an odd one, seems to me.’ # # “‘Yes, rather oddish,’ said the Lakeman, holding it at arm’s length before him; # ‘but I think it will answer. Shipmate, I haven’t enough twine,—have you any?’ # # “But there was none in the forecastle. # # “‘Then I must get some from old Rad;’ and he rose to go aft. # # “‘You don’t mean to go a begging to him!’ said a sailor. # # “‘Why not? Do you think he won’t do me a turn, when it’s to help himself in the # end, shipmate?’ and going to the mate, he looked at him quietly, and asked him # for some twine to mend his hammock. It was given him—neither twine nor lanyard # were seen again; but the next night an iron ball, closely netted, partly rolled # from the pocket of the Lakeman’s monkey jacket, as he was tucking the coat into # his hammock for a pillow. Twenty-four hours after, his trick at the silent # helm—nigh to the man who was apt to doze over the grave always ready dug to the # seaman’s hand—that fatal hour was then to come; and in the fore-ordaining soul # of Steelkilt, the mate was already stark and stretched as a corpse, with his # forehead crushed in. # # “But, gentlemen, a fool saved the would-be murderer from the bloody deed he had # planned. Yet complete revenge he had, and without being the avenger. For by a # mysterious fatality, Heaven itself seemed to step in to take out of his hands # into its own the damning thing he would have done. # # “It was just between daybreak and sunrise of the morning of the second day, when # they were washing down the decks, that a stupid Teneriffe man, drawing water in # the main-chains, all at once shouted out, ‘There she rolls! there she rolls!’ # Jesu, what a whale! It was Moby Dick. # # “‘Moby Dick!’ cried Don Sebastian; ‘St. Dominic! Sir sailor, but do whales have # christenings? Whom call you Moby Dick?’ # # “‘A very white, and famous, and most deadly immortal monster, Don;—but that # would be too long a story.’ # # “‘How? how?’ cried all the young Spaniards, crowding. # # “‘Nay, Dons, Dons—nay, nay! I cannot rehearse that now. Let me get more into the # air, Sirs.’ # # “‘The chicha! the chicha!’ cried Don Pedro; ‘our vigorous friend looks # faint;—fill up his empty glass!’ # # “No need, gentlemen; one moment, and I proceed.—Now, gentlemen, so suddenly # perceiving the snowy whale within fifty yards of the ship—forgetful of the # compact among the crew—in the excitement of the moment, the Teneriffe man had # instinctively and involuntarily lifted his voice for the monster, though for # some little time past it had been plainly beheld from the three sullen # mast-heads. All was now a phrensy. ‘The White Whale—the White Whale!’ was the # cry from captain, mates, and harpooneers, who, undeterred by fearful rumours, # were all anxious to capture so famous and precious a fish; while the dogged crew # eyed askance, and with curses, the appalling beauty of the vast milky mass, that # lit up by a horizontal spangling sun, shifted and glistened like a living opal # in the blue morning sea. Gentlemen, a strange fatality pervades the whole career # of these events, as if verily mapped out before the world itself was charted. # The mutineer was the bowsman of the mate, and when fast to a fish, it was his # duty to sit next him, while Radney stood up with his lance in the prow, and haul # in or slacken the line, at the word of command. Moreover, when the four boats # were lowered, the mate’s got the start; and none howled more fiercely with # delight than did Steelkilt, as he strained at his oar. After a stiff pull, their # harpooneer got fast, and, spear in hand, Radney sprang to the bow. He was always # a furious man, it seems, in a boat. And now his bandaged cry was, to beach him # on the whale’s topmost back. Nothing loath, his bowsman hauled him up and up, # through a blinding foam that blent two whitenesses together; till of a sudden # the boat struck as against a sunken ledge, and keeling over, spilled out the # standing mate. That instant, as he fell on the whale’s slippery back, the boat # righted, and was dashed aside by the swell, while Radney was tossed over into # the sea, on the other flank of the whale. He struck out through the spray, and, # for an instant, was dimly seen through that veil, wildly seeking to remove # himself from the eye of Moby Dick. But the whale rushed round in a sudden # maelstrom; seized the swimmer between his jaws; and rearing high up with him, # plunged headlong again, and went down. # # “Meantime, at the first tap of the boat’s bottom, the Lakeman had slackened the # line, so as to drop astern from the whirlpool; calmly looking on, he thought his # own thoughts. But a sudden, terrific, downward jerking of the boat, quickly # brought his knife to the line. He cut it; and the whale was free. But, at some # distance, Moby Dick rose again, with some tatters of Radney’s red woollen shirt, # caught in the teeth that had destroyed him. All four boats gave chase again; but # the whale eluded them, and finally wholly disappeared. # # “In good time, the Town-Ho reached her port—a savage, solitary place—where no # civilized creature resided. There, headed by the Lakeman, all but five or six of # the foremastmen deliberately deserted among the palms; eventually, as it turned # out, seizing a large double war-canoe of the savages, and setting sail for some # other harbor. # # “The ship’s company being reduced to but a handful, the captain called upon the # Islanders to assist him in the laborious business of heaving down the ship to # stop the leak. But to such unresting vigilance over their dangerous allies was # this small band of whites necessitated, both by night and by day, and so extreme # was the hard work they underwent, that upon the vessel being ready again for # sea, they were in such a weakened condition that the captain durst not put off # with them in so heavy a vessel. After taking counsel with his officers, he # anchored the ship as far off shore as possible; loaded and ran out his two # cannon from the bows; stacked his muskets on the poop; and warning the Islanders # not to approach the ship at their peril, took one man with him, and setting the # sail of his best whale-boat, steered straight before the wind for Tahiti, five # hundred miles distant, to procure a reinforcement to his crew. # # “On the fourth day of the sail, a large canoe was descried, which seemed to have # touched at a low isle of corals. He steered away from it; but the savage craft # bore down on him; and soon the voice of Steelkilt hailed him to heave to, or he # would run him under water. The captain presented a pistol. With one foot on each # prow of the yoked war-canoes, the Lakeman laughed him to scorn; assuring him # that if the pistol so much as clicked in the lock, he would bury him in bubbles # and foam. # # “‘What do you want of me?’ cried the captain. # # “‘Where are you bound? and for what are you bound?’ demanded Steelkilt; ‘no # lies.’ # # “‘I am bound to Tahiti for more men.’ # # “‘Very good. Let me board you a moment—I come in peace.’ With that he leaped # from the canoe, swam to the boat; and climbing the gunwale, stood face to face # with the captain. # # “‘Cross your arms, sir; throw back your head. Now, repeat after me. As soon as # Steelkilt leaves me, I swear to beach this boat on yonder island, and remain # there six days. If I do not, may lightnings strike me!’ # # “‘A pretty scholar,’ laughed the Lakeman. ‘Adios, Senor!’ and leaping into the # sea, he swam back to his comrades. # # “Watching the boat till it was fairly beached, and drawn up to the roots of the # cocoa-nut trees, Steelkilt made sail again, and in due time arrived at Tahiti, # his own place of destination. There, luck befriended him; two ships were about # to sail for France, and were providentially in want of precisely that number of # men which the sailor headed. They embarked; and so for ever got the start of # their former captain, had he been at all minded to work them legal retribution. # # “Some ten days after the French ships sailed, the whale-boat arrived, and the # captain was forced to enlist some of the more civilized Tahitians, who had been # somewhat used to the sea. Chartering a small native schooner, he returned with # them to his vessel; and finding all right there, again resumed his cruisings. # # “Where Steelkilt now is, gentlemen, none know; but upon the island of Nantucket, # the widow of Radney still turns to the sea which refuses to give up its dead; # still in dreams sees the awful white whale that destroyed him. * * * * # # “‘Are you through?’ said Don Sebastian, quietly. # # “‘I am, Don.’ # # “‘Then I entreat you, tell me if to the best of your own convictions, this your # story is in substance really true? It is so passing wonderful! Did you get it # from an unquestionable source? Bear with me if I seem to press.’ # # “‘Also bear with all of us, sir sailor; for we all join in Don Sebastian’s # suit,’ cried the company, with exceeding interest. # # “‘Is there a copy of the Holy Evangelists in the Golden Inn, gentlemen?’ # # “‘Nay,’ said Don Sebastian; ‘but I know a worthy priest near by, who will # quickly procure one for me. I go for it; but are you well advised? this may grow # too serious.’ # # “‘Will you be so good as to bring the priest also, Don?’ # # “‘Though there are no Auto-da-Fés in Lima now,’ said one of the company to # another; ‘I fear our sailor friend runs risk of the archiepiscopacy. Let us # withdraw more out of the moonlight. I see no need of this.’ # # “‘Excuse me for running after you, Don Sebastian; but may I also beg that you # will be particular in procuring the largest sized Evangelists you can.’ # # * * * * * * # # “‘This is the priest, he brings you the Evangelists,’ said Don Sebastian, # gravely, returning with a tall and solemn figure. # # “‘Let me remove my hat. Now, venerable priest, further into the light, and hold # the Holy Book before me that I may touch it. # # “‘So help me Heaven, and on my honor the story I have told ye, gentlemen, is in # substance and its great items, true. I know it to be true; it happened on this # ball; I trod the ship; I knew the crew; I have seen and talked with Steelkilt # since the death of Radney.’” # # # # # # CHAPTER 55. Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales. # # I shall ere long paint to you as well as one can without canvas, something like # the true form of the whale as he actually appears to the eye of the whaleman # when in his own absolute body the whale is moored alongside the whale-ship so # that he can be fairly stepped upon there. It may be worth while, therefore, # previously to advert to those curious imaginary portraits of him which even down # to the present day confidently challenge the faith of the landsman. It is time # to set the world right in this matter, by proving such pictures of the whale all # wrong. # # It may be that the primal source of all those pictorial delusions will be found # among the oldest Hindoo, Egyptian, and Grecian sculptures. For ever since those # inventive but unscrupulous times when on the marble panellings of temples, the # pedestals of statues, and on shields, medallions, cups, and coins, the dolphin # was drawn in scales of chain-armor like Saladin’s, and a helmeted head like St. # George’s; ever since then has something of the same sort of license prevailed, # not only in most popular pictures of the whale, but in many scientific # presentations of him. # # Now, by all odds, the most ancient extant portrait anyways purporting to be the # whale’s, is to be found in the famous cavern-pagoda of Elephanta, in India. The # Brahmins maintain that in the almost endless sculptures of that immemorial # pagoda, all the trades and pursuits, every conceivable avocation of man, were # prefigured ages before any of them actually came into being. No wonder then, # that in some sort our noble profession of whaling should have been there # shadowed forth. The Hindoo whale referred to, occurs in a separate department of # the wall, depicting the incarnation of Vishnu in the form of leviathan, # learnedly known as the Matse Avatar. But though this sculpture is half man and # half whale, so as only to give the tail of the latter, yet that small section of # him is all wrong. It looks more like the tapering tail of an anaconda, than the # broad palms of the true whale’s majestic flukes. # # But go to the old Galleries, and look now at a great Christian painter’s # portrait of this fish; for he succeeds no better than the antediluvian Hindoo. # It is Guido’s picture of Perseus rescuing Andromeda from the sea-monster or # whale. Where did Guido get the model of such a strange creature as that? Nor # does Hogarth, in painting the same scene in his own “Perseus Descending,” make # out one whit better. The huge corpulence of that Hogarthian monster undulates on # the surface, scarcely drawing one inch of water. It has a sort of howdah on its # back, and its distended tusked mouth into which the billows are rolling, might # be taken for the Traitors’ Gate leading from the Thames by water into the Tower. # Then, there are the Prodromus whales of old Scotch Sibbald, and Jonah’s whale, # as depicted in the prints of old Bibles and the cuts of old primers. What shall # be said of these? As for the book-binder’s whale winding like a vine-stalk round # the stock of a descending anchor—as stamped and gilded on the backs and # title-pages of many books both old and new—that is a very picturesque but purely # fabulous creature, imitated, I take it, from the like figures on antique vases. # Though universally denominated a dolphin, I nevertheless call this book-binder’s # fish an attempt at a whale; because it was so intended when the device was first # introduced. It was introduced by an old Italian publisher somewhere about the # 15th century, during the Revival of Learning; and in those days, and even down # to a comparatively late period, dolphins were popularly supposed to be a species # of the Leviathan. # # In the vignettes and other embellishments of some ancient books you will at # times meet with very curious touches at the whale, where all manner of spouts, # jets d’eau, hot springs and cold, Saratoga and Baden-Baden, come bubbling up # from his unexhausted brain. In the title-page of the original edition of the # “Advancement of Learning” you will find some curious whales. # # But quitting all these unprofessional attempts, let us glance at those pictures # of leviathan purporting to be sober, scientific delineations, by those who know. # In old Harris’s collection of voyages there are some plates of whales extracted # from a Dutch book of voyages, A.D. 1671, entitled “A Whaling Voyage to # Spitzbergen in the ship Jonas in the Whale, Peter Peterson of Friesland, # master.” In one of those plates the whales, like great rafts of logs, are # represented lying among ice-isles, with white bears running over their living # backs. In another plate, the prodigious blunder is made of representing the # whale with perpendicular flukes. # # Then again, there is an imposing quarto, written by one Captain Colnett, a Post # Captain in the English navy, entitled “A Voyage round Cape Horn into the South # Seas, for the purpose of extending the Spermaceti Whale Fisheries.” In this book # is an outline purporting to be a “Picture of a Physeter or Spermaceti whale, # drawn by scale from one killed on the coast of Mexico, August, 1793, and hoisted # on deck.” I doubt not the captain had this veracious picture taken for the # benefit of his marines. To mention but one thing about it, let me say that it # has an eye which applied, according to the accompanying scale, to a full grown # sperm whale, would make the eye of that whale a bow-window some five feet long. # Ah, my gallant captain, why did ye not give us Jonah looking out of that eye! # # Nor are the most conscientious compilations of Natural History for the benefit # of the young and tender, free from the same heinousness of mistake. Look at that # popular work “Goldsmith’s Animated Nature.” In the abridged London edition of # 1807, there are plates of an alleged “whale” and a “narwhale.” I do not wish to # seem inelegant, but this unsightly whale looks much like an amputated sow; and, # as for the narwhale, one glimpse at it is enough to amaze one, that in this # nineteenth century such a hippogriff could be palmed for genuine upon any # intelligent public of schoolboys. # # Then, again, in 1825, Bernard Germain, Count de Lacépède, a great naturalist, # published a scientific systemized whale book, wherein are several pictures of # the different species of the Leviathan. All these are not only incorrect, but # the picture of the Mysticetus or Greenland whale (that is to say, the Right # whale), even Scoresby, a long experienced man as touching that species, declares # not to have its counterpart in nature. # # But the placing of the cap-sheaf to all this blundering business was reserved # for the scientific Frederick Cuvier, brother to the famous Baron. In 1836, he # published a Natural History of Whales, in which he gives what he calls a picture # of the Sperm Whale. Before showing that picture to any Nantucketer, you had best # provide for your summary retreat from Nantucket. In a word, Frederick Cuvier’s # Sperm Whale is not a Sperm Whale, but a squash. Of course, he never had the # benefit of a whaling voyage (such men seldom have), but whence he derived that # picture, who can tell? Perhaps he got it as his scientific predecessor in the # same field, Desmarest, got one of his authentic abortions; that is, from a # Chinese drawing. And what sort of lively lads with the pencil those Chinese are, # many queer cups and saucers inform us. # # As for the sign-painters’ whales seen in the streets hanging over the shops of # oil-dealers, what shall be said of them? They are generally Richard III. whales, # with dromedary humps, and very savage; breakfasting on three or four sailor # tarts, that is whaleboats full of mariners: their deformities floundering in # seas of blood and blue paint. # # But these manifold mistakes in depicting the whale are not so very surprising # after all. Consider! Most of the scientific drawings have been taken from the # stranded fish; and these are about as correct as a drawing of a wrecked ship, # with broken back, would correctly represent the noble animal itself in all its # undashed pride of hull and spars. Though elephants have stood for their # full-lengths, the living Leviathan has never yet fairly floated himself for his # portrait. The living whale, in his full majesty and significance, is only to be # seen at sea in unfathomable waters; and afloat the vast bulk of him is out of # sight, like a launched line-of-battle ship; and out of that element it is a # thing eternally impossible for mortal man to hoist him bodily into the air, so # as to preserve all his mighty swells and undulations. And, not to speak of the # highly presumable difference of contour between a young sucking whale and a # full-grown Platonian Leviathan; yet, even in the case of one of those young # sucking whales hoisted to a ship’s deck, such is then the outlandish, eel-like, # limbered, varying shape of him, that his precise expression the devil himself # could not catch. # # But it may be fancied, that from the naked skeleton of the stranded whale, # accurate hints may be derived touching his true form. Not at all. For it is one # of the more curious things about this Leviathan, that his skeleton gives very # little idea of his general shape. Though Jeremy Bentham’s skeleton, which hangs # for candelabra in the library of one of his executors, correctly conveys the # idea of a burly-browed utilitarian old gentleman, with all Jeremy’s other # leading personal characteristics; yet nothing of this kind could be inferred # from any leviathan’s articulated bones. In fact, as the great Hunter says, the # mere skeleton of the whale bears the same relation to the fully invested and # padded animal as the insect does to the chrysalis that so roundingly envelopes # it. This peculiarity is strikingly evinced in the head, as in some part of this # book will be incidentally shown. It is also very curiously displayed in the side # fin, the bones of which almost exactly answer to the bones of the human hand, # minus only the thumb. This fin has four regular bone-fingers, the index, middle, # ring, and little finger. But all these are permanently lodged in their fleshy # covering, as the human fingers in an artificial covering. “However recklessly # the whale may sometimes serve us,” said humorous Stubb one day, “he can never be # truly said to handle us without mittens.” # # For all these reasons, then, any way you may look at it, you must needs conclude # that the great Leviathan is that one creature in the world which must remain # unpainted to the last. True, one portrait may hit the mark much nearer than # another, but none can hit it with any very considerable degree of exactness. So # there is no earthly way of finding out precisely what the whale really looks # like. And the only mode in which you can derive even a tolerable idea of his # living contour, is by going a whaling yourself; but by so doing, you run no # small risk of being eternally stove and sunk by him. Wherefore, it seems to me # you had best not be too fastidious in your curiosity touching this Leviathan. # # # # # # CHAPTER 56. Of the Less Erroneous Pictures of Whales, and the True Pictures of # Whaling Scenes. # # In connexion with the monstrous pictures of whales, I am strongly tempted here # to enter upon those still more monstrous stories of them which are to be found # in certain books, both ancient and modern, especially in Pliny, Purchas, # Hackluyt, Harris, Cuvier, etc. But I pass that matter by. # # I know of only four published outlines of the great Sperm Whale; Colnett’s, # Huggins’s, Frederick Cuvier’s, and Beale’s. In the previous chapter Colnett and # Cuvier have been referred to. Huggins’s is far better than theirs; but, by great # odds, Beale’s is the best. All Beale’s drawings of this whale are good, # excepting the middle figure in the picture of three whales in various attitudes, # capping his second chapter. His frontispiece, boats attacking Sperm Whales, # though no doubt calculated to excite the civil scepticism of some parlor men, is # admirably correct and life-like in its general effect. Some of the Sperm Whale # drawings in J. Ross Browne are pretty correct in contour; but they are # wretchedly engraved. That is not his fault though. # # Of the Right Whale, the best outline pictures are in Scoresby; but they are # drawn on too small a scale to convey a desirable impression. He has but one # picture of whaling scenes, and this is a sad deficiency, because it is by such # pictures only, when at all well done, that you can derive anything like a # truthful idea of the living whale as seen by his living hunters. # # But, taken for all in all, by far the finest, though in some details not the # most correct, presentations of whales and whaling scenes to be anywhere found, # are two large French engravings, well executed, and taken from paintings by one # Garnery. Respectively, they represent attacks on the Sperm and Right Whale. In # the first engraving a noble Sperm Whale is depicted in full majesty of might, # just risen beneath the boat from the profundities of the ocean, and bearing high # in the air upon his back the terrific wreck of the stoven planks. The prow of # the boat is partially unbroken, and is drawn just balancing upon the monster’s # spine; and standing in that prow, for that one single incomputable flash of # time, you behold an oarsman, half shrouded by the incensed boiling spout of the # whale, and in the act of leaping, as if from a precipice. The action of the # whole thing is wonderfully good and true. The half-emptied line-tub floats on # the whitened sea; the wooden poles of the spilled harpoons obliquely bob in it; # the heads of the swimming crew are scattered about the whale in contrasting # expressions of affright; while in the black stormy distance the ship is bearing # down upon the scene. Serious fault might be found with the anatomical details of # this whale, but let that pass; since, for the life of me, I could not draw so # good a one. # # In the second engraving, the boat is in the act of drawing alongside the # barnacled flank of a large running Right Whale, that rolls his black weedy bulk # in the sea like some mossy rock-slide from the Patagonian cliffs. His jets are # erect, full, and black like soot; so that from so abounding a smoke in the # chimney, you would think there must be a brave supper cooking in the great # bowels below. Sea fowls are pecking at the small crabs, shell-fish, and other # sea candies and maccaroni, which the Right Whale sometimes carries on his # pestilent back. And all the while the thick-lipped leviathan is rushing through # the deep, leaving tons of tumultuous white curds in his wake, and causing the # slight boat to rock in the swells like a skiff caught nigh the paddle-wheels of # an ocean steamer. Thus, the foreground is all raging commotion; but behind, in # admirable artistic contrast, is the glassy level of a sea becalmed, the drooping # unstarched sails of the powerless ship, and the inert mass of a dead whale, a # conquered fortress, with the flag of capture lazily hanging from the whale-pole # inserted into his spout-hole. # # Who Garnery the painter is, or was, I know not. But my life for it he was either # practically conversant with his subject, or else marvellously tutored by some # experienced whaleman. The French are the lads for painting action. Go and gaze # upon all the paintings of Europe, and where will you find such a gallery of # living and breathing commotion on canvas, as in that triumphal hall at # Versailles; where the beholder fights his way, pell-mell, through the # consecutive great battles of France; where every sword seems a flash of the # Northern Lights, and the successive armed kings and Emperors dash by, like a # charge of crowned centaurs? Not wholly unworthy of a place in that gallery, are # these sea battle-pieces of Garnery. # # The natural aptitude of the French for seizing the picturesqueness of things # seems to be peculiarly evinced in what paintings and engravings they have of # their whaling scenes. With not one tenth of England’s experience in the fishery, # and not the thousandth part of that of the Americans, they have nevertheless # furnished both nations with the only finished sketches at all capable of # conveying the real spirit of the whale hunt. For the most part, the English and # American whale draughtsmen seem entirely content with presenting the mechanical # outline of things, such as the vacant profile of the whale; which, so far as # picturesqueness of effect is concerned, is about tantamount to sketching the # profile of a pyramid. Even Scoresby, the justly renowned Right whaleman, after # giving us a stiff full length of the Greenland whale, and three or four delicate # miniatures of narwhales and porpoises, treats us to a series of classical # engravings of boat hooks, chopping knives, and grapnels; and with the # microscopic diligence of a Leuwenhoeck submits to the inspection of a shivering # world ninety-six fac-similes of magnified Arctic snow crystals. I mean no # disparagement to the excellent voyager (I honor him for a veteran), but in so # important a matter it was certainly an oversight not to have procured for every # crystal a sworn affidavit taken before a Greenland Justice of the Peace. # # In addition to those fine engravings from Garnery, there are two other French # engravings worthy of note, by some one who subscribes himself “H. Durand.” One # of them, though not precisely adapted to our present purpose, nevertheless # deserves mention on other accounts. It is a quiet noon-scene among the isles of # the Pacific; a French whaler anchored, inshore, in a calm, and lazily taking # water on board; the loosened sails of the ship, and the long leaves of the palms # in the background, both drooping together in the breezeless air. The effect is # very fine, when considered with reference to its presenting the hardy fishermen # under one of their few aspects of oriental repose. The other engraving is quite # a different affair: the ship hove-to upon the open sea, and in the very heart of # the Leviathanic life, with a Right Whale alongside; the vessel (in the act of # cutting-in) hove over to the monster as if to a quay; and a boat, hurriedly # pushing off from this scene of activity, is about giving chase to whales in the # distance. The harpoons and lances lie levelled for use; three oarsmen are just # setting the mast in its hole; while from a sudden roll of the sea, the little # craft stands half-erect out of the water, like a rearing horse. From the ship, # the smoke of the torments of the boiling whale is going up like the smoke over a # village of smithies; and to windward, a black cloud, rising up with earnest of # squalls and rains, seems to quicken the activity of the excited seamen. # # # # # # CHAPTER 57. Of Whales in Paint; in Teeth; in Wood; in Sheet-Iron; in Stone; in # Mountains; in Stars. # # On Tower-hill, as you go down to the London docks, you may have seen a crippled # beggar (or kedger, as the sailors say) holding a painted board before him, # representing the tragic scene in which he lost his leg. There are three whales # and three boats; and one of the boats (presumed to contain the missing leg in # all its original integrity) is being crunched by the jaws of the foremost whale. # Any time these ten years, they tell me, has that man held up that picture, and # exhibited that stump to an incredulous world. But the time of his justification # has now come. His three whales are as good whales as were ever published in # Wapping, at any rate; and his stump as unquestionable a stump as any you will # find in the western clearings. But, though for ever mounted on that stump, never # a stump-speech does the poor whaleman make; but, with downcast eyes, stands # ruefully contemplating his own amputation. # # Throughout the Pacific, and also in Nantucket, and New Bedford, and Sag Harbor, # you will come across lively sketches of whales and whaling-scenes, graven by the # fishermen themselves on Sperm Whale-teeth, or ladies’ busks wrought out of the # Right Whale-bone, and other like skrimshander articles, as the whalemen call the # numerous little ingenious contrivances they elaborately carve out of the rough # material, in their hours of ocean leisure. Some of them have little boxes of # dentistical-looking implements, specially intended for the skrimshandering # business. But, in general, they toil with their jack-knives alone; and, with # that almost omnipotent tool of the sailor, they will turn you out anything you # please, in the way of a mariner’s fancy. # # Long exile from Christendom and civilization inevitably restores a man to that # condition in which God placed him, i.e. what is called savagery. Your true # whale-hunter is as much a savage as an Iroquois. I myself am a savage, owning no # allegiance but to the King of the Cannibals; and ready at any moment to rebel # against him. # # Now, one of the peculiar characteristics of the savage in his domestic hours, is # his wonderful patience of industry. An ancient Hawaiian war-club or # spear-paddle, in its full multiplicity and elaboration of carving, is as great a # trophy of human perseverance as a Latin lexicon. For, with but a bit of broken # sea-shell or a shark’s tooth, that miraculous intricacy of wooden net-work has # been achieved; and it has cost steady years of steady application. # # As with the Hawaiian savage, so with the white sailor-savage. With the same # marvellous patience, and with the same single shark’s tooth, of his one poor # jack-knife, he will carve you a bit of bone sculpture, not quite as workmanlike, # but as close packed in its maziness of design, as the Greek savage, Achilles’s # shield; and full of barbaric spirit and suggestiveness, as the prints of that # fine old Dutch savage, Albert Durer. # # Wooden whales, or whales cut in profile out of the small dark slabs of the noble # South Sea war-wood, are frequently met with in the forecastles of American # whalers. Some of them are done with much accuracy. # # At some old gable-roofed country houses you will see brass whales hung by the # tail for knockers to the road-side door. When the porter is sleepy, the # anvil-headed whale would be best. But these knocking whales are seldom # remarkable as faithful essays. On the spires of some old-fashioned churches you # will see sheet-iron whales placed there for weather-cocks; but they are so # elevated, and besides that are to all intents and purposes so labelled with # “Hands off!” you cannot examine them closely enough to decide upon their merit. # # In bony, ribby regions of the earth, where at the base of high broken cliffs # masses of rock lie strewn in fantastic groupings upon the plain, you will often # discover images as of the petrified forms of the Leviathan partly merged in # grass, which of a windy day breaks against them in a surf of green surges. # # Then, again, in mountainous countries where the traveller is continually girdled # by amphitheatrical heights; here and there from some lucky point of view you # will catch passing glimpses of the profiles of whales defined along the # undulating ridges. But you must be a thorough whaleman, to see these sights; and # not only that, but if you wish to return to such a sight again, you must be sure # and take the exact intersecting latitude and longitude of your first # stand-point, else so chance-like are such observations of the hills, that your # precise, previous stand-point would require a laborious re-discovery; like the # Soloma Islands, which still remain incognita, though once high-ruffed Mendanna # trod them and old Figuera chronicled them. # # Nor when expandingly lifted by your subject, can you fail to trace out great # whales in the starry heavens, and boats in pursuit of them; as when long filled # with thoughts of war the Eastern nations saw armies locked in battle among the # clouds. Thus at the North have I chased Leviathan round and round the Pole with # the revolutions of the bright points that first defined him to me. And beneath # the effulgent Antarctic skies I have boarded the Argo-Navis, and joined the # chase against the starry Cetus far beyond the utmost stretch of Hydrus and the # Flying Fish. # # With a frigate’s anchors for my bridle-bitts and fasces of harpoons for spurs, # would I could mount that whale and leap the topmost skies, to see whether the # fabled heavens with all their countless tents really lie encamped beyond my # mortal sight! # # # # # # CHAPTER 58. Brit. # # Steering north-eastward from the Crozetts, we fell in with vast meadows of brit, # the minute, yellow substance, upon which the Right Whale largely feeds. For # leagues and leagues it undulated round us, so that we seemed to be sailing # through boundless fields of ripe and golden wheat. # # On the second day, numbers of Right Whales were seen, who, secure from the # attack of a Sperm Whaler like the Pequod, with open jaws sluggishly swam through # the brit, which, adhering to the fringing fibres of that wondrous Venetian blind # in their mouths, was in that manner separated from the water that escaped at the # lip. # # As morning mowers, who side by side slowly and seethingly advance their scythes # through the long wet grass of marshy meads; even so these monsters swam, making # a strange, grassy, cutting sound; and leaving behind them endless swaths of blue # upon the yellow sea.* # # *That part of the sea known among whalemen as the “Brazil Banks” does not bear # that name as the Banks of Newfoundland do, because of there being shallows and # soundings there, but because of this remarkable meadow-like appearance, caused # by the vast drifts of brit continually floating in those latitudes, where the # Right Whale is often chased. # # But it was only the sound they made as they parted the brit which at all # reminded one of mowers. Seen from the mast-heads, especially when they paused # and were stationary for a while, their vast black forms looked more like # lifeless masses of rock than anything else. And as in the great hunting # countries of India, the stranger at a distance will sometimes pass on the plains # recumbent elephants without knowing them to be such, taking them for bare, # blackened elevations of the soil; even so, often, with him, who for the first # time beholds this species of the leviathans of the sea. And even when recognised # at last, their immense magnitude renders it very hard really to believe that # such bulky masses of overgrowth can possibly be instinct, in all parts, with the # same sort of life that lives in a dog or a horse. # # Indeed, in other respects, you can hardly regard any creatures of the deep with # the same feelings that you do those of the shore. For though some old # naturalists have maintained that all creatures of the land are of their kind in # the sea; and though taking a broad general view of the thing, this may very well # be; yet coming to specialties, where, for example, does the ocean furnish any # fish that in disposition answers to the sagacious kindness of the dog? The # accursed shark alone can in any generic respect be said to bear comparative # analogy to him. # # But though, to landsmen in general, the native inhabitants of the seas have ever # been regarded with emotions unspeakably unsocial and repelling; though we know # the sea to be an everlasting terra incognita, so that Columbus sailed over # numberless unknown worlds to discover his one superficial western one; though, # by vast odds, the most terrific of all mortal disasters have immemorially and # indiscriminately befallen tens and hundreds of thousands of those who have gone # upon the waters; though but a moment’s consideration will teach, that however # baby man may brag of his science and skill, and however much, in a flattering # future, that science and skill may augment; yet for ever and for ever, to the # crack of doom, the sea will insult and murder him, and pulverize the stateliest, # stiffest frigate he can make; nevertheless, by the continual repetition of these # very impressions, man has lost that sense of the full awfulness of the sea which # aboriginally belongs to it. # # The first boat we read of, floated on an ocean, that with Portuguese vengeance # had whelmed a whole world without leaving so much as a widow. That same ocean # rolls now; that same ocean destroyed the wrecked ships of last year. Yea, # foolish mortals, Noah’s flood is not yet subsided; two thirds of the fair world # it yet covers. # # Wherein differ the sea and the land, that a miracle upon one is not a miracle # upon the other? Preternatural terrors rested upon the Hebrews, when under the # feet of Korah and his company the live ground opened and swallowed them up for # ever; yet not a modern sun ever sets, but in precisely the same manner the live # sea swallows up ships and crews. # # But not only is the sea such a foe to man who is an alien to it, but it is also # a fiend to its own off-spring; worse than the Persian host who murdered his own # guests; sparing not the creatures which itself hath spawned. Like a savage # tigress that tossing in the jungle overlays her own cubs, so the sea dashes even # the mightiest whales against the rocks, and leaves them there side by side with # the split wrecks of ships. No mercy, no power but its own controls it. Panting # and snorting like a mad battle steed that has lost its rider, the masterless # ocean overruns the globe. # # Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most dreaded creatures glide under # water, unapparent for the most part, and treacherously hidden beneath the # loveliest tints of azure. Consider also the devilish brilliance and beauty of # many of its most remorseless tribes, as the dainty embellished shape of many # species of sharks. Consider, once more, the universal cannibalism of the sea; # all whose creatures prey upon each other, carrying on eternal war since the # world began. # # Consider all this; and then turn to this green, gentle, and most docile earth; # consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy # to something in yourself? For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant # land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and # joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half known life. God keep thee! # Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return! # # # # # # CHAPTER 59. Squid. # # Slowly wading through the meadows of brit, the Pequod still held on her way # north-eastward towards the island of Java; a gentle air impelling her keel, so # that in the surrounding serenity her three tall tapering masts mildly waved to # that languid breeze, as three mild palms on a plain. And still, at wide # intervals in the silvery night, the lonely, alluring jet would be seen. # # But one transparent blue morning, when a stillness almost preternatural spread # over the sea, however unattended with any stagnant calm; when the long burnished # sun-glade on the waters seemed a golden finger laid across them, enjoining some # secrecy; when the slippered waves whispered together as they softly ran on; in # this profound hush of the visible sphere a strange spectre was seen by Daggoo # from the main-mast-head. # # In the distance, a great white mass lazily rose, and rising higher and higher, # and disentangling itself from the azure, at last gleamed before our prow like a # snow-slide, new slid from the hills. Thus glistening for a moment, as slowly it # subsided, and sank. Then once more arose, and silently gleamed. It seemed not a # whale; and yet is this Moby Dick? thought Daggoo. Again the phantom went down, # but on re-appearing once more, with a stiletto-like cry that startled every man # from his nod, the negro yelled out—“There! there again! there she breaches! # right ahead! The White Whale, the White Whale!” # # Upon this, the seamen rushed to the yard-arms, as in swarming-time the bees rush # to the boughs. Bare-headed in the sultry sun, Ahab stood on the bowsprit, and # with one hand pushed far behind in readiness to wave his orders to the helmsman, # cast his eager glance in the direction indicated aloft by the outstretched # motionless arm of Daggoo. # # Whether the flitting attendance of the one still and solitary jet had gradually # worked upon Ahab, so that he was now prepared to connect the ideas of mildness # and repose with the first sight of the particular whale he pursued; however this # was, or whether his eagerness betrayed him; whichever way it might have been, no # sooner did he distinctly perceive the white mass, than with a quick intensity he # instantly gave orders for lowering. # # The four boats were soon on the water; Ahab’s in advance, and all swiftly # pulling towards their prey. Soon it went down, and while, with oars suspended, # we were awaiting its reappearance, lo! in the same spot where it sank, once more # it slowly rose. Almost forgetting for the moment all thoughts of Moby Dick, we # now gazed at the most wondrous phenomenon which the secret seas have hitherto # revealed to mankind. A vast pulpy mass, furlongs in length and breadth, of a # glancing cream-colour, lay floating on the water, innumerable long arms # radiating from its centre, and curling and twisting like a nest of anacondas, as # if blindly to clutch at any hapless object within reach. No perceptible face or # front did it have; no conceivable token of either sensation or instinct; but # undulated there on the billows, an unearthly, formless, chance-like apparition # of life. # # As with a low sucking sound it slowly disappeared again, Starbuck still gazing # at the agitated waters where it had sunk, with a wild voice exclaimed—“Almost # rather had I seen Moby Dick and fought him, than to have seen thee, thou white # ghost!” # # “What was it, Sir?” said Flask. # # “The great live squid, which, they say, few whale-ships ever beheld, and # returned to their ports to tell of it.” # # But Ahab said nothing; turning his boat, he sailed back to the vessel; the rest # as silently following. # # Whatever superstitions the sperm whalemen in general have connected with the # sight of this object, certain it is, that a glimpse of it being so very unusual, # that circumstance has gone far to invest it with portentousness. So rarely is it # beheld, that though one and all of them declare it to be the largest animated # thing in the ocean, yet very few of them have any but the most vague ideas # concerning its true nature and form; notwithstanding, they believe it to furnish # to the sperm whale his only food. For though other species of whales find their # food above water, and may be seen by man in the act of feeding, the spermaceti # whale obtains his whole food in unknown zones below the surface; and only by # inference is it that any one can tell of what, precisely, that food consists. At # times, when closely pursued, he will disgorge what are supposed to be the # detached arms of the squid; some of them thus exhibited exceeding twenty and # thirty feet in length. They fancy that the monster to which these arms belonged # ordinarily clings by them to the bed of the ocean; and that the sperm whale, # unlike other species, is supplied with teeth in order to attack and tear it. # # There seems some ground to imagine that the great Kraken of Bishop Pontoppodan # may ultimately resolve itself into Squid. The manner in which the Bishop # describes it, as alternately rising and sinking, with some other particulars he # narrates, in all this the two correspond. But much abatement is necessary with # respect to the incredible bulk he assigns it. # # By some naturalists who have vaguely heard rumors of the mysterious creature, # here spoken of, it is included among the class of cuttle-fish, to which, indeed, # in certain external respects it would seem to belong, but only as the Anak of # the tribe. # # # # # # CHAPTER 60. The Line. # # With reference to the whaling scene shortly to be described, as well as for the # better understanding of all similar scenes elsewhere presented, I have here to # speak of the magical, sometimes horrible whale-line. # # The line originally used in the fishery was of the best hemp, slightly vapored # with tar, not impregnated with it, as in the case of ordinary ropes; for while # tar, as ordinarily used, makes the hemp more pliable to the rope-maker, and also # renders the rope itself more convenient to the sailor for common ship use; yet, # not only would the ordinary quantity too much stiffen the whale-line for the # close coiling to which it must be subjected; but as most seamen are beginning to # learn, tar in general by no means adds to the rope’s durability or strength, # however much it may give it compactness and gloss. # # Of late years the Manilla rope has in the American fishery almost entirely # superseded hemp as a material for whale-lines; for, though not so durable as # hemp, it is stronger, and far more soft and elastic; and I will add (since there # is an æsthetics in all things), is much more handsome and becoming to the boat, # than hemp. Hemp is a dusky, dark fellow, a sort of Indian; but Manilla is as a # golden-haired Circassian to behold. # # The whale-line is only two-thirds of an inch in thickness. At first sight, you # would not think it so strong as it really is. By experiment its one and fifty # yarns will each suspend a weight of one hundred and twenty pounds; so that the # whole rope will bear a strain nearly equal to three tons. In length, the common # sperm whale-line measures something over two hundred fathoms. Towards the stern # of the boat it is spirally coiled away in the tub, not like the worm-pipe of a # still though, but so as to form one round, cheese-shaped mass of densely bedded # “sheaves,” or layers of concentric spiralizations, without any hollow but the # “heart,” or minute vertical tube formed at the axis of the cheese. As the least # tangle or kink in the coiling would, in running out, infallibly take somebody’s # arm, leg, or entire body off, the utmost precaution is used in stowing the line # in its tub. Some harpooneers will consume almost an entire morning in this # business, carrying the line high aloft and then reeving it downwards through a # block towards the tub, so as in the act of coiling to free it from all possible # wrinkles and twists. # # In the English boats two tubs are used instead of one; the same line being # continuously coiled in both tubs. There is some advantage in this; because these # twin-tubs being so small they fit more readily into the boat, and do not strain # it so much; whereas, the American tub, nearly three feet in diameter and of # proportionate depth, makes a rather bulky freight for a craft whose planks are # but one half-inch in thickness; for the bottom of the whale-boat is like # critical ice, which will bear up a considerable distributed weight, but not very # much of a concentrated one. When the painted canvas cover is clapped on the # American line-tub, the boat looks as if it were pulling off with a prodigious # great wedding-cake to present to the whales. # # Both ends of the line are exposed; the lower end terminating in an eye-splice or # loop coming up from the bottom against the side of the tub, and hanging over its # edge completely disengaged from everything. This arrangement of the lower end is # necessary on two accounts. First: In order to facilitate the fastening to it of # an additional line from a neighboring boat, in case the stricken whale should # sound so deep as to threaten to carry off the entire line originally attached to # the harpoon. In these instances, the whale of course is shifted like a mug of # ale, as it were, from the one boat to the other; though the first boat always # hovers at hand to assist its consort. Second: This arrangement is indispensable # for common safety’s sake; for were the lower end of the line in any way attached # to the boat, and were the whale then to run the line out to the end almost in a # single, smoking minute as he sometimes does, he would not stop there, for the # doomed boat would infallibly be dragged down after him into the profundity of # the sea; and in that case no town-crier would ever find her again. # # Before lowering the boat for the chase, the upper end of the line is taken aft # from the tub, and passing round the loggerhead there, is again carried forward # the entire length of the boat, resting crosswise upon the loom or handle of # every man’s oar, so that it jogs against his wrist in rowing; and also passing # between the men, as they alternately sit at the opposite gunwales, to the leaded # chocks or grooves in the extreme pointed prow of the boat, where a wooden pin or # skewer the size of a common quill, prevents it from slipping out. From the # chocks it hangs in a slight festoon over the bows, and is then passed inside the # boat again; and some ten or twenty fathoms (called box-line) being coiled upon # the box in the bows, it continues its way to the gunwale still a little further # aft, and is then attached to the short-warp—the rope which is immediately # connected with the harpoon; but previous to that connexion, the short-warp goes # through sundry mystifications too tedious to detail. # # Thus the whale-line folds the whole boat in its complicated coils, twisting and # writhing around it in almost every direction. All the oarsmen are involved in # its perilous contortions; so that to the timid eye of the landsman, they seem as # Indian jugglers, with the deadliest snakes sportively festooning their limbs. # Nor can any son of mortal woman, for the first time, seat himself amid those # hempen intricacies, and while straining his utmost at the oar, bethink him that # at any unknown instant the harpoon may be darted, and all these horrible # contortions be put in play like ringed lightnings; he cannot be thus # circumstanced without a shudder that makes the very marrow in his bones to # quiver in him like a shaken jelly. Yet habit—strange thing! what cannot habit # accomplish?—Gayer sallies, more merry mirth, better jokes, and brighter # repartees, you never heard over your mahogany, than you will hear over the # half-inch white cedar of the whale-boat, when thus hung in hangman’s nooses; # and, like the six burghers of Calais before King Edward, the six men composing # the crew pull into the jaws of death, with a halter around every neck, as you # may say. # # Perhaps a very little thought will now enable you to account for those repeated # whaling disasters—some few of which are casually chronicled—of this man or that # man being taken out of the boat by the line, and lost. For, when the line is # darting out, to be seated then in the boat, is like being seated in the midst of # the manifold whizzings of a steam-engine in full play, when every flying beam, # and shaft, and wheel, is grazing you. It is worse; for you cannot sit motionless # in the heart of these perils, because the boat is rocking like a cradle, and you # are pitched one way and the other, without the slightest warning; and only by a # certain self-adjusting buoyancy and simultaneousness of volition and action, can # you escape being made a Mazeppa of, and run away with where the all-seeing sun # himself could never pierce you out. # # Again: as the profound calm which only apparently precedes and prophesies of the # storm, is perhaps more awful than the storm itself; for, indeed, the calm is but # the wrapper and envelope of the storm; and contains it in itself, as the # seemingly harmless rifle holds the fatal powder, and the ball, and the # explosion; so the graceful repose of the line, as it silently serpentines about # the oarsmen before being brought into actual play—this is a thing which carries # more of true terror than any other aspect of this dangerous affair. But why say # more? All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round # their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that # mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life. And if you be a # philosopher, though seated in the whale-boat, you would not at heart feel one # whit more of terror, than though seated before your evening fire with a poker, # and not a harpoon, by your side. # # # # # # CHAPTER 61. Stubb Kills a Whale. # # If to Starbuck the apparition of the Squid was a thing of portents, to Queequeg # it was quite a different object. # # “When you see him ’quid,” said the savage, honing his harpoon in the bow of his # hoisted boat, “then you quick see him ’parm whale.” # # The next day was exceedingly still and sultry, and with nothing special to # engage them, the Pequod’s crew could hardly resist the spell of sleep induced by # such a vacant sea. For this part of the Indian Ocean through which we then were # voyaging is not what whalemen call a lively ground; that is, it affords fewer # glimpses of porpoises, dolphins, flying-fish, and other vivacious denizens of # more stirring waters, than those off the Rio de la Plata, or the in-shore ground # off Peru. # # It was my turn to stand at the foremast-head; and with my shoulders leaning # against the slackened royal shrouds, to and fro I idly swayed in what seemed an # enchanted air. No resolution could withstand it; in that dreamy mood losing all # consciousness, at last my soul went out of my body; though my body still # continued to sway as a pendulum will, long after the power which first moved it # is withdrawn. # # Ere forgetfulness altogether came over me, I had noticed that the seamen at the # main and mizzen-mast-heads were already drowsy. So that at last all three of us # lifelessly swung from the spars, and for every swing that we made there was a # nod from below from the slumbering helmsman. The waves, too, nodded their # indolent crests; and across the wide trance of the sea, east nodded to west, and # the sun over all. # # Suddenly bubbles seemed bursting beneath my closed eyes; like vices my hands # grasped the shrouds; some invisible, gracious agency preserved me; with a shock # I came back to life. And lo! close under our lee, not forty fathoms off, a # gigantic Sperm Whale lay rolling in the water like the capsized hull of a # frigate, his broad, glossy back, of an Ethiopian hue, glistening in the sun’s # rays like a mirror. But lazily undulating in the trough of the sea, and ever and # anon tranquilly spouting his vapory jet, the whale looked like a portly burgher # smoking his pipe of a warm afternoon. But that pipe, poor whale, was thy last. # As if struck by some enchanter’s wand, the sleepy ship and every sleeper in it # all at once started into wakefulness; and more than a score of voices from all # parts of the vessel, simultaneously with the three notes from aloft, shouted # forth the accustomed cry, as the great fish slowly and regularly spouted the # sparkling brine into the air. # # “Clear away the boats! Luff!” cried Ahab. And obeying his own order, he dashed # the helm down before the helmsman could handle the spokes. # # The sudden exclamations of the crew must have alarmed the whale; and ere the # boats were down, majestically turning, he swam away to the leeward, but with # such a steady tranquillity, and making so few ripples as he swam, that thinking # after all he might not as yet be alarmed, Ahab gave orders that not an oar # should be used, and no man must speak but in whispers. So seated like Ontario # Indians on the gunwales of the boats, we swiftly but silently paddled along; the # calm not admitting of the noiseless sails being set. Presently, as we thus # glided in chase, the monster perpendicularly flitted his tail forty feet into # the air, and then sank out of sight like a tower swallowed up. # # “There go flukes!” was the cry, an announcement immediately followed by Stubb’s # producing his match and igniting his pipe, for now a respite was granted. After # the full interval of his sounding had elapsed, the whale rose again, and being # now in advance of the smoker’s boat, and much nearer to it than to any of the # others, Stubb counted upon the honor of the capture. It was obvious, now, that # the whale had at length become aware of his pursuers. All silence of # cautiousness was therefore no longer of use. Paddles were dropped, and oars came # loudly into play. And still puffing at his pipe, Stubb cheered on his crew to # the assault. # # Yes, a mighty change had come over the fish. All alive to his jeopardy, he was # going “head out”; that part obliquely projecting from the mad yeast which he # brewed.* # # *It will be seen in some other place of what a very light substance the entire # interior of the sperm whale’s enormous head consists. Though apparently the # most massive, it is by far the most buoyant part about him. So that with ease # he elevates it in the air, and invariably does so when going at his utmost # speed. Besides, such is the breadth of the upper part of the front of his head, # and such the tapering cut-water formation of the lower part, that by obliquely # elevating his head, he thereby may be said to transform himself from a # bluff-bowed sluggish galliot into a sharppointed New York pilot-boat. # # “Start her, start her, my men! Don’t hurry yourselves; take plenty of time—but # start her; start her like thunder-claps, that’s all,” cried Stubb, spluttering # out the smoke as he spoke. “Start her, now; give ’em the long and strong stroke, # Tashtego. Start her, Tash, my boy—start her, all; but keep cool, keep # cool—cucumbers is the word—easy, easy—only start her like grim death and # grinning devils, and raise the buried dead perpendicular out of their graves, # boys—that’s all. Start her!” # # “Woo-hoo! Wa-hee!” screamed the Gay-Header in reply, raising some old war-whoop # to the skies; as every oarsman in the strained boat involuntarily bounced # forward with the one tremendous leading stroke which the eager Indian gave. # # But his wild screams were answered by others quite as wild. “Kee-hee! Kee-hee!” # yelled Daggoo, straining forwards and backwards on his seat, like a pacing tiger # in his cage. # # “Ka-la! Koo-loo!” howled Queequeg, as if smacking his lips over a mouthful of # Grenadier’s steak. And thus with oars and yells the keels cut the sea. # Meanwhile, Stubb retaining his place in the van, still encouraged his men to the # onset, all the while puffing the smoke from his mouth. Like desperadoes they # tugged and they strained, till the welcome cry was heard—“Stand up, # Tashtego!—give it to him!” The harpoon was hurled. “Stern all!” The oarsmen # backed water; the same moment something went hot and hissing along every one of # their wrists. It was the magical line. An instant before, Stubb had swiftly # caught two additional turns with it round the loggerhead, whence, by reason of # its increased rapid circlings, a hempen blue smoke now jetted up and mingled # with the steady fumes from his pipe. As the line passed round and round the # loggerhead; so also, just before reaching that point, it blisteringly passed # through and through both of Stubb’s hands, from which the hand-cloths, or # squares of quilted canvas sometimes worn at these times, had accidentally # dropped. It was like holding an enemy’s sharp two-edged sword by the blade, and # that enemy all the time striving to wrest it out of your clutch. # # “Wet the line! wet the line!” cried Stubb to the tub oarsman (him seated by the # tub) who, snatching off his hat, dashed sea-water into it.* More turns were # taken, so that the line began holding its place. The boat now flew through the # boiling water like a shark all fins. Stubb and Tashtego here changed places—stem # for stern—a staggering business truly in that rocking commotion. # # *Partly to show the indispensableness of this act, it may here be stated, that, # in the old Dutch fishery, a mop was used to dash the running line with water; # in many other ships, a wooden piggin, or bailer, is set apart for that purpose. # Your hat, however, is the most convenient. # # From the vibrating line extending the entire length of the upper part of the # boat, and from its now being more tight than a harpstring, you would have # thought the craft had two keels—one cleaving the water, the other the air—as the # boat churned on through both opposing elements at once. A continual cascade # played at the bows; a ceaseless whirling eddy in her wake; and, at the slightest # motion from within, even but of a little finger, the vibrating, cracking craft # canted over her spasmodic gunwale into the sea. Thus they rushed; each man with # might and main clinging to his seat, to prevent being tossed to the foam; and # the tall form of Tashtego at the steering oar crouching almost double, in order # to bring down his centre of gravity. Whole Atlantics and Pacifics seemed passed # as they shot on their way, till at length the whale somewhat slackened his # flight. # # “Haul in—haul in!” cried Stubb to the bowsman! and, facing round towards the # whale, all hands began pulling the boat up to him, while yet the boat was being # towed on. Soon ranging up by his flank, Stubb, firmly planting his knee in the # clumsy cleat, darted dart after dart into the flying fish; at the word of # command, the boat alternately sterning out of the way of the whale’s horrible # wallow, and then ranging up for another fling. # # The red tide now poured from all sides of the monster like brooks down a hill. # His tormented body rolled not in brine but in blood, which bubbled and seethed # for furlongs behind in their wake. The slanting sun playing upon this crimson # pond in the sea, sent back its reflection into every face, so that they all # glowed to each other like red men. And all the while, jet after jet of white # smoke was agonizingly shot from the spiracle of the whale, and vehement puff # after puff from the mouth of the excited headsman; as at every dart, hauling in # upon his crooked lance (by the line attached to it), Stubb straightened it again # and again, by a few rapid blows against the gunwale, then again and again sent # it into the whale. # # “Pull up—pull up!” he now cried to the bowsman, as the waning whale relaxed in # his wrath. “Pull up!—close to!” and the boat ranged along the fish’s flank. When # reaching far over the bow, Stubb slowly churned his long sharp lance into the # fish, and kept it there, carefully churning and churning, as if cautiously # seeking to feel after some gold watch that the whale might have swallowed, and # which he was fearful of breaking ere he could hook it out. But that gold watch # he sought was the innermost life of the fish. And now it is struck; for, # starting from his trance into that unspeakable thing called his “flurry,” the # monster horribly wallowed in his blood, overwrapped himself in impenetrable, # mad, boiling spray, so that the imperilled craft, instantly dropping astern, had # much ado blindly to struggle out from that phrensied twilight into the clear air # of the day. # # And now abating in his flurry, the whale once more rolled out into view; surging # from side to side; spasmodically dilating and contracting his spout-hole, with # sharp, cracking, agonized respirations. At last, gush after gush of clotted red # gore, as if it had been the purple lees of red wine, shot into the frighted air; # and falling back again, ran dripping down his motionless flanks into the sea. # His heart had burst! # # “He’s dead, Mr. Stubb,” said Daggoo. # # “Yes; both pipes smoked out!” and withdrawing his own from his mouth, Stubb # scattered the dead ashes over the water; and, for a moment, stood thoughtfully # eyeing the vast corpse he had made. # # # # # # CHAPTER 62. The Dart. # # A word concerning an incident in the last chapter. # # According to the invariable usage of the fishery, the whale-boat pushes off from # the ship, with the headsman or whale-killer as temporary steersman, and the # harpooneer or whale-fastener pulling the foremost oar, the one known as the # harpooneer-oar. Now it needs a strong, nervous arm to strike the first iron into # the fish; for often, in what is called a long dart, the heavy implement has to # be flung to the distance of twenty or thirty feet. But however prolonged and # exhausting the chase, the harpooneer is expected to pull his oar meanwhile to # the uttermost; indeed, he is expected to set an example of superhuman activity # to the rest, not only by incredible rowing, but by repeated loud and intrepid # exclamations; and what it is to keep shouting at the top of one’s compass, while # all the other muscles are strained and half started—what that is none know but # those who have tried it. For one, I cannot bawl very heartily and work very # recklessly at one and the same time. In this straining, bawling state, then, # with his back to the fish, all at once the exhausted harpooneer hears the # exciting cry—“Stand up, and give it to him!” He now has to drop and secure his # oar, turn round on his centre half way, seize his harpoon from the crotch, and # with what little strength may remain, he essays to pitch it somehow into the # whale. No wonder, taking the whole fleet of whalemen in a body, that out of # fifty fair chances for a dart, not five are successful; no wonder that so many # hapless harpooneers are madly cursed and disrated; no wonder that some of them # actually burst their blood-vessels in the boat; no wonder that some sperm # whalemen are absent four years with four barrels; no wonder that to many ship # owners, whaling is but a losing concern; for it is the harpooneer that makes the # voyage, and if you take the breath out of his body how can you expect to find it # there when most wanted! # # Again, if the dart be successful, then at the second critical instant, that is, # when the whale starts to run, the boatheader and harpooneer likewise start to # running fore and aft, to the imminent jeopardy of themselves and every one else. # It is then they change places; and the headsman, the chief officer of the little # craft, takes his proper station in the bows of the boat. # # Now, I care not who maintains the contrary, but all this is both foolish and # unnecessary. The headsman should stay in the bows from first to last; he should # both dart the harpoon and the lance, and no rowing whatever should be expected # of him, except under circumstances obvious to any fisherman. I know that this # would sometimes involve a slight loss of speed in the chase; but long experience # in various whalemen of more than one nation has convinced me that in the vast # majority of failures in the fishery, it has not by any means been so much the # speed of the whale as the before described exhaustion of the harpooneer that has # caused them. # # To insure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpooneers of this world # must start to their feet from out of idleness, and not from out of toil. # # # # # # CHAPTER 63. The Crotch. # # Out of the trunk, the branches grow; out of them, the twigs. So, in productive # subjects, grow the chapters. # # The crotch alluded to on a previous page deserves independent mention. It is a # notched stick of a peculiar form, some two feet in length, which is # perpendicularly inserted into the starboard gunwale near the bow, for the # purpose of furnishing a rest for the wooden extremity of the harpoon, whose # other naked, barbed end slopingly projects from the prow. Thereby the weapon is # instantly at hand to its hurler, who snatches it up as readily from its rest as # a backwoodsman swings his rifle from the wall. It is customary to have two # harpoons reposing in the crotch, respectively called the first and second irons. # # But these two harpoons, each by its own cord, are both connected with the line; # the object being this: to dart them both, if possible, one instantly after the # other into the same whale; so that if, in the coming drag, one should draw out, # the other may still retain a hold. It is a doubling of the chances. But it very # often happens that owing to the instantaneous, violent, convulsive running of # the whale upon receiving the first iron, it becomes impossible for the # harpooneer, however lightning-like in his movements, to pitch the second iron # into him. Nevertheless, as the second iron is already connected with the line, # and the line is running, hence that weapon must, at all events, be # anticipatingly tossed out of the boat, somehow and somewhere; else the most # terrible jeopardy would involve all hands. Tumbled into the water, it # accordingly is in such cases; the spare coils of box line (mentioned in a # preceding chapter) making this feat, in most instances, prudently practicable. # But this critical act is not always unattended with the saddest and most fatal # casualties. # # Furthermore: you must know that when the second iron is thrown overboard, it # thenceforth becomes a dangling, sharp-edged terror, skittishly curvetting about # both boat and whale, entangling the lines, or cutting them, and making a # prodigious sensation in all directions. Nor, in general, is it possible to # secure it again until the whale is fairly captured and a corpse. # # Consider, now, how it must be in the case of four boats all engaging one # unusually strong, active, and knowing whale; when owing to these qualities in # him, as well as to the thousand concurring accidents of such an audacious # enterprise, eight or ten loose second irons may be simultaneously dangling about # him. For, of course, each boat is supplied with several harpoons to bend on to # the line should the first one be ineffectually darted without recovery. All # these particulars are faithfully narrated here, as they will not fail to # elucidate several most important, however intricate passages, in scenes # hereafter to be painted. # # # # # # CHAPTER 64. Stubb’s Supper. # # Stubb’s whale had been killed some distance from the ship. It was a calm; so, # forming a tandem of three boats, we commenced the slow business of towing the # trophy to the Pequod. And now, as we eighteen men with our thirty-six arms, and # one hundred and eighty thumbs and fingers, slowly toiled hour after hour upon # that inert, sluggish corpse in the sea; and it seemed hardly to budge at all, # except at long intervals; good evidence was hereby furnished of the enormousness # of the mass we moved. For, upon the great canal of Hang-Ho, or whatever they # call it, in China, four or five laborers on the foot-path will draw a bulky # freighted junk at the rate of a mile an hour; but this grand argosy we towed # heavily forged along, as if laden with pig-lead in bulk. # # Darkness came on; but three lights up and down in the Pequod’s main-rigging # dimly guided our way; till drawing nearer we saw Ahab dropping one of several # more lanterns over the bulwarks. Vacantly eyeing the heaving whale for a moment, # he issued the usual orders for securing it for the night, and then handing his # lantern to a seaman, went his way into the cabin, and did not come forward again # until morning. # # Though, in overseeing the pursuit of this whale, Captain Ahab had evinced his # customary activity, to call it so; yet now that the creature was dead, some # vague dissatisfaction, or impatience, or despair, seemed working in him; as if # the sight of that dead body reminded him that Moby Dick was yet to be slain; and # though a thousand other whales were brought to his ship, all that would not one # jot advance his grand, monomaniac object. Very soon you would have thought from # the sound on the Pequod’s decks, that all hands were preparing to cast anchor in # the deep; for heavy chains are being dragged along the deck, and thrust rattling # out of the port-holes. But by those clanking links, the vast corpse itself, not # the ship, is to be moored. Tied by the head to the stern, and by the tail to the # bows, the whale now lies with its black hull close to the vessel’s and seen # through the darkness of the night, which obscured the spars and rigging aloft, # the two—ship and whale, seemed yoked together like colossal bullocks, whereof # one reclines while the other remains standing.* # # *A little item may as well be related here. The strongest and most reliable hold # which the ship has upon the whale when moored alongside, is by the flukes or # tail; and as from its greater density that part is relatively heavier than any # other (excepting the side-fins), its flexibility even in death, causes it to # sink low beneath the surface; so that with the hand you cannot get at it from # the boat, in order to put the chain round it. But this difficulty is # ingeniously overcome: a small, strong line is prepared with a wooden float at # its outer end, and a weight in its middle, while the other end is secured to # the ship. By adroit management the wooden float is made to rise on the other # side of the mass, so that now having girdled the whale, the chain is readily # made to follow suit; and being slipped along the body, is at last locked fast # round the smallest part of the tail, at the point of junction with its broad # flukes or lobes. # # If moody Ahab was now all quiescence, at least so far as could be known on deck, # Stubb, his second mate, flushed with conquest, betrayed an unusual but still # good-natured excitement. Such an unwonted bustle was he in that the staid # Starbuck, his official superior, quietly resigned to him for the time the sole # management of affairs. One small, helping cause of all this liveliness in Stubb, # was soon made strangely manifest. Stubb was a high liver; he was somewhat # intemperately fond of the whale as a flavorish thing to his palate. # # “A steak, a steak, ere I sleep! You, Daggoo! overboard you go, and cut me one # from his small!” # # Here be it known, that though these wild fishermen do not, as a general thing, # and according to the great military maxim, make the enemy defray the current # expenses of the war (at least before realizing the proceeds of the voyage), yet # now and then you find some of these Nantucketers who have a genuine relish for # that particular part of the Sperm Whale designated by Stubb; comprising the # tapering extremity of the body. # # About midnight that steak was cut and cooked; and lighted by two lanterns of # sperm oil, Stubb stoutly stood up to his spermaceti supper at the capstan-head, # as if that capstan were a sideboard. Nor was Stubb the only banqueter on whale’s # flesh that night. Mingling their mumblings with his own mastications, thousands # on thousands of sharks, swarming round the dead leviathan, smackingly feasted on # its fatness. The few sleepers below in their bunks were often startled by the # sharp slapping of their tails against the hull, within a few inches of the # sleepers’ hearts. Peering over the side you could just see them (as before you # heard them) wallowing in the sullen, black waters, and turning over on their # backs as they scooped out huge globular pieces of the whale of the bigness of a # human head. This particular feat of the shark seems all but miraculous. How at # such an apparently unassailable surface, they contrive to gouge out such # symmetrical mouthfuls, remains a part of the universal problem of all things. # The mark they thus leave on the whale, may best be likened to the hollow made by # a carpenter in countersinking for a screw. # # Though amid all the smoking horror and diabolism of a sea-fight, sharks will be # seen longingly gazing up to the ship’s decks, like hungry dogs round a table # where red meat is being carved, ready to bolt down every killed man that is # tossed to them; and though, while the valiant butchers over the deck-table are # thus cannibally carving each other’s live meat with carving-knives all gilded # and tasselled, the sharks, also, with their jewel-hilted mouths, are # quarrelsomely carving away under the table at the dead meat; and though, were # you to turn the whole affair upside down, it would still be pretty much the same # thing, that is to say, a shocking sharkish business enough for all parties; and # though sharks also are the invariable outriders of all slave ships crossing the # Atlantic, systematically trotting alongside, to be handy in case a parcel is to # be carried anywhere, or a dead slave to be decently buried; and though one or # two other like instances might be set down, touching the set terms, places, and # occasions, when sharks do most socially congregate, and most hilariously feast; # yet is there no conceivable time or occasion when you will find them in such # countless numbers, and in gayer or more jovial spirits, than around a dead sperm # whale, moored by night to a whaleship at sea. If you have never seen that sight, # then suspend your decision about the propriety of devil-worship, and the # expediency of conciliating the devil. # # But, as yet, Stubb heeded not the mumblings of the banquet that was going on so # nigh him, no more than the sharks heeded the smacking of his own epicurean lips. # # “Cook, cook!—where’s that old Fleece?” he cried at length, widening his legs # still further, as if to form a more secure base for his supper; and, at the same # time darting his fork into the dish, as if stabbing with his lance; “cook, you # cook!—sail this way, cook!” # # The old black, not in any very high glee at having been previously roused from # his warm hammock at a most unseasonable hour, came shambling along from his # galley, for, like many old blacks, there was something the matter with his # knee-pans, which he did not keep well scoured like his other pans; this old # Fleece, as they called him, came shuffling and limping along, assisting his step # with his tongs, which, after a clumsy fashion, were made of straightened iron # hoops; this old Ebony floundered along, and in obedience to the word of command, # came to a dead stop on the opposite side of Stubb’s sideboard; when, with both # hands folded before him, and resting on his two-legged cane, he bowed his arched # back still further over, at the same time sideways inclining his head, so as to # bring his best ear into play. # # “Cook,” said Stubb, rapidly lifting a rather reddish morsel to his mouth, “don’t # you think this steak is rather overdone? You’ve been beating this steak too # much, cook; it’s too tender. Don’t I always say that to be good, a whale-steak # must be tough? There are those sharks now over the side, don’t you see they # prefer it tough and rare? What a shindy they are kicking up! Cook, go and talk # to ’em; tell ’em they are welcome to help themselves civilly, and in moderation, # but they must keep quiet. Blast me, if I can hear my own voice. Away, cook, and # deliver my message. Here, take this lantern,” snatching one from his sideboard; # “now then, go and preach to ’em!” # # Sullenly taking the offered lantern, old Fleece limped across the deck to the # bulwarks; and then, with one hand dropping his light low over the sea, so as to # get a good view of his congregation, with the other hand he solemnly flourished # his tongs, and leaning far over the side in a mumbling voice began addressing # the sharks, while Stubb, softly crawling behind, overheard all that was said. # # “Fellow-critters: I’se ordered here to say dat you must stop dat dam noise dare. # You hear? Stop dat dam smackin’ ob de lip! Massa Stubb say dat you can fill your # dam bellies up to de hatchings, but by Gor! you must stop dat dam racket!” # # “Cook,” here interposed Stubb, accompanying the word with a sudden slap on the # shoulder,—“Cook! why, damn your eyes, you mustn’t swear that way when you’re # preaching. That’s no way to convert sinners, cook!” # # “Who dat? Den preach to him yourself,” sullenly turning to go. # # “No, cook; go on, go on.” # # “Well, den, Belubed fellow-critters:”— # # “Right!” exclaimed Stubb, approvingly, “coax ’em to it; try that,” and Fleece # continued. # # “Do you is all sharks, and by natur wery woracious, yet I zay to you, # fellow-critters, dat dat woraciousness—’top dat dam slappin’ ob de tail! How you # tink to hear, spose you keep up such a dam slappin’ and bitin’ dare?” # # “Cook,” cried Stubb, collaring him, “I won’t have that swearing. Talk to ’em # gentlemanly.” # # Once more the sermon proceeded. # # “Your woraciousness, fellow-critters, I don’t blame ye so much for; dat is # natur, and can’t be helped; but to gobern dat wicked natur, dat is de pint. You # is sharks, sartin; but if you gobern de shark in you, why den you be angel; for # all angel is not’ing more dan de shark well goberned. Now, look here, bred’ren, # just try wonst to be cibil, a helping yourselbs from dat whale. Don’t be tearin’ # de blubber out your neighbour’s mout, I say. Is not one shark dood right as # toder to dat whale? And, by Gor, none on you has de right to dat whale; dat # whale belong to some one else. I know some o’ you has berry brig mout, brigger # dan oders; but den de brig mouts sometimes has de small bellies; so dat de # brigness of de mout is not to swaller wid, but to bit off de blubber for de # small fry ob sharks, dat can’t get into de scrouge to help demselves.” # # “Well done, old Fleece!” cried Stubb, “that’s Christianity; go on.” # # “No use goin’ on; de dam willains will keep a scougin’ and slappin’ each oder, # Massa Stubb; dey don’t hear one word; no use a-preachin’ to such dam g’uttons as # you call ’em, till dare bellies is full, and dare bellies is bottomless; and # when dey do get ’em full, dey wont hear you den; for den dey sink in de sea, go # fast to sleep on de coral, and can’t hear not’ing at all, no more, for eber and # eber.” # # “Upon my soul, I am about of the same opinion; so give the benediction, Fleece, # and I’ll away to my supper.” # # Upon this, Fleece, holding both hands over the fishy mob, raised his shrill # voice, and cried— # # “Cussed fellow-critters! Kick up de damndest row as ever you can; fill your dam’ # bellies ’till dey bust—and den die.” # # “Now, cook,” said Stubb, resuming his supper at the capstan; “stand just where # you stood before, there, over against me, and pay particular attention.” # # “All dention,” said Fleece, again stooping over upon his tongs in the desired # position. # # “Well,” said Stubb, helping himself freely meanwhile; “I shall now go back to # the subject of this steak. In the first place, how old are you, cook?” # # “What dat do wid de ’teak,” said the old black, testily. # # “Silence! How old are you, cook?” # # “’Bout ninety, dey say,” he gloomily muttered. # # “And you have lived in this world hard upon one hundred years, cook, and don’t # know yet how to cook a whale-steak?” rapidly bolting another mouthful at the # last word, so that morsel seemed a continuation of the question. “Where were you # born, cook?” # # “’Hind de hatchway, in ferry-boat, goin’ ober de Roanoke.” # # “Born in a ferry-boat! That’s queer, too. But I want to know what country you # were born in, cook!” # # “Didn’t I say de Roanoke country?” he cried sharply. # # “No, you didn’t, cook; but I’ll tell you what I’m coming to, cook. You must go # home and be born over again; you don’t know how to cook a whale-steak yet.” # # “Bress my soul, if I cook noder one,” he growled, angrily, turning round to # depart. # # “Come back, cook;—here, hand me those tongs;—now take that bit of steak there, # and tell me if you think that steak cooked as it should be? Take it, I # say”—holding the tongs towards him—“take it, and taste it.” # # Faintly smacking his withered lips over it for a moment, the old negro muttered, # “Best cooked ’teak I eber taste; joosy, berry joosy.” # # “Cook,” said Stubb, squaring himself once more; “do you belong to the church?” # # “Passed one once in Cape-Down,” said the old man sullenly. # # “And you have once in your life passed a holy church in Cape-Town, where you # doubtless overheard a holy parson addressing his hearers as his beloved # fellow-creatures, have you, cook! And yet you come here, and tell me such a # dreadful lie as you did just now, eh?” said Stubb. “Where do you expect to go # to, cook?” # # “Go to bed berry soon,” he mumbled, half-turning as he spoke. # # “Avast! heave to! I mean when you die, cook. It’s an awful question. Now what’s # your answer?” # # “When dis old brack man dies,” said the negro slowly, changing his whole air and # demeanor, “he hisself won’t go nowhere; but some bressed angel will come and # fetch him.” # # “Fetch him? How? In a coach and four, as they fetched Elijah? And fetch him # where?” # # “Up dere,” said Fleece, holding his tongs straight over his head, and keeping it # there very solemnly. # # “So, then, you expect to go up into our main-top, do you, cook, when you are # dead? But don’t you know the higher you climb, the colder it gets? Main-top, # eh?” # # “Didn’t say dat t’all,” said Fleece, again in the sulks. # # “You said up there, didn’t you? and now look yourself, and see where your tongs # are pointing. But, perhaps you expect to get into heaven by crawling through the # lubber’s hole, cook; but, no, no, cook, you don’t get there, except you go the # regular way, round by the rigging. It’s a ticklish business, but must be done, # or else it’s no go. But none of us are in heaven yet. Drop your tongs, cook, and # hear my orders. Do ye hear? Hold your hat in one hand, and clap t’other a’top of # your heart, when I’m giving my orders, cook. What! that your heart, # there?—that’s your gizzard! Aloft! aloft!—that’s it—now you have it. Hold it # there now, and pay attention.” # # “All ’dention,” said the old black, with both hands placed as desired, vainly # wriggling his grizzled head, as if to get both ears in front at one and the same # time. # # “Well then, cook, you see this whale-steak of yours was so very bad, that I have # put it out of sight as soon as possible; you see that, don’t you? Well, for the # future, when you cook another whale-steak for my private table here, the # capstan, I’ll tell you what to do so as not to spoil it by overdoing. Hold the # steak in one hand, and show a live coal to it with the other; that done, dish # it; d’ye hear? And now to-morrow, cook, when we are cutting in the fish, be sure # you stand by to get the tips of his fins; have them put in pickle. As for the # ends of the flukes, have them soused, cook. There, now ye may go.” # # But Fleece had hardly got three paces off, when he was recalled. # # “Cook, give me cutlets for supper to-morrow night in the mid-watch. D’ye hear? # away you sail, then.—Halloa! stop! make a bow before you go.—Avast heaving # again! Whale-balls for breakfast—don’t forget.” # # “Wish, by gor! whale eat him, ’stead of him eat whale. I’m bressed if he ain’t # more of shark dan Massa Shark hisself,” muttered the old man, limping away; with # which sage ejaculation he went to his hammock. # # # # # # CHAPTER 65. The Whale as a Dish. # # That mortal man should feed upon the creature that feeds his lamp, and, like # Stubb, eat him by his own light, as you may say; this seems so outlandish a # thing that one must needs go a little into the history and philosophy of it. # # It is upon record, that three centuries ago the tongue of the Right Whale was # esteemed a great delicacy in France, and commanded large prices there. Also, # that in Henry VIIIth’s time, a certain cook of the court obtained a handsome # reward for inventing an admirable sauce to be eaten with barbacued porpoises, # which, you remember, are a species of whale. Porpoises, indeed, are to this day # considered fine eating. The meat is made into balls about the size of billiard # balls, and being well seasoned and spiced might be taken for turtle-balls or # veal balls. The old monks of Dunfermline were very fond of them. They had a # great porpoise grant from the crown. # # The fact is, that among his hunters at least, the whale would by all hands be # considered a noble dish, were there not so much of him; but when you come to sit # down before a meat-pie nearly one hundred feet long, it takes away your # appetite. Only the most unprejudiced of men like Stubb, nowadays partake of # cooked whales; but the Esquimaux are not so fastidious. We all know how they # live upon whales, and have rare old vintages of prime old train oil. Zogranda, # one of their most famous doctors, recommends strips of blubber for infants, as # being exceedingly juicy and nourishing. And this reminds me that certain # Englishmen, who long ago were accidentally left in Greenland by a whaling # vessel—that these men actually lived for several months on the mouldy scraps of # whales which had been left ashore after trying out the blubber. Among the Dutch # whalemen these scraps are called “fritters”; which, indeed, they greatly # resemble, being brown and crisp, and smelling something like old Amsterdam # housewives’ dough-nuts or oly-cooks, when fresh. They have such an eatable look # that the most self-denying stranger can hardly keep his hands off. # # But what further depreciates the whale as a civilized dish, is his exceeding # richness. He is the great prize ox of the sea, too fat to be delicately good. # Look at his hump, which would be as fine eating as the buffalo’s (which is # esteemed a rare dish), were it not such a solid pyramid of fat. But the # spermaceti itself, how bland and creamy that is; like the transparent, # half-jellied, white meat of a cocoanut in the third month of its growth, yet far # too rich to supply a substitute for butter. Nevertheless, many whalemen have a # method of absorbing it into some other substance, and then partaking of it. In # the long try watches of the night it is a common thing for the seamen to dip # their ship-biscuit into the huge oil-pots and let them fry there awhile. Many a # good supper have I thus made. # # In the case of a small Sperm Whale the brains are accounted a fine dish. The # casket of the skull is broken into with an axe, and the two plump, whitish lobes # being withdrawn (precisely resembling two large puddings), they are then mixed # with flour, and cooked into a most delectable mess, in flavor somewhat # resembling calves’ head, which is quite a dish among some epicures; and every # one knows that some young bucks among the epicures, by continually dining upon # calves’ brains, by and by get to have a little brains of their own, so as to be # able to tell a calf’s head from their own heads; which, indeed, requires # uncommon discrimination. And that is the reason why a young buck with an # intelligent looking calf’s head before him, is somehow one of the saddest sights # you can see. The head looks a sort of reproachfully at him, with an “Et tu # Brute!” expression. # # It is not, perhaps, entirely because the whale is so excessively unctuous that # landsmen seem to regard the eating of him with abhorrence; that appears to # result, in some way, from the consideration before mentioned: i.e. that a man # should eat a newly murdered thing of the sea, and eat it too by its own light. # But no doubt the first man that ever murdered an ox was regarded as a murderer; # perhaps he was hung; and if he had been put on his trial by oxen, he certainly # would have been; and he certainly deserved it if any murderer does. Go to the # meat-market of a Saturday night and see the crowds of live bipeds staring up at # the long rows of dead quadrupeds. Does not that sight take a tooth out of the # cannibal’s jaw? Cannibals? who is not a cannibal? I tell you it will be more # tolerable for the Fejee that salted down a lean missionary in his cellar against # a coming famine; it will be more tolerable for that provident Fejee, I say, in # the day of judgment, than for thee, civilized and enlightened gourmand, who # nailest geese to the ground and feastest on their bloated livers in thy # paté-de-foie-gras. # # But Stubb, he eats the whale by its own light, does he? and that is adding # insult to injury, is it? Look at your knife-handle, there, my civilized and # enlightened gourmand dining off that roast beef, what is that handle made # of?—what but the bones of the brother of the very ox you are eating? And what do # you pick your teeth with, after devouring that fat goose? With a feather of the # same fowl. And with what quill did the Secretary of the Society for the # Suppression of Cruelty to Ganders formally indite his circulars? It is only # within the last month or two that that society passed a resolution to patronize # nothing but steel pens. # # # # # # CHAPTER 66. The Shark Massacre. # # When in the Southern Fishery, a captured Sperm Whale, after long and weary toil, # is brought alongside late at night, it is not, as a general thing at least, # customary to proceed at once to the business of cutting him in. For that # business is an exceedingly laborious one; is not very soon completed; and # requires all hands to set about it. Therefore, the common usage is to take in # all sail; lash the helm a’lee; and then send every one below to his hammock till # daylight, with the reservation that, until that time, anchor-watches shall be # kept; that is, two and two for an hour, each couple, the crew in rotation shall # mount the deck to see that all goes well. # # But sometimes, especially upon the Line in the Pacific, this plan will not # answer at all; because such incalculable hosts of sharks gather round the moored # carcase, that were he left so for six hours, say, on a stretch, little more than # the skeleton would be visible by morning. In most other parts of the ocean, # however, where these fish do not so largely abound, their wondrous voracity can # be at times considerably diminished, by vigorously stirring them up with sharp # whaling-spades, a procedure notwithstanding, which, in some instances, only # seems to tickle them into still greater activity. But it was not thus in the # present case with the Pequod’s sharks; though, to be sure, any man unaccustomed # to such sights, to have looked over her side that night, would have almost # thought the whole round sea was one huge cheese, and those sharks the maggots in # it. # # Nevertheless, upon Stubb setting the anchor-watch after his supper was # concluded; and when, accordingly, Queequeg and a forecastle seaman came on deck, # no small excitement was created among the sharks; for immediately suspending the # cutting stages over the side, and lowering three lanterns, so that they cast # long gleams of light over the turbid sea, these two mariners, darting their long # whaling-spades, kept up an incessant murdering of the sharks,* by striking the # keen steel deep into their skulls, seemingly their only vital part. But in the # foamy confusion of their mixed and struggling hosts, the marksmen could not # always hit their mark; and this brought about new revelations of the incredible # ferocity of the foe. They viciously snapped, not only at each other’s # disembowelments, but like flexible bows, bent round, and bit their own; till # those entrails seemed swallowed over and over again by the same mouth, to be # oppositely voided by the gaping wound. Nor was this all. It was unsafe to meddle # with the corpses and ghosts of these creatures. A sort of generic or Pantheistic # vitality seemed to lurk in their very joints and bones, after what might be # called the individual life had departed. Killed and hoisted on deck for the sake # of his skin, one of these sharks almost took poor Queequeg’s hand off, when he # tried to shut down the dead lid of his murderous jaw. # # *The whaling-spade used for cutting-in is made of the very best steel; is about # the bigness of a man’s spread hand; and in general shape, corresponds to the # garden implement after which it is named; only its sides are perfectly flat, # and its upper end considerably narrower than the lower. This weapon is always # kept as sharp as possible; and when being used is occasionally honed, just like # a razor. In its socket, a stiff pole, from twenty to thirty feet long, is # inserted for a handle. # # “Queequeg no care what god made him shark,” said the savage, agonizingly lifting # his hand up and down; “wedder Fejee god or Nantucket god; but de god wat made # shark must be one dam Ingin.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 67. Cutting In. # # It was a Saturday night, and such a Sabbath as followed! Ex officio professors # of Sabbath breaking are all whalemen. The ivory Pequod was turned into what # seemed a shamble; every sailor a butcher. You would have thought we were # offering up ten thousand red oxen to the sea gods. # # In the first place, the enormous cutting tackles, among other ponderous things # comprising a cluster of blocks generally painted green, and which no single man # can possibly lift—this vast bunch of grapes was swayed up to the main-top and # firmly lashed to the lower mast-head, the strongest point anywhere above a # ship’s deck. The end of the hawser-like rope winding through these intricacies, # was then conducted to the windlass, and the huge lower block of the tackles was # swung over the whale; to this block the great blubber hook, weighing some one # hundred pounds, was attached. And now suspended in stages over the side, # Starbuck and Stubb, the mates, armed with their long spades, began cutting a # hole in the body for the insertion of the hook just above the nearest of the two # side-fins. This done, a broad, semicircular line is cut round the hole, the hook # is inserted, and the main body of the crew striking up a wild chorus, now # commence heaving in one dense crowd at the windlass. When instantly, the entire # ship careens over on her side; every bolt in her starts like the nail-heads of # an old house in frosty weather; she trembles, quivers, and nods her frighted # mast-heads to the sky. More and more she leans over to the whale, while every # gasping heave of the windlass is answered by a helping heave from the billows; # till at last, a swift, startling snap is heard; with a great swash the ship # rolls upwards and backwards from the whale, and the triumphant tackle rises into # sight dragging after it the disengaged semicircular end of the first strip of # blubber. Now as the blubber envelopes the whale precisely as the rind does an # orange, so is it stripped off from the body precisely as an orange is sometimes # stripped by spiralizing it. For the strain constantly kept up by the windlass # continually keeps the whale rolling over and over in the water, and as the # blubber in one strip uniformly peels off along the line called the “scarf,” # simultaneously cut by the spades of Starbuck and Stubb, the mates; and just as # fast as it is thus peeled off, and indeed by that very act itself, it is all the # time being hoisted higher and higher aloft till its upper end grazes the # main-top; the men at the windlass then cease heaving, and for a moment or two # the prodigious blood-dripping mass sways to and fro as if let down from the sky, # and every one present must take good heed to dodge it when it swings, else it # may box his ears and pitch him headlong overboard. # # One of the attending harpooneers now advances with a long, keen weapon called a # boarding-sword, and watching his chance he dexterously slices out a considerable # hole in the lower part of the swaying mass. Into this hole, the end of the # second alternating great tackle is then hooked so as to retain a hold upon the # blubber, in order to prepare for what follows. Whereupon, this accomplished # swordsman, warning all hands to stand off, once more makes a scientific dash at # the mass, and with a few sidelong, desperate, lunging slicings, severs it # completely in twain; so that while the short lower part is still fast, the long # upper strip, called a blanket-piece, swings clear, and is all ready for # lowering. The heavers forward now resume their song, and while the one tackle is # peeling and hoisting a second strip from the whale, the other is slowly # slackened away, and down goes the first strip through the main hatchway right # beneath, into an unfurnished parlor called the blubber-room. Into this twilight # apartment sundry nimble hands keep coiling away the long blanket-piece as if it # were a great live mass of plaited serpents. And thus the work proceeds; the two # tackles hoisting and lowering simultaneously; both whale and windlass heaving, # the heavers singing, the blubber-room gentlemen coiling, the mates scarfing, the # ship straining, and all hands swearing occasionally, by way of assuaging the # general friction. # # # # # # CHAPTER 68. The Blanket. # # I have given no small attention to that not unvexed subject, the skin of the # whale. I have had controversies about it with experienced whalemen afloat, and # learned naturalists ashore. My original opinion remains unchanged; but it is # only an opinion. # # The question is, what and where is the skin of the whale? Already you know what # his blubber is. That blubber is something of the consistence of firm, # close-grained beef, but tougher, more elastic and compact, and ranges from eight # or ten to twelve and fifteen inches in thickness. # # Now, however preposterous it may at first seem to talk of any creature’s skin as # being of that sort of consistence and thickness, yet in point of fact these are # no arguments against such a presumption; because you cannot raise any other # dense enveloping layer from the whale’s body but that same blubber; and the # outermost enveloping layer of any animal, if reasonably dense, what can that be # but the skin? True, from the unmarred dead body of the whale, you may scrape off # with your hand an infinitely thin, transparent substance, somewhat resembling # the thinnest shreds of isinglass, only it is almost as flexible and soft as # satin; that is, previous to being dried, when it not only contracts and # thickens, but becomes rather hard and brittle. I have several such dried bits, # which I use for marks in my whale-books. It is transparent, as I said before; # and being laid upon the printed page, I have sometimes pleased myself with # fancying it exerted a magnifying influence. At any rate, it is pleasant to read # about whales through their own spectacles, as you may say. But what I am driving # at here is this. That same infinitely thin, isinglass substance, which, I admit, # invests the entire body of the whale, is not so much to be regarded as the skin # of the creature, as the skin of the skin, so to speak; for it were simply # ridiculous to say, that the proper skin of the tremendous whale is thinner and # more tender than the skin of a new-born child. But no more of this. # # Assuming the blubber to be the skin of the whale; then, when this skin, as in # the case of a very large Sperm Whale, will yield the bulk of one hundred barrels # of oil; and, when it is considered that, in quantity, or rather weight, that # oil, in its expressed state, is only three fourths, and not the entire substance # of the coat; some idea may hence be had of the enormousness of that animated # mass, a mere part of whose mere integument yields such a lake of liquid as that. # Reckoning ten barrels to the ton, you have ten tons for the net weight of only # three quarters of the stuff of the whale’s skin. # # In life, the visible surface of the Sperm Whale is not the least among the many # marvels he presents. Almost invariably it is all over obliquely crossed and # re-crossed with numberless straight marks in thick array, something like those # in the finest Italian line engravings. But these marks do not seem to be # impressed upon the isinglass substance above mentioned, but seem to be seen # through it, as if they were engraved upon the body itself. Nor is this all. In # some instances, to the quick, observant eye, those linear marks, as in a # veritable engraving, but afford the ground for far other delineations. These are # hieroglyphical; that is, if you call those mysterious cyphers on the walls of # pyramids hieroglyphics, then that is the proper word to use in the present # connexion. By my retentive memory of the hieroglyphics upon one Sperm Whale in # particular, I was much struck with a plate representing the old Indian # characters chiselled on the famous hieroglyphic palisades on the banks of the # Upper Mississippi. Like those mystic rocks, too, the mystic-marked whale remains # undecipherable. This allusion to the Indian rocks reminds me of another thing. # Besides all the other phenomena which the exterior of the Sperm Whale presents, # he not seldom displays the back, and more especially his flanks, effaced in # great part of the regular linear appearance, by reason of numerous rude # scratches, altogether of an irregular, random aspect. I should say that those # New England rocks on the sea-coast, which Agassiz imagines to bear the marks of # violent scraping contact with vast floating icebergs—I should say, that those # rocks must not a little resemble the Sperm Whale in this particular. It also # seems to me that such scratches in the whale are probably made by hostile # contact with other whales; for I have most remarked them in the large, # full-grown bulls of the species. # # A word or two more concerning this matter of the skin or blubber of the whale. # It has already been said, that it is stript from him in long pieces, called # blanket-pieces. Like most sea-terms, this one is very happy and significant. For # the whale is indeed wrapt up in his blubber as in a real blanket or counterpane; # or, still better, an Indian poncho slipt over his head, and skirting his # extremity. It is by reason of this cosy blanketing of his body, that the whale # is enabled to keep himself comfortable in all weathers, in all seas, times, and # tides. What would become of a Greenland whale, say, in those shuddering, icy # seas of the North, if unsupplied with his cosy surtout? True, other fish are # found exceedingly brisk in those Hyperborean waters; but these, be it observed, # are your cold-blooded, lungless fish, whose very bellies are refrigerators; # creatures, that warm themselves under the lee of an iceberg, as a traveller in # winter would bask before an inn fire; whereas, like man, the whale has lungs and # warm blood. Freeze his blood, and he dies. How wonderful is it then—except after # explanation—that this great monster, to whom corporeal warmth is as # indispensable as it is to man; how wonderful that he should be found at home, # immersed to his lips for life in those Arctic waters! where, when seamen fall # overboard, they are sometimes found, months afterwards, perpendicularly frozen # into the hearts of fields of ice, as a fly is found glued in amber. But more # surprising is it to know, as has been proved by experiment, that the blood of a # Polar whale is warmer than that of a Borneo negro in summer. # # It does seem to me, that herein we see the rare virtue of a strong individual # vitality, and the rare virtue of thick walls, and the rare virtue of interior # spaciousness. Oh, man! admire and model thyself after the whale! Do thou, too, # remain warm among ice. Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it. Be # cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole. Like the great dome of # St. Peter’s, and like the great whale, retain, O man! in all seasons a # temperature of thine own. # # But how easy and how hopeless to teach these fine things! Of erections, how few # are domed like St. Peter’s! of creatures, how few vast as the whale! # # # # # # CHAPTER 69. The Funeral. # # “Haul in the chains! Let the carcase go astern!” # # The vast tackles have now done their duty. The peeled white body of the beheaded # whale flashes like a marble sepulchre; though changed in hue, it has not # perceptibly lost anything in bulk. It is still colossal. Slowly it floats more # and more away, the water round it torn and splashed by the insatiate sharks, and # the air above vexed with rapacious flights of screaming fowls, whose beaks are # like so many insulting poniards in the whale. The vast white headless phantom # floats further and further from the ship, and every rod that it so floats, what # seem square roods of sharks and cubic roods of fowls, augment the murderous din. # For hours and hours from the almost stationary ship that hideous sight is seen. # Beneath the unclouded and mild azure sky, upon the fair face of the pleasant # sea, wafted by the joyous breezes, that great mass of death floats on and on, # till lost in infinite perspectives. # # There’s a most doleful and most mocking funeral! The sea-vultures all in pious # mourning, the air-sharks all punctiliously in black or speckled. In life but few # of them would have helped the whale, I ween, if peradventure he had needed it; # but upon the banquet of his funeral they most piously do pounce. Oh, horrible # vultureism of earth! from which not the mightiest whale is free. # # Nor is this the end. Desecrated as the body is, a vengeful ghost survives and # hovers over it to scare. Espied by some timid man-of-war or blundering # discovery-vessel from afar, when the distance obscuring the swarming fowls, # nevertheless still shows the white mass floating in the sun, and the white spray # heaving high against it; straightway the whale’s unharming corpse, with # trembling fingers is set down in the log—shoals, rocks, and breakers hereabouts: # beware! And for years afterwards, perhaps, ships shun the place; leaping over it # as silly sheep leap over a vacuum, because their leader originally leaped there # when a stick was held. There’s your law of precedents; there’s your utility of # traditions; there’s the story of your obstinate survival of old beliefs never # bottomed on the earth, and now not even hovering in the air! There’s orthodoxy! # # Thus, while in life the great whale’s body may have been a real terror to his # foes, in his death his ghost becomes a powerless panic to a world. # # Are you a believer in ghosts, my friend? There are other ghosts than the # Cock-Lane one, and far deeper men than Doctor Johnson who believe in them. # # # # # # CHAPTER 70. The Sphynx. # # It should not have been omitted that previous to completely stripping the body # of the leviathan, he was beheaded. Now, the beheading of the Sperm Whale is a # scientific anatomical feat, upon which experienced whale surgeons very much # pride themselves: and not without reason. # # Consider that the whale has nothing that can properly be called a neck; on the # contrary, where his head and body seem to join, there, in that very place, is # the thickest part of him. Remember, also, that the surgeon must operate from # above, some eight or ten feet intervening between him and his subject, and that # subject almost hidden in a discoloured, rolling, and oftentimes tumultuous and # bursting sea. Bear in mind, too, that under these untoward circumstances he has # to cut many feet deep in the flesh; and in that subterraneous manner, without so # much as getting one single peep into the ever-contracting gash thus made, he # must skilfully steer clear of all adjacent, interdicted parts, and exactly # divide the spine at a critical point hard by its insertion into the skull. Do # you not marvel, then, at Stubb’s boast, that he demanded but ten minutes to # behead a sperm whale? # # When first severed, the head is dropped astern and held there by a cable till # the body is stripped. That done, if it belong to a small whale it is hoisted on # deck to be deliberately disposed of. But, with a full grown leviathan this is # impossible; for the sperm whale’s head embraces nearly one third of his entire # bulk, and completely to suspend such a burden as that, even by the immense # tackles of a whaler, this were as vain a thing as to attempt weighing a Dutch # barn in jewellers’ scales. # # The Pequod’s whale being decapitated and the body stripped, the head was hoisted # against the ship’s side—about half way out of the sea, so that it might yet in # great part be buoyed up by its native element. And there with the strained craft # steeply leaning over to it, by reason of the enormous downward drag from the # lower mast-head, and every yard-arm on that side projecting like a crane over # the waves; there, that blood-dripping head hung to the Pequod’s waist like the # giant Holofernes’s from the girdle of Judith. # # When this last task was accomplished it was noon, and the seamen went below to # their dinner. Silence reigned over the before tumultuous but now deserted deck. # An intense copper calm, like a universal yellow lotus, was more and more # unfolding its noiseless measureless leaves upon the sea. # # A short space elapsed, and up into this noiselessness came Ahab alone from his # cabin. Taking a few turns on the quarter-deck, he paused to gaze over the side, # then slowly getting into the main-chains he took Stubb’s long spade—still # remaining there after the whale’s decapitation—and striking it into the lower # part of the half-suspended mass, placed its other end crutch-wise under one arm, # and so stood leaning over with eyes attentively fixed on this head. # # It was a black and hooded head; and hanging there in the midst of so intense a # calm, it seemed the Sphynx’s in the desert. “Speak, thou vast and venerable # head,” muttered Ahab, “which, though ungarnished with a beard, yet here and # there lookest hoary with mosses; speak, mighty head, and tell us the secret # thing that is in thee. Of all divers, thou hast dived the deepest. That head # upon which the upper sun now gleams, has moved amid this world’s foundations. # Where unrecorded names and navies rust, and untold hopes and anchors rot; where # in her murderous hold this frigate earth is ballasted with bones of millions of # the drowned; there, in that awful water-land, there was thy most familiar home. # Thou hast been where bell or diver never went; hast slept by many a sailor’s # side, where sleepless mothers would give their lives to lay them down. Thou # saw’st the locked lovers when leaping from their flaming ship; heart to heart # they sank beneath the exulting wave; true to each other, when heaven seemed # false to them. Thou saw’st the murdered mate when tossed by pirates from the # midnight deck; for hours he fell into the deeper midnight of the insatiate maw; # and his murderers still sailed on unharmed—while swift lightnings shivered the # neighboring ship that would have borne a righteous husband to outstretched, # longing arms. O head! thou hast seen enough to split the planets and make an # infidel of Abraham, and not one syllable is thine!” # # “Sail ho!” cried a triumphant voice from the main-mast-head. # # “Aye? Well, now, that’s cheering,” cried Ahab, suddenly erecting himself, while # whole thunder-clouds swept aside from his brow. “That lively cry upon this # deadly calm might almost convert a better man.—Where away?” # # “Three points on the starboard bow, sir, and bringing down her breeze to us! # # “Better and better, man. Would now St. Paul would come along that way, and to my # breezelessness bring his breeze! O Nature, and O soul of man! how far beyond all # utterance are your linked analogies! not the smallest atom stirs or lives on # matter, but has its cunning duplicate in mind.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 71. The Jeroboam’s Story. # # Hand in hand, ship and breeze blew on; but the breeze came faster than the ship, # and soon the Pequod began to rock. # # By and by, through the glass the stranger’s boats and manned mast-heads proved # her a whale-ship. But as she was so far to windward, and shooting by, apparently # making a passage to some other ground, the Pequod could not hope to reach her. # So the signal was set to see what response would be made. # # Here be it said, that like the vessels of military marines, the ships of the # American Whale Fleet have each a private signal; all which signals being # collected in a book with the names of the respective vessels attached, every # captain is provided with it. Thereby, the whale commanders are enabled to # recognise each other upon the ocean, even at considerable distances and with no # small facility. # # The Pequod’s signal was at last responded to by the stranger’s setting her own; # which proved the ship to be the Jeroboam of Nantucket. Squaring her yards, she # bore down, ranged abeam under the Pequod’s lee, and lowered a boat; it soon drew # nigh; but, as the side-ladder was being rigged by Starbuck’s order to # accommodate the visiting captain, the stranger in question waved his hand from # his boat’s stern in token of that proceeding being entirely unnecessary. It # turned out that the Jeroboam had a malignant epidemic on board, and that Mayhew, # her captain, was fearful of infecting the Pequod’s company. For, though himself # and boat’s crew remained untainted, and though his ship was half a rifle-shot # off, and an incorruptible sea and air rolling and flowing between; yet # conscientiously adhering to the timid quarantine of the land, he peremptorily # refused to come into direct contact with the Pequod. # # But this did by no means prevent all communications. Preserving an interval of # some few yards between itself and the ship, the Jeroboam’s boat by the # occasional use of its oars contrived to keep parallel to the Pequod, as she # heavily forged through the sea (for by this time it blew very fresh), with her # main-topsail aback; though, indeed, at times by the sudden onset of a large # rolling wave, the boat would be pushed some way ahead; but would be soon # skilfully brought to her proper bearings again. Subject to this, and other the # like interruptions now and then, a conversation was sustained between the two # parties; but at intervals not without still another interruption of a very # different sort. # # Pulling an oar in the Jeroboam’s boat, was a man of a singular appearance, even # in that wild whaling life where individual notabilities make up all totalities. # He was a small, short, youngish man, sprinkled all over his face with freckles, # and wearing redundant yellow hair. A long-skirted, cabalistically-cut coat of a # faded walnut tinge enveloped him; the overlapping sleeves of which were rolled # up on his wrists. A deep, settled, fanatic delirium was in his eyes. # # So soon as this figure had been first descried, Stubb had exclaimed—“That’s he! # that’s he!—the long-togged scaramouch the Town-Ho’s company told us of!” Stubb # here alluded to a strange story told of the Jeroboam, and a certain man among # her crew, some time previous when the Pequod spoke the Town-Ho. According to # this account and what was subsequently learned, it seemed that the scaramouch in # question had gained a wonderful ascendency over almost everybody in the # Jeroboam. His story was this: # # He had been originally nurtured among the crazy society of Neskyeuna Shakers, # where he had been a great prophet; in their cracked, secret meetings having # several times descended from heaven by the way of a trap-door, announcing the # speedy opening of the seventh vial, which he carried in his vest-pocket; but, # which, instead of containing gunpowder, was supposed to be charged with # laudanum. A strange, apostolic whim having seized him, he had left Neskyeuna for # Nantucket, where, with that cunning peculiar to craziness, he assumed a steady, # common-sense exterior, and offered himself as a green-hand candidate for the # Jeroboam’s whaling voyage. They engaged him; but straightway upon the ship’s # getting out of sight of land, his insanity broke out in a freshet. He announced # himself as the archangel Gabriel, and commanded the captain to jump overboard. # He published his manifesto, whereby he set himself forth as the deliverer of the # isles of the sea and vicar-general of all Oceanica. The unflinching earnestness # with which he declared these things;—the dark, daring play of his sleepless, # excited imagination, and all the preternatural terrors of real delirium, united # to invest this Gabriel in the minds of the majority of the ignorant crew, with # an atmosphere of sacredness. Moreover, they were afraid of him. As such a man, # however, was not of much practical use in the ship, especially as he refused to # work except when he pleased, the incredulous captain would fain have been rid of # him; but apprised that that individual’s intention was to land him in the first # convenient port, the archangel forthwith opened all his seals and vials—devoting # the ship and all hands to unconditional perdition, in case this intention was # carried out. So strongly did he work upon his disciples among the crew, that at # last in a body they went to the captain and told him if Gabriel was sent from # the ship, not a man of them would remain. He was therefore forced to relinquish # his plan. Nor would they permit Gabriel to be any way maltreated, say or do what # he would; so that it came to pass that Gabriel had the complete freedom of the # ship. The consequence of all this was, that the archangel cared little or # nothing for the captain and mates; and since the epidemic had broken out, he # carried a higher hand than ever; declaring that the plague, as he called it, was # at his sole command; nor should it be stayed but according to his good pleasure. # The sailors, mostly poor devils, cringed, and some of them fawned before him; in # obedience to his instructions, sometimes rendering him personal homage, as to a # god. Such things may seem incredible; but, however wondrous, they are true. Nor # is the history of fanatics half so striking in respect to the measureless # self-deception of the fanatic himself, as his measureless power of deceiving and # bedevilling so many others. But it is time to return to the Pequod. # # “I fear not thy epidemic, man,” said Ahab from the bulwarks, to Captain Mayhew, # who stood in the boat’s stern; “come on board.” # # But now Gabriel started to his feet. # # “Think, think of the fevers, yellow and bilious! Beware of the horrible plague!” # # “Gabriel! Gabriel!” cried Captain Mayhew; “thou must either—” But that instant a # headlong wave shot the boat far ahead, and its seethings drowned all speech. # # “Hast thou seen the White Whale?” demanded Ahab, when the boat drifted back. # # “Think, think of thy whale-boat, stoven and sunk! Beware of the horrible tail!” # # “I tell thee again, Gabriel, that—” But again the boat tore ahead as if dragged # by fiends. Nothing was said for some moments, while a succession of riotous # waves rolled by, which by one of those occasional caprices of the seas were # tumbling, not heaving it. Meantime, the hoisted sperm whale’s head jogged about # very violently, and Gabriel was seen eyeing it with rather more apprehensiveness # than his archangel nature seemed to warrant. # # When this interlude was over, Captain Mayhew began a dark story concerning Moby # Dick; not, however, without frequent interruptions from Gabriel, whenever his # name was mentioned, and the crazy sea that seemed leagued with him. # # It seemed that the Jeroboam had not long left home, when upon speaking a # whale-ship, her people were reliably apprised of the existence of Moby Dick, and # the havoc he had made. Greedily sucking in this intelligence, Gabriel solemnly # warned the captain against attacking the White Whale, in case the monster should # be seen; in his gibbering insanity, pronouncing the White Whale to be no less a # being than the Shaker God incarnated; the Shakers receiving the Bible. But when, # some year or two afterwards, Moby Dick was fairly sighted from the mast-heads, # Macey, the chief mate, burned with ardour to encounter him; and the captain # himself being not unwilling to let him have the opportunity, despite all the # archangel’s denunciations and forewarnings, Macey succeeded in persuading five # men to man his boat. With them he pushed off; and, after much weary pulling, and # many perilous, unsuccessful onsets, he at last succeeded in getting one iron # fast. Meantime, Gabriel, ascending to the main-royal mast-head, was tossing one # arm in frantic gestures, and hurling forth prophecies of speedy doom to the # sacrilegious assailants of his divinity. Now, while Macey, the mate, was # standing up in his boat’s bow, and with all the reckless energy of his tribe was # venting his wild exclamations upon the whale, and essaying to get a fair chance # for his poised lance, lo! a broad white shadow rose from the sea; by its quick, # fanning motion, temporarily taking the breath out of the bodies of the oarsmen. # Next instant, the luckless mate, so full of furious life, was smitten bodily # into the air, and making a long arc in his descent, fell into the sea at the # distance of about fifty yards. Not a chip of the boat was harmed, nor a hair of # any oarsman’s head; but the mate for ever sank. # # It is well to parenthesize here, that of the fatal accidents in the Sperm-Whale # Fishery, this kind is perhaps almost as frequent as any. Sometimes, nothing is # injured but the man who is thus annihilated; oftener the boat’s bow is knocked # off, or the thigh-board, in which the headsman stands, is torn from its place # and accompanies the body. But strangest of all is the circumstance, that in more # instances than one, when the body has been recovered, not a single mark of # violence is discernible; the man being stark dead. # # The whole calamity, with the falling form of Macey, was plainly descried from # the ship. Raising a piercing shriek—“The vial! the vial!” Gabriel called off the # terror-stricken crew from the further hunting of the whale. This terrible event # clothed the archangel with added influence; because his credulous disciples # believed that he had specifically fore-announced it, instead of only making a # general prophecy, which any one might have done, and so have chanced to hit one # of many marks in the wide margin allowed. He became a nameless terror to the # ship. # # Mayhew having concluded his narration, Ahab put such questions to him, that the # stranger captain could not forbear inquiring whether he intended to hunt the # White Whale, if opportunity should offer. To which Ahab answered—“Aye.” # Straightway, then, Gabriel once more started to his feet, glaring upon the old # man, and vehemently exclaimed, with downward pointed finger—“Think, think of the # blasphemer—dead, and down there!—beware of the blasphemer’s end!” # # Ahab stolidly turned aside; then said to Mayhew, “Captain, I have just bethought # me of my letter-bag; there is a letter for one of thy officers, if I mistake # not. Starbuck, look over the bag.” # # Every whale-ship takes out a goodly number of letters for various ships, whose # delivery to the persons to whom they may be addressed, depends upon the mere # chance of encountering them in the four oceans. Thus, most letters never reach # their mark; and many are only received after attaining an age of two or three # years or more. # # Soon Starbuck returned with a letter in his hand. It was sorely tumbled, damp, # and covered with a dull, spotted, green mould, in consequence of being kept in a # dark locker of the cabin. Of such a letter, Death himself might well have been # the post-boy. # # “Can’st not read it?” cried Ahab. “Give it me, man. Aye, aye, it’s but a dim # scrawl;—what’s this?” As he was studying it out, Starbuck took a long # cutting-spade pole, and with his knife slightly split the end, to insert the # letter there, and in that way, hand it to the boat, without its coming any # closer to the ship. # # Meantime, Ahab holding the letter, muttered, “Mr. Har—yes, Mr. Harry—(a woman’s # pinny hand,—the man’s wife, I’ll wager)—Aye—Mr. Harry Macey, Ship Jeroboam;—why # it’s Macey, and he’s dead!” # # “Poor fellow! poor fellow! and from his wife,” sighed Mayhew; “but let me have # it.” # # “Nay, keep it thyself,” cried Gabriel to Ahab; “thou art soon going that way.” # # “Curses throttle thee!” yelled Ahab. “Captain Mayhew, stand by now to receive # it”; and taking the fatal missive from Starbuck’s hands, he caught it in the # slit of the pole, and reached it over towards the boat. But as he did so, the # oarsmen expectantly desisted from rowing; the boat drifted a little towards the # ship’s stern; so that, as if by magic, the letter suddenly ranged along with # Gabriel’s eager hand. He clutched it in an instant, seized the boat-knife, and # impaling the letter on it, sent it thus loaded back into the ship. It fell at # Ahab’s feet. Then Gabriel shrieked out to his comrades to give way with their # oars, and in that manner the mutinous boat rapidly shot away from the Pequod. # # As, after this interlude, the seamen resumed their work upon the jacket of the # whale, many strange things were hinted in reference to this wild affair. # # # # # # CHAPTER 72. The Monkey-Rope. # # In the tumultuous business of cutting-in and attending to a whale, there is much # running backwards and forwards among the crew. Now hands are wanted here, and # then again hands are wanted there. There is no staying in any one place; for at # one and the same time everything has to be done everywhere. It is much the same # with him who endeavors the description of the scene. We must now retrace our way # a little. It was mentioned that upon first breaking ground in the whale’s back, # the blubber-hook was inserted into the original hole there cut by the spades of # the mates. But how did so clumsy and weighty a mass as that same hook get fixed # in that hole? It was inserted there by my particular friend Queequeg, whose duty # it was, as harpooneer, to descend upon the monster’s back for the special # purpose referred to. But in very many cases, circumstances require that the # harpooneer shall remain on the whale till the whole flensing or stripping # operation is concluded. The whale, be it observed, lies almost entirely # submerged, excepting the immediate parts operated upon. So down there, some ten # feet below the level of the deck, the poor harpooneer flounders about, half on # the whale and half in the water, as the vast mass revolves like a tread-mill # beneath him. On the occasion in question, Queequeg figured in the Highland # costume—a shirt and socks—in which to my eyes, at least, he appeared to uncommon # advantage; and no one had a better chance to observe him, as will presently be # seen. # # Being the savage’s bowsman, that is, the person who pulled the bow-oar in his # boat (the second one from forward), it was my cheerful duty to attend upon him # while taking that hard-scrabble scramble upon the dead whale’s back. You have # seen Italian organ-boys holding a dancing-ape by a long cord. Just so, from the # ship’s steep side, did I hold Queequeg down there in the sea, by what is # technically called in the fishery a monkey-rope, attached to a strong strip of # canvas belted round his waist. # # It was a humorously perilous business for both of us. For, before we proceed # further, it must be said that the monkey-rope was fast at both ends; fast to # Queequeg’s broad canvas belt, and fast to my narrow leather one. So that for # better or for worse, we two, for the time, were wedded; and should poor Queequeg # sink to rise no more, then both usage and honor demanded, that instead of # cutting the cord, it should drag me down in his wake. So, then, an elongated # Siamese ligature united us. Queequeg was my own inseparable twin brother; nor # could I any way get rid of the dangerous liabilities which the hempen bond # entailed. # # So strongly and metaphysically did I conceive of my situation then, that while # earnestly watching his motions, I seemed distinctly to perceive that my own # individuality was now merged in a joint stock company of two; that my free will # had received a mortal wound; and that another’s mistake or misfortune might # plunge innocent me into unmerited disaster and death. Therefore, I saw that here # was a sort of interregnum in Providence; for its even-handed equity never could # have so gross an injustice. And yet still further pondering—while I jerked him # now and then from between the whale and ship, which would threaten to jam # him—still further pondering, I say, I saw that this situation of mine was the # precise situation of every mortal that breathes; only, in most cases, he, one # way or other, has this Siamese connexion with a plurality of other mortals. If # your banker breaks, you snap; if your apothecary by mistake sends you poison in # your pills, you die. True, you may say that, by exceeding caution, you may # possibly escape these and the multitudinous other evil chances of life. But # handle Queequeg’s monkey-rope heedfully as I would, sometimes he jerked it so, # that I came very near sliding overboard. Nor could I possibly forget that, do # what I would, I only had the management of one end of it.* # # *The monkey-rope is found in all whalers; but it was only in the Pequod that the # monkey and his holder were ever tied together. This improvement upon the # original usage was introduced by no less a man than Stubb, in order to afford # the imperilled harpooneer the strongest possible guarantee for the faithfulness # and vigilance of his monkey-rope holder. # # I have hinted that I would often jerk poor Queequeg from between the whale and # the ship—where he would occasionally fall, from the incessant rolling and # swaying of both. But this was not the only jamming jeopardy he was exposed to. # Unappalled by the massacre made upon them during the night, the sharks now # freshly and more keenly allured by the before pent blood which began to flow # from the carcass—the rabid creatures swarmed round it like bees in a beehive. # # And right in among those sharks was Queequeg; who often pushed them aside with # his floundering feet. A thing altogether incredible were it not that attracted # by such prey as a dead whale, the otherwise miscellaneously carnivorous shark # will seldom touch a man. # # Nevertheless, it may well be believed that since they have such a ravenous # finger in the pie, it is deemed but wise to look sharp to them. Accordingly, # besides the monkey-rope, with which I now and then jerked the poor fellow from # too close a vicinity to the maw of what seemed a peculiarly ferocious shark—he # was provided with still another protection. Suspended over the side in one of # the stages, Tashtego and Daggoo continually flourished over his head a couple of # keen whale-spades, wherewith they slaughtered as many sharks as they could # reach. This procedure of theirs, to be sure, was very disinterested and # benevolent of them. They meant Queequeg’s best happiness, I admit; but in their # hasty zeal to befriend him, and from the circumstance that both he and the # sharks were at times half hidden by the blood-muddled water, those indiscreet # spades of theirs would come nearer amputating a leg than a tail. But poor # Queequeg, I suppose, straining and gasping there with that great iron hook—poor # Queequeg, I suppose, only prayed to his Yojo, and gave up his life into the # hands of his gods. # # Well, well, my dear comrade and twin-brother, thought I, as I drew in and then # slacked off the rope to every swell of the sea—what matters it, after all? Are # you not the precious image of each and all of us men in this whaling world? That # unsounded ocean you gasp in, is Life; those sharks, your foes; those spades, # your friends; and what between sharks and spades you are in a sad pickle and # peril, poor lad. # # But courage! there is good cheer in store for you, Queequeg. For now, as with # blue lips and blood-shot eyes the exhausted savage at last climbs up the chains # and stands all dripping and involuntarily trembling over the side; the steward # advances, and with a benevolent, consolatory glance hands him—what? Some hot # Cognac? No! hands him, ye gods! hands him a cup of tepid ginger and water! # # “Ginger? Do I smell ginger?” suspiciously asked Stubb, coming near. “Yes, this # must be ginger,” peering into the as yet untasted cup. Then standing as if # incredulous for a while, he calmly walked towards the astonished steward slowly # saying, “Ginger? ginger? and will you have the goodness to tell me, Mr. # Dough-Boy, where lies the virtue of ginger? Ginger! is ginger the sort of fuel # you use, Dough-boy, to kindle a fire in this shivering cannibal? Ginger!—what # the devil is ginger? Sea-coal? firewood?—lucifer # matches?—tinder?—gunpowder?—what the devil is ginger, I say, that you offer this # cup to our poor Queequeg here.” # # “There is some sneaking Temperance Society movement about this business,” he # suddenly added, now approaching Starbuck, who had just come from forward. “Will # you look at that kannakin, sir: smell of it, if you please.” Then watching the # mate’s countenance, he added, “The steward, Mr. Starbuck, had the face to offer # that calomel and jalap to Queequeg, there, this instant off the whale. Is the # steward an apothecary, sir? and may I ask whether this is the sort of bitters by # which he blows back the life into a half-drowned man?” # # “I trust not,” said Starbuck, “it is poor stuff enough.” # # “Aye, aye, steward,” cried Stubb, “we’ll teach you to drug a harpooneer; none of # your apothecary’s medicine here; you want to poison us, do ye? You have got out # insurances on our lives and want to murder us all, and pocket the proceeds, do # ye?” # # “It was not me,” cried Dough-Boy, “it was Aunt Charity that brought the ginger # on board; and bade me never give the harpooneers any spirits, but only this # ginger-jub—so she called it.” # # “Ginger-jub! you gingerly rascal! take that! and run along with ye to the # lockers, and get something better. I hope I do no wrong, Mr. Starbuck. It is the # captain’s orders—grog for the harpooneer on a whale.” # # “Enough,” replied Starbuck, “only don’t hit him again, but—” # # “Oh, I never hurt when I hit, except when I hit a whale or something of that # sort; and this fellow’s a weazel. What were you about saying, sir?” # # “Only this: go down with him, and get what thou wantest thyself.” # # When Stubb reappeared, he came with a dark flask in one hand, and a sort of # tea-caddy in the other. The first contained strong spirits, and was handed to # Queequeg; the second was Aunt Charity’s gift, and that was freely given to the # waves. # # # # # # CHAPTER 73. Stubb and Flask kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk over Him. # # It must be borne in mind that all this time we have a Sperm Whale’s prodigious # head hanging to the Pequod’s side. But we must let it continue hanging there a # while till we can get a chance to attend to it. For the present other matters # press, and the best we can do now for the head, is to pray heaven the tackles # may hold. # # Now, during the past night and forenoon, the Pequod had gradually drifted into a # sea, which, by its occasional patches of yellow brit, gave unusual tokens of the # vicinity of Right Whales, a species of the Leviathan that but few supposed to be # at this particular time lurking anywhere near. And though all hands commonly # disdained the capture of those inferior creatures; and though the Pequod was not # commissioned to cruise for them at all, and though she had passed numbers of # them near the Crozetts without lowering a boat; yet now that a Sperm Whale had # been brought alongside and beheaded, to the surprise of all, the announcement # was made that a Right Whale should be captured that day, if opportunity offered. # # Nor was this long wanting. Tall spouts were seen to leeward; and two boats, # Stubb’s and Flask’s, were detached in pursuit. Pulling further and further away, # they at last became almost invisible to the men at the mast-head. But suddenly # in the distance, they saw a great heap of tumultuous white water, and soon after # news came from aloft that one or both the boats must be fast. An interval passed # and the boats were in plain sight, in the act of being dragged right towards the # ship by the towing whale. So close did the monster come to the hull, that at # first it seemed as if he meant it malice; but suddenly going down in a # maelstrom, within three rods of the planks, he wholly disappeared from view, as # if diving under the keel. “Cut, cut!” was the cry from the ship to the boats, # which, for one instant, seemed on the point of being brought with a deadly dash # against the vessel’s side. But having plenty of line yet in the tubs, and the # whale not sounding very rapidly, they paid out abundance of rope, and at the # same time pulled with all their might so as to get ahead of the ship. For a few # minutes the struggle was intensely critical; for while they still slacked out # the tightened line in one direction, and still plied their oars in another, the # contending strain threatened to take them under. But it was only a few feet # advance they sought to gain. And they stuck to it till they did gain it; when # instantly, a swift tremor was felt running like lightning along the keel, as the # strained line, scraping beneath the ship, suddenly rose to view under her bows, # snapping and quivering; and so flinging off its drippings, that the drops fell # like bits of broken glass on the water, while the whale beyond also rose to # sight, and once more the boats were free to fly. But the fagged whale abated his # speed, and blindly altering his course, went round the stern of the ship towing # the two boats after him, so that they performed a complete circuit. # # Meantime, they hauled more and more upon their lines, till close flanking him on # both sides, Stubb answered Flask with lance for lance; and thus round and round # the Pequod the battle went, while the multitudes of sharks that had before swum # round the Sperm Whale’s body, rushed to the fresh blood that was spilled, # thirstily drinking at every new gash, as the eager Israelites did at the new # bursting fountains that poured from the smitten rock. # # At last his spout grew thick, and with a frightful roll and vomit, he turned # upon his back a corpse. # # While the two headsmen were engaged in making fast cords to his flukes, and in # other ways getting the mass in readiness for towing, some conversation ensued # between them. # # “I wonder what the old man wants with this lump of foul lard,” said Stubb, not # without some disgust at the thought of having to do with so ignoble a leviathan. # # “Wants with it?” said Flask, coiling some spare line in the boat’s bow, “did you # never hear that the ship which but once has a Sperm Whale’s head hoisted on her # starboard side, and at the same time a Right Whale’s on the larboard; did you # never hear, Stubb, that that ship can never afterwards capsize?” # # “Why not? # # “I don’t know, but I heard that gamboge ghost of a Fedallah saying so, and he # seems to know all about ships’ charms. But I sometimes think he’ll charm the # ship to no good at last. I don’t half like that chap, Stubb. Did you ever notice # how that tusk of his is a sort of carved into a snake’s head, Stubb?” # # “Sink him! I never look at him at all; but if ever I get a chance of a dark # night, and he standing hard by the bulwarks, and no one by; look down there, # Flask”—pointing into the sea with a peculiar motion of both hands—“Aye, will I! # Flask, I take that Fedallah to be the devil in disguise. Do you believe that # cock and bull story about his having been stowed away on board ship? He’s the # devil, I say. The reason why you don’t see his tail, is because he tucks it up # out of sight; he carries it coiled away in his pocket, I guess. Blast him! now # that I think of it, he’s always wanting oakum to stuff into the toes of his # boots.” # # “He sleeps in his boots, don’t he? He hasn’t got any hammock; but I’ve seen him # lay of nights in a coil of rigging.” # # “No doubt, and it’s because of his cursed tail; he coils it down, do ye see, in # the eye of the rigging.” # # “What’s the old man have so much to do with him for?” # # “Striking up a swap or a bargain, I suppose.” # # “Bargain?—about what?” # # “Why, do ye see, the old man is hard bent after that White Whale, and the devil # there is trying to come round him, and get him to swap away his silver watch, or # his soul, or something of that sort, and then he’ll surrender Moby Dick.” # # “Pooh! Stubb, you are skylarking; how can Fedallah do that?” # # “I don’t know, Flask, but the devil is a curious chap, and a wicked one, I tell # ye. Why, they say as how he went a sauntering into the old flag-ship once, # switching his tail about devilish easy and gentlemanlike, and inquiring if the # old governor was at home. Well, he was at home, and asked the devil what he # wanted. The devil, switching his hoofs, up and says, ‘I want John.’ ‘What for?’ # says the old governor. ‘What business is that of yours,’ says the devil, getting # mad,—‘I want to use him.’ ‘Take him,’ says the governor—and by the Lord, Flask, # if the devil didn’t give John the Asiatic cholera before he got through with # him, I’ll eat this whale in one mouthful. But look sharp—ain’t you all ready # there? Well, then, pull ahead, and let’s get the whale alongside.” # # “I think I remember some such story as you were telling,” said Flask, when at # last the two boats were slowly advancing with their burden towards the ship, # “but I can’t remember where.” # # “Three Spaniards? Adventures of those three bloody-minded soldadoes? Did ye read # it there, Flask? I guess ye did?” # # “No: never saw such a book; heard of it, though. But now, tell me, Stubb, do you # suppose that that devil you was speaking of just now, was the same you say is # now on board the Pequod?” # # “Am I the same man that helped kill this whale? Doesn’t the devil live for ever; # who ever heard that the devil was dead? Did you ever see any parson a wearing # mourning for the devil? And if the devil has a latch-key to get into the # admiral’s cabin, don’t you suppose he can crawl into a porthole? Tell me that, # Mr. Flask?” # # “How old do you suppose Fedallah is, Stubb?” # # “Do you see that mainmast there?” pointing to the ship; “well, that’s the figure # one; now take all the hoops in the Pequod’s hold, and string along in a row with # that mast, for oughts, do you see; well, that wouldn’t begin to be Fedallah’s # age. Nor all the coopers in creation couldn’t show hoops enough to make oughts # enough.” # # “But see here, Stubb, I thought you a little boasted just now, that you meant to # give Fedallah a sea-toss, if you got a good chance. Now, if he’s so old as all # those hoops of yours come to, and if he is going to live for ever, what good # will it do to pitch him overboard—tell me that? # # “Give him a good ducking, anyhow.” # # “But he’d crawl back.” # # “Duck him again; and keep ducking him.” # # “Suppose he should take it into his head to duck you, though—yes, and drown # you—what then?” # # “I should like to see him try it; I’d give him such a pair of black eyes that he # wouldn’t dare to show his face in the admiral’s cabin again for a long while, # let alone down in the orlop there, where he lives, and hereabouts on the upper # decks where he sneaks so much. Damn the devil, Flask; so you suppose I’m afraid # of the devil? Who’s afraid of him, except the old governor who daresn’t catch # him and put him in double-darbies, as he deserves, but lets him go about # kidnapping people; aye, and signed a bond with him, that all the people the # devil kidnapped, he’d roast for him? There’s a governor!” # # “Do you suppose Fedallah wants to kidnap Captain Ahab?” # # “Do I suppose it? You’ll know it before long, Flask. But I am going now to keep # a sharp look-out on him; and if I see anything very suspicious going on, I’ll # just take him by the nape of his neck, and say—Look here, Beelzebub, you don’t # do it; and if he makes any fuss, by the Lord I’ll make a grab into his pocket # for his tail, take it to the capstan, and give him such a wrenching and heaving, # that his tail will come short off at the stump—do you see; and then, I rather # guess when he finds himself docked in that queer fashion, he’ll sneak off # without the poor satisfaction of feeling his tail between his legs.” # # “And what will you do with the tail, Stubb?” # # “Do with it? Sell it for an ox whip when we get home;—what else?” # # “Now, do you mean what you say, and have been saying all along, Stubb?” # # “Mean or not mean, here we are at the ship.” # # The boats were here hailed, to tow the whale on the larboard side, where fluke # chains and other necessaries were already prepared for securing him. # # “Didn’t I tell you so?” said Flask; “yes, you’ll soon see this right whale’s # head hoisted up opposite that parmacetti’s.” # # In good time, Flask’s saying proved true. As before, the Pequod steeply leaned # over towards the sperm whale’s head, now, by the counterpoise of both heads, she # regained her even keel; though sorely strained, you may well believe. So, when # on one side you hoist in Locke’s head, you go over that way; but now, on the # other side, hoist in Kant’s and you come back again; but in very poor plight. # Thus, some minds for ever keep trimming boat. Oh, ye foolish! throw all these # thunder-heads overboard, and then you will float light and right. # # In disposing of the body of a right whale, when brought alongside the ship, the # same preliminary proceedings commonly take place as in the case of a sperm # whale; only, in the latter instance, the head is cut off whole, but in the # former the lips and tongue are separately removed and hoisted on deck, with all # the well known black bone attached to what is called the crown-piece. But # nothing like this, in the present case, had been done. The carcases of both # whales had dropped astern; and the head-laden ship not a little resembled a mule # carrying a pair of overburdening panniers. # # Meantime, Fedallah was calmly eyeing the right whale’s head, and ever and anon # glancing from the deep wrinkles there to the lines in his own hand. And Ahab # chanced so to stand, that the Parsee occupied his shadow; while, if the Parsee’s # shadow was there at all it seemed only to blend with, and lengthen Ahab’s. As # the crew toiled on, Laplandish speculations were bandied among them, concerning # all these passing things. # # # # # # CHAPTER 74. The Sperm Whale’s Head—Contrasted View. # # Here, now, are two great whales, laying their heads together; let us join them, # and lay together our own. # # Of the grand order of folio leviathans, the Sperm Whale and the Right Whale are # by far the most noteworthy. They are the only whales regularly hunted by man. To # the Nantucketer, they present the two extremes of all the known varieties of the # whale. As the external difference between them is mainly observable in their # heads; and as a head of each is this moment hanging from the Pequod’s side; and # as we may freely go from one to the other, by merely stepping across the # deck:—where, I should like to know, will you obtain a better chance to study # practical cetology than here? # # In the first place, you are struck by the general contrast between these heads. # Both are massive enough in all conscience; but there is a certain mathematical # symmetry in the Sperm Whale’s which the Right Whale’s sadly lacks. There is more # character in the Sperm Whale’s head. As you behold it, you involuntarily yield # the immense superiority to him, in point of pervading dignity. In the present # instance, too, this dignity is heightened by the pepper and salt colour of his # head at the summit, giving token of advanced age and large experience. In short, # he is what the fishermen technically call a “grey-headed whale.” # # Let us now note what is least dissimilar in these heads—namely, the two most # important organs, the eye and the ear. Far back on the side of the head, and low # down, near the angle of either whale’s jaw, if you narrowly search, you will at # last see a lashless eye, which you would fancy to be a young colt’s eye; so out # of all proportion is it to the magnitude of the head. # # Now, from this peculiar sideway position of the whale’s eyes, it is plain that # he can never see an object which is exactly ahead, no more than he can one # exactly astern. In a word, the position of the whale’s eyes corresponds to that # of a man’s ears; and you may fancy, for yourself, how it would fare with you, # did you sideways survey objects through your ears. You would find that you could # only command some thirty degrees of vision in advance of the straight side-line # of sight; and about thirty more behind it. If your bitterest foe were walking # straight towards you, with dagger uplifted in broad day, you would not be able # to see him, any more than if he were stealing upon you from behind. In a word, # you would have two backs, so to speak; but, at the same time, also, two fronts # (side fronts): for what is it that makes the front of a man—what, indeed, but # his eyes? # # Moreover, while in most other animals that I can now think of, the eyes are so # planted as imperceptibly to blend their visual power, so as to produce one # picture and not two to the brain; the peculiar position of the whale’s eyes, # effectually divided as they are by many cubic feet of solid head, which towers # between them like a great mountain separating two lakes in valleys; this, of # course, must wholly separate the impressions which each independent organ # imparts. The whale, therefore, must see one distinct picture on this side, and # another distinct picture on that side; while all between must be profound # darkness and nothingness to him. Man may, in effect, be said to look out on the # world from a sentry-box with two joined sashes for his window. But with the # whale, these two sashes are separately inserted, making two distinct windows, # but sadly impairing the view. This peculiarity of the whale’s eyes is a thing # always to be borne in mind in the fishery; and to be remembered by the reader in # some subsequent scenes. # # A curious and most puzzling question might be started concerning this visual # matter as touching the Leviathan. But I must be content with a hint. So long as # a man’s eyes are open in the light, the act of seeing is involuntary; that is, # he cannot then help mechanically seeing whatever objects are before him. # Nevertheless, any one’s experience will teach him, that though he can take in an # undiscriminating sweep of things at one glance, it is quite impossible for him, # attentively, and completely, to examine any two things—however large or however # small—at one and the same instant of time; never mind if they lie side by side # and touch each other. But if you now come to separate these two objects, and # surround each by a circle of profound darkness; then, in order to see one of # them, in such a manner as to bring your mind to bear on it, the other will be # utterly excluded from your contemporary consciousness. How is it, then, with the # whale? True, both his eyes, in themselves, must simultaneously act; but is his # brain so much more comprehensive, combining, and subtle than man’s, that he can # at the same moment of time attentively examine two distinct prospects, one on # one side of him, and the other in an exactly opposite direction? If he can, then # is it as marvellous a thing in him, as if a man were able simultaneously to go # through the demonstrations of two distinct problems in Euclid. Nor, strictly # investigated, is there any incongruity in this comparison. # # It may be but an idle whim, but it has always seemed to me, that the # extraordinary vacillations of movement displayed by some whales when beset by # three or four boats; the timidity and liability to queer frights, so common to # such whales; I think that all this indirectly proceeds from the helpless # perplexity of volition, in which their divided and diametrically opposite powers # of vision must involve them. # # But the ear of the whale is full as curious as the eye. If you are an entire # stranger to their race, you might hunt over these two heads for hours, and never # discover that organ. The ear has no external leaf whatever; and into the hole # itself you can hardly insert a quill, so wondrously minute is it. It is lodged a # little behind the eye. With respect to their ears, this important difference is # to be observed between the sperm whale and the right. While the ear of the # former has an external opening, that of the latter is entirely and evenly # covered over with a membrane, so as to be quite imperceptible from without. # # Is it not curious, that so vast a being as the whale should see the world # through so small an eye, and hear the thunder through an ear which is smaller # than a hare’s? But if his eyes were broad as the lens of Herschel’s great # telescope; and his ears capacious as the porches of cathedrals; would that make # him any longer of sight, or sharper of hearing? Not at all.—Why then do you try # to “enlarge” your mind? Subtilize it. # # Let us now with whatever levers and steam-engines we have at hand, cant over the # sperm whale’s head, that it may lie bottom up; then, ascending by a ladder to # the summit, have a peep down the mouth; and were it not that the body is now # completely separated from it, with a lantern we might descend into the great # Kentucky Mammoth Cave of his stomach. But let us hold on here by this tooth, and # look about us where we are. What a really beautiful and chaste-looking mouth! # from floor to ceiling, lined, or rather papered with a glistening white # membrane, glossy as bridal satins. # # But come out now, and look at this portentous lower jaw, which seems like the # long narrow lid of an immense snuff-box, with the hinge at one end, instead of # one side. If you pry it up, so as to get it overhead, and expose its rows of # teeth, it seems a terrific portcullis; and such, alas! it proves to many a poor # wight in the fishery, upon whom these spikes fall with impaling force. But far # more terrible is it to behold, when fathoms down in the sea, you see some sulky # whale, floating there suspended, with his prodigious jaw, some fifteen feet # long, hanging straight down at right-angles with his body, for all the world # like a ship’s jib-boom. This whale is not dead; he is only dispirited; out of # sorts, perhaps; hypochondriac; and so supine, that the hinges of his jaw have # relaxed, leaving him there in that ungainly sort of plight, a reproach to all # his tribe, who must, no doubt, imprecate lock-jaws upon him. # # In most cases this lower jaw—being easily unhinged by a practised artist—is # disengaged and hoisted on deck for the purpose of extracting the ivory teeth, # and furnishing a supply of that hard white whalebone with which the fishermen # fashion all sorts of curious articles, including canes, umbrella-stocks, and # handles to riding-whips. # # With a long, weary hoist the jaw is dragged on board, as if it were an anchor; # and when the proper time comes—some few days after the other work—Queequeg, # Daggoo, and Tashtego, being all accomplished dentists, are set to drawing teeth. # With a keen cutting-spade, Queequeg lances the gums; then the jaw is lashed down # to ringbolts, and a tackle being rigged from aloft, they drag out these teeth, # as Michigan oxen drag stumps of old oaks out of wild wood lands. There are # generally forty-two teeth in all; in old whales, much worn down, but undecayed; # nor filled after our artificial fashion. The jaw is afterwards sawn into slabs, # and piled away like joists for building houses. # # # # # # CHAPTER 75. The Right Whale’s Head—Contrasted View. # # Crossing the deck, let us now have a good long look at the Right Whale’s head. # # As in general shape the noble Sperm Whale’s head may be compared to a Roman # war-chariot (especially in front, where it is so broadly rounded); so, at a # broad view, the Right Whale’s head bears a rather inelegant resemblance to a # gigantic galliot-toed shoe. Two hundred years ago an old Dutch voyager likened # its shape to that of a shoemaker’s last. And in this same last or shoe, that old # woman of the nursery tale, with the swarming brood, might very comfortably be # lodged, she and all her progeny. # # But as you come nearer to this great head it begins to assume different aspects, # according to your point of view. If you stand on its summit and look at these # two F-shaped spoutholes, you would take the whole head for an enormous # bass-viol, and these spiracles, the apertures in its sounding-board. Then, # again, if you fix your eye upon this strange, crested, comb-like incrustation on # the top of the mass—this green, barnacled thing, which the Greenlanders call the # “crown,” and the Southern fishers the “bonnet” of the Right Whale; fixing your # eyes solely on this, you would take the head for the trunk of some huge oak, # with a bird’s nest in its crotch. At any rate, when you watch those live crabs # that nestle here on this bonnet, such an idea will be almost sure to occur to # you; unless, indeed, your fancy has been fixed by the technical term “crown” # also bestowed upon it; in which case you will take great interest in thinking # how this mighty monster is actually a diademed king of the sea, whose green # crown has been put together for him in this marvellous manner. But if this whale # be a king, he is a very sulky looking fellow to grace a diadem. Look at that # hanging lower lip! what a huge sulk and pout is there! a sulk and pout, by # carpenter’s measurement, about twenty feet long and five feet deep; a sulk and # pout that will yield you some 500 gallons of oil and more. # # A great pity, now, that this unfortunate whale should be hare-lipped. The # fissure is about a foot across. Probably the mother during an important interval # was sailing down the Peruvian coast, when earthquakes caused the beach to gape. # Over this lip, as over a slippery threshold, we now slide into the mouth. Upon # my word were I at Mackinaw, I should take this to be the inside of an Indian # wigwam. Good Lord! is this the road that Jonah went? The roof is about twelve # feet high, and runs to a pretty sharp angle, as if there were a regular # ridge-pole there; while these ribbed, arched, hairy sides, present us with those # wondrous, half vertical, scimetar-shaped slats of whalebone, say three hundred # on a side, which depending from the upper part of the head or crown bone, form # those Venetian blinds which have elsewhere been cursorily mentioned. The edges # of these bones are fringed with hairy fibres, through which the Right Whale # strains the water, and in whose intricacies he retains the small fish, when # openmouthed he goes through the seas of brit in feeding time. In the central # blinds of bone, as they stand in their natural order, there are certain curious # marks, curves, hollows, and ridges, whereby some whalemen calculate the # creature’s age, as the age of an oak by its circular rings. Though the certainty # of this criterion is far from demonstrable, yet it has the savor of analogical # probability. At any rate, if we yield to it, we must grant a far greater age to # the Right Whale than at first glance will seem reasonable. # # In old times, there seem to have prevailed the most curious fancies concerning # these blinds. One voyager in Purchas calls them the wondrous “whiskers” inside # of the whale’s mouth;* another, “hogs’ bristles”; a third old gentleman in # Hackluyt uses the following elegant language: “There are about two hundred and # fifty fins growing on each side of his upper chop, which arch over his tongue on # each side of his mouth.” # # *This reminds us that the Right Whale really has a sort of whisker, or rather a # moustache, consisting of a few scattered white hairs on the upper part of the # outer end of the lower jaw. Sometimes these tufts impart a rather brigandish # expression to his otherwise solemn countenance. # # As every one knows, these same “hogs’ bristles,” “fins,” “whiskers,” “blinds,” # or whatever you please, furnish to the ladies their busks and other stiffening # contrivances. But in this particular, the demand has long been on the decline. # It was in Queen Anne’s time that the bone was in its glory, the farthingale # being then all the fashion. And as those ancient dames moved about gaily, though # in the jaws of the whale, as you may say; even so, in a shower, with the like # thoughtlessness, do we nowadays fly under the same jaws for protection; the # umbrella being a tent spread over the same bone. # # But now forget all about blinds and whiskers for a moment, and, standing in the # Right Whale’s mouth, look around you afresh. Seeing all these colonnades of bone # so methodically ranged about, would you not think you were inside of the great # Haarlem organ, and gazing upon its thousand pipes? For a carpet to the organ we # have a rug of the softest Turkey—the tongue, which is glued, as it were, to the # floor of the mouth. It is very fat and tender, and apt to tear in pieces in # hoisting it on deck. This particular tongue now before us; at a passing glance I # should say it was a six-barreler; that is, it will yield you about that amount # of oil. # # Ere this, you must have plainly seen the truth of what I started with—that the # Sperm Whale and the Right Whale have almost entirely different heads. To sum up, # then: in the Right Whale’s there is no great well of sperm; no ivory teeth at # all; no long, slender mandible of a lower jaw, like the Sperm Whale’s. Nor in # the Sperm Whale are there any of those blinds of bone; no huge lower lip; and # scarcely anything of a tongue. Again, the Right Whale has two external # spout-holes, the Sperm Whale only one. # # Look your last, now, on these venerable hooded heads, while they yet lie # together; for one will soon sink, unrecorded, in the sea; the other will not be # very long in following. # # Can you catch the expression of the Sperm Whale’s there? It is the same he died # with, only some of the longer wrinkles in the forehead seem now faded away. I # think his broad brow to be full of a prairie-like placidity, born of a # speculative indifference as to death. But mark the other head’s expression. See # that amazing lower lip, pressed by accident against the vessel’s side, so as # firmly to embrace the jaw. Does not this whole head seem to speak of an enormous # practical resolution in facing death? This Right Whale I take to have been a # Stoic; the Sperm Whale, a Platonian, who might have taken up Spinoza in his # latter years. # # # # # # CHAPTER 76. The Battering-Ram. # # Ere quitting, for the nonce, the Sperm Whale’s head, I would have you, as a # sensible physiologist, simply—particularly remark its front aspect, in all its # compacted collectedness. I would have you investigate it now with the sole view # of forming to yourself some unexaggerated, intelligent estimate of whatever # battering-ram power may be lodged there. Here is a vital point; for you must # either satisfactorily settle this matter with yourself, or for ever remain an # infidel as to one of the most appalling, but not the less true events, perhaps # anywhere to be found in all recorded history. # # You observe that in the ordinary swimming position of the Sperm Whale, the front # of his head presents an almost wholly vertical plane to the water; you observe # that the lower part of that front slopes considerably backwards, so as to # furnish more of a retreat for the long socket which receives the boom-like lower # jaw; you observe that the mouth is entirely under the head, much in the same # way, indeed, as though your own mouth were entirely under your chin. Moreover # you observe that the whale has no external nose; and that what nose he has—his # spout hole—is on the top of his head; you observe that his eyes and ears are at # the sides of his head, nearly one third of his entire length from the front. # Wherefore, you must now have perceived that the front of the Sperm Whale’s head # is a dead, blind wall, without a single organ or tender prominence of any sort # whatsoever. Furthermore, you are now to consider that only in the extreme, # lower, backward sloping part of the front of the head, is there the slightest # vestige of bone; and not till you get near twenty feet from the forehead do you # come to the full cranial development. So that this whole enormous boneless mass # is as one wad. Finally, though, as will soon be revealed, its contents partly # comprise the most delicate oil; yet, you are now to be apprised of the nature of # the substance which so impregnably invests all that apparent effeminacy. In some # previous place I have described to you how the blubber wraps the body of the # whale, as the rind wraps an orange. Just so with the head; but with this # difference: about the head this envelope, though not so thick, is of a boneless # toughness, inestimable by any man who has not handled it. The severest pointed # harpoon, the sharpest lance darted by the strongest human arm, impotently # rebounds from it. It is as though the forehead of the Sperm Whale were paved # with horses’ hoofs. I do not think that any sensation lurks in it. # # Bethink yourself also of another thing. When two large, loaded Indiamen chance # to crowd and crush towards each other in the docks, what do the sailors do? They # do not suspend between them, at the point of coming contact, any merely hard # substance, like iron or wood. No, they hold there a large, round wad of tow and # cork, enveloped in the thickest and toughest of ox-hide. That bravely and # uninjured takes the jam which would have snapped all their oaken handspikes and # iron crow-bars. By itself this sufficiently illustrates the obvious fact I drive # at. But supplementary to this, it has hypothetically occurred to me, that as # ordinary fish possess what is called a swimming bladder in them, capable, at # will, of distension or contraction; and as the Sperm Whale, as far as I know, # has no such provision in him; considering, too, the otherwise inexplicable # manner in which he now depresses his head altogether beneath the surface, and # anon swims with it high elevated out of the water; considering the unobstructed # elasticity of its envelope; considering the unique interior of his head; it has # hypothetically occurred to me, I say, that those mystical lung-celled honeycombs # there may possibly have some hitherto unknown and unsuspected connexion with the # outer air, so as to be susceptible to atmospheric distension and contraction. If # this be so, fancy the irresistibleness of that might, to which the most # impalpable and destructive of all elements contributes. # # Now, mark. Unerringly impelling this dead, impregnable, uninjurable wall, and # this most buoyant thing within; there swims behind it all a mass of tremendous # life, only to be adequately estimated as piled wood is—by the cord; and all # obedient to one volition, as the smallest insect. So that when I shall hereafter # detail to you all the specialities and concentrations of potency everywhere # lurking in this expansive monster; when I shall show you some of his more # inconsiderable braining feats; I trust you will have renounced all ignorant # incredulity, and be ready to abide by this; that though the Sperm Whale stove a # passage through the Isthmus of Darien, and mixed the Atlantic with the Pacific, # you would not elevate one hair of your eye-brow. For unless you own the whale, # you are but a provincial and sentimentalist in Truth. But clear Truth is a thing # for salamander giants only to encounter; how small the chances for the # provincials then? What befell the weakling youth lifting the dread goddess’s # veil at Lais? # # # # # # CHAPTER 77. The Great Heidelburgh Tun. # # Now comes the Baling of the Case. But to comprehend it aright, you must know # something of the curious internal structure of the thing operated upon. # # Regarding the Sperm Whale’s head as a solid oblong, you may, on an inclined # plane, sideways divide it into two quoins,* whereof the lower is the bony # structure, forming the cranium and jaws, and the upper an unctuous mass wholly # free from bones; its broad forward end forming the expanded vertical apparent # forehead of the whale. At the middle of the forehead horizontally subdivide this # upper quoin, and then you have two almost equal parts, which before were # naturally divided by an internal wall of a thick tendinous substance. # # *Quoin is not a Euclidean term. It belongs to the pure nautical mathematics. I # know not that it has been defined before. A quoin is a solid which differs from # a wedge in having its sharp end formed by the steep inclination of one side, # instead of the mutual tapering of both sides. # # The lower subdivided part, called the junk, is one immense honeycomb of oil, # formed by the crossing and recrossing, into ten thousand infiltrated cells, of # tough elastic white fibres throughout its whole extent. The upper part, known as # the Case, may be regarded as the great Heidelburgh Tun of the Sperm Whale. And # as that famous great tierce is mystically carved in front, so the whale’s vast # plaited forehead forms innumerable strange devices for the emblematical # adornment of his wondrous tun. Moreover, as that of Heidelburgh was always # replenished with the most excellent of the wines of the Rhenish valleys, so the # tun of the whale contains by far the most precious of all his oily vintages; # namely, the highly-prized spermaceti, in its absolutely pure, limpid, and # odoriferous state. Nor is this precious substance found unalloyed in any other # part of the creature. Though in life it remains perfectly fluid, yet, upon # exposure to the air, after death, it soon begins to concrete; sending forth # beautiful crystalline shoots, as when the first thin delicate ice is just # forming in water. A large whale’s case generally yields about five hundred # gallons of sperm, though from unavoidable circumstances, considerable of it is # spilled, leaks, and dribbles away, or is otherwise irrevocably lost in the # ticklish business of securing what you can. # # I know not with what fine and costly material the Heidelburgh Tun was coated # within, but in superlative richness that coating could not possibly have # compared with the silken pearl-coloured membrane, like the lining of a fine # pelisse, forming the inner surface of the Sperm Whale’s case. # # It will have been seen that the Heidelburgh Tun of the Sperm Whale embraces the # entire length of the entire top of the head; and since—as has been elsewhere set # forth—the head embraces one third of the whole length of the creature, then # setting that length down at eighty feet for a good sized whale, you have more # than twenty-six feet for the depth of the tun, when it is lengthwise hoisted up # and down against a ship’s side. # # As in decapitating the whale, the operator’s instrument is brought close to the # spot where an entrance is subsequently forced into the spermaceti magazine; he # has, therefore, to be uncommonly heedful, lest a careless, untimely stroke # should invade the sanctuary and wastingly let out its invaluable contents. It is # this decapitated end of the head, also, which is at last elevated out of the # water, and retained in that position by the enormous cutting tackles, whose # hempen combinations, on one side, make quite a wilderness of ropes in that # quarter. # # Thus much being said, attend now, I pray you, to that marvellous and—in this # particular instance—almost fatal operation whereby the Sperm Whale’s great # Heidelburgh Tun is tapped. # # # # # # CHAPTER 78. Cistern and Buckets. # # Nimble as a cat, Tashtego mounts aloft; and without altering his erect posture, # runs straight out upon the overhanging mainyard-arm, to the part where it # exactly projects over the hoisted Tun. He has carried with him a light tackle # called a whip, consisting of only two parts, travelling through a single-sheaved # block. Securing this block, so that it hangs down from the yard-arm, he swings # one end of the rope, till it is caught and firmly held by a hand on deck. Then, # hand-over-hand, down the other part, the Indian drops through the air, till # dexterously he lands on the summit of the head. There—still high elevated above # the rest of the company, to whom he vivaciously cries—he seems some Turkish # Muezzin calling the good people to prayers from the top of a tower. A # short-handled sharp spade being sent up to him, he diligently searches for the # proper place to begin breaking into the Tun. In this business he proceeds very # heedfully, like a treasure-hunter in some old house, sounding the walls to find # where the gold is masoned in. By the time this cautious search is over, a stout # iron-bound bucket, precisely like a well-bucket, has been attached to one end of # the whip; while the other end, being stretched across the deck, is there held by # two or three alert hands. These last now hoist the bucket within grasp of the # Indian, to whom another person has reached up a very long pole. Inserting this # pole into the bucket, Tashtego downward guides the bucket into the Tun, till it # entirely disappears; then giving the word to the seamen at the whip, up comes # the bucket again, all bubbling like a dairy-maid’s pail of new milk. Carefully # lowered from its height, the full-freighted vessel is caught by an appointed # hand, and quickly emptied into a large tub. Then remounting aloft, it again goes # through the same round until the deep cistern will yield no more. Towards the # end, Tashtego has to ram his long pole harder and harder, and deeper and deeper # into the Tun, until some twenty feet of the pole have gone down. # # Now, the people of the Pequod had been baling some time in this way; several # tubs had been filled with the fragrant sperm; when all at once a queer accident # happened. Whether it was that Tashtego, that wild Indian, was so heedless and # reckless as to let go for a moment his one-handed hold on the great cabled # tackles suspending the head; or whether the place where he stood was so # treacherous and oozy; or whether the Evil One himself would have it to fall out # so, without stating his particular reasons; how it was exactly, there is no # telling now; but, on a sudden, as the eightieth or ninetieth bucket came # suckingly up—my God! poor Tashtego—like the twin reciprocating bucket in a # veritable well, dropped head-foremost down into this great Tun of Heidelburgh, # and with a horrible oily gurgling, went clean out of sight! # # “Man overboard!” cried Daggoo, who amid the general consternation first came to # his senses. “Swing the bucket this way!” and putting one foot into it, so as the # better to secure his slippery hand-hold on the whip itself, the hoisters ran him # high up to the top of the head, almost before Tashtego could have reached its # interior bottom. Meantime, there was a terrible tumult. Looking over the side, # they saw the before lifeless head throbbing and heaving just below the surface # of the sea, as if that moment seized with some momentous idea; whereas it was # only the poor Indian unconsciously revealing by those struggles the perilous # depth to which he had sunk. # # At this instant, while Daggoo, on the summit of the head, was clearing the # whip—which had somehow got foul of the great cutting tackles—a sharp cracking # noise was heard; and to the unspeakable horror of all, one of the two enormous # hooks suspending the head tore out, and with a vast vibration the enormous mass # sideways swung, till the drunk ship reeled and shook as if smitten by an # iceberg. The one remaining hook, upon which the entire strain now depended, # seemed every instant to be on the point of giving way; an event still more # likely from the violent motions of the head. # # “Come down, come down!” yelled the seamen to Daggoo, but with one hand holding # on to the heavy tackles, so that if the head should drop, he would still remain # suspended; the negro having cleared the foul line, rammed down the bucket into # the now collapsed well, meaning that the buried harpooneer should grasp it, and # so be hoisted out. # # “In heaven’s name, man,” cried Stubb, “are you ramming home a cartridge # there?—Avast! How will that help him; jamming that iron-bound bucket on top of # his head? Avast, will ye!” # # “Stand clear of the tackle!” cried a voice like the bursting of a rocket. # # Almost in the same instant, with a thunder-boom, the enormous mass dropped into # the sea, like Niagara’s Table-Rock into the whirlpool; the suddenly relieved # hull rolled away from it, to far down her glittering copper; and all caught # their breath, as half swinging—now over the sailors’ heads, and now over the # water—Daggoo, through a thick mist of spray, was dimly beheld clinging to the # pendulous tackles, while poor, buried-alive Tashtego was sinking utterly down to # the bottom of the sea! But hardly had the blinding vapor cleared away, when a # naked figure with a boarding-sword in his hand, was for one swift moment seen # hovering over the bulwarks. The next, a loud splash announced that my brave # Queequeg had dived to the rescue. One packed rush was made to the side, and # every eye counted every ripple, as moment followed moment, and no sign of either # the sinker or the diver could be seen. Some hands now jumped into a boat # alongside, and pushed a little off from the ship. # # “Ha! ha!” cried Daggoo, all at once, from his now quiet, swinging perch # overhead; and looking further off from the side, we saw an arm thrust upright # from the blue waves; a sight strange to see, as an arm thrust forth from the # grass over a grave. # # “Both! both!—it is both!”—cried Daggoo again with a joyful shout; and soon # after, Queequeg was seen boldly striking out with one hand, and with the other # clutching the long hair of the Indian. Drawn into the waiting boat, they were # quickly brought to the deck; but Tashtego was long in coming to, and Queequeg # did not look very brisk. # # Now, how had this noble rescue been accomplished? Why, diving after the slowly # descending head, Queequeg with his keen sword had made side lunges near its # bottom, so as to scuttle a large hole there; then dropping his sword, had thrust # his long arm far inwards and upwards, and so hauled out poor Tash by the head. # He averred, that upon first thrusting in for him, a leg was presented; but well # knowing that that was not as it ought to be, and might occasion great # trouble;—he had thrust back the leg, and by a dexterous heave and toss, had # wrought a somerset upon the Indian; so that with the next trial, he came forth # in the good old way—head foremost. As for the great head itself, that was doing # as well as could be expected. # # And thus, through the courage and great skill in obstetrics of Queequeg, the # deliverance, or rather, delivery of Tashtego, was successfully accomplished, in # the teeth, too, of the most untoward and apparently hopeless impediments; which # is a lesson by no means to be forgotten. Midwifery should be taught in the same # course with fencing and boxing, riding and rowing. # # I know that this queer adventure of the Gay-Header’s will be sure to seem # incredible to some landsmen, though they themselves may have either seen or # heard of some one’s falling into a cistern ashore; an accident which not seldom # happens, and with much less reason too than the Indian’s, considering the # exceeding slipperiness of the curb of the Sperm Whale’s well. # # But, peradventure, it may be sagaciously urged, how is this? We thought the # tissued, infiltrated head of the Sperm Whale, was the lightest and most corky # part about him; and yet thou makest it sink in an element of a far greater # specific gravity than itself. We have thee there. Not at all, but I have ye; for # at the time poor Tash fell in, the case had been nearly emptied of its lighter # contents, leaving little but the dense tendinous wall of the well—a double # welded, hammered substance, as I have before said, much heavier than the sea # water, and a lump of which sinks in it like lead almost. But the tendency to # rapid sinking in this substance was in the present instance materially # counteracted by the other parts of the head remaining undetached from it, so # that it sank very slowly and deliberately indeed, affording Queequeg a fair # chance for performing his agile obstetrics on the run, as you may say. Yes, it # was a running delivery, so it was. # # Now, had Tashtego perished in that head, it had been a very precious perishing; # smothered in the very whitest and daintiest of fragrant spermaceti; coffined, # hearsed, and tombed in the secret inner chamber and sanctum sanctorum of the # whale. Only one sweeter end can readily be recalled—the delicious death of an # Ohio honey-hunter, who seeking honey in the crotch of a hollow tree, found such # exceeding store of it, that leaning too far over, it sucked him in, so that he # died embalmed. How many, think ye, have likewise fallen into Plato’s honey head, # and sweetly perished there? # # # # # # CHAPTER 79. The Prairie. # # To scan the lines of his face, or feel the bumps on the head of this Leviathan; # this is a thing which no Physiognomist or Phrenologist has as yet undertaken. # Such an enterprise would seem almost as hopeful as for Lavater to have # scrutinized the wrinkles on the Rock of Gibraltar, or for Gall to have mounted a # ladder and manipulated the Dome of the Pantheon. Still, in that famous work of # his, Lavater not only treats of the various faces of men, but also attentively # studies the faces of horses, birds, serpents, and fish; and dwells in detail # upon the modifications of expression discernible therein. Nor have Gall and his # disciple Spurzheim failed to throw out some hints touching the phrenological # characteristics of other beings than man. Therefore, though I am but ill # qualified for a pioneer, in the application of these two semi-sciences to the # whale, I will do my endeavor. I try all things; I achieve what I can. # # Physiognomically regarded, the Sperm Whale is an anomalous creature. He has no # proper nose. And since the nose is the central and most conspicuous of the # features; and since it perhaps most modifies and finally controls their combined # expression; hence it would seem that its entire absence, as an external # appendage, must very largely affect the countenance of the whale. For as in # landscape gardening, a spire, cupola, monument, or tower of some sort, is deemed # almost indispensable to the completion of the scene; so no face can be # physiognomically in keeping without the elevated open-work belfry of the nose. # Dash the nose from Phidias’s marble Jove, and what a sorry remainder! # Nevertheless, Leviathan is of so mighty a magnitude, all his proportions are so # stately, that the same deficiency which in the sculptured Jove were hideous, in # him is no blemish at all. Nay, it is an added grandeur. A nose to the whale # would have been impertinent. As on your physiognomical voyage you sail round his # vast head in your jolly-boat, your noble conceptions of him are never insulted # by the reflection that he has a nose to be pulled. A pestilent conceit, which so # often will insist upon obtruding even when beholding the mightiest royal beadle # on his throne. # # In some particulars, perhaps the most imposing physiognomical view to be had of # the Sperm Whale, is that of the full front of his head. This aspect is sublime. # # In thought, a fine human brow is like the East when troubled with the morning. # In the repose of the pasture, the curled brow of the bull has a touch of the # grand in it. Pushing heavy cannon up mountain defiles, the elephant’s brow is # majestic. Human or animal, the mystical brow is as that great golden seal # affixed by the German emperors to their decrees. It signifies—“God: done this # day by my hand.” But in most creatures, nay in man himself, very often the brow # is but a mere strip of alpine land lying along the snow line. Few are the # foreheads which like Shakespeare’s or Melancthon’s rise so high, and descend so # low, that the eyes themselves seem clear, eternal, tideless mountain lakes; and # all above them in the forehead’s wrinkles, you seem to track the antlered # thoughts descending there to drink, as the Highland hunters track the snow # prints of the deer. But in the great Sperm Whale, this high and mighty god-like # dignity inherent in the brow is so immensely amplified, that gazing on it, in # that full front view, you feel the Deity and the dread powers more forcibly than # in beholding any other object in living nature. For you see no one point # precisely; not one distinct feature is revealed; no nose, eyes, ears, or mouth; # no face; he has none, proper; nothing but that one broad firmament of a # forehead, pleated with riddles; dumbly lowering with the doom of boats, and # ships, and men. Nor, in profile, does this wondrous brow diminish; though that # way viewed its grandeur does not domineer upon you so. In profile, you plainly # perceive that horizontal, semi-crescentic depression in the forehead’s middle, # which, in man, is Lavater’s mark of genius. # # But how? Genius in the Sperm Whale? Has the Sperm Whale ever written a book, # spoken a speech? No, his great genius is declared in his doing nothing # particular to prove it. It is moreover declared in his pyramidical silence. And # this reminds me that had the great Sperm Whale been known to the young Orient # World, he would have been deified by their child-magian thoughts. They deified # the crocodile of the Nile, because the crocodile is tongueless; and the Sperm # Whale has no tongue, or at least it is so exceedingly small, as to be incapable # of protrusion. If hereafter any highly cultured, poetical nation shall lure back # to their birth-right, the merry May-day gods of old; and livingly enthrone them # again in the now egotistical sky; in the now unhaunted hill; then be sure, # exalted to Jove’s high seat, the great Sperm Whale shall lord it. # # Champollion deciphered the wrinkled granite hieroglyphics. But there is no # Champollion to decipher the Egypt of every man’s and every being’s face. # Physiognomy, like every other human science, is but a passing fable. If then, # Sir William Jones, who read in thirty languages, could not read the simplest # peasant’s face in its profounder and more subtle meanings, how may unlettered # Ishmael hope to read the awful Chaldee of the Sperm Whale’s brow? I but put that # brow before you. Read it if you can. # # # # # # CHAPTER 80. The Nut. # # If the Sperm Whale be physiognomically a Sphinx, to the phrenologist his brain # seems that geometrical circle which it is impossible to square. # # In the full-grown creature the skull will measure at least twenty feet in # length. Unhinge the lower jaw, and the side view of this skull is as the side of # a moderately inclined plane resting throughout on a level base. But in life—as # we have elsewhere seen—this inclined plane is angularly filled up, and almost # squared by the enormous superincumbent mass of the junk and sperm. At the high # end the skull forms a crater to bed that part of the mass; while under the long # floor of this crater—in another cavity seldom exceeding ten inches in length and # as many in depth—reposes the mere handful of this monster’s brain. The brain is # at least twenty feet from his apparent forehead in life; it is hidden away # behind its vast outworks, like the innermost citadel within the amplified # fortifications of Quebec. So like a choice casket is it secreted in him, that I # have known some whalemen who peremptorily deny that the Sperm Whale has any # other brain than that palpable semblance of one formed by the cubic-yards of his # sperm magazine. Lying in strange folds, courses, and convolutions, to their # apprehensions, it seems more in keeping with the idea of his general might to # regard that mystic part of him as the seat of his intelligence. # # It is plain, then, that phrenologically the head of this Leviathan, in the # creature’s living intact state, is an entire delusion. As for his true brain, # you can then see no indications of it, nor feel any. The whale, like all things # that are mighty, wears a false brow to the common world. # # If you unload his skull of its spermy heaps and then take a rear view of its # rear end, which is the high end, you will be struck by its resemblance to the # human skull, beheld in the same situation, and from the same point of view. # Indeed, place this reversed skull (scaled down to the human magnitude) among a # plate of men’s skulls, and you would involuntarily confound it with them; and # remarking the depressions on one part of its summit, in phrenological phrase you # would say—This man had no self-esteem, and no veneration. And by those # negations, considered along with the affirmative fact of his prodigious bulk and # power, you can best form to yourself the truest, though not the most # exhilarating conception of what the most exalted potency is. # # But if from the comparative dimensions of the whale’s proper brain, you deem it # incapable of being adequately charted, then I have another idea for you. If you # attentively regard almost any quadruped’s spine, you will be struck with the # resemblance of its vertebræ to a strung necklace of dwarfed skulls, all bearing # rudimental resemblance to the skull proper. It is a German conceit, that the # vertebræ are absolutely undeveloped skulls. But the curious external # resemblance, I take it the Germans were not the first men to perceive. A foreign # friend once pointed it out to me, in the skeleton of a foe he had slain, and # with the vertebræ of which he was inlaying, in a sort of basso-relievo, the # beaked prow of his canoe. Now, I consider that the phrenologists have omitted an # important thing in not pushing their investigations from the cerebellum through # the spinal canal. For I believe that much of a man’s character will be found # betokened in his backbone. I would rather feel your spine than your skull, # whoever you are. A thin joist of a spine never yet upheld a full and noble soul. # I rejoice in my spine, as in the firm audacious staff of that flag which I fling # half out to the world. # # Apply this spinal branch of phrenology to the Sperm Whale. His cranial cavity is # continuous with the first neck-vertebra; and in that vertebra the bottom of the # spinal canal will measure ten inches across, being eight in height, and of a # triangular figure with the base downwards. As it passes through the remaining # vertebræ the canal tapers in size, but for a considerable distance remains of # large capacity. Now, of course, this canal is filled with much the same # strangely fibrous substance—the spinal cord—as the brain; and directly # communicates with the brain. And what is still more, for many feet after # emerging from the brain’s cavity, the spinal cord remains of an undecreasing # girth, almost equal to that of the brain. Under all these circumstances, would # it be unreasonable to survey and map out the whale’s spine phrenologically? For, # viewed in this light, the wonderful comparative smallness of his brain proper is # more than compensated by the wonderful comparative magnitude of his spinal cord. # # But leaving this hint to operate as it may with the phrenologists, I would # merely assume the spinal theory for a moment, in reference to the Sperm Whale’s # hump. This august hump, if I mistake not, rises over one of the larger vertebræ, # and is, therefore, in some sort, the outer convex mould of it. From its relative # situation then, I should call this high hump the organ of firmness or # indomitableness in the Sperm Whale. And that the great monster is indomitable, # you will yet have reason to know. # # # # # # CHAPTER 81. The Pequod Meets The Virgin. # # The predestinated day arrived, and we duly met the ship Jungfrau, Derick De # Deer, master, of Bremen. # # At one time the greatest whaling people in the world, the Dutch and Germans are # now among the least; but here and there at very wide intervals of latitude and # longitude, you still occasionally meet with their flag in the Pacific. # # For some reason, the Jungfrau seemed quite eager to pay her respects. While yet # some distance from the Pequod, she rounded to, and dropping a boat, her captain # was impelled towards us, impatiently standing in the bows instead of the stern. # # “What has he in his hand there?” cried Starbuck, pointing to something wavingly # held by the German. “Impossible!—a lamp-feeder!” # # “Not that,” said Stubb, “no, no, it’s a coffee-pot, Mr. Starbuck; he’s coming # off to make us our coffee, is the Yarman; don’t you see that big tin can there # alongside of him?—that’s his boiling water. Oh! he’s all right, is the Yarman.” # # “Go along with you,” cried Flask, “it’s a lamp-feeder and an oil-can. He’s out # of oil, and has come a-begging.” # # However curious it may seem for an oil-ship to be borrowing oil on the # whale-ground, and however much it may invertedly contradict the old proverb # about carrying coals to Newcastle, yet sometimes such a thing really happens; # and in the present case Captain Derick De Deer did indubitably conduct a # lamp-feeder as Flask did declare. # # As he mounted the deck, Ahab abruptly accosted him, without at all heeding what # he had in his hand; but in his broken lingo, the German soon evinced his # complete ignorance of the White Whale; immediately turning the conversation to # his lamp-feeder and oil can, with some remarks touching his having to turn into # his hammock at night in profound darkness—his last drop of Bremen oil being # gone, and not a single flying-fish yet captured to supply the deficiency; # concluding by hinting that his ship was indeed what in the Fishery is # technically called a clean one (that is, an empty one), well deserving the name # of Jungfrau or the Virgin. # # His necessities supplied, Derick departed; but he had not gained his ship’s # side, when whales were almost simultaneously raised from the mast-heads of both # vessels; and so eager for the chase was Derick, that without pausing to put his # oil-can and lamp-feeder aboard, he slewed round his boat and made after the # leviathan lamp-feeders. # # Now, the game having risen to leeward, he and the other three German boats that # soon followed him, had considerably the start of the Pequod’s keels. There were # eight whales, an average pod. Aware of their danger, they were going all abreast # with great speed straight before the wind, rubbing their flanks as closely as so # many spans of horses in harness. They left a great, wide wake, as though # continually unrolling a great wide parchment upon the sea. # # Full in this rapid wake, and many fathoms in the rear, swam a huge, humped old # bull, which by his comparatively slow progress, as well as by the unusual # yellowish incrustations overgrowing him, seemed afflicted with the jaundice, or # some other infirmity. Whether this whale belonged to the pod in advance, seemed # questionable; for it is not customary for such venerable leviathans to be at all # social. Nevertheless, he stuck to their wake, though indeed their back water # must have retarded him, because the white-bone or swell at his broad muzzle was # a dashed one, like the swell formed when two hostile currents meet. His spout # was short, slow, and laborious; coming forth with a choking sort of gush, and # spending itself in torn shreds, followed by strange subterranean commotions in # him, which seemed to have egress at his other buried extremity, causing the # waters behind him to upbubble. # # “Who’s got some paregoric?” said Stubb, “he has the stomach-ache, I’m afraid. # Lord, think of having half an acre of stomach-ache! Adverse winds are holding # mad Christmas in him, boys. It’s the first foul wind I ever knew to blow from # astern; but look, did ever whale yaw so before? it must be, he’s lost his # tiller.” # # As an overladen Indiaman bearing down the Hindostan coast with a deck load of # frightened horses, careens, buries, rolls, and wallows on her way; so did this # old whale heave his aged bulk, and now and then partly turning over on his # cumbrous rib-ends, expose the cause of his devious wake in the unnatural stump # of his starboard fin. Whether he had lost that fin in battle, or had been born # without it, it were hard to say. # # “Only wait a bit, old chap, and I’ll give ye a sling for that wounded arm,” # cried cruel Flask, pointing to the whale-line near him. # # “Mind he don’t sling thee with it,” cried Starbuck. “Give way, or the German # will have him.” # # With one intent all the combined rival boats were pointed for this one fish, # because not only was he the largest, and therefore the most valuable whale, but # he was nearest to them, and the other whales were going with such great # velocity, moreover, as almost to defy pursuit for the time. At this juncture the # Pequod’s keels had shot by the three German boats last lowered; but from the # great start he had had, Derick’s boat still led the chase, though every moment # neared by his foreign rivals. The only thing they feared, was, that from being # already so nigh to his mark, he would be enabled to dart his iron before they # could completely overtake and pass him. As for Derick, he seemed quite confident # that this would be the case, and occasionally with a deriding gesture shook his # lamp-feeder at the other boats. # # “The ungracious and ungrateful dog!” cried Starbuck; “he mocks and dares me with # the very poor-box I filled for him not five minutes ago!”—then in his old # intense whisper—“Give way, greyhounds! Dog to it!” # # “I tell ye what it is, men”—cried Stubb to his crew—“it’s against my religion to # get mad; but I’d like to eat that villainous Yarman—Pull—won’t ye? Are ye going # to let that rascal beat ye? Do ye love brandy? A hogshead of brandy, then, to # the best man. Come, why don’t some of ye burst a blood-vessel? Who’s that been # dropping an anchor overboard—we don’t budge an inch—we’re becalmed. Halloo, # here’s grass growing in the boat’s bottom—and by the Lord, the mast there’s # budding. This won’t do, boys. Look at that Yarman! The short and long of it is, # men, will ye spit fire or not?” # # “Oh! see the suds he makes!” cried Flask, dancing up and down—“What a hump—Oh, # do pile on the beef—lays like a log! Oh! my lads, do spring—slap-jacks and # quahogs for supper, you know, my lads—baked clams and muffins—oh, do, do, # spring,—he’s a hundred barreller—don’t lose him now—don’t oh, don’t!—see that # Yarman—Oh, won’t ye pull for your duff, my lads—such a sog! such a sogger! Don’t # ye love sperm? There goes three thousand dollars, men!—a bank!—a whole bank! The # bank of England!—Oh, do, do, do!—What’s that Yarman about now?” # # At this moment Derick was in the act of pitching his lamp-feeder at the # advancing boats, and also his oil-can; perhaps with the double view of retarding # his rivals’ way, and at the same time economically accelerating his own by the # momentary impetus of the backward toss. # # “The unmannerly Dutch dogger!” cried Stubb. “Pull now, men, like fifty thousand # line-of-battle-ship loads of red-haired devils. What d’ye say, Tashtego; are you # the man to snap your spine in two-and-twenty pieces for the honor of old # Gayhead? What d’ye say?” # # “I say, pull like god-dam,”—cried the Indian. # # Fiercely, but evenly incited by the taunts of the German, the Pequod’s three # boats now began ranging almost abreast; and, so disposed, momentarily neared # him. In that fine, loose, chivalrous attitude of the headsman when drawing near # to his prey, the three mates stood up proudly, occasionally backing the after # oarsman with an exhilarating cry of, “There she slides, now! Hurrah for the # white-ash breeze! Down with the Yarman! Sail over him!” # # But so decided an original start had Derick had, that spite of all their # gallantry, he would have proved the victor in this race, had not a righteous # judgment descended upon him in a crab which caught the blade of his midship # oarsman. While this clumsy lubber was striving to free his white-ash, and while, # in consequence, Derick’s boat was nigh to capsizing, and he thundering away at # his men in a mighty rage;—that was a good time for Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask. # With a shout, they took a mortal start forwards, and slantingly ranged up on the # German’s quarter. An instant more, and all four boats were diagonically in the # whale’s immediate wake, while stretching from them, on both sides, was the # foaming swell that he made. # # It was a terrific, most pitiable, and maddening sight. The whale was now going # head out, and sending his spout before him in a continual tormented jet; while # his one poor fin beat his side in an agony of fright. Now to this hand, now to # that, he yawed in his faltering flight, and still at every billow that he broke, # he spasmodically sank in the sea, or sideways rolled towards the sky his one # beating fin. So have I seen a bird with clipped wing making affrighted broken # circles in the air, vainly striving to escape the piratical hawks. But the bird # has a voice, and with plaintive cries will make known her fear; but the fear of # this vast dumb brute of the sea, was chained up and enchanted in him; he had no # voice, save that choking respiration through his spiracle, and this made the # sight of him unspeakably pitiable; while still, in his amazing bulk, portcullis # jaw, and omnipotent tail, there was enough to appal the stoutest man who so # pitied. # # Seeing now that but a very few moments more would give the Pequod’s boats the # advantage, and rather than be thus foiled of his game, Derick chose to hazard # what to him must have seemed a most unusually long dart, ere the last chance # would for ever escape. # # But no sooner did his harpooneer stand up for the stroke, than all three # tigers—Queequeg, Tashtego, Daggoo—instinctively sprang to their feet, and # standing in a diagonal row, simultaneously pointed their barbs; and darted over # the head of the German harpooneer, their three Nantucket irons entered the # whale. Blinding vapors of foam and white-fire! The three boats, in the first # fury of the whale’s headlong rush, bumped the German’s aside with such force, # that both Derick and his baffled harpooneer were spilled out, and sailed over by # the three flying keels. # # “Don’t be afraid, my butter-boxes,” cried Stubb, casting a passing glance upon # them as he shot by; “ye’ll be picked up presently—all right—I saw some sharks # astern—St. Bernard’s dogs, you know—relieve distressed travellers. Hurrah! this # is the way to sail now. Every keel a sunbeam! Hurrah!—Here we go like three tin # kettles at the tail of a mad cougar! This puts me in mind of fastening to an # elephant in a tilbury on a plain—makes the wheel-spokes fly, boys, when you # fasten to him that way; and there’s danger of being pitched out too, when you # strike a hill. Hurrah! this is the way a fellow feels when he’s going to Davy # Jones—all a rush down an endless inclined plane! Hurrah! this whale carries the # everlasting mail!” # # But the monster’s run was a brief one. Giving a sudden gasp, he tumultuously # sounded. With a grating rush, the three lines flew round the loggerheads with # such a force as to gouge deep grooves in them; while so fearful were the # harpooneers that this rapid sounding would soon exhaust the lines, that using # all their dexterous might, they caught repeated smoking turns with the rope to # hold on; till at last—owing to the perpendicular strain from the lead-lined # chocks of the boats, whence the three ropes went straight down into the blue—the # gunwales of the bows were almost even with the water, while the three sterns # tilted high in the air. And the whale soon ceasing to sound, for some time they # remained in that attitude, fearful of expending more line, though the position # was a little ticklish. But though boats have been taken down and lost in this # way, yet it is this “holding on,” as it is called; this hooking up by the sharp # barbs of his live flesh from the back; this it is that often torments the # Leviathan into soon rising again to meet the sharp lance of his foes. Yet not to # speak of the peril of the thing, it is to be doubted whether this course is # always the best; for it is but reasonable to presume, that the longer the # stricken whale stays under water, the more he is exhausted. Because, owing to # the enormous surface of him—in a full grown sperm whale something less than 2000 # square feet—the pressure of the water is immense. We all know what an # astonishing atmospheric weight we ourselves stand up under; even here, # above-ground, in the air; how vast, then, the burden of a whale, bearing on his # back a column of two hundred fathoms of ocean! It must at least equal the weight # of fifty atmospheres. One whaleman has estimated it at the weight of twenty # line-of-battle ships, with all their guns, and stores, and men on board. # # As the three boats lay there on that gently rolling sea, gazing down into its # eternal blue noon; and as not a single groan or cry of any sort, nay, not so # much as a ripple or a bubble came up from its depths; what landsman would have # thought, that beneath all that silence and placidity, the utmost monster of the # seas was writhing and wrenching in agony! Not eight inches of perpendicular rope # were visible at the bows. Seems it credible that by three such thin threads the # great Leviathan was suspended like the big weight to an eight day clock. # Suspended? and to what? To three bits of board. Is this the creature of whom it # was once so triumphantly said—“Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons? or # his head with fish-spears? The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold, the # spear, the dart, nor the habergeon: he esteemeth iron as straw; the arrow cannot # make him flee; darts are counted as stubble; he laugheth at the shaking of a # spear!” This the creature? this he? Oh! that unfulfilments should follow the # prophets. For with the strength of a thousand thighs in his tail, Leviathan had # run his head under the mountains of the sea, to hide him from the Pequod’s # fish-spears! # # In that sloping afternoon sunlight, the shadows that the three boats sent down # beneath the surface, must have been long enough and broad enough to shade half # Xerxes’ army. Who can tell how appalling to the wounded whale must have been # such huge phantoms flitting over his head! # # “Stand by, men; he stirs,” cried Starbuck, as the three lines suddenly vibrated # in the water, distinctly conducting upwards to them, as by magnetic wires, the # life and death throbs of the whale, so that every oarsman felt them in his seat. # The next moment, relieved in great part from the downward strain at the bows, # the boats gave a sudden bounce upwards, as a small icefield will, when a dense # herd of white bears are scared from it into the sea. # # “Haul in! Haul in!” cried Starbuck again; “he’s rising.” # # The lines, of which, hardly an instant before, not one hand’s breadth could have # been gained, were now in long quick coils flung back all dripping into the # boats, and soon the whale broke water within two ship’s lengths of the hunters. # # His motions plainly denoted his extreme exhaustion. In most land animals there # are certain valves or flood-gates in many of their veins, whereby when wounded, # the blood is in some degree at least instantly shut off in certain directions. # Not so with the whale; one of whose peculiarities it is to have an entire # non-valvular structure of the blood-vessels, so that when pierced even by so # small a point as a harpoon, a deadly drain is at once begun upon his whole # arterial system; and when this is heightened by the extraordinary pressure of # water at a great distance below the surface, his life may be said to pour from # him in incessant streams. Yet so vast is the quantity of blood in him, and so # distant and numerous its interior fountains, that he will keep thus bleeding and # bleeding for a considerable period; even as in a drought a river will flow, # whose source is in the well-springs of far-off and undiscernible hills. Even # now, when the boats pulled upon this whale, and perilously drew over his swaying # flukes, and the lances were darted into him, they were followed by steady jets # from the new made wound, which kept continually playing, while the natural # spout-hole in his head was only at intervals, however rapid, sending its # affrighted moisture into the air. From this last vent no blood yet came, because # no vital part of him had thus far been struck. His life, as they significantly # call it, was untouched. # # As the boats now more closely surrounded him, the whole upper part of his form, # with much of it that is ordinarily submerged, was plainly revealed. His eyes, or # rather the places where his eyes had been, were beheld. As strange misgrown # masses gather in the knot-holes of the noblest oaks when prostrate, so from the # points which the whale’s eyes had once occupied, now protruded blind bulbs, # horribly pitiable to see. But pity there was none. For all his old age, and his # one arm, and his blind eyes, he must die the death and be murdered, in order to # light the gay bridals and other merry-makings of men, and also to illuminate the # solemn churches that preach unconditional inoffensiveness by all to all. Still # rolling in his blood, at last he partially disclosed a strangely discoloured # bunch or protuberance, the size of a bushel, low down on the flank. # # “A nice spot,” cried Flask; “just let me prick him there once.” # # “Avast!” cried Starbuck, “there’s no need of that!” # # But humane Starbuck was too late. At the instant of the dart an ulcerous jet # shot from this cruel wound, and goaded by it into more than sufferable anguish, # the whale now spouting thick blood, with swift fury blindly darted at the craft, # bespattering them and their glorying crews all over with showers of gore, # capsizing Flask’s boat and marring the bows. It was his death stroke. For, by # this time, so spent was he by loss of blood, that he helplessly rolled away from # the wreck he had made; lay panting on his side, impotently flapped with his # stumped fin, then over and over slowly revolved like a waning world; turned up # the white secrets of his belly; lay like a log, and died. It was most piteous, # that last expiring spout. As when by unseen hands the water is gradually drawn # off from some mighty fountain, and with half-stifled melancholy gurglings the # spray-column lowers and lowers to the ground—so the last long dying spout of the # whale. # # Soon, while the crews were awaiting the arrival of the ship, the body showed # symptoms of sinking with all its treasures unrifled. Immediately, by Starbuck’s # orders, lines were secured to it at different points, so that ere long every # boat was a buoy; the sunken whale being suspended a few inches beneath them by # the cords. By very heedful management, when the ship drew nigh, the whale was # transferred to her side, and was strongly secured there by the stiffest # fluke-chains, for it was plain that unless artificially upheld, the body would # at once sink to the bottom. # # It so chanced that almost upon first cutting into him with the spade, the entire # length of a corroded harpoon was found imbedded in his flesh, on the lower part # of the bunch before described. But as the stumps of harpoons are frequently # found in the dead bodies of captured whales, with the flesh perfectly healed # around them, and no prominence of any kind to denote their place; therefore, # there must needs have been some other unknown reason in the present case fully # to account for the ulceration alluded to. But still more curious was the fact of # a lance-head of stone being found in him, not far from the buried iron, the # flesh perfectly firm about it. Who had darted that stone lance? And when? It # might have been darted by some Nor’ West Indian long before America was # discovered. # # What other marvels might have been rummaged out of this monstrous cabinet there # is no telling. But a sudden stop was put to further discoveries, by the ship’s # being unprecedentedly dragged over sideways to the sea, owing to the body’s # immensely increasing tendency to sink. However, Starbuck, who had the ordering # of affairs, hung on to it to the last; hung on to it so resolutely, indeed, that # when at length the ship would have been capsized, if still persisting in locking # arms with the body; then, when the command was given to break clear from it, # such was the immovable strain upon the timber-heads to which the fluke-chains # and cables were fastened, that it was impossible to cast them off. Meantime # everything in the Pequod was aslant. To cross to the other side of the deck was # like walking up the steep gabled roof of a house. The ship groaned and gasped. # Many of the ivory inlayings of her bulwarks and cabins were started from their # places, by the unnatural dislocation. In vain handspikes and crows were brought # to bear upon the immovable fluke-chains, to pry them adrift from the # timberheads; and so low had the whale now settled that the submerged ends could # not be at all approached, while every moment whole tons of ponderosity seemed # added to the sinking bulk, and the ship seemed on the point of going over. # # “Hold on, hold on, won’t ye?” cried Stubb to the body, “don’t be in such a devil # of a hurry to sink! By thunder, men, we must do something or go for it. No use # prying there; avast, I say with your handspikes, and run one of ye for a prayer # book and a pen-knife, and cut the big chains.” # # “Knife? Aye, aye,” cried Queequeg, and seizing the carpenter’s heavy hatchet, he # leaned out of a porthole, and steel to iron, began slashing at the largest # fluke-chains. But a few strokes, full of sparks, were given, when the exceeding # strain effected the rest. With a terrific snap, every fastening went adrift; the # ship righted, the carcase sank. # # Now, this occasional inevitable sinking of the recently killed Sperm Whale is a # very curious thing; nor has any fisherman yet adequately accounted for it. # Usually the dead Sperm Whale floats with great buoyancy, with its side or belly # considerably elevated above the surface. If the only whales that thus sank were # old, meagre, and broken-hearted creatures, their pads of lard diminished and all # their bones heavy and rheumatic; then you might with some reason assert that # this sinking is caused by an uncommon specific gravity in the fish so sinking, # consequent upon this absence of buoyant matter in him. But it is not so. For # young whales, in the highest health, and swelling with noble aspirations, # prematurely cut off in the warm flush and May of life, with all their panting # lard about them; even these brawny, buoyant heroes do sometimes sink. # # Be it said, however, that the Sperm Whale is far less liable to this accident # than any other species. Where one of that sort go down, twenty Right Whales do. # This difference in the species is no doubt imputable in no small degree to the # greater quantity of bone in the Right Whale; his Venetian blinds alone sometimes # weighing more than a ton; from this incumbrance the Sperm Whale is wholly free. # But there are instances where, after the lapse of many hours or several days, # the sunken whale again rises, more buoyant than in life. But the reason of this # is obvious. Gases are generated in him; he swells to a prodigious magnitude; # becomes a sort of animal balloon. A line-of-battle ship could hardly keep him # under then. In the Shore Whaling, on soundings, among the Bays of New Zealand, # when a Right Whale gives token of sinking, they fasten buoys to him, with plenty # of rope; so that when the body has gone down, they know where to look for it # when it shall have ascended again. # # It was not long after the sinking of the body that a cry was heard from the # Pequod’s mast-heads, announcing that the Jungfrau was again lowering her boats; # though the only spout in sight was that of a Fin-Back, belonging to the species # of uncapturable whales, because of its incredible power of swimming. # Nevertheless, the Fin-Back’s spout is so similar to the Sperm Whale’s, that by # unskilful fishermen it is often mistaken for it. And consequently Derick and all # his host were now in valiant chase of this unnearable brute. The Virgin crowding # all sail, made after her four young keels, and thus they all disappeared far to # leeward, still in bold, hopeful chase. # # Oh! many are the Fin-Backs, and many are the Dericks, my friend. # # # # # # CHAPTER 82. The Honor and Glory of Whaling. # # There are some enterprises in which a careful disorderliness is the true method. # # The more I dive into this matter of whaling, and push my researches up to the # very spring-head of it so much the more am I impressed with its great # honorableness and antiquity; and especially when I find so many great demi-gods # and heroes, prophets of all sorts, who one way or other have shed distinction # upon it, I am transported with the reflection that I myself belong, though but # subordinately, to so emblazoned a fraternity. # # The gallant Perseus, a son of Jupiter, was the first whaleman; and to the # eternal honor of our calling be it said, that the first whale attacked by our # brotherhood was not killed with any sordid intent. Those were the knightly days # of our profession, when we only bore arms to succor the distressed, and not to # fill men’s lamp-feeders. Every one knows the fine story of Perseus and # Andromeda; how the lovely Andromeda, the daughter of a king, was tied to a rock # on the sea-coast, and as Leviathan was in the very act of carrying her off, # Perseus, the prince of whalemen, intrepidly advancing, harpooned the monster, # and delivered and married the maid. It was an admirable artistic exploit, rarely # achieved by the best harpooneers of the present day; inasmuch as this Leviathan # was slain at the very first dart. And let no man doubt this Arkite story; for in # the ancient Joppa, now Jaffa, on the Syrian coast, in one of the Pagan temples, # there stood for many ages the vast skeleton of a whale, which the city’s legends # and all the inhabitants asserted to be the identical bones of the monster that # Perseus slew. When the Romans took Joppa, the same skeleton was carried to Italy # in triumph. What seems most singular and suggestively important in this story, # is this: it was from Joppa that Jonah set sail. # # Akin to the adventure of Perseus and Andromeda—indeed, by some supposed to be # indirectly derived from it—is that famous story of St. George and the Dragon; # which dragon I maintain to have been a whale; for in many old chronicles whales # and dragons are strangely jumbled together, and often stand for each other. # “Thou art as a lion of the waters, and as a dragon of the sea,” saith Ezekiel; # hereby, plainly meaning a whale; in truth, some versions of the Bible use that # word itself. Besides, it would much subtract from the glory of the exploit had # St. George but encountered a crawling reptile of the land, instead of doing # battle with the great monster of the deep. Any man may kill a snake, but only a # Perseus, a St. George, a Coffin, have the heart in them to march boldly up to a # whale. # # Let not the modern paintings of this scene mislead us; for though the creature # encountered by that valiant whaleman of old is vaguely represented of a # griffin-like shape, and though the battle is depicted on land and the saint on # horseback, yet considering the great ignorance of those times, when the true # form of the whale was unknown to artists; and considering that as in Perseus’ # case, St. George’s whale might have crawled up out of the sea on the beach; and # considering that the animal ridden by St. George might have been only a large # seal, or sea-horse; bearing all this in mind, it will not appear altogether # incompatible with the sacred legend and the ancientest draughts of the scene, to # hold this so-called dragon no other than the great Leviathan himself. In fact, # placed before the strict and piercing truth, this whole story will fare like # that fish, flesh, and fowl idol of the Philistines, Dagon by name; who being # planted before the ark of Israel, his horse’s head and both the palms of his # hands fell off from him, and only the stump or fishy part of him remained. Thus, # then, one of our own noble stamp, even a whaleman, is the tutelary guardian of # England; and by good rights, we harpooneers of Nantucket should be enrolled in # the most noble order of St. George. And therefore, let not the knights of that # honorable company (none of whom, I venture to say, have ever had to do with a # whale like their great patron), let them never eye a Nantucketer with disdain, # since even in our woollen frocks and tarred trowsers we are much better entitled # to St. George’s decoration than they. # # Whether to admit Hercules among us or not, concerning this I long remained # dubious: for though according to the Greek mythologies, that antique Crockett # and Kit Carson—that brawny doer of rejoicing good deeds, was swallowed down and # thrown up by a whale; still, whether that strictly makes a whaleman of him, that # might be mooted. It nowhere appears that he ever actually harpooned his fish, # unless, indeed, from the inside. Nevertheless, he may be deemed a sort of # involuntary whaleman; at any rate the whale caught him, if he did not the whale. # I claim him for one of our clan. # # But, by the best contradictory authorities, this Grecian story of Hercules and # the whale is considered to be derived from the still more ancient Hebrew story # of Jonah and the whale; and vice versâ; certainly they are very similar. If I # claim the demi-god then, why not the prophet? # # Nor do heroes, saints, demigods, and prophets alone comprise the whole roll of # our order. Our grand master is still to be named; for like royal kings of old # times, we find the head waters of our fraternity in nothing short of the great # gods themselves. That wondrous oriental story is now to be rehearsed from the # Shaster, which gives us the dread Vishnoo, one of the three persons in the # godhead of the Hindoos; gives us this divine Vishnoo himself for our # Lord;—Vishnoo, who, by the first of his ten earthly incarnations, has for ever # set apart and sanctified the whale. When Brahma, or the God of Gods, saith the # Shaster, resolved to recreate the world after one of its periodical # dissolutions, he gave birth to Vishnoo, to preside over the work; but the Vedas, # or mystical books, whose perusal would seem to have been indispensable to # Vishnoo before beginning the creation, and which therefore must have contained # something in the shape of practical hints to young architects, these Vedas were # lying at the bottom of the waters; so Vishnoo became incarnate in a whale, and # sounding down in him to the uttermost depths, rescued the sacred volumes. Was # not this Vishnoo a whaleman, then? even as a man who rides a horse is called a # horseman? # # Perseus, St. George, Hercules, Jonah, and Vishnoo! there’s a member-roll for # you! What club but the whaleman’s can head off like that? # # # # # # CHAPTER 83. Jonah Historically Regarded. # # Reference was made to the historical story of Jonah and the whale in the # preceding chapter. Now some Nantucketers rather distrust this historical story # of Jonah and the whale. But then there were some sceptical Greeks and Romans, # who, standing out from the orthodox pagans of their times, equally doubted the # story of Hercules and the whale, and Arion and the dolphin; and yet their # doubting those traditions did not make those traditions one whit the less facts, # for all that. # # One old Sag-Harbor whaleman’s chief reason for questioning the Hebrew story was # this:—He had one of those quaint old-fashioned Bibles, embellished with curious, # unscientific plates; one of which represented Jonah’s whale with two spouts in # his head—a peculiarity only true with respect to a species of the Leviathan (the # Right Whale, and the varieties of that order), concerning which the fishermen # have this saying, “A penny roll would choke him”; his swallow is so very small. # But, to this, Bishop Jebb’s anticipative answer is ready. It is not necessary, # hints the Bishop, that we consider Jonah as tombed in the whale’s belly, but as # temporarily lodged in some part of his mouth. And this seems reasonable enough # in the good Bishop. For truly, the Right Whale’s mouth would accommodate a # couple of whist-tables, and comfortably seat all the players. Possibly, too, # Jonah might have ensconced himself in a hollow tooth; but, on second thoughts, # the Right Whale is toothless. # # Another reason which Sag-Harbor (he went by that name) urged for his want of # faith in this matter of the prophet, was something obscurely in reference to his # incarcerated body and the whale’s gastric juices. But this objection likewise # falls to the ground, because a German exegetist supposes that Jonah must have # taken refuge in the floating body of a dead whale—even as the French soldiers in # the Russian campaign turned their dead horses into tents, and crawled into them. # Besides, it has been divined by other continental commentators, that when Jonah # was thrown overboard from the Joppa ship, he straightway effected his escape to # another vessel near by, some vessel with a whale for a figure-head; and, I would # add, possibly called “The Whale,” as some craft are nowadays christened the # “Shark,” the “Gull,” the “Eagle.” Nor have there been wanting learned exegetists # who have opined that the whale mentioned in the book of Jonah merely meant a # life-preserver—an inflated bag of wind—which the endangered prophet swam to, and # so was saved from a watery doom. Poor Sag-Harbor, therefore, seems worsted all # round. But he had still another reason for his want of faith. It was this, if I # remember right: Jonah was swallowed by the whale in the Mediterranean Sea, and # after three days he was vomited up somewhere within three days’ journey of # Nineveh, a city on the Tigris, very much more than three days’ journey across # from the nearest point of the Mediterranean coast. How is that? # # But was there no other way for the whale to land the prophet within that short # distance of Nineveh? Yes. He might have carried him round by the way of the Cape # of Good Hope. But not to speak of the passage through the whole length of the # Mediterranean, and another passage up the Persian Gulf and Red Sea, such a # supposition would involve the complete circumnavigation of all Africa in three # days, not to speak of the Tigris waters, near the site of Nineveh, being too # shallow for any whale to swim in. Besides, this idea of Jonah’s weathering the # Cape of Good Hope at so early a day would wrest the honor of the discovery of # that great headland from Bartholomew Diaz, its reputed discoverer, and so make # modern history a liar. # # But all these foolish arguments of old Sag-Harbor only evinced his foolish pride # of reason—a thing still more reprehensible in him, seeing that he had but little # learning except what he had picked up from the sun and the sea. I say it only # shows his foolish, impious pride, and abominable, devilish rebellion against the # reverend clergy. For by a Portuguese Catholic priest, this very idea of Jonah’s # going to Nineveh via the Cape of Good Hope was advanced as a signal # magnification of the general miracle. And so it was. Besides, to this day, the # highly enlightened Turks devoutly believe in the historical story of Jonah. And # some three centuries ago, an English traveller in old Harris’s Voyages, speaks # of a Turkish Mosque built in honor of Jonah, in which Mosque was a miraculous # lamp that burnt without any oil. # # # # # # CHAPTER 84. Pitchpoling. # # To make them run easily and swiftly, the axles of carriages are anointed; and # for much the same purpose, some whalers perform an analogous operation upon # their boat; they grease the bottom. Nor is it to be doubted that as such a # procedure can do no harm, it may possibly be of no contemptible advantage; # considering that oil and water are hostile; that oil is a sliding thing, and # that the object in view is to make the boat slide bravely. Queequeg believed # strongly in anointing his boat, and one morning not long after the German ship # Jungfrau disappeared, took more than customary pains in that occupation; # crawling under its bottom, where it hung over the side, and rubbing in the # unctuousness as though diligently seeking to insure a crop of hair from the # craft’s bald keel. He seemed to be working in obedience to some particular # presentiment. Nor did it remain unwarranted by the event. # # Towards noon whales were raised; but so soon as the ship sailed down to them, # they turned and fled with swift precipitancy; a disordered flight, as of # Cleopatra’s barges from Actium. # # Nevertheless, the boats pursued, and Stubb’s was foremost. By great exertion, # Tashtego at last succeeded in planting one iron; but the stricken whale, without # at all sounding, still continued his horizontal flight, with added fleetness. # Such unintermitted strainings upon the planted iron must sooner or later # inevitably extract it. It became imperative to lance the flying whale, or be # content to lose him. But to haul the boat up to his flank was impossible, he # swam so fast and furious. What then remained? # # Of all the wondrous devices and dexterities, the sleights of hand and countless # subtleties, to which the veteran whaleman is so often forced, none exceed that # fine manœuvre with the lance called pitchpoling. Small sword, or broad sword, in # all its exercises boasts nothing like it. It is only indispensable with an # inveterate running whale; its grand fact and feature is the wonderful distance # to which the long lance is accurately darted from a violently rocking, jerking # boat, under extreme headway. Steel and wood included, the entire spear is some # ten or twelve feet in length; the staff is much slighter than that of the # harpoon, and also of a lighter material—pine. It is furnished with a small rope # called a warp, of considerable length, by which it can be hauled back to the # hand after darting. # # But before going further, it is important to mention here, that though the # harpoon may be pitchpoled in the same way with the lance, yet it is seldom done; # and when done, is still less frequently successful, on account of the greater # weight and inferior length of the harpoon as compared with the lance, which in # effect become serious drawbacks. As a general thing, therefore, you must first # get fast to a whale, before any pitchpoling comes into play. # # Look now at Stubb; a man who from his humorous, deliberate coolness and # equanimity in the direst emergencies, was specially qualified to excel in # pitchpoling. Look at him; he stands upright in the tossed bow of the flying # boat; wrapt in fleecy foam, the towing whale is forty feet ahead. Handling the # long lance lightly, glancing twice or thrice along its length to see if it be # exactly straight, Stubb whistlingly gathers up the coil of the warp in one hand, # so as to secure its free end in his grasp, leaving the rest unobstructed. Then # holding the lance full before his waistband’s middle, he levels it at the whale; # when, covering him with it, he steadily depresses the butt-end in his hand, # thereby elevating the point till the weapon stands fairly balanced upon his # palm, fifteen feet in the air. He minds you somewhat of a juggler, balancing a # long staff on his chin. Next moment with a rapid, nameless impulse, in a superb # lofty arch the bright steel spans the foaming distance, and quivers in the life # spot of the whale. Instead of sparkling water, he now spouts red blood. # # “That drove the spigot out of him!” cried Stubb. “’Tis July’s immortal Fourth; # all fountains must run wine today! Would now, it were old Orleans whiskey, or # old Ohio, or unspeakable old Monongahela! Then, Tashtego, lad, I’d have ye hold # a canakin to the jet, and we’d drink round it! Yea, verily, hearts alive, we’d # brew choice punch in the spread of his spout-hole there, and from that live # punch-bowl quaff the living stuff.” # # Again and again to such gamesome talk, the dexterous dart is repeated, the spear # returning to its master like a greyhound held in skilful leash. The agonized # whale goes into his flurry; the tow-line is slackened, and the pitchpoler # dropping astern, folds his hands, and mutely watches the monster die. # # # # # # CHAPTER 85. The Fountain. # # That for six thousand years—and no one knows how many millions of ages # before—the great whales should have been spouting all over the sea, and # sprinkling and mistifying the gardens of the deep, as with so many sprinkling or # mistifying pots; and that for some centuries back, thousands of hunters should # have been close by the fountain of the whale, watching these sprinklings and # spoutings—that all this should be, and yet, that down to this blessed minute # (fifteen and a quarter minutes past one o’clock P.M. of this sixteenth day of # December, A.D. 1851), it should still remain a problem, whether these spoutings # are, after all, really water, or nothing but vapor—this is surely a noteworthy # thing. # # Let us, then, look at this matter, along with some interesting items contingent. # Every one knows that by the peculiar cunning of their gills, the finny tribes in # general breathe the air which at all times is combined with the element in which # they swim; hence, a herring or a cod might live a century, and never once raise # its head above the surface. But owing to his marked internal structure which # gives him regular lungs, like a human being’s, the whale can only live by # inhaling the disengaged air in the open atmosphere. Wherefore the necessity for # his periodical visits to the upper world. But he cannot in any degree breathe # through his mouth, for, in his ordinary attitude, the Sperm Whale’s mouth is # buried at least eight feet beneath the surface; and what is still more, his # windpipe has no connexion with his mouth. No, he breathes through his spiracle # alone; and this is on the top of his head. # # If I say, that in any creature breathing is only a function indispensable to # vitality, inasmuch as it withdraws from the air a certain element, which being # subsequently brought into contact with the blood imparts to the blood its # vivifying principle, I do not think I shall err; though I may possibly use some # superfluous scientific words. Assume it, and it follows that if all the blood in # a man could be aerated with one breath, he might then seal up his nostrils and # not fetch another for a considerable time. That is to say, he would then live # without breathing. Anomalous as it may seem, this is precisely the case with the # whale, who systematically lives, by intervals, his full hour and more (when at # the bottom) without drawing a single breath, or so much as in any way inhaling a # particle of air; for, remember, he has no gills. How is this? Between his ribs # and on each side of his spine he is supplied with a remarkable involved Cretan # labyrinth of vermicelli-like vessels, which vessels, when he quits the surface, # are completely distended with oxygenated blood. So that for an hour or more, a # thousand fathoms in the sea, he carries a surplus stock of vitality in him, just # as the camel crossing the waterless desert carries a surplus supply of drink for # future use in its four supplementary stomachs. The anatomical fact of this # labyrinth is indisputable; and that the supposition founded upon it is # reasonable and true, seems the more cogent to me, when I consider the otherwise # inexplicable obstinacy of that leviathan in having his spoutings out, as the # fishermen phrase it. This is what I mean. If unmolested, upon rising to the # surface, the Sperm Whale will continue there for a period of time exactly # uniform with all his other unmolested risings. Say he stays eleven minutes, and # jets seventy times, that is, respires seventy breaths; then whenever he rises # again, he will be sure to have his seventy breaths over again, to a minute. Now, # if after he fetches a few breaths you alarm him, so that he sounds, he will be # always dodging up again to make good his regular allowance of air. And not till # those seventy breaths are told, will he finally go down to stay out his full # term below. Remark, however, that in different individuals these rates are # different; but in any one they are alike. Now, why should the whale thus insist # upon having his spoutings out, unless it be to replenish his reservoir of air, # ere descending for good? How obvious is it, too, that this necessity for the # whale’s rising exposes him to all the fatal hazards of the chase. For not by # hook or by net could this vast leviathan be caught, when sailing a thousand # fathoms beneath the sunlight. Not so much thy skill, then, O hunter, as the # great necessities that strike the victory to thee! # # In man, breathing is incessantly going on—one breath only serving for two or # three pulsations; so that whatever other business he has to attend to, waking or # sleeping, breathe he must, or die he will. But the Sperm Whale only breathes # about one seventh or Sunday of his time. # # It has been said that the whale only breathes through his spout-hole; if it # could truthfully be added that his spouts are mixed with water, then I opine we # should be furnished with the reason why his sense of smell seems obliterated in # him; for the only thing about him that at all answers to his nose is that # identical spout-hole; and being so clogged with two elements, it could not be # expected to have the power of smelling. But owing to the mystery of the # spout—whether it be water or whether it be vapor—no absolute certainty can as # yet be arrived at on this head. Sure it is, nevertheless, that the Sperm Whale # has no proper olfactories. But what does he want of them? No roses, no violets, # no Cologne-water in the sea. # # Furthermore, as his windpipe solely opens into the tube of his spouting canal, # and as that long canal—like the grand Erie Canal—is furnished with a sort of # locks (that open and shut) for the downward retention of air or the upward # exclusion of water, therefore the whale has no voice; unless you insult him by # saying, that when he so strangely rumbles, he talks through his nose. But then # again, what has the whale to say? Seldom have I known any profound being that # had anything to say to this world, unless forced to stammer out something by way # of getting a living. Oh! happy that the world is such an excellent listener! # # Now, the spouting canal of the Sperm Whale, chiefly intended as it is for the # conveyance of air, and for several feet laid along, horizontally, just beneath # the upper surface of his head, and a little to one side; this curious canal is # very much like a gas-pipe laid down in a city on one side of a street. But the # question returns whether this gas-pipe is also a water-pipe; in other words, # whether the spout of the Sperm Whale is the mere vapor of the exhaled breath, or # whether that exhaled breath is mixed with water taken in at the mouth, and # discharged through the spiracle. It is certain that the mouth indirectly # communicates with the spouting canal; but it cannot be proved that this is for # the purpose of discharging water through the spiracle. Because the greatest # necessity for so doing would seem to be, when in feeding he accidentally takes # in water. But the Sperm Whale’s food is far beneath the surface, and there he # cannot spout even if he would. Besides, if you regard him very closely, and time # him with your watch, you will find that when unmolested, there is an undeviating # rhyme between the periods of his jets and the ordinary periods of respiration. # # But why pester one with all this reasoning on the subject? Speak out! You have # seen him spout; then declare what the spout is; can you not tell water from air? # My dear sir, in this world it is not so easy to settle these plain things. I # have ever found your plain things the knottiest of all. And as for this whale # spout, you might almost stand in it, and yet be undecided as to what it is # precisely. # # The central body of it is hidden in the snowy sparkling mist enveloping it; and # how can you certainly tell whether any water falls from it, when, always, when # you are close enough to a whale to get a close view of his spout, he is in a # prodigious commotion, the water cascading all around him. And if at such times # you should think that you really perceived drops of moisture in the spout, how # do you know that they are not merely condensed from its vapor; or how do you # know that they are not those identical drops superficially lodged in the # spout-hole fissure, which is countersunk into the summit of the whale’s head? # For even when tranquilly swimming through the mid-day sea in a calm, with his # elevated hump sun-dried as a dromedary’s in the desert; even then, the whale # always carries a small basin of water on his head, as under a blazing sun you # will sometimes see a cavity in a rock filled up with rain. # # Nor is it at all prudent for the hunter to be over curious touching the precise # nature of the whale spout. It will not do for him to be peering into it, and # putting his face in it. You cannot go with your pitcher to this fountain and # fill it, and bring it away. For even when coming into slight contact with the # outer, vapory shreds of the jet, which will often happen, your skin will # feverishly smart, from the acridness of the thing so touching it. And I know # one, who coming into still closer contact with the spout, whether with some # scientific object in view, or otherwise, I cannot say, the skin peeled off from # his cheek and arm. Wherefore, among whalemen, the spout is deemed poisonous; # they try to evade it. Another thing; I have heard it said, and I do not much # doubt it, that if the jet is fairly spouted into your eyes, it will blind you. # The wisest thing the investigator can do then, it seems to me, is to let this # deadly spout alone. # # Still, we can hypothesize, even if we cannot prove and establish. My hypothesis # is this: that the spout is nothing but mist. And besides other reasons, to this # conclusion I am impelled, by considerations touching the great inherent dignity # and sublimity of the Sperm Whale; I account him no common, shallow being, # inasmuch as it is an undisputed fact that he is never found on soundings, or # near shores; all other whales sometimes are. He is both ponderous and profound. # And I am convinced that from the heads of all ponderous profound beings, such as # Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a # certain semi-visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts. While # composing a little treatise on Eternity, I had the curiosity to place a mirror # before me; and ere long saw reflected there, a curious involved worming and # undulation in the atmosphere over my head. The invariable moisture of my hair, # while plunged in deep thought, after six cups of hot tea in my thin shingled # attic, of an August noon; this seems an additional argument for the above # supposition. # # And how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him # solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a # canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that # vapor—as you will sometimes see it—glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself # had put its seal upon his thoughts. For, d’ye see, rainbows do not visit the # clear air; they only irradiate vapor. And so, through all the thick mists of the # dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog # with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; # but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all # things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes # neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal # eye. # # # # # # CHAPTER 86. The Tail. # # Other poets have warbled the praises of the soft eye of the antelope, and the # lovely plumage of the bird that never alights; less celestial, I celebrate a # tail. # # Reckoning the largest sized Sperm Whale’s tail to begin at that point of the # trunk where it tapers to about the girth of a man, it comprises upon its upper # surface alone, an area of at least fifty square feet. The compact round body of # its root expands into two broad, firm, flat palms or flukes, gradually shoaling # away to less than an inch in thickness. At the crotch or junction, these flukes # slightly overlap, then sideways recede from each other like wings, leaving a # wide vacancy between. In no living thing are the lines of beauty more # exquisitely defined than in the crescentic borders of these flukes. At its # utmost expansion in the full grown whale, the tail will considerably exceed # twenty feet across. # # The entire member seems a dense webbed bed of welded sinews; but cut into it, # and you find that three distinct strata compose it:—upper, middle, and lower. # The fibres in the upper and lower layers, are long and horizontal; those of the # middle one, very short, and running crosswise between the outside layers. This # triune structure, as much as anything else, imparts power to the tail. To the # student of old Roman walls, the middle layer will furnish a curious parallel to # the thin course of tiles always alternating with the stone in those wonderful # relics of the antique, and which undoubtedly contribute so much to the great # strength of the masonry. # # But as if this vast local power in the tendinous tail were not enough, the whole # bulk of the leviathan is knit over with a warp and woof of muscular fibres and # filaments, which passing on either side the loins and running down into the # flukes, insensibly blend with them, and largely contribute to their might; so # that in the tail the confluent measureless force of the whole whale seems # concentrated to a point. Could annihilation occur to matter, this were the thing # to do it. # # Nor does this—its amazing strength, at all tend to cripple the graceful flexion # of its motions; where infantileness of ease undulates through a Titanism of # power. On the contrary, those motions derive their most appalling beauty from # it. Real strength never impairs beauty or harmony, but it often bestows it; and # in everything imposingly beautiful, strength has much to do with the magic. Take # away the tied tendons that all over seem bursting from the marble in the carved # Hercules, and its charm would be gone. As devout Eckerman lifted the linen sheet # from the naked corpse of Goethe, he was overwhelmed with the massive chest of # the man, that seemed as a Roman triumphal arch. When Angelo paints even God the # Father in human form, mark what robustness is there. And whatever they may # reveal of the divine love in the Son, the soft, curled, hermaphroditical Italian # pictures, in which his idea has been most successfully embodied; these pictures, # so destitute as they are of all brawniness, hint nothing of any power, but the # mere negative, feminine one of submission and endurance, which on all hands it # is conceded, form the peculiar practical virtues of his teachings. # # Such is the subtle elasticity of the organ I treat of, that whether wielded in # sport, or in earnest, or in anger, whatever be the mood it be in, its flexions # are invariably marked by exceeding grace. Therein no fairy’s arm can transcend # it. # # Five great motions are peculiar to it. First, when used as a fin for # progression; Second, when used as a mace in battle; Third, in sweeping; Fourth, # in lobtailing; Fifth, in peaking flukes. # # First: Being horizontal in its position, the Leviathan’s tail acts in a # different manner from the tails of all other sea creatures. It never wriggles. # In man or fish, wriggling is a sign of inferiority. To the whale, his tail is # the sole means of propulsion. Scroll-wise coiled forwards beneath the body, and # then rapidly sprung backwards, it is this which gives that singular darting, # leaping motion to the monster when furiously swimming. His side-fins only serve # to steer by. # # Second: It is a little significant, that while one sperm whale only fights # another sperm whale with his head and jaw, nevertheless, in his conflicts with # man, he chiefly and contemptuously uses his tail. In striking at a boat, he # swiftly curves away his flukes from it, and the blow is only inflicted by the # recoil. If it be made in the unobstructed air, especially if it descend to its # mark, the stroke is then simply irresistible. No ribs of man or boat can # withstand it. Your only salvation lies in eluding it; but if it comes sideways # through the opposing water, then partly owing to the light buoyancy of the # whale-boat, and the elasticity of its materials, a cracked rib or a dashed plank # or two, a sort of stitch in the side, is generally the most serious result. # These submerged side blows are so often received in the fishery, that they are # accounted mere child’s play. Some one strips off a frock, and the hole is # stopped. # # Third: I cannot demonstrate it, but it seems to me, that in the whale the sense # of touch is concentrated in the tail; for in this respect there is a delicacy in # it only equalled by the daintiness of the elephant’s trunk. This delicacy is # chiefly evinced in the action of sweeping, when in maidenly gentleness the whale # with a certain soft slowness moves his immense flukes from side to side upon the # surface of the sea; and if he feel but a sailor’s whisker, woe to that sailor, # whiskers and all. What tenderness there is in that preliminary touch! Had this # tail any prehensile power, I should straightway bethink me of Darmonodes’ # elephant that so frequented the flower-market, and with low salutations # presented nosegays to damsels, and then caressed their zones. On more accounts # than one, a pity it is that the whale does not possess this prehensile virtue in # his tail; for I have heard of yet another elephant, that when wounded in the # fight, curved round his trunk and extracted the dart. # # Fourth: Stealing unawares upon the whale in the fancied security of the middle # of solitary seas, you find him unbent from the vast corpulence of his dignity, # and kitten-like, he plays on the ocean as if it were a hearth. But still you see # his power in his play. The broad palms of his tail are flirted high into the # air; then smiting the surface, the thunderous concussion resounds for miles. You # would almost think a great gun had been discharged; and if you noticed the light # wreath of vapor from the spiracle at his other extremity, you would think that # that was the smoke from the touch-hole. # # Fifth: As in the ordinary floating posture of the leviathan the flukes lie # considerably below the level of his back, they are then completely out of sight # beneath the surface; but when he is about to plunge into the deeps, his entire # flukes with at least thirty feet of his body are tossed erect in the air, and so # remain vibrating a moment, till they downwards shoot out of view. Excepting the # sublime breach—somewhere else to be described—this peaking of the whale’s flukes # is perhaps the grandest sight to be seen in all animated nature. Out of the # bottomless profundities the gigantic tail seems spasmodically snatching at the # highest heaven. So in dreams, have I seen majestic Satan thrusting forth his # tormented colossal claw from the flame Baltic of Hell. But in gazing at such # scenes, it is all in all what mood you are in; if in the Dantean, the devils # will occur to you; if in that of Isaiah, the archangels. Standing at the # mast-head of my ship during a sunrise that crimsoned sky and sea, I once saw a # large herd of whales in the east, all heading towards the sun, and for a moment # vibrating in concert with peaked flukes. As it seemed to me at the time, such a # grand embodiment of adoration of the gods was never beheld, even in Persia, the # home of the fire worshippers. As Ptolemy Philopater testified of the African # elephant, I then testified of the whale, pronouncing him the most devout of all # beings. For according to King Juba, the military elephants of antiquity often # hailed the morning with their trunks uplifted in the profoundest silence. # # The chance comparison in this chapter, between the whale and the elephant, so # far as some aspects of the tail of the one and the trunk of the other are # concerned, should not tend to place those two opposite organs on an equality, # much less the creatures to which they respectively belong. For as the mightiest # elephant is but a terrier to Leviathan, so, compared with Leviathan’s tail, his # trunk is but the stalk of a lily. The most direful blow from the elephant’s # trunk were as the playful tap of a fan, compared with the measureless crush and # crash of the sperm whale’s ponderous flukes, which in repeated instances have # one after the other hurled entire boats with all their oars and crews into the # air, very much as an Indian juggler tosses his balls.* # # *Though all comparison in the way of general bulk between the whale and the # elephant is preposterous, inasmuch as in that particular the elephant stands in # much the same respect to the whale that a dog does to the elephant; # nevertheless, there are not wanting some points of curious similitude; among # these is the spout. It is well known that the elephant will often draw up water # or dust in his trunk, and then elevating it, jet it forth in a stream. # # The more I consider this mighty tail, the more do I deplore my inability to # express it. At times there are gestures in it, which, though they would well # grace the hand of man, remain wholly inexplicable. In an extensive herd, so # remarkable, occasionally, are these mystic gestures, that I have heard hunters # who have declared them akin to Free-Mason signs and symbols; that the whale, # indeed, by these methods intelligently conversed with the world. Nor are there # wanting other motions of the whale in his general body, full of strangeness, and # unaccountable to his most experienced assailant. Dissect him how I may, then, I # but go skin deep; I know him not, and never will. But if I know not even the # tail of this whale, how understand his head? much more, how comprehend his face, # when face he has none? Thou shalt see my back parts, my tail, he seems to say, # but my face shall not be seen. But I cannot completely make out his back parts; # and hint what he will about his face, I say again he has no face. # # # # # # CHAPTER 87. The Grand Armada. # # The long and narrow peninsula of Malacca, extending south-eastward from the # territories of Birmah, forms the most southerly point of all Asia. In a # continuous line from that peninsula stretch the long islands of Sumatra, Java, # Bally, and Timor; which, with many others, form a vast mole, or rampart, # lengthwise connecting Asia with Australia, and dividing the long unbroken Indian # ocean from the thickly studded oriental archipelagoes. This rampart is pierced # by several sally-ports for the convenience of ships and whales; conspicuous # among which are the straits of Sunda and Malacca. By the straits of Sunda, # chiefly, vessels bound to China from the west, emerge into the China seas. # # Those narrow straits of Sunda divide Sumatra from Java; and standing midway in # that vast rampart of islands, buttressed by that bold green promontory, known to # seamen as Java Head; they not a little correspond to the central gateway opening # into some vast walled empire: and considering the inexhaustible wealth of # spices, and silks, and jewels, and gold, and ivory, with which the thousand # islands of that oriental sea are enriched, it seems a significant provision of # nature, that such treasures, by the very formation of the land, should at least # bear the appearance, however ineffectual, of being guarded from the all-grasping # western world. The shores of the Straits of Sunda are unsupplied with those # domineering fortresses which guard the entrances to the Mediterranean, the # Baltic, and the Propontis. Unlike the Danes, these Orientals do not demand the # obsequious homage of lowered top-sails from the endless procession of ships # before the wind, which for centuries past, by night and by day, have passed # between the islands of Sumatra and Java, freighted with the costliest cargoes of # the east. But while they freely waive a ceremonial like this, they do by no # means renounce their claim to more solid tribute. # # Time out of mind the piratical proas of the Malays, lurking among the low shaded # coves and islets of Sumatra, have sallied out upon the vessels sailing through # the straits, fiercely demanding tribute at the point of their spears. Though by # the repeated bloody chastisements they have received at the hands of European # cruisers, the audacity of these corsairs has of late been somewhat repressed; # yet, even at the present day, we occasionally hear of English and American # vessels, which, in those waters, have been remorselessly boarded and pillaged. # # With a fair, fresh wind, the Pequod was now drawing nigh to these straits; Ahab # purposing to pass through them into the Javan sea, and thence, cruising # northwards, over waters known to be frequented here and there by the Sperm # Whale, sweep inshore by the Philippine Islands, and gain the far coast of Japan, # in time for the great whaling season there. By these means, the circumnavigating # Pequod would sweep almost all the known Sperm Whale cruising grounds of the # world, previous to descending upon the Line in the Pacific; where Ahab, though # everywhere else foiled in his pursuit, firmly counted upon giving battle to Moby # Dick, in the sea he was most known to frequent; and at a season when he might # most reasonably be presumed to be haunting it. # # But how now? in this zoned quest, does Ahab touch no land? does his crew drink # air? Surely, he will stop for water. Nay. For a long time, now, the # circus-running sun has raced within his fiery ring, and needs no sustenance but # what’s in himself. So Ahab. Mark this, too, in the whaler. While other hulls are # loaded down with alien stuff, to be transferred to foreign wharves; the # world-wandering whale-ship carries no cargo but herself and crew, their weapons # and their wants. She has a whole lake’s contents bottled in her ample hold. She # is ballasted with utilities; not altogether with unusable pig-lead and # kentledge. She carries years’ water in her. Clear old prime Nantucket water; # which, when three years afloat, the Nantucketer, in the Pacific, prefers to # drink before the brackish fluid, but yesterday rafted off in casks, from the # Peruvian or Indian streams. Hence it is, that, while other ships may have gone # to China from New York, and back again, touching at a score of ports, the # whale-ship, in all that interval, may not have sighted one grain of soil; her # crew having seen no man but floating seamen like themselves. So that did you # carry them the news that another flood had come; they would only answer—“Well, # boys, here’s the ark!” # # Now, as many Sperm Whales had been captured off the western coast of Java, in # the near vicinity of the Straits of Sunda; indeed, as most of the ground, # roundabout, was generally recognised by the fishermen as an excellent spot for # cruising; therefore, as the Pequod gained more and more upon Java Head, the # look-outs were repeatedly hailed, and admonished to keep wide awake. But though # the green palmy cliffs of the land soon loomed on the starboard bow, and with # delighted nostrils the fresh cinnamon was snuffed in the air, yet not a single # jet was descried. Almost renouncing all thought of falling in with any game # hereabouts, the ship had well nigh entered the straits, when the customary # cheering cry was heard from aloft, and ere long a spectacle of singular # magnificence saluted us. # # But here be it premised, that owing to the unwearied activity with which of late # they have been hunted over all four oceans, the Sperm Whales, instead of almost # invariably sailing in small detached companies, as in former times, are now # frequently met with in extensive herds, sometimes embracing so great a # multitude, that it would almost seem as if numerous nations of them had sworn # solemn league and covenant for mutual assistance and protection. To this # aggregation of the Sperm Whale into such immense caravans, may be imputed the # circumstance that even in the best cruising grounds, you may now sometimes sail # for weeks and months together, without being greeted by a single spout; and then # be suddenly saluted by what sometimes seems thousands on thousands. # # Broad on both bows, at the distance of some two or three miles, and forming a # great semicircle, embracing one half of the level horizon, a continuous chain of # whale-jets were up-playing and sparkling in the noon-day air. Unlike the # straight perpendicular twin-jets of the Right Whale, which, dividing at top, # fall over in two branches, like the cleft drooping boughs of a willow, the # single forward-slanting spout of the Sperm Whale presents a thick curled bush of # white mist, continually rising and falling away to leeward. # # Seen from the Pequod’s deck, then, as she would rise on a high hill of the sea, # this host of vapory spouts, individually curling up into the air, and beheld # through a blending atmosphere of bluish haze, showed like the thousand cheerful # chimneys of some dense metropolis, descried of a balmy autumnal morning, by some # horseman on a height. # # As marching armies approaching an unfriendly defile in the mountains, accelerate # their march, all eagerness to place that perilous passage in their rear, and # once more expand in comparative security upon the plain; even so did this vast # fleet of whales now seem hurrying forward through the straits; gradually # contracting the wings of their semicircle, and swimming on, in one solid, but # still crescentic centre. # # Crowding all sail the Pequod pressed after them; the harpooneers handling their # weapons, and loudly cheering from the heads of their yet suspended boats. If the # wind only held, little doubt had they, that chased through these Straits of # Sunda, the vast host would only deploy into the Oriental seas to witness the # capture of not a few of their number. And who could tell whether, in that # congregated caravan, Moby Dick himself might not temporarily be swimming, like # the worshipped white-elephant in the coronation procession of the Siamese! So # with stun-sail piled on stun-sail, we sailed along, driving these leviathans # before us; when, of a sudden, the voice of Tashtego was heard, loudly directing # attention to something in our wake. # # Corresponding to the crescent in our van, we beheld another in our rear. It # seemed formed of detached white vapors, rising and falling something like the # spouts of the whales; only they did not so completely come and go; for they # constantly hovered, without finally disappearing. Levelling his glass at this # sight, Ahab quickly revolved in his pivot-hole, crying, “Aloft there, and rig # whips and buckets to wet the sails;—Malays, sir, and after us!” # # As if too long lurking behind the headlands, till the Pequod should fairly have # entered the straits, these rascally Asiatics were now in hot pursuit, to make up # for their over-cautious delay. But when the swift Pequod, with a fresh leading # wind, was herself in hot chase; how very kind of these tawny philanthropists to # assist in speeding her on to her own chosen pursuit,—mere riding-whips and # rowels to her, that they were. As with glass under arm, Ahab to-and-fro paced # the deck; in his forward turn beholding the monsters he chased, and in the after # one the bloodthirsty pirates chasing him; some such fancy as the above seemed # his. And when he glanced upon the green walls of the watery defile in which the # ship was then sailing, and bethought him that through that gate lay the route to # his vengeance, and beheld, how that through that same gate he was now both # chasing and being chased to his deadly end; and not only that, but a herd of # remorseless wild pirates and inhuman atheistical devils were infernally cheering # him on with their curses;—when all these conceits had passed through his brain, # Ahab’s brow was left gaunt and ribbed, like the black sand beach after some # stormy tide has been gnawing it, without being able to drag the firm thing from # its place. # # But thoughts like these troubled very few of the reckless crew; and when, after # steadily dropping and dropping the pirates astern, the Pequod at last shot by # the vivid green Cockatoo Point on the Sumatra side, emerging at last upon the # broad waters beyond; then, the harpooneers seemed more to grieve that the swift # whales had been gaining upon the ship, than to rejoice that the ship had so # victoriously gained upon the Malays. But still driving on in the wake of the # whales, at length they seemed abating their speed; gradually the ship neared # them; and the wind now dying away, word was passed to spring to the boats. But # no sooner did the herd, by some presumed wonderful instinct of the Sperm Whale, # become notified of the three keels that were after them,—though as yet a mile in # their rear,—than they rallied again, and forming in close ranks and battalions, # so that their spouts all looked like flashing lines of stacked bayonets, moved # on with redoubled velocity. # # Stripped to our shirts and drawers, we sprang to the white-ash, and after # several hours’ pulling were almost disposed to renounce the chase, when a # general pausing commotion among the whales gave animating token that they were # now at last under the influence of that strange perplexity of inert # irresolution, which, when the fishermen perceive it in the whale, they say he is # gallied. The compact martial columns in which they had been hitherto rapidly and # steadily swimming, were now broken up in one measureless rout; and like King # Porus’ elephants in the Indian battle with Alexander, they seemed going mad with # consternation. In all directions expanding in vast irregular circles, and # aimlessly swimming hither and thither, by their short thick spoutings, they # plainly betrayed their distraction of panic. This was still more strangely # evinced by those of their number, who, completely paralysed as it were, # helplessly floated like water-logged dismantled ships on the sea. Had these # Leviathans been but a flock of simple sheep, pursued over the pasture by three # fierce wolves, they could not possibly have evinced such excessive dismay. But # this occasional timidity is characteristic of almost all herding creatures. # Though banding together in tens of thousands, the lion-maned buffaloes of the # West have fled before a solitary horseman. Witness, too, all human beings, how # when herded together in the sheepfold of a theatre’s pit, they will, at the # slightest alarm of fire, rush helter-skelter for the outlets, crowding, # trampling, jamming, and remorselessly dashing each other to death. Best, # therefore, withhold any amazement at the strangely gallied whales before us, for # there is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by # the madness of men. # # Though many of the whales, as has been said, were in violent motion, yet it is # to be observed that as a whole the herd neither advanced nor retreated, but # collectively remained in one place. As is customary in those cases, the boats at # once separated, each making for some one lone whale on the outskirts of the # shoal. In about three minutes’ time, Queequeg’s harpoon was flung; the stricken # fish darted blinding spray in our faces, and then running away with us like # light, steered straight for the heart of the herd. Though such a movement on the # part of the whale struck under such circumstances, is in no wise unprecedented; # and indeed is almost always more or less anticipated; yet does it present one of # the more perilous vicissitudes of the fishery. For as the swift monster drags # you deeper and deeper into the frantic shoal, you bid adieu to circumspect life # and only exist in a delirious throb. # # As, blind and deaf, the whale plunged forward, as if by sheer power of speed to # rid himself of the iron leech that had fastened to him; as we thus tore a white # gash in the sea, on all sides menaced as we flew, by the crazed creatures to and # fro rushing about us; our beset boat was like a ship mobbed by ice-isles in a # tempest, and striving to steer through their complicated channels and straits, # knowing not at what moment it may be locked in and crushed. # # But not a bit daunted, Queequeg steered us manfully; now sheering off from this # monster directly across our route in advance; now edging away from that, whose # colossal flukes were suspended overhead, while all the time, Starbuck stood up # in the bows, lance in hand, pricking out of our way whatever whales he could # reach by short darts, for there was no time to make long ones. Nor were the # oarsmen quite idle, though their wonted duty was now altogether dispensed with. # They chiefly attended to the shouting part of the business. “Out of the way, # Commodore!” cried one, to a great dromedary that of a sudden rose bodily to the # surface, and for an instant threatened to swamp us. “Hard down with your tail, # there!” cried a second to another, which, close to our gunwale, seemed calmly # cooling himself with his own fan-like extremity. # # All whaleboats carry certain curious contrivances, originally invented by the # Nantucket Indians, called druggs. Two thick squares of wood of equal size are # stoutly clenched together, so that they cross each other’s grain at right # angles; a line of considerable length is then attached to the middle of this # block, and the other end of the line being looped, it can in a moment be # fastened to a harpoon. It is chiefly among gallied whales that this drugg is # used. For then, more whales are close round you than you can possibly chase at # one time. But sperm whales are not every day encountered; while you may, then, # you must kill all you can. And if you cannot kill them all at once, you must # wing them, so that they can be afterwards killed at your leisure. Hence it is, # that at times like these the drugg, comes into requisition. Our boat was # furnished with three of them. The first and second were successfully darted, and # we saw the whales staggeringly running off, fettered by the enormous sidelong # resistance of the towing drugg. They were cramped like malefactors with the # chain and ball. But upon flinging the third, in the act of tossing overboard the # clumsy wooden block, it caught under one of the seats of the boat, and in an # instant tore it out and carried it away, dropping the oarsman in the boat’s # bottom as the seat slid from under him. On both sides the sea came in at the # wounded planks, but we stuffed two or three drawers and shirts in, and so # stopped the leaks for the time. # # It had been next to impossible to dart these drugged-harpoons, were it not that # as we advanced into the herd, our whale’s way greatly diminished; moreover, that # as we went still further and further from the circumference of commotion, the # direful disorders seemed waning. So that when at last the jerking harpoon drew # out, and the towing whale sideways vanished; then, with the tapering force of # his parting momentum, we glided between two whales into the innermost heart of # the shoal, as if from some mountain torrent we had slid into a serene valley # lake. Here the storms in the roaring glens between the outermost whales, were # heard but not felt. In this central expanse the sea presented that smooth # satin-like surface, called a sleek, produced by the subtle moisture thrown off # by the whale in his more quiet moods. Yes, we were now in that enchanted calm # which they say lurks at the heart of every commotion. And still in the # distracted distance we beheld the tumults of the outer concentric circles, and # saw successive pods of whales, eight or ten in each, swiftly going round and # round, like multiplied spans of horses in a ring; and so closely shoulder to # shoulder, that a Titanic circus-rider might easily have over-arched the middle # ones, and so have gone round on their backs. Owing to the density of the crowd # of reposing whales, more immediately surrounding the embayed axis of the herd, # no possible chance of escape was at present afforded us. We must watch for a # breach in the living wall that hemmed us in; the wall that had only admitted us # in order to shut us up. Keeping at the centre of the lake, we were occasionally # visited by small tame cows and calves; the women and children of this routed # host. # # Now, inclusive of the occasional wide intervals between the revolving outer # circles, and inclusive of the spaces between the various pods in any one of # those circles, the entire area at this juncture, embraced by the whole # multitude, must have contained at least two or three square miles. At any # rate—though indeed such a test at such a time might be deceptive—spoutings might # be discovered from our low boat that seemed playing up almost from the rim of # the horizon. I mention this circumstance, because, as if the cows and calves had # been purposely locked up in this innermost fold; and as if the wide extent of # the herd had hitherto prevented them from learning the precise cause of its # stopping; or, possibly, being so young, unsophisticated, and every way innocent # and inexperienced; however it may have been, these smaller whales—now and then # visiting our becalmed boat from the margin of the lake—evinced a wondrous # fearlessness and confidence, or else a still becharmed panic which it was # impossible not to marvel at. Like household dogs they came snuffling round us, # right up to our gunwales, and touching them; till it almost seemed that some # spell had suddenly domesticated them. Queequeg patted their foreheads; Starbuck # scratched their backs with his lance; but fearful of the consequences, for the # time refrained from darting it. # # But far beneath this wondrous world upon the surface, another and still stranger # world met our eyes as we gazed over the side. For, suspended in those watery # vaults, floated the forms of the nursing mothers of the whales, and those that # by their enormous girth seemed shortly to become mothers. The lake, as I have # hinted, was to a considerable depth exceedingly transparent; and as human # infants while suckling will calmly and fixedly gaze away from the breast, as if # leading two different lives at the time; and while yet drawing mortal # nourishment, be still spiritually feasting upon some unearthly # reminiscence;—even so did the young of these whales seem looking up towards us, # but not at us, as if we were but a bit of Gulfweed in their new-born sight. # Floating on their sides, the mothers also seemed quietly eyeing us. One of these # little infants, that from certain queer tokens seemed hardly a day old, might # have measured some fourteen feet in length, and some six feet in girth. He was a # little frisky; though as yet his body seemed scarce yet recovered from that # irksome position it had so lately occupied in the maternal reticule; where, tail # to head, and all ready for the final spring, the unborn whale lies bent like a # Tartar’s bow. The delicate side-fins, and the palms of his flukes, still freshly # retained the plaited crumpled appearance of a baby’s ears newly arrived from # foreign parts. # # “Line! line!” cried Queequeg, looking over the gunwale; “him fast! him fast!—Who # line him! Who struck?—Two whale; one big, one little!” # # “What ails ye, man?” cried Starbuck. # # “Look-e here,” said Queequeg, pointing down. # # As when the stricken whale, that from the tub has reeled out hundreds of fathoms # of rope; as, after deep sounding, he floats up again, and shows the slackened # curling line buoyantly rising and spiralling towards the air; so now, Starbuck # saw long coils of the umbilical cord of Madame Leviathan, by which the young cub # seemed still tethered to its dam. Not seldom in the rapid vicissitudes of the # chase, this natural line, with the maternal end loose, becomes entangled with # the hempen one, so that the cub is thereby trapped. Some of the subtlest secrets # of the seas seemed divulged to us in this enchanted pond. We saw young Leviathan # amours in the deep.* # # *The sperm whale, as with all other species of the Leviathan, but unlike most # other fish, breeds indifferently at all seasons; after a gestation which may # probably be set down at nine months, producing but one at a time; though in # some few known instances giving birth to an Esau and Jacob:—a contingency # provided for in suckling by two teats, curiously situated, one on each side of # the anus; but the breasts themselves extend upwards from that. When by chance # these precious parts in a nursing whale are cut by the hunter’s lance, the # mother’s pouring milk and blood rivallingly discolour the sea for rods. The # milk is very sweet and rich; it has been tasted by man; it might do well with # strawberries. When overflowing with mutual esteem, the whales salute more # hominum. # # And thus, though surrounded by circle upon circle of consternations and # affrights, did these inscrutable creatures at the centre freely and fearlessly # indulge in all peaceful concernments; yea, serenely revelled in dalliance and # delight. But even so, amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being, do I myself still # for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning # woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in # eternal mildness of joy. # # Meanwhile, as we thus lay entranced, the occasional sudden frantic spectacles in # the distance evinced the activity of the other boats, still engaged in drugging # the whales on the frontier of the host; or possibly carrying on the war within # the first circle, where abundance of room and some convenient retreats were # afforded them. But the sight of the enraged drugged whales now and then blindly # darting to and fro across the circles, was nothing to what at last met our eyes. # It is sometimes the custom when fast to a whale more than commonly powerful and # alert, to seek to hamstring him, as it were, by sundering or maiming his # gigantic tail-tendon. It is done by darting a short-handled cutting-spade, to # which is attached a rope for hauling it back again. A whale wounded (as we # afterwards learned) in this part, but not effectually, as it seemed, had broken # away from the boat, carrying along with him half of the harpoon line; and in the # extraordinary agony of the wound, he was now dashing among the revolving circles # like the lone mounted desperado Arnold, at the battle of Saratoga, carrying # dismay wherever he went. # # But agonizing as was the wound of this whale, and an appalling spectacle enough, # any way; yet the peculiar horror with which he seemed to inspire the rest of the # herd, was owing to a cause which at first the intervening distance obscured from # us. But at length we perceived that by one of the unimaginable accidents of the # fishery, this whale had become entangled in the harpoon-line that he towed; he # had also run away with the cutting-spade in him; and while the free end of the # rope attached to that weapon, had permanently caught in the coils of the # harpoon-line round his tail, the cutting-spade itself had worked loose from his # flesh. So that tormented to madness, he was now churning through the water, # violently flailing with his flexible tail, and tossing the keen spade about him, # wounding and murdering his own comrades. # # This terrific object seemed to recall the whole herd from their stationary # fright. First, the whales forming the margin of our lake began to crowd a # little, and tumble against each other, as if lifted by half spent billows from # afar; then the lake itself began faintly to heave and swell; the submarine # bridal-chambers and nurseries vanished; in more and more contracting orbits the # whales in the more central circles began to swim in thickening clusters. Yes, # the long calm was departing. A low advancing hum was soon heard; and then like # to the tumultuous masses of block-ice when the great river Hudson breaks up in # Spring, the entire host of whales came tumbling upon their inner centre, as if # to pile themselves up in one common mountain. Instantly Starbuck and Queequeg # changed places; Starbuck taking the stern. # # “Oars! Oars!” he intensely whispered, seizing the helm—“gripe your oars, and # clutch your souls, now! My God, men, stand by! Shove him off, you Queequeg—the # whale there!—prick him!—hit him! Stand up—stand up, and stay so! Spring, # men—pull, men; never mind their backs—scrape them!—scrape away!” # # The boat was now all but jammed between two vast black bulks, leaving a narrow # Dardanelles between their long lengths. But by desperate endeavor we at last # shot into a temporary opening; then giving way rapidly, and at the same time # earnestly watching for another outlet. After many similar hair-breadth escapes, # we at last swiftly glided into what had just been one of the outer circles, but # now crossed by random whales, all violently making for one centre. This lucky # salvation was cheaply purchased by the loss of Queequeg’s hat, who, while # standing in the bows to prick the fugitive whales, had his hat taken clean from # his head by the air-eddy made by the sudden tossing of a pair of broad flukes # close by. # # Riotous and disordered as the universal commotion now was, it soon resolved # itself into what seemed a systematic movement; for having clumped together at # last in one dense body, they then renewed their onward flight with augmented # fleetness. Further pursuit was useless; but the boats still lingered in their # wake to pick up what drugged whales might be dropped astern, and likewise to # secure one which Flask had killed and waifed. The waif is a pennoned pole, two # or three of which are carried by every boat; and which, when additional game is # at hand, are inserted upright into the floating body of a dead whale, both to # mark its place on the sea, and also as token of prior possession, should the # boats of any other ship draw near. # # The result of this lowering was somewhat illustrative of that sagacious saying # in the Fishery,—the more whales the less fish. Of all the drugged whales only # one was captured. The rest contrived to escape for the time, but only to be # taken, as will hereafter be seen, by some other craft than the Pequod. # # # # # # CHAPTER 88. Schools and Schoolmasters. # # The previous chapter gave account of an immense body or herd of Sperm Whales, # and there was also then given the probable cause inducing those vast # aggregations. # # Now, though such great bodies are at times encountered, yet, as must have been # seen, even at the present day, small detached bands are occasionally observed, # embracing from twenty to fifty individuals each. Such bands are known as # schools. They generally are of two sorts; those composed almost entirely of # females, and those mustering none but young vigorous males, or bulls, as they # are familiarly designated. # # In cavalier attendance upon the school of females, you invariably see a male of # full grown magnitude, but not old; who, upon any alarm, evinces his gallantry by # falling in the rear and covering the flight of his ladies. In truth, this # gentleman is a luxurious Ottoman, swimming about over the watery world, # surroundingly accompanied by all the solaces and endearments of the harem. The # contrast between this Ottoman and his concubines is striking; because, while he # is always of the largest leviathanic proportions, the ladies, even at full # growth, are not more than one-third of the bulk of an average-sized male. They # are comparatively delicate, indeed; I dare say, not to exceed half a dozen yards # round the waist. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied, that upon the whole they are # hereditarily entitled to en bon point. # # It is very curious to watch this harem and its lord in their indolent ramblings. # Like fashionables, they are for ever on the move in leisurely search of variety. # You meet them on the Line in time for the full flower of the Equatorial feeding # season, having just returned, perhaps, from spending the summer in the Northern # seas, and so cheating summer of all unpleasant weariness and warmth. By the time # they have lounged up and down the promenade of the Equator awhile, they start # for the Oriental waters in anticipation of the cool season there, and so evade # the other excessive temperature of the year. # # When serenely advancing on one of these journeys, if any strange suspicious # sights are seen, my lord whale keeps a wary eye on his interesting family. # Should any unwarrantably pert young Leviathan coming that way, presume to draw # confidentially close to one of the ladies, with what prodigious fury the Bashaw # assails him, and chases him away! High times, indeed, if unprincipled young # rakes like him are to be permitted to invade the sanctity of domestic bliss; # though do what the Bashaw will, he cannot keep the most notorious Lothario out # of his bed; for, alas! all fish bed in common. As ashore, the ladies often cause # the most terrible duels among their rival admirers; just so with the whales, who # sometimes come to deadly battle, and all for love. They fence with their long # lower jaws, sometimes locking them together, and so striving for the supremacy # like elks that warringly interweave their antlers. Not a few are captured having # the deep scars of these encounters,—furrowed heads, broken teeth, scolloped # fins; and in some instances, wrenched and dislocated mouths. # # But supposing the invader of domestic bliss to betake himself away at the first # rush of the harem’s lord, then is it very diverting to watch that lord. Gently # he insinuates his vast bulk among them again and revels there awhile, still in # tantalizing vicinity to young Lothario, like pious Solomon devoutly worshipping # among his thousand concubines. Granting other whales to be in sight, the # fishermen will seldom give chase to one of these Grand Turks; for these Grand # Turks are too lavish of their strength, and hence their unctuousness is small. # As for the sons and the daughters they beget, why, those sons and daughters must # take care of themselves; at least, with only the maternal help. For like certain # other omnivorous roving lovers that might be named, my Lord Whale has no taste # for the nursery, however much for the bower; and so, being a great traveller, he # leaves his anonymous babies all over the world; every baby an exotic. In good # time, nevertheless, as the ardour of youth declines; as years and dumps # increase; as reflection lends her solemn pauses; in short, as a general # lassitude overtakes the sated Turk; then a love of ease and virtue supplants the # love for maidens; our Ottoman enters upon the impotent, repentant, admonitory # stage of life, forswears, disbands the harem, and grown to an exemplary, sulky # old soul, goes about all alone among the meridians and parallels saying his # prayers, and warning each young Leviathan from his amorous errors. # # Now, as the harem of whales is called by the fishermen a school, so is the lord # and master of that school technically known as the schoolmaster. It is therefore # not in strict character, however admirably satirical, that after going to school # himself, he should then go abroad inculcating not what he learned there, but the # folly of it. His title, schoolmaster, would very naturally seem derived from the # name bestowed upon the harem itself, but some have surmised that the man who # first thus entitled this sort of Ottoman whale, must have read the memoirs of # Vidocq, and informed himself what sort of a country-schoolmaster that famous # Frenchman was in his younger days, and what was the nature of those occult # lessons he inculcated into some of his pupils. # # The same secludedness and isolation to which the schoolmaster whale betakes # himself in his advancing years, is true of all aged Sperm Whales. Almost # universally, a lone whale—as a solitary Leviathan is called—proves an ancient # one. Like venerable moss-bearded Daniel Boone, he will have no one near him but # Nature herself; and her he takes to wife in the wilderness of waters, and the # best of wives she is, though she keeps so many moody secrets. # # The schools composing none but young and vigorous males, previously mentioned, # offer a strong contrast to the harem schools. For while those female whales are # characteristically timid, the young males, or forty-barrel-bulls, as they call # them, are by far the most pugnacious of all Leviathans, and proverbially the # most dangerous to encounter; excepting those wondrous grey-headed, grizzled # whales, sometimes met, and these will fight you like grim fiends exasperated by # a penal gout. # # The Forty-barrel-bull schools are larger than the harem schools. Like a mob of # young collegians, they are full of fight, fun, and wickedness, tumbling round # the world at such a reckless, rollicking rate, that no prudent underwriter would # insure them any more than he would a riotous lad at Yale or Harvard. They soon # relinquish this turbulence though, and when about three-fourths grown, break up, # and separately go about in quest of settlements, that is, harems. # # Another point of difference between the male and female schools is still more # characteristic of the sexes. Say you strike a Forty-barrel-bull—poor devil! all # his comrades quit him. But strike a member of the harem school, and her # companions swim around her with every token of concern, sometimes lingering so # near her and so long, as themselves to fall a prey. # # # # # # CHAPTER 89. Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish. # # The allusion to the waif and waif-poles in the last chapter but one, # necessitates some account of the laws and regulations of the whale fishery, of # which the waif may be deemed the grand symbol and badge. # # It frequently happens that when several ships are cruising in company, a whale # may be struck by one vessel, then escape, and be finally killed and captured by # another vessel; and herein are indirectly comprised many minor contingencies, # all partaking of this one grand feature. For example,—after a weary and perilous # chase and capture of a whale, the body may get loose from the ship by reason of # a violent storm; and drifting far away to leeward, be retaken by a second # whaler, who, in a calm, snugly tows it alongside, without risk of life or line. # Thus the most vexatious and violent disputes would often arise between the # fishermen, were there not some written or unwritten, universal, undisputed law # applicable to all cases. # # Perhaps the only formal whaling code authorized by legislative enactment, was # that of Holland. It was decreed by the States-General in A.D. 1695. But though # no other nation has ever had any written whaling law, yet the American fishermen # have been their own legislators and lawyers in this matter. They have provided a # system which for terse comprehensiveness surpasses Justinian’s Pandects and the # By-laws of the Chinese Society for the Suppression of Meddling with other # People’s Business. Yes; these laws might be engraven on a Queen Anne’s farthing, # or the barb of a harpoon, and worn round the neck, so small are they. # # I. A Fast-Fish belongs to the party fast to it. # # II. A Loose-Fish is fair game for anybody who can soonest catch it. # # But what plays the mischief with this masterly code is the admirable brevity of # it, which necessitates a vast volume of commentaries to expound it. # # First: What is a Fast-Fish? Alive or dead a fish is technically fast, when it is # connected with an occupied ship or boat, by any medium at all controllable by # the occupant or occupants,—a mast, an oar, a nine-inch cable, a telegraph wire, # or a strand of cobweb, it is all the same. Likewise a fish is technically fast # when it bears a waif, or any other recognised symbol of possession; so long as # the party waifing it plainly evince their ability at any time to take it # alongside, as well as their intention so to do. # # These are scientific commentaries; but the commentaries of the whalemen # themselves sometimes consist in hard words and harder knocks—the # Coke-upon-Littleton of the fist. True, among the more upright and honorable # whalemen allowances are always made for peculiar cases, where it would be an # outrageous moral injustice for one party to claim possession of a whale # previously chased or killed by another party. But others are by no means so # scrupulous. # # Some fifty years ago there was a curious case of whale-trover litigated in # England, wherein the plaintiffs set forth that after a hard chase of a whale in # the Northern seas; and when indeed they (the plaintiffs) had succeeded in # harpooning the fish; they were at last, through peril of their lives, obliged to # forsake not only their lines, but their boat itself. Ultimately the defendants # (the crew of another ship) came up with the whale, struck, killed, seized, and # finally appropriated it before the very eyes of the plaintiffs. And when those # defendants were remonstrated with, their captain snapped his fingers in the # plaintiffs’ teeth, and assured them that by way of doxology to the deed he had # done, he would now retain their line, harpoons, and boat, which had remained # attached to the whale at the time of the seizure. Wherefore the plaintiffs now # sued for the recovery of the value of their whale, line, harpoons, and boat. # # Mr. Erskine was counsel for the defendants; Lord Ellenborough was the judge. In # the course of the defence, the witty Erskine went on to illustrate his position, # by alluding to a recent crim. con. case, wherein a gentleman, after in vain # trying to bridle his wife’s viciousness, had at last abandoned her upon the seas # of life; but in the course of years, repenting of that step, he instituted an # action to recover possession of her. Erskine was on the other side; and he then # supported it by saying, that though the gentleman had originally harpooned the # lady, and had once had her fast, and only by reason of the great stress of her # plunging viciousness, had at last abandoned her; yet abandon her he did, so that # she became a loose-fish; and therefore when a subsequent gentleman re-harpooned # her, the lady then became that subsequent gentleman’s property, along with # whatever harpoon might have been found sticking in her. # # Now in the present case Erskine contended that the examples of the whale and the # lady were reciprocally illustrative of each other. # # These pleadings, and the counter pleadings, being duly heard, the very learned # judge in set terms decided, to wit,—That as for the boat, he awarded it to the # plaintiffs, because they had merely abandoned it to save their lives; but that # with regard to the controverted whale, harpoons, and line, they belonged to the # defendants; the whale, because it was a Loose-Fish at the time of the final # capture; and the harpoons and line because when the fish made off with them, it # (the fish) acquired a property in those articles; and hence anybody who # afterwards took the fish had a right to them. Now the defendants afterwards took # the fish; ergo, the aforesaid articles were theirs. # # A common man looking at this decision of the very learned Judge, might possibly # object to it. But ploughed up to the primary rock of the matter, the two great # principles laid down in the twin whaling laws previously quoted, and applied and # elucidated by Lord Ellenborough in the above cited case; these two laws touching # Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish, I say, will, on reflection, be found the fundamentals # of all human jurisprudence; for notwithstanding its complicated tracery of # sculpture, the Temple of the Law, like the Temple of the Philistines, has but # two props to stand on. # # Is it not a saying in every one’s mouth, Possession is half of the law: that is, # regardless of how the thing came into possession? But often possession is the # whole of the law. What are the sinews and souls of Russian serfs and Republican # slaves but Fast-Fish, whereof possession is the whole of the law? What to the # rapacious landlord is the widow’s last mite but a Fast-Fish? What is yonder # undetected villain’s marble mansion with a door-plate for a waif; what is that # but a Fast-Fish? What is the ruinous discount which Mordecai, the broker, gets # from poor Woebegone, the bankrupt, on a loan to keep Woebegone’s family from # starvation; what is that ruinous discount but a Fast-Fish? What is the # Archbishop of Savesoul’s income of £100,000 seized from the scant bread and # cheese of hundreds of thousands of broken-backed laborers (all sure of heaven # without any of Savesoul’s help) what is that globular £100,000 but a Fast-Fish? # What are the Duke of Dunder’s hereditary towns and hamlets but Fast-Fish? What # to that redoubted harpooneer, John Bull, is poor Ireland, but a Fast-Fish? What # to that apostolic lancer, Brother Jonathan, is Texas but a Fast-Fish? And # concerning all these, is not Possession the whole of the law? # # But if the doctrine of Fast-Fish be pretty generally applicable, the kindred # doctrine of Loose-Fish is still more widely so. That is internationally and # universally applicable. # # What was America in 1492 but a Loose-Fish, in which Columbus struck the Spanish # standard by way of waifing it for his royal master and mistress? What was Poland # to the Czar? What Greece to the Turk? What India to England? What at last will # Mexico be to the United States? All Loose-Fish. # # What are the Rights of Man and the Liberties of the World but Loose-Fish? What # all men’s minds and opinions but Loose-Fish? What is the principle of religious # belief in them but a Loose-Fish? What to the ostentatious smuggling verbalists # are the thoughts of thinkers but Loose-Fish? What is the great globe itself but # a Loose-Fish? And what are you, reader, but a Loose-Fish and a Fast-Fish, too? # # # # # # CHAPTER 90. Heads or Tails. # # “De balena vero sufficit, si rex habeat caput, et regina caudam.” Bracton, l. 3, # c. 3. # # Latin from the books of the Laws of England, which taken along with the context, # means, that of all whales captured by anybody on the coast of that land, the # King, as Honorary Grand Harpooneer, must have the head, and the Queen be # respectfully presented with the tail. A division which, in the whale, is much # like halving an apple; there is no intermediate remainder. Now as this law, # under a modified form, is to this day in force in England; and as it offers in # various respects a strange anomaly touching the general law of Fast and # Loose-Fish, it is here treated of in a separate chapter, on the same courteous # principle that prompts the English railways to be at the expense of a separate # car, specially reserved for the accommodation of royalty. In the first place, in # curious proof of the fact that the above-mentioned law is still in force, I # proceed to lay before you a circumstance that happened within the last two # years. # # It seems that some honest mariners of Dover, or Sandwich, or some one of the # Cinque Ports, had after a hard chase succeeded in killing and beaching a fine # whale which they had originally descried afar off from the shore. Now the Cinque # Ports are partially or somehow under the jurisdiction of a sort of policeman or # beadle, called a Lord Warden. Holding the office directly from the crown, I # believe, all the royal emoluments incident to the Cinque Port territories become # by assignment his. By some writers this office is called a sinecure. But not so. # Because the Lord Warden is busily employed at times in fobbing his perquisites; # which are his chiefly by virtue of that same fobbing of them. # # Now when these poor sun-burnt mariners, bare-footed, and with their trowsers # rolled high up on their eely legs, had wearily hauled their fat fish high and # dry, promising themselves a good £150 from the precious oil and bone; and in # fantasy sipping rare tea with their wives, and good ale with their cronies, upon # the strength of their respective shares; up steps a very learned and most # Christian and charitable gentleman, with a copy of Blackstone under his arm; and # laying it upon the whale’s head, he says—“Hands off! this fish, my masters, is a # Fast-Fish. I seize it as the Lord Warden’s.” Upon this the poor mariners in # their respectful consternation—so truly English—knowing not what to say, fall to # vigorously scratching their heads all round; meanwhile ruefully glancing from # the whale to the stranger. But that did in nowise mend the matter, or at all # soften the hard heart of the learned gentleman with the copy of Blackstone. At # length one of them, after long scratching about for his ideas, made bold to # speak, # # “Please, sir, who is the Lord Warden?” # # “The Duke.” # # “But the duke had nothing to do with taking this fish?” # # “It is his.” # # “We have been at great trouble, and peril, and some expense, and is all that to # go to the Duke’s benefit; we getting nothing at all for our pains but our # blisters?” # # “It is his.” # # “Is the Duke so very poor as to be forced to this desperate mode of getting a # livelihood?” # # “It is his.” # # “I thought to relieve my old bed-ridden mother by part of my share of this # whale.” # # “It is his.” # # “Won’t the Duke be content with a quarter or a half?” # # “It is his.” # # In a word, the whale was seized and sold, and his Grace the Duke of Wellington # received the money. Thinking that viewed in some particular lights, the case # might by a bare possibility in some small degree be deemed, under the # circumstances, a rather hard one, an honest clergyman of the town respectfully # addressed a note to his Grace, begging him to take the case of those unfortunate # mariners into full consideration. To which my Lord Duke in substance replied # (both letters were published) that he had already done so, and received the # money, and would be obliged to the reverend gentleman if for the future he (the # reverend gentleman) would decline meddling with other people’s business. Is this # the still militant old man, standing at the corners of the three kingdoms, on # all hands coercing alms of beggars? # # It will readily be seen that in this case the alleged right of the Duke to the # whale was a delegated one from the Sovereign. We must needs inquire then on what # principle the Sovereign is originally invested with that right. The law itself # has already been set forth. But Plowdon gives us the reason for it. Says # Plowdon, the whale so caught belongs to the King and Queen, “because of its # superior excellence.” And by the soundest commentators this has ever been held a # cogent argument in such matters. # # But why should the King have the head, and the Queen the tail? A reason for # that, ye lawyers! # # In his treatise on “Queen-Gold,” or Queen-pinmoney, an old King’s Bench author, # one William Prynne, thus discourseth: “Ye tail is ye Queen’s, that ye Queen’s # wardrobe may be supplied with ye whalebone.” Now this was written at a time when # the black limber bone of the Greenland or Right whale was largely used in # ladies’ bodices. But this same bone is not in the tail; it is in the head, which # is a sad mistake for a sagacious lawyer like Prynne. But is the Queen a mermaid, # to be presented with a tail? An allegorical meaning may lurk here. # # There are two royal fish so styled by the English law writers—the whale and the # sturgeon; both royal property under certain limitations, and nominally supplying # the tenth branch of the crown’s ordinary revenue. I know not that any other # author has hinted of the matter; but by inference it seems to me that the # sturgeon must be divided in the same way as the whale, the King receiving the # highly dense and elastic head peculiar to that fish, which, symbolically # regarded, may possibly be humorously grounded upon some presumed congeniality. # And thus there seems a reason in all things, even in law. # # # # # # CHAPTER 91. The Pequod Meets The Rose-Bud. # # “In vain it was to rake for Ambergriese in the paunch of this Leviathan, # insufferable fetor denying not inquiry.” Sir T. Browne, V.E. # # It was a week or two after the last whaling scene recounted, and when we were # slowly sailing over a sleepy, vapory, mid-day sea, that the many noses on the # Pequod’s deck proved more vigilant discoverers than the three pairs of eyes # aloft. A peculiar and not very pleasant smell was smelt in the sea. # # “I will bet something now,” said Stubb, “that somewhere hereabouts are some of # those drugged whales we tickled the other day. I thought they would keel up # before long.” # # Presently, the vapors in advance slid aside; and there in the distance lay a # ship, whose furled sails betokened that some sort of whale must be alongside. As # we glided nearer, the stranger showed French colours from his peak; and by the # eddying cloud of vulture sea-fowl that circled, and hovered, and swooped around # him, it was plain that the whale alongside must be what the fishermen call a # blasted whale, that is, a whale that has died unmolested on the sea, and so # floated an unappropriated corpse. It may well be conceived, what an unsavory # odor such a mass must exhale; worse than an Assyrian city in the plague, when # the living are incompetent to bury the departed. So intolerable indeed is it # regarded by some, that no cupidity could persuade them to moor alongside of it. # Yet are there those who will still do it; notwithstanding the fact that the oil # obtained from such subjects is of a very inferior quality, and by no means of # the nature of attar-of-rose. # # Coming still nearer with the expiring breeze, we saw that the Frenchman had a # second whale alongside; and this second whale seemed even more of a nosegay than # the first. In truth, it turned out to be one of those problematical whales that # seem to dry up and die with a sort of prodigious dyspepsia, or indigestion; # leaving their defunct bodies almost entirely bankrupt of anything like oil. # Nevertheless, in the proper place we shall see that no knowing fisherman will # ever turn up his nose at such a whale as this, however much he may shun blasted # whales in general. # # The Pequod had now swept so nigh to the stranger, that Stubb vowed he recognised # his cutting spade-pole entangled in the lines that were knotted round the tail # of one of these whales. # # “There’s a pretty fellow, now,” he banteringly laughed, standing in the ship’s # bows, “there’s a jackal for ye! I well know that these Crappoes of Frenchmen are # but poor devils in the fishery; sometimes lowering their boats for breakers, # mistaking them for Sperm Whale spouts; yes, and sometimes sailing from their # port with their hold full of boxes of tallow candles, and cases of snuffers, # foreseeing that all the oil they will get won’t be enough to dip the Captain’s # wick into; aye, we all know these things; but look ye, here’s a Crappo that is # content with our leavings, the drugged whale there, I mean; aye, and is content # too with scraping the dry bones of that other precious fish he has there. Poor # devil! I say, pass round a hat, some one, and let’s make him a present of a # little oil for dear charity’s sake. For what oil he’ll get from that drugged # whale there, wouldn’t be fit to burn in a jail; no, not in a condemned cell. And # as for the other whale, why, I’ll agree to get more oil by chopping up and # trying out these three masts of ours, than he’ll get from that bundle of bones; # though, now that I think of it, it may contain something worth a good deal more # than oil; yes, ambergris. I wonder now if our old man has thought of that. It’s # worth trying. Yes, I’m for it;” and so saying he started for the quarter-deck. # # By this time the faint air had become a complete calm; so that whether or no, # the Pequod was now fairly entrapped in the smell, with no hope of escaping # except by its breezing up again. Issuing from the cabin, Stubb now called his # boat’s crew, and pulled off for the stranger. Drawing across her bow, he # perceived that in accordance with the fanciful French taste, the upper part of # her stem-piece was carved in the likeness of a huge drooping stalk, was painted # green, and for thorns had copper spikes projecting from it here and there; the # whole terminating in a symmetrical folded bulb of a bright red colour. Upon her # head boards, in large gilt letters, he read “Bouton de Rose,”—Rose-button, or # Rose-bud; and this was the romantic name of this aromatic ship. # # Though Stubb did not understand the Bouton part of the inscription, yet the word # rose, and the bulbous figure-head put together, sufficiently explained the whole # to him. # # “A wooden rose-bud, eh?” he cried with his hand to his nose, “that will do very # well; but how like all creation it smells!” # # Now in order to hold direct communication with the people on deck, he had to # pull round the bows to the starboard side, and thus come close to the blasted # whale; and so talk over it. # # Arrived then at this spot, with one hand still to his nose, he # bawled—“Bouton-de-Rose, ahoy! are there any of you Bouton-de-Roses that speak # English?” # # “Yes,” rejoined a Guernsey-man from the bulwarks, who turned out to be the # chief-mate. # # “Well, then, my Bouton-de-Rose-bud, have you seen the White Whale?” # # “What whale?” # # “The White Whale—a Sperm Whale—Moby Dick, have ye seen him? # # “Never heard of such a whale. Cachalot Blanche! White Whale—no.” # # “Very good, then; good bye now, and I’ll call again in a minute.” # # Then rapidly pulling back towards the Pequod, and seeing Ahab leaning over the # quarter-deck rail awaiting his report, he moulded his two hands into a trumpet # and shouted—“No, Sir! No!” Upon which Ahab retired, and Stubb returned to the # Frenchman. # # He now perceived that the Guernsey-man, who had just got into the chains, and # was using a cutting-spade, had slung his nose in a sort of bag. # # “What’s the matter with your nose, there?” said Stubb. “Broke it?” # # “I wish it was broken, or that I didn’t have any nose at all!” answered the # Guernsey-man, who did not seem to relish the job he was at very much. “But what # are you holding yours for?” # # “Oh, nothing! It’s a wax nose; I have to hold it on. Fine day, ain’t it? Air # rather gardenny, I should say; throw us a bunch of posies, will ye, # Bouton-de-Rose?” # # “What in the devil’s name do you want here?” roared the Guernseyman, flying into # a sudden passion. # # “Oh! keep cool—cool? yes, that’s the word! why don’t you pack those whales in # ice while you’re working at ’em? But joking aside, though; do you know, # Rose-bud, that it’s all nonsense trying to get any oil out of such whales? As # for that dried up one, there, he hasn’t a gill in his whole carcase.” # # “I know that well enough; but, d’ye see, the Captain here won’t believe it; this # is his first voyage; he was a Cologne manufacturer before. But come aboard, and # mayhap he’ll believe you, if he won’t me; and so I’ll get out of this dirty # scrape.” # # “Anything to oblige ye, my sweet and pleasant fellow,” rejoined Stubb, and with # that he soon mounted to the deck. There a queer scene presented itself. The # sailors, in tasselled caps of red worsted, were getting the heavy tackles in # readiness for the whales. But they worked rather slow and talked very fast, and # seemed in anything but a good humor. All their noses upwardly projected from # their faces like so many jib-booms. Now and then pairs of them would drop their # work, and run up to the mast-head to get some fresh air. Some thinking they # would catch the plague, dipped oakum in coal-tar, and at intervals held it to # their nostrils. Others having broken the stems of their pipes almost short off # at the bowl, were vigorously puffing tobacco-smoke, so that it constantly filled # their olfactories. # # Stubb was struck by a shower of outcries and anathemas proceeding from the # Captain’s round-house abaft; and looking in that direction saw a fiery face # thrust from behind the door, which was held ajar from within. This was the # tormented surgeon, who, after in vain remonstrating against the proceedings of # the day, had betaken himself to the Captain’s round-house (cabinet he called it) # to avoid the pest; but still, could not help yelling out his entreaties and # indignations at times. # # Marking all this, Stubb argued well for his scheme, and turning to the # Guernsey-man had a little chat with him, during which the stranger mate # expressed his detestation of his Captain as a conceited ignoramus, who had # brought them all into so unsavory and unprofitable a pickle. Sounding him # carefully, Stubb further perceived that the Guernsey-man had not the slightest # suspicion concerning the ambergris. He therefore held his peace on that head, # but otherwise was quite frank and confidential with him, so that the two quickly # concocted a little plan for both circumventing and satirizing the Captain, # without his at all dreaming of distrusting their sincerity. According to this # little plan of theirs, the Guernsey-man, under cover of an interpreter’s office, # was to tell the Captain what he pleased, but as coming from Stubb; and as for # Stubb, he was to utter any nonsense that should come uppermost in him during the # interview. # # By this time their destined victim appeared from his cabin. He was a small and # dark, but rather delicate looking man for a sea-captain, with large whiskers and # moustache, however; and wore a red cotton velvet vest with watch-seals at his # side. To this gentleman, Stubb was now politely introduced by the Guernsey-man, # who at once ostentatiously put on the aspect of interpreting between them. # # “What shall I say to him first?” said he. # # “Why,” said Stubb, eyeing the velvet vest and the watch and seals, “you may as # well begin by telling him that he looks a sort of babyish to me, though I don’t # pretend to be a judge.” # # “He says, Monsieur,” said the Guernsey-man, in French, turning to his captain, # “that only yesterday his ship spoke a vessel, whose captain and chief-mate, with # six sailors, had all died of a fever caught from a blasted whale they had # brought alongside.” # # Upon this the captain started, and eagerly desired to know more. # # “What now?” said the Guernsey-man to Stubb. # # “Why, since he takes it so easy, tell him that now I have eyed him carefully, # I’m quite certain that he’s no more fit to command a whale-ship than a St. Jago # monkey. In fact, tell him from me he’s a baboon.” # # “He vows and declares, Monsieur, that the other whale, the dried one, is far # more deadly than the blasted one; in fine, Monsieur, he conjures us, as we value # our lives, to cut loose from these fish.” # # Instantly the captain ran forward, and in a loud voice commanded his crew to # desist from hoisting the cutting-tackles, and at once cast loose the cables and # chains confining the whales to the ship. # # “What now?” said the Guernsey-man, when the Captain had returned to them. # # “Why, let me see; yes, you may as well tell him now that—that—in fact, tell him # I’ve diddled him, and (aside to himself) perhaps somebody else.” # # “He says, Monsieur, that he’s very happy to have been of any service to us.” # # Hearing this, the captain vowed that they were the grateful parties (meaning # himself and mate) and concluded by inviting Stubb down into his cabin to drink a # bottle of Bordeaux. # # “He wants you to take a glass of wine with him,” said the interpreter. # # “Thank him heartily; but tell him it’s against my principles to drink with the # man I’ve diddled. In fact, tell him I must go.” # # “He says, Monsieur, that his principles won’t admit of his drinking; but that if # Monsieur wants to live another day to drink, then Monsieur had best drop all # four boats, and pull the ship away from these whales, for it’s so calm they # won’t drift.” # # By this time Stubb was over the side, and getting into his boat, hailed the # Guernsey-man to this effect,—that having a long tow-line in his boat, he would # do what he could to help them, by pulling out the lighter whale of the two from # the ship’s side. While the Frenchman’s boats, then, were engaged in towing the # ship one way, Stubb benevolently towed away at his whale the other way, # ostentatiously slacking out a most unusually long tow-line. # # Presently a breeze sprang up; Stubb feigned to cast off from the whale; hoisting # his boats, the Frenchman soon increased his distance, while the Pequod slid in # between him and Stubb’s whale. Whereupon Stubb quickly pulled to the floating # body, and hailing the Pequod to give notice of his intentions, at once proceeded # to reap the fruit of his unrighteous cunning. Seizing his sharp boat-spade, he # commenced an excavation in the body, a little behind the side fin. You would # almost have thought he was digging a cellar there in the sea; and when at length # his spade struck against the gaunt ribs, it was like turning up old Roman tiles # and pottery buried in fat English loam. His boat’s crew were all in high # excitement, eagerly helping their chief, and looking as anxious as gold-hunters. # # And all the time numberless fowls were diving, and ducking, and screaming, and # yelling, and fighting around them. Stubb was beginning to look disappointed, # especially as the horrible nosegay increased, when suddenly from out the very # heart of this plague, there stole a faint stream of perfume, which flowed # through the tide of bad smells without being absorbed by it, as one river will # flow into and then along with another, without at all blending with it for a # time. # # “I have it, I have it,” cried Stubb, with delight, striking something in the # subterranean regions, “a purse! a purse!” # # Dropping his spade, he thrust both hands in, and drew out handfuls of something # that looked like ripe Windsor soap, or rich mottled old cheese; very unctuous # and savory withal. You might easily dent it with your thumb; it is of a hue # between yellow and ash colour. And this, good friends, is ambergris, worth a # gold guinea an ounce to any druggist. Some six handfuls were obtained; but more # was unavoidably lost in the sea, and still more, perhaps, might have been # secured were it not for impatient Ahab’s loud command to Stubb to desist, and # come on board, else the ship would bid them good bye. # # # # # # CHAPTER 92. Ambergris. # # Now this ambergris is a very curious substance, and so important as an article # of commerce, that in 1791 a certain Nantucket-born Captain Coffin was examined # at the bar of the English House of Commons on that subject. For at that time, # and indeed until a comparatively late day, the precise origin of ambergris # remained, like amber itself, a problem to the learned. Though the word ambergris # is but the French compound for grey amber, yet the two substances are quite # distinct. For amber, though at times found on the sea-coast, is also dug up in # some far inland soils, whereas ambergris is never found except upon the sea. # Besides, amber is a hard, transparent, brittle, odorless substance, used for # mouth-pieces to pipes, for beads and ornaments; but ambergris is soft, waxy, and # so highly fragrant and spicy, that it is largely used in perfumery, in pastiles, # precious candles, hair-powders, and pomatum. The Turks use it in cooking, and # also carry it to Mecca, for the same purpose that frankincense is carried to St. # Peter’s in Rome. Some wine merchants drop a few grains into claret, to flavor # it. # # Who would think, then, that such fine ladies and gentlemen should regale # themselves with an essence found in the inglorious bowels of a sick whale! Yet # so it is. By some, ambergris is supposed to be the cause, and by others the # effect, of the dyspepsia in the whale. How to cure such a dyspepsia it were hard # to say, unless by administering three or four boat loads of Brandreth’s pills, # and then running out of harm’s way, as laborers do in blasting rocks. # # I have forgotten to say that there were found in this ambergris, certain hard, # round, bony plates, which at first Stubb thought might be sailors’ trowsers # buttons; but it afterwards turned out that they were nothing more than pieces of # small squid bones embalmed in that manner. # # Now that the incorruption of this most fragrant ambergris should be found in the # heart of such decay; is this nothing? Bethink thee of that saying of St. Paul in # Corinthians, about corruption and incorruption; how that we are sown in # dishonor, but raised in glory. And likewise call to mind that saying of # Paracelsus about what it is that maketh the best musk. Also forget not the # strange fact that of all things of ill-savor, Cologne-water, in its rudimental # manufacturing stages, is the worst. # # I should like to conclude the chapter with the above appeal, but cannot, owing # to my anxiety to repel a charge often made against whalemen, and which, in the # estimation of some already biased minds, might be considered as indirectly # substantiated by what has been said of the Frenchman’s two whales. Elsewhere in # this volume the slanderous aspersion has been disproved, that the vocation of # whaling is throughout a slatternly, untidy business. But there is another thing # to rebut. They hint that all whales always smell bad. Now how did this odious # stigma originate? # # I opine, that it is plainly traceable to the first arrival of the Greenland # whaling ships in London, more than two centuries ago. Because those whalemen did # not then, and do not now, try out their oil at sea as the Southern ships have # always done; but cutting up the fresh blubber in small bits, thrust it through # the bung holes of large casks, and carry it home in that manner; the shortness # of the season in those Icy Seas, and the sudden and violent storms to which they # are exposed, forbidding any other course. The consequence is, that upon breaking # into the hold, and unloading one of these whale cemeteries, in the Greenland # dock, a savor is given forth somewhat similar to that arising from excavating an # old city grave-yard, for the foundations of a Lying-in Hospital. # # I partly surmise also, that this wicked charge against whalers may be likewise # imputed to the existence on the coast of Greenland, in former times, of a Dutch # village called Schmerenburgh or Smeerenberg, which latter name is the one used # by the learned Fogo Von Slack, in his great work on Smells, a text-book on that # subject. As its name imports (smeer, fat; berg, to put up), this village was # founded in order to afford a place for the blubber of the Dutch whale fleet to # be tried out, without being taken home to Holland for that purpose. It was a # collection of furnaces, fat-kettles, and oil sheds; and when the works were in # full operation certainly gave forth no very pleasant savor. But all this is # quite different with a South Sea Sperm Whaler; which in a voyage of four years # perhaps, after completely filling her hold with oil, does not, perhaps, consume # fifty days in the business of boiling out; and in the state that it is casked, # the oil is nearly scentless. The truth is, that living or dead, if but decently # treated, whales as a species are by no means creatures of ill odor; nor can # whalemen be recognised, as the people of the middle ages affected to detect a # Jew in the company, by the nose. Nor indeed can the whale possibly be otherwise # than fragrant, when, as a general thing, he enjoys such high health; taking # abundance of exercise; always out of doors; though, it is true, seldom in the # open air. I say, that the motion of a Sperm Whale’s flukes above water dispenses # a perfume, as when a musk-scented lady rustles her dress in a warm parlor. What # then shall I liken the Sperm Whale to for fragrance, considering his magnitude? # Must it not be to that famous elephant, with jewelled tusks, and redolent with # myrrh, which was led out of an Indian town to do honor to Alexander the Great? # # # # # # CHAPTER 93. The Castaway. # # It was but some few days after encountering the Frenchman, that a most # significant event befell the most insignificant of the Pequod’s crew; an event # most lamentable; and which ended in providing the sometimes madly merry and # predestinated craft with a living and ever accompanying prophecy of whatever # shattered sequel might prove her own. # # Now, in the whale ship, it is not every one that goes in the boats. Some few # hands are reserved called ship-keepers, whose province it is to work the vessel # while the boats are pursuing the whale. As a general thing, these ship-keepers # are as hardy fellows as the men comprising the boats’ crews. But if there happen # to be an unduly slender, clumsy, or timorous wight in the ship, that wight is # certain to be made a ship-keeper. It was so in the Pequod with the little negro # Pippin by nick-name, Pip by abbreviation. Poor Pip! ye have heard of him before; # ye must remember his tambourine on that dramatic midnight, so gloomy-jolly. # # In outer aspect, Pip and Dough-Boy made a match, like a black pony and a white # one, of equal developments, though of dissimilar colour, driven in one eccentric # span. But while hapless Dough-Boy was by nature dull and torpid in his # intellects, Pip, though over tender-hearted, was at bottom very bright, with # that pleasant, genial, jolly brightness peculiar to his tribe; a tribe, which # ever enjoy all holidays and festivities with finer, freer relish than any other # race. For blacks, the year’s calendar should show naught but three hundred and # sixty-five Fourth of Julys and New Year’s Days. Nor smile so, while I write that # this little black was brilliant, for even blackness has its brilliancy; behold # yon lustrous ebony, panelled in king’s cabinets. But Pip loved life, and all # life’s peaceable securities; so that the panic-striking business in which he had # somehow unaccountably become entrapped, had most sadly blurred his brightness; # though, as ere long will be seen, what was thus temporarily subdued in him, in # the end was destined to be luridly illumined by strange wild fires, that # fictitiously showed him off to ten times the natural lustre with which in his # native Tolland County in Connecticut, he had once enlivened many a fiddler’s # frolic on the green; and at melodious even-tide, with his gay ha-ha! had turned # the round horizon into one star-belled tambourine. So, though in the clear air # of day, suspended against a blue-veined neck, the pure-watered diamond drop will # healthful glow; yet, when the cunning jeweller would show you the diamond in its # most impressive lustre, he lays it against a gloomy ground, and then lights it # up, not by the sun, but by some unnatural gases. Then come out those fiery # effulgences, infernally superb; then the evil-blazing diamond, once the divinest # symbol of the crystal skies, looks like some crown-jewel stolen from the King of # Hell. But let us to the story. # # It came to pass, that in the ambergris affair Stubb’s after-oarsman chanced so # to sprain his hand, as for a time to become quite maimed; and, temporarily, Pip # was put into his place. # # The first time Stubb lowered with him, Pip evinced much nervousness; but # happily, for that time, escaped close contact with the whale; and therefore came # off not altogether discreditably; though Stubb observing him, took care, # afterwards, to exhort him to cherish his courageousness to the utmost, for he # might often find it needful. # # Now upon the second lowering, the boat paddled upon the whale; and as the fish # received the darted iron, it gave its customary rap, which happened, in this # instance, to be right under poor Pip’s seat. The involuntary consternation of # the moment caused him to leap, paddle in hand, out of the boat; and in such a # way, that part of the slack whale line coming against his chest, he breasted it # overboard with him, so as to become entangled in it, when at last plumping into # the water. That instant the stricken whale started on a fierce run, the line # swiftly straightened; and presto! poor Pip came all foaming up to the chocks of # the boat, remorselessly dragged there by the line, which had taken several turns # around his chest and neck. # # Tashtego stood in the bows. He was full of the fire of the hunt. He hated Pip # for a poltroon. Snatching the boat-knife from its sheath, he suspended its sharp # edge over the line, and turning towards Stubb, exclaimed interrogatively, “Cut?” # Meantime Pip’s blue, choked face plainly looked, Do, for God’s sake! All passed # in a flash. In less than half a minute, this entire thing happened. # # “Damn him, cut!” roared Stubb; and so the whale was lost and Pip was saved. # # So soon as he recovered himself, the poor little negro was assailed by yells and # execrations from the crew. Tranquilly permitting these irregular cursings to # evaporate, Stubb then in a plain, business-like, but still half humorous manner, # cursed Pip officially; and that done, unofficially gave him much wholesome # advice. The substance was, Never jump from a boat, Pip, except—but all the rest # was indefinite, as the soundest advice ever is. Now, in general, Stick to the # boat, is your true motto in whaling; but cases will sometimes happen when Leap # from the boat, is still better. Moreover, as if perceiving at last that if he # should give undiluted conscientious advice to Pip, he would be leaving him too # wide a margin to jump in for the future; Stubb suddenly dropped all advice, and # concluded with a peremptory command, “Stick to the boat, Pip, or by the Lord, I # won’t pick you up if you jump; mind that. We can’t afford to lose whales by the # likes of you; a whale would sell for thirty times what you would, Pip, in # Alabama. Bear that in mind, and don’t jump any more.” Hereby perhaps Stubb # indirectly hinted, that though man loved his fellow, yet man is a money-making # animal, which propensity too often interferes with his benevolence. # # But we are all in the hands of the Gods; and Pip jumped again. It was under very # similar circumstances to the first performance; but this time he did not breast # out the line; and hence, when the whale started to run, Pip was left behind on # the sea, like a hurried traveller’s trunk. Alas! Stubb was but too true to his # word. It was a beautiful, bounteous, blue day; the spangled sea calm and cool, # and flatly stretching away, all round, to the horizon, like gold-beater’s skin # hammered out to the extremest. Bobbing up and down in that sea, Pip’s ebon head # showed like a head of cloves. No boat-knife was lifted when he fell so rapidly # astern. Stubb’s inexorable back was turned upon him; and the whale was winged. # In three minutes, a whole mile of shoreless ocean was between Pip and Stubb. Out # from the centre of the sea, poor Pip turned his crisp, curling, black head to # the sun, another lonely castaway, though the loftiest and the brightest. # # Now, in calm weather, to swim in the open ocean is as easy to the practised # swimmer as to ride in a spring-carriage ashore. But the awful lonesomeness is # intolerable. The intense concentration of self in the middle of such a heartless # immensity, my God! who can tell it? Mark, how when sailors in a dead calm bathe # in the open sea—mark how closely they hug their ship and only coast along her # sides. # # But had Stubb really abandoned the poor little negro to his fate? No; he did not # mean to, at least. Because there were two boats in his wake, and he supposed, no # doubt, that they would of course come up to Pip very quickly, and pick him up; # though, indeed, such considerations towards oarsmen jeopardized through their # own timidity, is not always manifested by the hunters in all similar instances; # and such instances not unfrequently occur; almost invariably in the fishery, a # coward, so called, is marked with the same ruthless detestation peculiar to # military navies and armies. # # But it so happened, that those boats, without seeing Pip, suddenly spying whales # close to them on one side, turned, and gave chase; and Stubb’s boat was now so # far away, and he and all his crew so intent upon his fish, that Pip’s ringed # horizon began to expand around him miserably. By the merest chance the ship # itself at last rescued him; but from that hour the little negro went about the # deck an idiot; such, at least, they said he was. The sea had jeeringly kept his # finite body up, but drowned the infinite of his soul. Not drowned entirely, # though. Rather carried down alive to wondrous depths, where strange shapes of # the unwarped primal world glided to and fro before his passive eyes; and the # miser-merman, Wisdom, revealed his hoarded heaps; and among the joyous, # heartless, ever-juvenile eternities, Pip saw the multitudinous, God-omnipresent, # coral insects, that out of the firmament of waters heaved the colossal orbs. He # saw God’s foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his # shipmates called him mad. So man’s insanity is heaven’s sense; and wandering # from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that celestial thought, which, to # reason, is absurd and frantic; and weal or woe, feels then uncompromised, # indifferent as his God. # # For the rest, blame not Stubb too hardly. The thing is common in that fishery; # and in the sequel of the narrative, it will then be seen what like abandonment # befell myself. # # # # # # CHAPTER 94. A Squeeze of the Hand. # # That whale of Stubb’s, so dearly purchased, was duly brought to the Pequod’s # side, where all those cutting and hoisting operations previously detailed, were # regularly gone through, even to the baling of the Heidelburgh Tun, or Case. # # While some were occupied with this latter duty, others were employed in dragging # away the larger tubs, so soon as filled with the sperm; and when the proper time # arrived, this same sperm was carefully manipulated ere going to the try-works, # of which anon. # # It had cooled and crystallized to such a degree, that when, with several others, # I sat down before a large Constantine’s bath of it, I found it strangely # concreted into lumps, here and there rolling about in the liquid part. It was # our business to squeeze these lumps back into fluid. A sweet and unctuous duty! # No wonder that in old times this sperm was such a favourite cosmetic. Such a # clearer! such a sweetener! such a softener! such a delicious molifier! After # having my hands in it for only a few minutes, my fingers felt like eels, and # began, as it were, to serpentine and spiralise. # # As I sat there at my ease, cross-legged on the deck; after the bitter exertion # at the windlass; under a blue tranquil sky; the ship under indolent sail, and # gliding so serenely along; as I bathed my hands among those soft, gentle # globules of infiltrated tissues, woven almost within the hour; as they richly # broke to my fingers, and discharged all their opulence, like fully ripe grapes # their wine; as I snuffed up that uncontaminated aroma,—literally and truly, like # the smell of spring violets; I declare to you, that for the time I lived as in a # musky meadow; I forgot all about our horrible oath; in that inexpressible sperm, # I washed my hands and my heart of it; I almost began to credit the old # Paracelsan superstition that sperm is of rare virtue in allaying the heat of # anger; while bathing in that bath, I felt divinely free from all ill-will, or # petulance, or malice, of any sort whatsoever. # # Squeeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I # myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of # insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers’ # hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, # affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I # was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes # sentimentally; as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we # longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! # Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into # each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of # kindness. # # Would that I could keep squeezing that sperm for ever! For now, since by many # prolonged, repeated experiences, I have perceived that in all cases man must # eventually lower, or at least shift, his conceit of attainable felicity; not # placing it anywhere in the intellect or the fancy; but in the wife, the heart, # the bed, the table, the saddle, the fireside, the country; now that I have # perceived all this, I am ready to squeeze case eternally. In thoughts of the # visions of the night, I saw long rows of angels in paradise, each with his hands # in a jar of spermaceti. # # Now, while discoursing of sperm, it behooves to speak of other things akin to # it, in the business of preparing the sperm whale for the try-works. # # First comes white-horse, so called, which is obtained from the tapering part of # the fish, and also from the thicker portions of his flukes. It is tough with # congealed tendons—a wad of muscle—but still contains some oil. After being # severed from the whale, the white-horse is first cut into portable oblongs ere # going to the mincer. They look much like blocks of Berkshire marble. # # Plum-pudding is the term bestowed upon certain fragmentary parts of the whale’s # flesh, here and there adhering to the blanket of blubber, and often # participating to a considerable degree in its unctuousness. It is a most # refreshing, convivial, beautiful object to behold. As its name imports, it is of # an exceedingly rich, mottled tint, with a bestreaked snowy and golden ground, # dotted with spots of the deepest crimson and purple. It is plums of rubies, in # pictures of citron. Spite of reason, it is hard to keep yourself from eating it. # I confess, that once I stole behind the foremast to try it. It tasted something # as I should conceive a royal cutlet from the thigh of Louis le Gros might have # tasted, supposing him to have been killed the first day after the venison # season, and that particular venison season contemporary with an unusually fine # vintage of the vineyards of Champagne. # # There is another substance, and a very singular one, which turns up in the # course of this business, but which I feel it to be very puzzling adequately to # describe. It is called slobgollion; an appellation original with the whalemen, # and even so is the nature of the substance. It is an ineffably oozy, stringy # affair, most frequently found in the tubs of sperm, after a prolonged squeezing, # and subsequent decanting. I hold it to be the wondrously thin, ruptured # membranes of the case, coalescing. # # Gurry, so called, is a term properly belonging to right whalemen, but sometimes # incidentally used by the sperm fishermen. It designates the dark, glutinous # substance which is scraped off the back of the Greenland or right whale, and # much of which covers the decks of those inferior souls who hunt that ignoble # Leviathan. # # Nippers. Strictly this word is not indigenous to the whale’s vocabulary. But as # applied by whalemen, it becomes so. A whaleman’s nipper is a short firm strip of # tendinous stuff cut from the tapering part of Leviathan’s tail: it averages an # inch in thickness, and for the rest, is about the size of the iron part of a # hoe. Edgewise moved along the oily deck, it operates like a leathern squilgee; # and by nameless blandishments, as of magic, allures along with it all # impurities. # # But to learn all about these recondite matters, your best way is at once to # descend into the blubber-room, and have a long talk with its inmates. This place # has previously been mentioned as the receptacle for the blanket-pieces, when # stript and hoisted from the whale. When the proper time arrives for cutting up # its contents, this apartment is a scene of terror to all tyros, especially by # night. On one side, lit by a dull lantern, a space has been left clear for the # workmen. They generally go in pairs,—a pike-and-gaffman and a spade-man. The # whaling-pike is similar to a frigate’s boarding-weapon of the same name. The # gaff is something like a boat-hook. With his gaff, the gaffman hooks on to a # sheet of blubber, and strives to hold it from slipping, as the ship pitches and # lurches about. Meanwhile, the spade-man stands on the sheet itself, # perpendicularly chopping it into the portable horse-pieces. This spade is sharp # as hone can make it; the spademan’s feet are shoeless; the thing he stands on # will sometimes irresistibly slide away from him, like a sledge. If he cuts off # one of his own toes, or one of his assistants’, would you be very much # astonished? Toes are scarce among veteran blubber-room men. # # # # # # CHAPTER 95. The Cassock. # # Had you stepped on board the Pequod at a certain juncture of this # post-mortemizing of the whale; and had you strolled forward nigh the windlass, # pretty sure am I that you would have scanned with no small curiosity a very # strange, enigmatical object, which you would have seen there, lying along # lengthwise in the lee scuppers. Not the wondrous cistern in the whale’s huge # head; not the prodigy of his unhinged lower jaw; not the miracle of his # symmetrical tail; none of these would so surprise you, as half a glimpse of that # unaccountable cone,—longer than a Kentuckian is tall, nigh a foot in diameter at # the base, and jet-black as Yojo, the ebony idol of Queequeg. And an idol, # indeed, it is; or, rather, in old times, its likeness was. Such an idol as that # found in the secret groves of Queen Maachah in Judea; and for worshipping which, # King Asa, her son, did depose her, and destroyed the idol, and burnt it for an # abomination at the brook Kedron, as darkly set forth in the 15th chapter of the # First Book of Kings. # # Look at the sailor, called the mincer, who now comes along, and assisted by two # allies, heavily backs the grandissimus, as the mariners call it, and with bowed # shoulders, staggers off with it as if he were a grenadier carrying a dead # comrade from the field. Extending it upon the forecastle deck, he now proceeds # cylindrically to remove its dark pelt, as an African hunter the pelt of a boa. # This done he turns the pelt inside out, like a pantaloon leg; gives it a good # stretching, so as almost to double its diameter; and at last hangs it, well # spread, in the rigging, to dry. Ere long, it is taken down; when removing some # three feet of it, towards the pointed extremity, and then cutting two slits for # arm-holes at the other end, he lengthwise slips himself bodily into it. The # mincer now stands before you invested in the full canonicals of his calling. # Immemorial to all his order, this investiture alone will adequately protect him, # while employed in the peculiar functions of his office. # # That office consists in mincing the horse-pieces of blubber for the pots; an # operation which is conducted at a curious wooden horse, planted endwise against # the bulwarks, and with a capacious tub beneath it, into which the minced pieces # drop, fast as the sheets from a rapt orator’s desk. Arrayed in decent black; # occupying a conspicuous pulpit; intent on bible leaves; what a candidate for an # archbishopric, what a lad for a Pope were this mincer!* # # *Bible leaves! Bible leaves! This is the invariable cry from the mates to the # mincer. It enjoins him to be careful, and cut his work into as thin slices as # possible, inasmuch as by so doing the business of boiling out the oil is much # accelerated, and its quantity considerably increased, besides perhaps improving # it in quality. # # # # # # CHAPTER 96. The Try-Works. # # Besides her hoisted boats, an American whaler is outwardly distinguished by her # try-works. She presents the curious anomaly of the most solid masonry joining # with oak and hemp in constituting the completed ship. It is as if from the open # field a brick-kiln were transported to her planks. # # The try-works are planted between the foremast and mainmast, the most roomy part # of the deck. The timbers beneath are of a peculiar strength, fitted to sustain # the weight of an almost solid mass of brick and mortar, some ten feet by eight # square, and five in height. The foundation does not penetrate the deck, but the # masonry is firmly secured to the surface by ponderous knees of iron bracing it # on all sides, and screwing it down to the timbers. On the flanks it is cased # with wood, and at top completely covered by a large, sloping, battened hatchway. # Removing this hatch we expose the great try-pots, two in number, and each of # several barrels’ capacity. When not in use, they are kept remarkably clean. # Sometimes they are polished with soapstone and sand, till they shine within like # silver punch-bowls. During the night-watches some cynical old sailors will crawl # into them and coil themselves away there for a nap. While employed in polishing # them—one man in each pot, side by side—many confidential communications are # carried on, over the iron lips. It is a place also for profound mathematical # meditation. It was in the left hand try-pot of the Pequod, with the soapstone # diligently circling round me, that I was first indirectly struck by the # remarkable fact, that in geometry all bodies gliding along the cycloid, my # soapstone for example, will descend from any point in precisely the same time. # # Removing the fire-board from the front of the try-works, the bare masonry of # that side is exposed, penetrated by the two iron mouths of the furnaces, # directly underneath the pots. These mouths are fitted with heavy doors of iron. # The intense heat of the fire is prevented from communicating itself to the deck, # by means of a shallow reservoir extending under the entire inclosed surface of # the works. By a tunnel inserted at the rear, this reservoir is kept replenished # with water as fast as it evaporates. There are no external chimneys; they open # direct from the rear wall. And here let us go back for a moment. # # It was about nine o’clock at night that the Pequod’s try-works were first # started on this present voyage. It belonged to Stubb to oversee the business. # # “All ready there? Off hatch, then, and start her. You cook, fire the works.” # This was an easy thing, for the carpenter had been thrusting his shavings into # the furnace throughout the passage. Here be it said that in a whaling voyage the # first fire in the try-works has to be fed for a time with wood. After that no # wood is used, except as a means of quick ignition to the staple fuel. In a word, # after being tried out, the crisp, shrivelled blubber, now called scraps or # fritters, still contains considerable of its unctuous properties. These fritters # feed the flames. Like a plethoric burning martyr, or a self-consuming # misanthrope, once ignited, the whale supplies his own fuel and burns by his own # body. Would that he consumed his own smoke! for his smoke is horrible to inhale, # and inhale it you must, and not only that, but you must live in it for the time. # It has an unspeakable, wild, Hindoo odor about it, such as may lurk in the # vicinity of funereal pyres. It smells like the left wing of the day of judgment; # it is an argument for the pit. # # By midnight the works were in full operation. We were clear from the carcase; # sail had been made; the wind was freshening; the wild ocean darkness was # intense. But that darkness was licked up by the fierce flames, which at # intervals forked forth from the sooty flues, and illuminated every lofty rope in # the rigging, as with the famed Greek fire. The burning ship drove on, as if # remorselessly commissioned to some vengeful deed. So the pitch and # sulphur-freighted brigs of the bold Hydriote, Canaris, issuing from their # midnight harbors, with broad sheets of flame for sails, bore down upon the # Turkish frigates, and folded them in conflagrations. # # The hatch, removed from the top of the works, now afforded a wide hearth in # front of them. Standing on this were the Tartarean shapes of the pagan # harpooneers, always the whale-ship’s stokers. With huge pronged poles they # pitched hissing masses of blubber into the scalding pots, or stirred up the # fires beneath, till the snaky flames darted, curling, out of the doors to catch # them by the feet. The smoke rolled away in sullen heaps. To every pitch of the # ship there was a pitch of the boiling oil, which seemed all eagerness to leap # into their faces. Opposite the mouth of the works, on the further side of the # wide wooden hearth, was the windlass. This served for a sea-sofa. Here lounged # the watch, when not otherwise employed, looking into the red heat of the fire, # till their eyes felt scorched in their heads. Their tawny features, now all # begrimed with smoke and sweat, their matted beards, and the contrasting barbaric # brilliancy of their teeth, all these were strangely revealed in the capricious # emblazonings of the works. As they narrated to each other their unholy # adventures, their tales of terror told in words of mirth; as their uncivilized # laughter forked upwards out of them, like the flames from the furnace; as to and # fro, in their front, the harpooneers wildly gesticulated with their huge pronged # forks and dippers; as the wind howled on, and the sea leaped, and the ship # groaned and dived, and yet steadfastly shot her red hell further and further # into the blackness of the sea and the night, and scornfully champed the white # bone in her mouth, and viciously spat round her on all sides; then the rushing # Pequod, freighted with savages, and laden with fire, and burning a corpse, and # plunging into that blackness of darkness, seemed the material counterpart of her # monomaniac commander’s soul. # # So seemed it to me, as I stood at her helm, and for long hours silently guided # the way of this fire-ship on the sea. Wrapped, for that interval, in darkness # myself, I but the better saw the redness, the madness, the ghastliness of # others. The continual sight of the fiend shapes before me, capering half in # smoke and half in fire, these at last begat kindred visions in my soul, so soon # as I began to yield to that unaccountable drowsiness which ever would come over # me at a midnight helm. # # But that night, in particular, a strange (and ever since inexplicable) thing # occurred to me. Starting from a brief standing sleep, I was horribly conscious # of something fatally wrong. The jaw-bone tiller smote my side, which leaned # against it; in my ears was the low hum of sails, just beginning to shake in the # wind; I thought my eyes were open; I was half conscious of putting my fingers to # the lids and mechanically stretching them still further apart. But, spite of all # this, I could see no compass before me to steer by; though it seemed but a # minute since I had been watching the card, by the steady binnacle lamp # illuminating it. Nothing seemed before me but a jet gloom, now and then made # ghastly by flashes of redness. Uppermost was the impression, that whatever # swift, rushing thing I stood on was not so much bound to any haven ahead as # rushing from all havens astern. A stark, bewildered feeling, as of death, came # over me. Convulsively my hands grasped the tiller, but with the crazy conceit # that the tiller was, somehow, in some enchanted way, inverted. My God! what is # the matter with me? thought I. Lo! in my brief sleep I had turned myself about, # and was fronting the ship’s stern, with my back to her prow and the compass. In # an instant I faced back, just in time to prevent the vessel from flying up into # the wind, and very probably capsizing her. How glad and how grateful the relief # from this unnatural hallucination of the night, and the fatal contingency of # being brought by the lee! # # Look not too long in the face of the fire, O man! Never dream with thy hand on # the helm! Turn not thy back to the compass; accept the first hint of the # hitching tiller; believe not the artificial fire, when its redness makes all # things look ghastly. To-morrow, in the natural sun, the skies will be bright; # those who glared like devils in the forking flames, the morn will show in far # other, at least gentler, relief; the glorious, golden, glad sun, the only true # lamp—all others but liars! # # Nevertheless the sun hides not Virginia’s Dismal Swamp, nor Rome’s accursed # Campagna, nor wide Sahara, nor all the millions of miles of deserts and of # griefs beneath the moon. The sun hides not the ocean, which is the dark side of # this earth, and which is two thirds of this earth. So, therefore, that mortal # man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true—not # true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was the Man of # Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon’s, and Ecclesiastes is the fine # hammered steel of woe. “All is vanity.” ALL. This wilful world hath not got hold # of unchristian Solomon’s wisdom yet. But he who dodges hospitals and jails, and # walks fast crossing graveyards, and would rather talk of operas than hell; calls # Cowper, Young, Pascal, Rousseau, poor devils all of sick men; and throughout a # care-free lifetime swears by Rabelais as passing wise, and therefore jolly;—not # that man is fitted to sit down on tomb-stones, and break the green damp mould # with unfathomably wondrous Solomon. # # But even Solomon, he says, “the man that wandereth out of the way of # understanding shall remain” (i.e., even while living) “in the congregation of # the dead.” Give not thyself up, then, to fire, lest it invert thee, deaden thee; # as for the time it did me. There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe # that is madness. And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive # down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible # in the sunny spaces. And even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge # is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is # still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar. # # # # # # CHAPTER 97. The Lamp. # # Had you descended from the Pequod’s try-works to the Pequod’s forecastle, where # the off duty watch were sleeping, for one single moment you would have almost # thought you were standing in some illuminated shrine of canonized kings and # counsellors. There they lay in their triangular oaken vaults, each mariner a # chiselled muteness; a score of lamps flashing upon his hooded eyes. # # In merchantmen, oil for the sailor is more scarce than the milk of queens. To # dress in the dark, and eat in the dark, and stumble in darkness to his pallet, # this is his usual lot. But the whaleman, as he seeks the food of light, so he # lives in light. He makes his berth an Aladdin’s lamp, and lays him down in it; # so that in the pitchiest night the ship’s black hull still houses an # illumination. # # See with what entire freedom the whaleman takes his handful of lamps—often but # old bottles and vials, though—to the copper cooler at the try-works, and # replenishes them there, as mugs of ale at a vat. He burns, too, the purest of # oil, in its unmanufactured, and, therefore, unvitiated state; a fluid unknown to # solar, lunar, or astral contrivances ashore. It is sweet as early grass butter # in April. He goes and hunts for his oil, so as to be sure of its freshness and # genuineness, even as the traveller on the prairie hunts up his own supper of # game. # # # # # # CHAPTER 98. Stowing Down and Clearing Up. # # Already has it been related how the great leviathan is afar off descried from # the mast-head; how he is chased over the watery moors, and slaughtered in the # valleys of the deep; how he is then towed alongside and beheaded; and how (on # the principle which entitled the headsman of old to the garments in which the # beheaded was killed) his great padded surtout becomes the property of his # executioner; how, in due time, he is condemned to the pots, and, like Shadrach, # Meshach, and Abednego, his spermaceti, oil, and bone pass unscathed through the # fire;—but now it remains to conclude the last chapter of this part of the # description by rehearsing—singing, if I may—the romantic proceeding of decanting # off his oil into the casks and striking them down into the hold, where once # again leviathan returns to his native profundities, sliding along beneath the # surface as before; but, alas! never more to rise and blow. # # While still warm, the oil, like hot punch, is received into the six-barrel # casks; and while, perhaps, the ship is pitching and rolling this way and that in # the midnight sea, the enormous casks are slewed round and headed over, end for # end, and sometimes perilously scoot across the slippery deck, like so many land # slides, till at last man-handled and stayed in their course; and all round the # hoops, rap, rap, go as many hammers as can play upon them, for now, ex officio, # every sailor is a cooper. # # At length, when the last pint is casked, and all is cool, then the great # hatchways are unsealed, the bowels of the ship are thrown open, and down go the # casks to their final rest in the sea. This done, the hatches are replaced, and # hermetically closed, like a closet walled up. # # In the sperm fishery, this is perhaps one of the most remarkable incidents in # all the business of whaling. One day the planks stream with freshets of blood # and oil; on the sacred quarter-deck enormous masses of the whale’s head are # profanely piled; great rusty casks lie about, as in a brewery yard; the smoke # from the try-works has besooted all the bulwarks; the mariners go about suffused # with unctuousness; the entire ship seems great leviathan himself; while on all # hands the din is deafening. # # But a day or two after, you look about you, and prick your ears in this # self-same ship; and were it not for the tell-tale boats and try-works, you would # all but swear you trod some silent merchant vessel, with a most scrupulously # neat commander. The unmanufactured sperm oil possesses a singularly cleansing # virtue. This is the reason why the decks never look so white as just after what # they call an affair of oil. Besides, from the ashes of the burned scraps of the # whale, a potent lye is readily made; and whenever any adhesiveness from the back # of the whale remains clinging to the side, that lye quickly exterminates it. # Hands go diligently along the bulwarks, and with buckets of water and rags # restore them to their full tidiness. The soot is brushed from the lower rigging. # All the numerous implements which have been in use are likewise faithfully # cleansed and put away. The great hatch is scrubbed and placed upon the # try-works, completely hiding the pots; every cask is out of sight; all tackles # are coiled in unseen nooks; and when by the combined and simultaneous industry # of almost the entire ship’s company, the whole of this conscientious duty is at # last concluded, then the crew themselves proceed to their own ablutions; shift # themselves from top to toe; and finally issue to the immaculate deck, fresh and # all aglow, as bridegrooms new-leaped from out the daintiest Holland. # # Now, with elated step, they pace the planks in twos and threes, and humorously # discourse of parlors, sofas, carpets, and fine cambrics; propose to mat the # deck; think of having hanging to the top; object not to taking tea by moonlight # on the piazza of the forecastle. To hint to such musked mariners of oil, and # bone, and blubber, were little short of audacity. They know not the thing you # distantly allude to. Away, and bring us napkins! # # But mark: aloft there, at the three mast heads, stand three men intent on spying # out more whales, which, if caught, infallibly will again soil the old oaken # furniture, and drop at least one small grease-spot somewhere. Yes; and many is # the time, when, after the severest uninterrupted labors, which know no night; # continuing straight through for ninety-six hours; when from the boat, where they # have swelled their wrists with all day rowing on the Line,—they only step to the # deck to carry vast chains, and heave the heavy windlass, and cut and slash, yea, # and in their very sweatings to be smoked and burned anew by the combined fires # of the equatorial sun and the equatorial try-works; when, on the heel of all # this, they have finally bestirred themselves to cleanse the ship, and make a # spotless dairy room of it; many is the time the poor fellows, just buttoning the # necks of their clean frocks, are startled by the cry of “There she blows!” and # away they fly to fight another whale, and go through the whole weary thing # again. Oh! my friends, but this is man-killing! Yet this is life. For hardly # have we mortals by long toilings extracted from this world’s vast bulk its small # but valuable sperm; and then, with weary patience, cleansed ourselves from its # defilements, and learned to live here in clean tabernacles of the soul; hardly # is this done, when—There she blows!—the ghost is spouted up, and away we sail to # fight some other world, and go through young life’s old routine again. # # Oh! the metempsychosis! Oh! Pythagoras, that in bright Greece, two thousand # years ago, did die, so good, so wise, so mild; I sailed with thee along the # Peruvian coast last voyage—and, foolish as I am, taught thee, a green simple # boy, how to splice a rope! # # # # # # CHAPTER 99. The Doubloon. # # Ere now it has been related how Ahab was wont to pace his quarter-deck, taking # regular turns at either limit, the binnacle and mainmast; but in the # multiplicity of other things requiring narration it has not been added how that # sometimes in these walks, when most plunged in his mood, he was wont to pause in # turn at each spot, and stand there strangely eyeing the particular object before # him. When he halted before the binnacle, with his glance fastened on the pointed # needle in the compass, that glance shot like a javelin with the pointed # intensity of his purpose; and when resuming his walk he again paused before the # mainmast, then, as the same riveted glance fastened upon the riveted gold coin # there, he still wore the same aspect of nailed firmness, only dashed with a # certain wild longing, if not hopefulness. # # But one morning, turning to pass the doubloon, he seemed to be newly attracted # by the strange figures and inscriptions stamped on it, as though now for the # first time beginning to interpret for himself in some monomaniac way whatever # significance might lurk in them. And some certain significance lurks in all # things, else all things are little worth, and the round world itself but an # empty cipher, except to sell by the cartload, as they do hills about Boston, to # fill up some morass in the Milky Way. # # Now this doubloon was of purest, virgin gold, raked somewhere out of the heart # of gorgeous hills, whence, east and west, over golden sands, the head-waters of # many a Pactolus flows. And though now nailed amidst all the rustiness of iron # bolts and the verdigris of copper spikes, yet, untouchable and immaculate to any # foulness, it still preserved its Quito glow. Nor, though placed amongst a # ruthless crew and every hour passed by ruthless hands, and through the livelong # nights shrouded with thick darkness which might cover any pilfering approach, # nevertheless every sunrise found the doubloon where the sunset left it last. For # it was set apart and sanctified to one awe-striking end; and however wanton in # their sailor ways, one and all, the mariners revered it as the white whale’s # talisman. Sometimes they talked it over in the weary watch by night, wondering # whose it was to be at last, and whether he would ever live to spend it. # # Now those noble golden coins of South America are as medals of the sun and # tropic token-pieces. Here palms, alpacas, and volcanoes; sun’s disks and stars; # ecliptics, horns-of-plenty, and rich banners waving, are in luxuriant profusion # stamped; so that the precious gold seems almost to derive an added preciousness # and enhancing glories, by passing through those fancy mints, so Spanishly # poetic. # # It so chanced that the doubloon of the Pequod was a most wealthy example of # these things. On its round border it bore the letters, REPUBLICA DEL ECUADOR: # QUITO. So this bright coin came from a country planted in the middle of the # world, and beneath the great equator, and named after it; and it had been cast # midway up the Andes, in the unwaning clime that knows no autumn. Zoned by those # letters you saw the likeness of three Andes’ summits; from one a flame; a tower # on another; on the third a crowing cock; while arching over all was a segment of # the partitioned zodiac, the signs all marked with their usual cabalistics, and # the keystone sun entering the equinoctial point at Libra. # # Before this equatorial coin, Ahab, not unobserved by others, was now pausing. # # “There’s something ever egotistical in mountain-tops and towers, and all other # grand and lofty things; look here,—three peaks as proud as Lucifer. The firm # tower, that is Ahab; the volcano, that is Ahab; the courageous, the undaunted, # and victorious fowl, that, too, is Ahab; all are Ahab; and this round gold is # but the image of the rounder globe, which, like a magician’s glass, to each and # every man in turn but mirrors back his own mysterious self. Great pains, small # gains for those who ask the world to solve them; it cannot solve itself. # Methinks now this coined sun wears a ruddy face; but see! aye, he enters the # sign of storms, the equinox! and but six months before he wheeled out of a # former equinox at Aries! From storm to storm! So be it, then. Born in throes, # ’tis fit that man should live in pains and die in pangs! So be it, then! Here’s # stout stuff for woe to work on. So be it, then.” # # “No fairy fingers can have pressed the gold, but devil’s claws must have left # their mouldings there since yesterday,” murmured Starbuck to himself, leaning # against the bulwarks. “The old man seems to read Belshazzar’s awful writing. I # have never marked the coin inspectingly. He goes below; let me read. A dark # valley between three mighty, heaven-abiding peaks, that almost seem the Trinity, # in some faint earthly symbol. So in this vale of Death, God girds us round; and # over all our gloom, the sun of Righteousness still shines a beacon and a hope. # If we bend down our eyes, the dark vale shows her mouldy soil; but if we lift # them, the bright sun meets our glance half way, to cheer. Yet, oh, the great sun # is no fixture; and if, at midnight, we would fain snatch some sweet solace from # him, we gaze for him in vain! This coin speaks wisely, mildly, truly, but still # sadly to me. I will quit it, lest Truth shake me falsely.” # # “There now’s the old Mogul,” soliloquized Stubb by the try-works, “he’s been # twigging it; and there goes Starbuck from the same, and both with faces which I # should say might be somewhere within nine fathoms long. And all from looking at # a piece of gold, which did I have it now on Negro Hill or in Corlaer’s Hook, I’d # not look at it very long ere spending it. Humph! in my poor, insignificant # opinion, I regard this as queer. I have seen doubloons before now in my # voyagings; your doubloons of old Spain, your doubloons of Peru, your doubloons # of Chili, your doubloons of Bolivia, your doubloons of Popayan; with plenty of # gold moidores and pistoles, and joes, and half joes, and quarter joes. What then # should there be in this doubloon of the Equator that is so killing wonderful? By # Golconda! let me read it once. Halloa! here’s signs and wonders truly! That, # now, is what old Bowditch in his Epitome calls the zodiac, and what my almanac # below calls ditto. I’ll get the almanac and as I have heard devils can be raised # with Daboll’s arithmetic, I’ll try my hand at raising a meaning out of these # queer curvicues here with the Massachusetts calendar. Here’s the book. Let’s see # now. Signs and wonders; and the sun, he’s always among ’em. Hem, hem, hem; here # they are—here they go—all alive:—Aries, or the Ram; Taurus, or the Bull and # Jimimi! here’s Gemini himself, or the Twins. Well; the sun he wheels among ’em. # Aye, here on the coin he’s just crossing the threshold between two of twelve # sitting-rooms all in a ring. Book! you lie there; the fact is, you books must # know your places. You’ll do to give us the bare words and facts, but we come in # to supply the thoughts. That’s my small experience, so far as the Massachusetts # calendar, and Bowditch’s navigator, and Daboll’s arithmetic go. Signs and # wonders, eh? Pity if there is nothing wonderful in signs, and significant in # wonders! There’s a clue somewhere; wait a bit; hist—hark! By Jove, I have it! # Look you, Doubloon, your zodiac here is the life of man in one round chapter; # and now I’ll read it off, straight out of the book. Come, Almanack! To begin: # there’s Aries, or the Ram—lecherous dog, he begets us; then, Taurus, or the # Bull—he bumps us the first thing; then Gemini, or the Twins—that is, Virtue and # Vice; we try to reach Virtue, when lo! comes Cancer the Crab, and drags us back; # and here, going from Virtue, Leo, a roaring Lion, lies in the path—he gives a # few fierce bites and surly dabs with his paw; we escape, and hail Virgo, the # Virgin! that’s our first love; we marry and think to be happy for aye, when pop # comes Libra, or the Scales—happiness weighed and found wanting; and while we are # very sad about that, Lord! how we suddenly jump, as Scorpio, or the Scorpion, # stings us in the rear; we are curing the wound, when whang come the arrows all # round; Sagittarius, or the Archer, is amusing himself. As we pluck out the # shafts, stand aside! here’s the battering-ram, Capricornus, or the Goat; full # tilt, he comes rushing, and headlong we are tossed; when Aquarius, or the # Water-bearer, pours out his whole deluge and drowns us; and to wind up with # Pisces, or the Fishes, we sleep. There’s a sermon now, writ in high heaven, and # the sun goes through it every year, and yet comes out of it all alive and # hearty. Jollily he, aloft there, wheels through toil and trouble; and so, alow # here, does jolly Stubb. Oh, jolly’s the word for aye! Adieu, Doubloon! But stop; # here comes little King-Post; dodge round the try-works, now, and let’s hear what # he’ll have to say. There; he’s before it; he’ll out with something presently. # So, so; he’s beginning.” # # “I see nothing here, but a round thing made of gold, and whoever raises a # certain whale, this round thing belongs to him. So, what’s all this staring been # about? It is worth sixteen dollars, that’s true; and at two cents the cigar, # that’s nine hundred and sixty cigars. I won’t smoke dirty pipes like Stubb, but # I like cigars, and here’s nine hundred and sixty of them; so here goes Flask # aloft to spy ’em out.” # # “Shall I call that wise or foolish, now; if it be really wise it has a foolish # look to it; yet, if it be really foolish, then has it a sort of wiseish look to # it. But, avast; here comes our old Manxman—the old hearse-driver, he must have # been, that is, before he took to the sea. He luffs up before the doubloon; # halloa, and goes round on the other side of the mast; why, there’s a horse-shoe # nailed on that side; and now he’s back again; what does that mean? Hark! he’s # muttering—voice like an old worn-out coffee-mill. Prick ears, and listen!” # # “If the White Whale be raised, it must be in a month and a day, when the sun # stands in some one of these signs. I’ve studied signs, and know their marks; # they were taught me two score years ago, by the old witch in Copenhagen. Now, in # what sign will the sun then be? The horse-shoe sign; for there it is, right # opposite the gold. And what’s the horse-shoe sign? The lion is the horse-shoe # sign—the roaring and devouring lion. Ship, old ship! my old head shakes to think # of thee.” # # “There’s another rendering now; but still one text. All sorts of men in one kind # of world, you see. Dodge again! here comes Queequeg—all tattooing—looks like the # signs of the Zodiac himself. What says the Cannibal? As I live he’s comparing # notes; looking at his thigh bone; thinks the sun is in the thigh, or in the # calf, or in the bowels, I suppose, as the old women talk Surgeon’s Astronomy in # the back country. And by Jove, he’s found something there in the vicinity of his # thigh—I guess it’s Sagittarius, or the Archer. No: he don’t know what to make of # the doubloon; he takes it for an old button off some king’s trowsers. But, aside # again! here comes that ghost-devil, Fedallah; tail coiled out of sight as usual, # oakum in the toes of his pumps as usual. What does he say, with that look of # his? Ah, only makes a sign to the sign and bows himself; there is a sun on the # coin—fire worshipper, depend upon it. Ho! more and more. This way comes Pip—poor # boy! would he had died, or I; he’s half horrible to me. He too has been watching # all of these interpreters—myself included—and look now, he comes to read, with # that unearthly idiot face. Stand away again and hear him. Hark!” # # “I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look.” # # “Upon my soul, he’s been studying Murray’s Grammar! Improving his mind, poor # fellow! But what’s that he says now—hist!” # # “I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look.” # # “Why, he’s getting it by heart—hist! again.” # # “I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look.” # # “Well, that’s funny.” # # “And I, you, and he; and we, ye, and they, are all bats; and I’m a crow, # especially when I stand a’top of this pine tree here. Caw! caw! caw! caw! caw! # caw! Ain’t I a crow? And where’s the scare-crow? There he stands; two bones # stuck into a pair of old trowsers, and two more poked into the sleeves of an old # jacket.” # # “Wonder if he means me?—complimentary!—poor lad!—I could go hang myself. Any # way, for the present, I’ll quit Pip’s vicinity. I can stand the rest, for they # have plain wits; but he’s too crazy-witty for my sanity. So, so, I leave him # muttering.” # # “Here’s the ship’s navel, this doubloon here, and they are all on fire to # unscrew it. But, unscrew your navel, and what’s the consequence? Then again, if # it stays here, that is ugly, too, for when aught’s nailed to the mast it’s a # sign that things grow desperate. Ha, ha! old Ahab! the White Whale; he’ll nail # ye! This is a pine tree. My father, in old Tolland county, cut down a pine tree # once, and found a silver ring grown over in it; some old darkey’s wedding ring. # How did it get there? And so they’ll say in the resurrection, when they come to # fish up this old mast, and find a doubloon lodged in it, with bedded oysters for # the shaggy bark. Oh, the gold! the precious, precious, gold! the green miser’ll # hoard ye soon! Hish! hish! God goes ’mong the worlds blackberrying. Cook! ho, # cook! and cook us! Jenny! hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, Jenny, Jenny! and get your # hoe-cake done!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 100. Leg and Arm. The Pequod, of Nantucket, Meets the Samuel Enderby, # of London. # # “Ship, ahoy! Hast seen the White Whale?” # # So cried Ahab, once more hailing a ship showing English colours, bearing down # under the stern. Trumpet to mouth, the old man was standing in his hoisted # quarter-boat, his ivory leg plainly revealed to the stranger captain, who was # carelessly reclining in his own boat’s bow. He was a darkly-tanned, burly, # good-natured, fine-looking man, of sixty or thereabouts, dressed in a spacious # roundabout, that hung round him in festoons of blue pilot-cloth; and one empty # arm of this jacket streamed behind him like the broidered arm of a hussar’s # surcoat. # # “Hast seen the White Whale?” # # “See you this?” and withdrawing it from the folds that had hidden it, he held up # a white arm of sperm whale bone, terminating in a wooden head like a mallet. # # “Man my boat!” cried Ahab, impetuously, and tossing about the oars near # him—“Stand by to lower!” # # In less than a minute, without quitting his little craft, he and his crew were # dropped to the water, and were soon alongside of the stranger. But here a # curious difficulty presented itself. In the excitement of the moment, Ahab had # forgotten that since the loss of his leg he had never once stepped on board of # any vessel at sea but his own, and then it was always by an ingenious and very # handy mechanical contrivance peculiar to the Pequod, and a thing not to be # rigged and shipped in any other vessel at a moment’s warning. Now, it is no very # easy matter for anybody—except those who are almost hourly used to it, like # whalemen—to clamber up a ship’s side from a boat on the open sea; for the great # swells now lift the boat high up towards the bulwarks, and then instantaneously # drop it half way down to the kelson. So, deprived of one leg, and the strange # ship of course being altogether unsupplied with the kindly invention, Ahab now # found himself abjectly reduced to a clumsy landsman again; hopelessly eyeing the # uncertain changeful height he could hardly hope to attain. # # It has before been hinted, perhaps, that every little untoward circumstance that # befell him, and which indirectly sprang from his luckless mishap, almost # invariably irritated or exasperated Ahab. And in the present instance, all this # was heightened by the sight of the two officers of the strange ship, leaning # over the side, by the perpendicular ladder of nailed cleets there, and swinging # towards him a pair of tastefully-ornamented man-ropes; for at first they did not # seem to bethink them that a one-legged man must be too much of a cripple to use # their sea bannisters. But this awkwardness only lasted a minute, because the # strange captain, observing at a glance how affairs stood, cried out, “I see, I # see!—avast heaving there! Jump, boys, and swing over the cutting-tackle.” # # As good luck would have it, they had had a whale alongside a day or two # previous, and the great tackles were still aloft, and the massive curved # blubber-hook, now clean and dry, was still attached to the end. This was quickly # lowered to Ahab, who at once comprehending it all, slid his solitary thigh into # the curve of the hook (it was like sitting in the fluke of an anchor, or the # crotch of an apple tree), and then giving the word, held himself fast, and at # the same time also helped to hoist his own weight, by pulling hand-over-hand # upon one of the running parts of the tackle. Soon he was carefully swung inside # the high bulwarks, and gently landed upon the capstan head. With his ivory arm # frankly thrust forth in welcome, the other captain advanced, and Ahab, putting # out his ivory leg, and crossing the ivory arm (like two sword-fish blades) cried # out in his walrus way, “Aye, aye, hearty! let us shake bones together!—an arm # and a leg!—an arm that never can shrink, d’ye see; and a leg that never can run. # Where did’st thou see the White Whale?—how long ago?” # # “The White Whale,” said the Englishman, pointing his ivory arm towards the East, # and taking a rueful sight along it, as if it had been a telescope; “there I saw # him, on the Line, last season.” # # “And he took that arm off, did he?” asked Ahab, now sliding down from the # capstan, and resting on the Englishman’s shoulder, as he did so. # # “Aye, he was the cause of it, at least; and that leg, too?” # # “Spin me the yarn,” said Ahab; “how was it?” # # “It was the first time in my life that I ever cruised on the Line,” began the # Englishman. “I was ignorant of the White Whale at that time. Well, one day we # lowered for a pod of four or five whales, and my boat fastened to one of them; a # regular circus horse he was, too, that went milling and milling round so, that # my boat’s crew could only trim dish, by sitting all their sterns on the outer # gunwale. Presently up breaches from the bottom of the sea a bouncing great # whale, with a milky-white head and hump, all crows’ feet and wrinkles.” # # “It was he, it was he!” cried Ahab, suddenly letting out his suspended breath. # # “And harpoons sticking in near his starboard fin.” # # “Aye, aye—they were mine—my irons,” cried Ahab, exultingly—“but on!” # # “Give me a chance, then,” said the Englishman, good-humoredly. “Well, this old # great-grandfather, with the white head and hump, runs all afoam into the pod, # and goes to snapping furiously at my fast-line! # # “Aye, I see!—wanted to part it; free the fast-fish—an old trick—I know him.” # # “How it was exactly,” continued the one-armed commander, “I do not know; but in # biting the line, it got foul of his teeth, caught there somehow; but we didn’t # know it then; so that when we afterwards pulled on the line, bounce we came # plump on to his hump! instead of the other whale’s; that went off to windward, # all fluking. Seeing how matters stood, and what a noble great whale it was—the # noblest and biggest I ever saw, sir, in my life—I resolved to capture him, spite # of the boiling rage he seemed to be in. And thinking the hap-hazard line would # get loose, or the tooth it was tangled to might draw (for I have a devil of a # boat’s crew for a pull on a whale-line); seeing all this, I say, I jumped into # my first mate’s boat—Mr. Mounttop’s here (by the way, Captain—Mounttop; # Mounttop—the captain);—as I was saying, I jumped into Mounttop’s boat, which, # d’ye see, was gunwale and gunwale with mine, then; and snatching the first # harpoon, let this old great-grandfather have it. But, Lord, look you, sir—hearts # and souls alive, man—the next instant, in a jiff, I was blind as a bat—both eyes # out—all befogged and bedeadened with black foam—the whale’s tail looming # straight up out of it, perpendicular in the air, like a marble steeple. No use # sterning all, then; but as I was groping at midday, with a blinding sun, all # crown-jewels; as I was groping, I say, after the second iron, to toss it # overboard—down comes the tail like a Lima tower, cutting my boat in two, leaving # each half in splinters; and, flukes first, the white hump backed through the # wreck, as though it was all chips. We all struck out. To escape his terrible # flailings, I seized hold of my harpoon-pole sticking in him, and for a moment # clung to that like a sucking fish. But a combing sea dashed me off, and at the # same instant, the fish, taking one good dart forwards, went down like a flash; # and the barb of that cursed second iron towing along near me caught me here” # (clapping his hand just below his shoulder); “yes, caught me just here, I say, # and bore me down to Hell’s flames, I was thinking; when, when, all of a sudden, # thank the good God, the barb ript its way along the flesh—clear along the whole # length of my arm—came out nigh my wrist, and up I floated;—and that gentleman # there will tell you the rest (by the way, captain—Dr. Bunger, ship’s surgeon: # Bunger, my lad,—the captain). Now, Bunger boy, spin your part of the yarn.” # # The professional gentleman thus familiarly pointed out, had been all the time # standing near them, with nothing specific visible, to denote his gentlemanly # rank on board. His face was an exceedingly round but sober one; he was dressed # in a faded blue woollen frock or shirt, and patched trowsers; and had thus far # been dividing his attention between a marlingspike he held in one hand, and a # pill-box held in the other, occasionally casting a critical glance at the ivory # limbs of the two crippled captains. But, at his superior’s introduction of him # to Ahab, he politely bowed, and straightway went on to do his captain’s bidding. # # “It was a shocking bad wound,” began the whale-surgeon; “and, taking my advice, # Captain Boomer here, stood our old Sammy—” # # “Samuel Enderby is the name of my ship,” interrupted the one-armed captain, # addressing Ahab; “go on, boy.” # # “Stood our old Sammy off to the northward, to get out of the blazing hot weather # there on the Line. But it was no use—I did all I could; sat up with him nights; # was very severe with him in the matter of diet—” # # “Oh, very severe!” chimed in the patient himself; then suddenly altering his # voice, “Drinking hot rum toddies with me every night, till he couldn’t see to # put on the bandages; and sending me to bed, half seas over, about three o’clock # in the morning. Oh, ye stars! he sat up with me indeed, and was very severe in # my diet. Oh! a great watcher, and very dietetically severe, is Dr. Bunger. # (Bunger, you dog, laugh out! why don’t ye? You know you’re a precious jolly # rascal.) But, heave ahead, boy, I’d rather be killed by you than kept alive by # any other man.” # # “My captain, you must have ere this perceived, respected sir”—said the # imperturbable godly-looking Bunger, slightly bowing to Ahab—“is apt to be # facetious at times; he spins us many clever things of that sort. But I may as # well say—en passant, as the French remark—that I myself—that is to say, Jack # Bunger, late of the reverend clergy—am a strict total abstinence man; I never # drink—” # # “Water!” cried the captain; “he never drinks it; it’s a sort of fits to him; # fresh water throws him into the hydrophobia; but go on—go on with the arm # story.” # # “Yes, I may as well,” said the surgeon, coolly. “I was about observing, sir, # before Captain Boomer’s facetious interruption, that spite of my best and # severest endeavors, the wound kept getting worse and worse; the truth was, sir, # it was as ugly gaping wound as surgeon ever saw; more than two feet and several # inches long. I measured it with the lead line. In short, it grew black; I knew # what was threatened, and off it came. But I had no hand in shipping that ivory # arm there; that thing is against all rule”—pointing at it with the # marlingspike—“that is the captain’s work, not mine; he ordered the carpenter to # make it; he had that club-hammer there put to the end, to knock some one’s # brains out with, I suppose, as he tried mine once. He flies into diabolical # passions sometimes. Do ye see this dent, sir”—removing his hat, and brushing # aside his hair, and exposing a bowl-like cavity in his skull, but which bore not # the slightest scarry trace, or any token of ever having been a wound—“Well, the # captain there will tell you how that came here; he knows.” # # “No, I don’t,” said the captain, “but his mother did; he was born with it. Oh, # you solemn rogue, you—you Bunger! was there ever such another Bunger in the # watery world? Bunger, when you die, you ought to die in pickle, you dog; you # should be preserved to future ages, you rascal.” # # “What became of the White Whale?” now cried Ahab, who thus far had been # impatiently listening to this by-play between the two Englishmen. # # “Oh!” cried the one-armed captain, “oh, yes! Well; after he sounded, we didn’t # see him again for some time; in fact, as I before hinted, I didn’t then know # what whale it was that had served me such a trick, till some time afterwards, # when coming back to the Line, we heard about Moby Dick—as some call him—and then # I knew it was he.” # # “Did’st thou cross his wake again?” # # “Twice.” # # “But could not fasten?” # # “Didn’t want to try to: ain’t one limb enough? What should I do without this # other arm? And I’m thinking Moby Dick doesn’t bite so much as he swallows.” # # “Well, then,” interrupted Bunger, “give him your left arm for bait to get the # right. Do you know, gentlemen”—very gravely and mathematically bowing to each # Captain in succession—“Do you know, gentlemen, that the digestive organs of the # whale are so inscrutably constructed by Divine Providence, that it is quite # impossible for him to completely digest even a man’s arm? And he knows it too. # So that what you take for the White Whale’s malice is only his awkwardness. For # he never means to swallow a single limb; he only thinks to terrify by feints. # But sometimes he is like the old juggling fellow, formerly a patient of mine in # Ceylon, that making believe swallow jack-knives, once upon a time let one drop # into him in good earnest, and there it stayed for a twelvemonth or more; when I # gave him an emetic, and he heaved it up in small tacks, d’ye see. No possible # way for him to digest that jack-knife, and fully incorporate it into his general # bodily system. Yes, Captain Boomer, if you are quick enough about it, and have a # mind to pawn one arm for the sake of the privilege of giving decent burial to # the other, why in that case the arm is yours; only let the whale have another # chance at you shortly, that’s all.” # # “No, thank ye, Bunger,” said the English Captain, “he’s welcome to the arm he # has, since I can’t help it, and didn’t know him then; but not to another one. No # more White Whales for me; I’ve lowered for him once, and that has satisfied me. # There would be great glory in killing him, I know that; and there is a ship-load # of precious sperm in him, but, hark ye, he’s best let alone; don’t you think so, # Captain?”—glancing at the ivory leg. # # “He is. But he will still be hunted, for all that. What is best let alone, that # accursed thing is not always what least allures. He’s all a magnet! How long # since thou saw’st him last? Which way heading?” # # “Bless my soul, and curse the foul fiend’s,” cried Bunger, stoopingly walking # round Ahab, and like a dog, strangely snuffing; “this man’s blood—bring the # thermometer!—it’s at the boiling point!—his pulse makes these planks # beat!—sir!”—taking a lancet from his pocket, and drawing near to Ahab’s arm. # # “Avast!” roared Ahab, dashing him against the bulwarks—“Man the boat! Which way # heading?” # # “Good God!” cried the English Captain, to whom the question was put. “What’s the # matter? He was heading east, I think.—Is your Captain crazy?” whispering # Fedallah. # # But Fedallah, putting a finger on his lip, slid over the bulwarks to take the # boat’s steering oar, and Ahab, swinging the cutting-tackle towards him, # commanded the ship’s sailors to stand by to lower. # # In a moment he was standing in the boat’s stern, and the Manilla men were # springing to their oars. In vain the English Captain hailed him. With back to # the stranger ship, and face set like a flint to his own, Ahab stood upright till # alongside of the Pequod. # # # # # # CHAPTER 101. The Decanter. # # Ere the English ship fades from sight, be it set down here, that she hailed from # London, and was named after the late Samuel Enderby, merchant of that city, the # original of the famous whaling house of Enderby & Sons; a house which in my poor # whaleman’s opinion, comes not far behind the united royal houses of the Tudors # and Bourbons, in point of real historical interest. How long, prior to the year # of our Lord 1775, this great whaling house was in existence, my numerous # fish-documents do not make plain; but in that year (1775) it fitted out the # first English ships that ever regularly hunted the Sperm Whale; though for some # score of years previous (ever since 1726) our valiant Coffins and Maceys of # Nantucket and the Vineyard had in large fleets pursued that Leviathan, but only # in the North and South Atlantic: not elsewhere. Be it distinctly recorded here, # that the Nantucketers were the first among mankind to harpoon with civilized # steel the great Sperm Whale; and that for half a century they were the only # people of the whole globe who so harpooned him. # # In 1778, a fine ship, the Amelia, fitted out for the express purpose, and at the # sole charge of the vigorous Enderbys, boldly rounded Cape Horn, and was the # first among the nations to lower a whale-boat of any sort in the great South # Sea. The voyage was a skilful and lucky one; and returning to her berth with her # hold full of the precious sperm, the Amelia’s example was soon followed by other # ships, English and American, and thus the vast Sperm Whale grounds of the # Pacific were thrown open. But not content with this good deed, the indefatigable # house again bestirred itself: Samuel and all his Sons—how many, their mother # only knows—and under their immediate auspices, and partly, I think, at their # expense, the British government was induced to send the sloop-of-war Rattler on # a whaling voyage of discovery into the South Sea. Commanded by a naval # Post-Captain, the Rattler made a rattling voyage of it, and did some service; # how much does not appear. But this is not all. In 1819, the same house fitted # out a discovery whale ship of their own, to go on a tasting cruise to the remote # waters of Japan. That ship—well called the “Syren”—made a noble experimental # cruise; and it was thus that the great Japanese Whaling Ground first became # generally known. The Syren in this famous voyage was commanded by a Captain # Coffin, a Nantucketer. # # All honor to the Enderbies, therefore, whose house, I think, exists to the # present day; though doubtless the original Samuel must long ago have slipped his # cable for the great South Sea of the other world. # # The ship named after him was worthy of the honor, being a very fast sailer and a # noble craft every way. I boarded her once at midnight somewhere off the # Patagonian coast, and drank good flip down in the forecastle. It was a fine gam # we had, and they were all trumps—every soul on board. A short life to them, and # a jolly death. And that fine gam I had—long, very long after old Ahab touched # her planks with his ivory heel—it minds me of the noble, solid, Saxon # hospitality of that ship; and may my parson forget me, and the devil remember # me, if I ever lose sight of it. Flip? Did I say we had flip? Yes, and we flipped # it at the rate of ten gallons the hour; and when the squall came (for it’s # squally off there by Patagonia), and all hands—visitors and all—were called to # reef topsails, we were so top-heavy that we had to swing each other aloft in # bowlines; and we ignorantly furled the skirts of our jackets into the sails, so # that we hung there, reefed fast in the howling gale, a warning example to all # drunken tars. However, the masts did not go overboard; and by and by we # scrambled down, so sober, that we had to pass the flip again, though the savage # salt spray bursting down the forecastle scuttle, rather too much diluted and # pickled it to my taste. # # The beef was fine—tough, but with body in it. They said it was bull-beef; # others, that it was dromedary beef; but I do not know, for certain, how that # was. They had dumplings too; small, but substantial, symmetrically globular, and # indestructible dumplings. I fancied that you could feel them, and roll them # about in you after they were swallowed. If you stooped over too far forward, you # risked their pitching out of you like billiard-balls. The bread—but that # couldn’t be helped; besides, it was an anti-scorbutic; in short, the bread # contained the only fresh fare they had. But the forecastle was not very light, # and it was very easy to step over into a dark corner when you ate it. But all in # all, taking her from truck to helm, considering the dimensions of the cook’s # boilers, including his own live parchment boilers; fore and aft, I say, the # Samuel Enderby was a jolly ship; of good fare and plenty; fine flip and strong; # crack fellows all, and capital from boot heels to hat-band. # # But why was it, think ye, that the Samuel Enderby, and some other English # whalers I know of—not all though—were such famous, hospitable ships; that passed # round the beef, and the bread, and the can, and the joke; and were not soon # weary of eating, and drinking, and laughing? I will tell you. The abounding good # cheer of these English whalers is matter for historical research. Nor have I # been at all sparing of historical whale research, when it has seemed needed. # # The English were preceded in the whale fishery by the Hollanders, Zealanders, # and Danes; from whom they derived many terms still extant in the fishery; and # what is yet more, their fat old fashions, touching plenty to eat and drink. For, # as a general thing, the English merchant-ship scrimps her crew; but not so the # English whaler. Hence, in the English, this thing of whaling good cheer is not # normal and natural, but incidental and particular; and, therefore, must have # some special origin, which is here pointed out, and will be still further # elucidated. # # During my researches in the Leviathanic histories, I stumbled upon an ancient # Dutch volume, which, by the musty whaling smell of it, I knew must be about # whalers. The title was, “Dan Coopman,” wherefore I concluded that this must be # the invaluable memoirs of some Amsterdam cooper in the fishery, as every whale # ship must carry its cooper. I was reinforced in this opinion by seeing that it # was the production of one “Fitz Swackhammer.” But my friend Dr. Snodhead, a very # learned man, professor of Low Dutch and High German in the college of Santa # Claus and St. Pott’s, to whom I handed the work for translation, giving him a # box of sperm candles for his trouble—this same Dr. Snodhead, so soon as he spied # the book, assured me that “Dan Coopman” did not mean “The Cooper,” but “The # Merchant.” In short, this ancient and learned Low Dutch book treated of the # commerce of Holland; and, among other subjects, contained a very interesting # account of its whale fishery. And in this chapter it was, headed, “Smeer,” or # “Fat,” that I found a long detailed list of the outfits for the larders and # cellars of 180 sail of Dutch whalemen; from which list, as translated by Dr. # Snodhead, I transcribe the following: # # 400,000 lbs. of beef. 60,000 lbs. Friesland pork. 150,000 lbs. of stock fish. # 550,000 lbs. of biscuit. 72,000 lbs. of soft bread. 2,800 firkins of butter. # 20,000 lbs. Texel & Leyden cheese. 144,000 lbs. cheese (probably an inferior # article). 550 ankers of Geneva. 10,800 barrels of beer. # # Most statistical tables are parchingly dry in the reading; not so in the present # case, however, where the reader is flooded with whole pipes, barrels, quarts, # and gills of good gin and good cheer. # # At the time, I devoted three days to the studious digesting of all this beer, # beef, and bread, during which many profound thoughts were incidentally suggested # to me, capable of a transcendental and Platonic application; and, furthermore, I # compiled supplementary tables of my own, touching the probable quantity of # stock-fish, etc., consumed by every Low Dutch harpooneer in that ancient # Greenland and Spitzbergen whale fishery. In the first place, the amount of # butter, and Texel and Leyden cheese consumed, seems amazing. I impute it, # though, to their naturally unctuous natures, being rendered still more unctuous # by the nature of their vocation, and especially by their pursuing their game in # those frigid Polar Seas, on the very coasts of that Esquimaux country where the # convivial natives pledge each other in bumpers of train oil. # # The quantity of beer, too, is very large, 10,800 barrels. Now, as those polar # fisheries could only be prosecuted in the short summer of that climate, so that # the whole cruise of one of these Dutch whalemen, including the short voyage to # and from the Spitzbergen sea, did not much exceed three months, say, and # reckoning 30 men to each of their fleet of 180 sail, we have 5,400 Low Dutch # seamen in all; therefore, I say, we have precisely two barrels of beer per man, # for a twelve weeks’ allowance, exclusive of his fair proportion of that 550 # ankers of gin. Now, whether these gin and beer harpooneers, so fuddled as one # might fancy them to have been, were the right sort of men to stand up in a # boat’s head, and take good aim at flying whales; this would seem somewhat # improbable. Yet they did aim at them, and hit them too. But this was very far # North, be it remembered, where beer agrees well with the constitution; upon the # Equator, in our southern fishery, beer would be apt to make the harpooneer # sleepy at the mast-head and boozy in his boat; and grievous loss might ensue to # Nantucket and New Bedford. # # But no more; enough has been said to show that the old Dutch whalers of two or # three centuries ago were high livers; and that the English whalers have not # neglected so excellent an example. For, say they, when cruising in an empty # ship, if you can get nothing better out of the world, get a good dinner out of # it, at least. And this empties the decanter. # # # # # # CHAPTER 102. A Bower in the Arsacides. # # Hitherto, in descriptively treating of the Sperm Whale, I have chiefly dwelt # upon the marvels of his outer aspect; or separately and in detail upon some few # interior structural features. But to a large and thorough sweeping comprehension # of him, it behooves me now to unbutton him still further, and untagging the # points of his hose, unbuckling his garters, and casting loose the hooks and the # eyes of the joints of his innermost bones, set him before you in his ultimatum; # that is to say, in his unconditional skeleton. # # But how now, Ishmael? How is it, that you, a mere oarsman in the fishery, # pretend to know aught about the subterranean parts of the whale? Did erudite # Stubb, mounted upon your capstan, deliver lectures on the anatomy of the # Cetacea; and by help of the windlass, hold up a specimen rib for exhibition? # Explain thyself, Ishmael. Can you land a full-grown whale on your deck for # examination, as a cook dishes a roast-pig? Surely not. A veritable witness have # you hitherto been, Ishmael; but have a care how you seize the privilege of Jonah # alone; the privilege of discoursing upon the joists and beams; the rafters, # ridge-pole, sleepers, and under-pinnings, making up the frame-work of leviathan; # and belike of the tallow-vats, dairy-rooms, butteries, and cheeseries in his # bowels. # # I confess, that since Jonah, few whalemen have penetrated very far beneath the # skin of the adult whale; nevertheless, I have been blessed with an opportunity # to dissect him in miniature. In a ship I belonged to, a small cub Sperm Whale # was once bodily hoisted to the deck for his poke or bag, to make sheaths for the # barbs of the harpoons, and for the heads of the lances. Think you I let that # chance go, without using my boat-hatchet and jack-knife, and breaking the seal # and reading all the contents of that young cub? # # And as for my exact knowledge of the bones of the leviathan in their gigantic, # full grown development, for that rare knowledge I am indebted to my late royal # friend Tranquo, king of Tranque, one of the Arsacides. For being at Tranque, # years ago, when attached to the trading-ship Dey of Algiers, I was invited to # spend part of the Arsacidean holidays with the lord of Tranque, at his retired # palm villa at Pupella; a sea-side glen not very far distant from what our # sailors called Bamboo-Town, his capital. # # Among many other fine qualities, my royal friend Tranquo, being gifted with a # devout love for all matters of barbaric vertu, had brought together in Pupella # whatever rare things the more ingenious of his people could invent; chiefly # carved woods of wonderful devices, chiselled shells, inlaid spears, costly # paddles, aromatic canoes; and all these distributed among whatever natural # wonders, the wonder-freighted, tribute-rendering waves had cast upon his shores. # # Chief among these latter was a great Sperm Whale, which, after an unusually long # raging gale, had been found dead and stranded, with his head against a cocoa-nut # tree, whose plumage-like, tufted droopings seemed his verdant jet. When the vast # body had at last been stripped of its fathom-deep enfoldings, and the bones # become dust dry in the sun, then the skeleton was carefully transported up the # Pupella glen, where a grand temple of lordly palms now sheltered it. # # The ribs were hung with trophies; the vertebræ were carved with Arsacidean # annals, in strange hieroglyphics; in the skull, the priests kept up an # unextinguished aromatic flame, so that the mystic head again sent forth its # vapory spout; while, suspended from a bough, the terrific lower jaw vibrated # over all the devotees, like the hair-hung sword that so affrighted Damocles. # # It was a wondrous sight. The wood was green as mosses of the Icy Glen; the trees # stood high and haughty, feeling their living sap; the industrious earth beneath # was as a weaver’s loom, with a gorgeous carpet on it, whereof the ground-vine # tendrils formed the warp and woof, and the living flowers the figures. All the # trees, with all their laden branches; all the shrubs, and ferns, and grasses; # the message-carrying air; all these unceasingly were active. Through the lacings # of the leaves, the great sun seemed a flying shuttle weaving the unwearied # verdure. Oh, busy weaver! unseen weaver!—pause!—one word!—whither flows the # fabric? what palace may it deck? wherefore all these ceaseless toilings? Speak, # weaver!—stay thy hand!—but one single word with thee! Nay—the shuttle flies—the # figures float from forth the loom; the freshet-rushing carpet for ever slides # away. The weaver-god, he weaves; and by that weaving is he deafened, that he # hears no mortal voice; and by that humming, we, too, who look on the loom are # deafened; and only when we escape it shall we hear the thousand voices that # speak through it. For even so it is in all material factories. The spoken words # that are inaudible among the flying spindles; those same words are plainly heard # without the walls, bursting from the opened casements. Thereby have villainies # been detected. Ah, mortal! then, be heedful; for so, in all this din of the # great world’s loom, thy subtlest thinkings may be overheard afar. # # Now, amid the green, life-restless loom of that Arsacidean wood, the great, # white, worshipped skeleton lay lounging—a gigantic idler! Yet, as the ever-woven # verdant warp and woof intermixed and hummed around him, the mighty idler seemed # the cunning weaver; himself all woven over with the vines; every month assuming # greener, fresher verdure; but himself a skeleton. Life folded Death; Death # trellised Life; the grim god wived with youthful Life, and begat him # curly-headed glories. # # Now, when with royal Tranquo I visited this wondrous whale, and saw the skull an # altar, and the artificial smoke ascending from where the real jet had issued, I # marvelled that the king should regard a chapel as an object of vertu. He # laughed. But more I marvelled that the priests should swear that smoky jet of # his was genuine. To and fro I paced before this skeleton—brushed the vines # aside—broke through the ribs—and with a ball of Arsacidean twine, wandered, # eddied long amid its many winding, shaded colonnades and arbours. But soon my # line was out; and following it back, I emerged from the opening where I entered. # I saw no living thing within; naught was there but bones. # # Cutting me a green measuring-rod, I once more dived within the skeleton. From # their arrow-slit in the skull, the priests perceived me taking the altitude of # the final rib, “How now!” they shouted; “Dar’st thou measure this our god! # That’s for us.” “Aye, priests—well, how long do ye make him, then?” But hereupon # a fierce contest rose among them, concerning feet and inches; they cracked each # other’s sconces with their yard-sticks—the great skull echoed—and seizing that # lucky chance, I quickly concluded my own admeasurements. # # These admeasurements I now propose to set before you. But first, be it recorded, # that, in this matter, I am not free to utter any fancied measurement I please. # Because there are skeleton authorities you can refer to, to test my accuracy. # There is a Leviathanic Museum, they tell me, in Hull, England, one of the # whaling ports of that country, where they have some fine specimens of fin-backs # and other whales. Likewise, I have heard that in the museum of Manchester, in # New Hampshire, they have what the proprietors call “the only perfect specimen of # a Greenland or River Whale in the United States.” Moreover, at a place in # Yorkshire, England, Burton Constable by name, a certain Sir Clifford Constable # has in his possession the skeleton of a Sperm Whale, but of moderate size, by no # means of the full-grown magnitude of my friend King Tranquo’s. # # In both cases, the stranded whales to which these two skeletons belonged, were # originally claimed by their proprietors upon similar grounds. King Tranquo # seizing his because he wanted it; and Sir Clifford, because he was lord of the # seignories of those parts. Sir Clifford’s whale has been articulated throughout; # so that, like a great chest of drawers, you can open and shut him, in all his # bony cavities—spread out his ribs like a gigantic fan—and swing all day upon his # lower jaw. Locks are to be put upon some of his trap-doors and shutters; and a # footman will show round future visitors with a bunch of keys at his side. Sir # Clifford thinks of charging twopence for a peep at the whispering gallery in the # spinal column; threepence to hear the echo in the hollow of his cerebellum; and # sixpence for the unrivalled view from his forehead. # # The skeleton dimensions I shall now proceed to set down are copied verbatim from # my right arm, where I had them tattooed; as in my wild wanderings at that # period, there was no other secure way of preserving such valuable statistics. # But as I was crowded for space, and wished the other parts of my body to remain # a blank page for a poem I was then composing—at least, what untattooed parts # might remain—I did not trouble myself with the odd inches; nor, indeed, should # inches at all enter into a congenial admeasurement of the whale. # # # # # # CHAPTER 103. Measurement of The Whale’s Skeleton. # # In the first place, I wish to lay before you a particular, plain statement, # touching the living bulk of this leviathan, whose skeleton we are briefly to # exhibit. Such a statement may prove useful here. # # According to a careful calculation I have made, and which I partly base upon # Captain Scoresby’s estimate, of seventy tons for the largest sized Greenland # whale of sixty feet in length; according to my careful calculation, I say, a # Sperm Whale of the largest magnitude, between eighty-five and ninety feet in # length, and something less than forty feet in its fullest circumference, such a # whale will weigh at least ninety tons; so that, reckoning thirteen men to a ton, # he would considerably outweigh the combined population of a whole village of one # thousand one hundred inhabitants. # # Think you not then that brains, like yoked cattle, should be put to this # leviathan, to make him at all budge to any landsman’s imagination? # # Having already in various ways put before you his skull, spout-hole, jaw, teeth, # tail, forehead, fins, and divers other parts, I shall now simply point out what # is most interesting in the general bulk of his unobstructed bones. But as the # colossal skull embraces so very large a proportion of the entire extent of the # skeleton; as it is by far the most complicated part; and as nothing is to be # repeated concerning it in this chapter, you must not fail to carry it in your # mind, or under your arm, as we proceed, otherwise you will not gain a complete # notion of the general structure we are about to view. # # In length, the Sperm Whale’s skeleton at Tranque measured seventy-two feet; so # that when fully invested and extended in life, he must have been ninety feet # long; for in the whale, the skeleton loses about one fifth in length compared # with the living body. Of this seventy-two feet, his skull and jaw comprised some # twenty feet, leaving some fifty feet of plain back-bone. Attached to this # back-bone, for something less than a third of its length, was the mighty # circular basket of ribs which once enclosed his vitals. # # To me this vast ivory-ribbed chest, with the long, unrelieved spine, extending # far away from it in a straight line, not a little resembled the hull of a great # ship new-laid upon the stocks, when only some twenty of her naked bow-ribs are # inserted, and the keel is otherwise, for the time, but a long, disconnected # timber. # # The ribs were ten on a side. The first, to begin from the neck, was nearly six # feet long; the second, third, and fourth were each successively longer, till you # came to the climax of the fifth, or one of the middle ribs, which measured eight # feet and some inches. From that part, the remaining ribs diminished, till the # tenth and last only spanned five feet and some inches. In general thickness, # they all bore a seemly correspondence to their length. The middle ribs were the # most arched. In some of the Arsacides they are used for beams whereon to lay # footpath bridges over small streams. # # In considering these ribs, I could not but be struck anew with the circumstance, # so variously repeated in this book, that the skeleton of the whale is by no # means the mould of his invested form. The largest of the Tranque ribs, one of # the middle ones, occupied that part of the fish which, in life, is greatest in # depth. Now, the greatest depth of the invested body of this particular whale # must have been at least sixteen feet; whereas, the corresponding rib measured # but little more than eight feet. So that this rib only conveyed half of the true # notion of the living magnitude of that part. Besides, for some way, where I now # saw but a naked spine, all that had been once wrapped round with tons of added # bulk in flesh, muscle, blood, and bowels. Still more, for the ample fins, I here # saw but a few disordered joints; and in place of the weighty and majestic, but # boneless flukes, an utter blank! # # How vain and foolish, then, thought I, for timid untravelled man to try to # comprehend aright this wondrous whale, by merely poring over his dead attenuated # skeleton, stretched in this peaceful wood. No. Only in the heart of quickest # perils; only when within the eddyings of his angry flukes; only on the profound # unbounded sea, can the fully invested whale be truly and livingly found out. # # But the spine. For that, the best way we can consider it is, with a crane, to # pile its bones high up on end. No speedy enterprise. But now it’s done, it looks # much like Pompey’s Pillar. # # There are forty and odd vertebræ in all, which in the skeleton are not locked # together. They mostly lie like the great knobbed blocks on a Gothic spire, # forming solid courses of heavy masonry. The largest, a middle one, is in width # something less than three feet, and in depth more than four. The smallest, where # the spine tapers away into the tail, is only two inches in width, and looks # something like a white billiard-ball. I was told that there were still smaller # ones, but they had been lost by some little cannibal urchins, the priest’s # children, who had stolen them to play marbles with. Thus we see how that the # spine of even the hugest of living things tapers off at last into simple child’s # play. # # # # # # CHAPTER 104. The Fossil Whale. # # From his mighty bulk the whale affords a most congenial theme whereon to # enlarge, amplify, and generally expatiate. Would you, you could not compress # him. By good rights he should only be treated of in imperial folio. Not to tell # over again his furlongs from spiracle to tail, and the yards he measures about # the waist; only think of the gigantic involutions of his intestines, where they # lie in him like great cables and hawsers coiled away in the subterranean # orlop-deck of a line-of-battle-ship. # # Since I have undertaken to manhandle this Leviathan, it behooves me to approve # myself omnisciently exhaustive in the enterprise; not overlooking the minutest # seminal germs of his blood, and spinning him out to the uttermost coil of his # bowels. Having already described him in most of his present habitatory and # anatomical peculiarities, it now remains to magnify him in an archæological, # fossiliferous, and antediluvian point of view. Applied to any other creature # than the Leviathan—to an ant or a flea—such portly terms might justly be deemed # unwarrantably grandiloquent. But when Leviathan is the text, the case is # altered. Fain am I to stagger to this emprise under the weightiest words of the # dictionary. And here be it said, that whenever it has been convenient to consult # one in the course of these dissertations, I have invariably used a huge quarto # edition of Johnson, expressly purchased for that purpose; because that famous # lexicographer’s uncommon personal bulk more fitted him to compile a lexicon to # be used by a whale author like me. # # One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may # seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan? # Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor’s # quill! Give me Vesuvius’ crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For in # the mere act of penning my thoughts of this Leviathan, they weary me, and make # me faint with their outreaching comprehensiveness of sweep, as if to include the # whole circle of the sciences, and all the generations of whales, and men, and # mastodons, past, present, and to come, with all the revolving panoramas of # empire on earth, and throughout the whole universe, not excluding its suburbs. # Such, and so magnifying, is the virtue of a large and liberal theme! We expand # to its bulk. To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great # and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who # have tried it. # # Ere entering upon the subject of Fossil Whales, I present my credentials as a # geologist, by stating that in my miscellaneous time I have been a stone-mason, # and also a great digger of ditches, canals and wells, wine-vaults, cellars, and # cisterns of all sorts. Likewise, by way of preliminary, I desire to remind the # reader, that while in the earlier geological strata there are found the fossils # of monsters now almost completely extinct; the subsequent relics discovered in # what are called the Tertiary formations seem the connecting, or at any rate # intercepted links, between the antichronical creatures, and those whose remote # posterity are said to have entered the Ark; all the Fossil Whales hitherto # discovered belong to the Tertiary period, which is the last preceding the # superficial formations. And though none of them precisely answer to any known # species of the present time, they are yet sufficiently akin to them in general # respects, to justify their taking rank as Cetacean fossils. # # Detached broken fossils of pre-adamite whales, fragments of their bones and # skeletons, have within thirty years past, at various intervals, been found at # the base of the Alps, in Lombardy, in France, in England, in Scotland, and in # the States of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. Among the more curious of # such remains is part of a skull, which in the year 1779 was disinterred in the # Rue Dauphine in Paris, a short street opening almost directly upon the palace of # the Tuileries; and bones disinterred in excavating the great docks of Antwerp, # in Napoleon’s time. Cuvier pronounced these fragments to have belonged to some # utterly unknown Leviathanic species. # # But by far the most wonderful of all Cetacean relics was the almost complete # vast skeleton of an extinct monster, found in the year 1842, on the plantation # of Judge Creagh, in Alabama. The awe-stricken credulous slaves in the vicinity # took it for the bones of one of the fallen angels. The Alabama doctors declared # it a huge reptile, and bestowed upon it the name of Basilosaurus. But some # specimen bones of it being taken across the sea to Owen, the English Anatomist, # it turned out that this alleged reptile was a whale, though of a departed # species. A significant illustration of the fact, again and again repeated in # this book, that the skeleton of the whale furnishes but little clue to the shape # of his fully invested body. So Owen rechristened the monster Zeuglodon; and in # his paper read before the London Geological Society, pronounced it, in # substance, one of the most extraordinary creatures which the mutations of the # globe have blotted out of existence. # # When I stand among these mighty Leviathan skeletons, skulls, tusks, jaws, ribs, # and vertebræ, all characterized by partial resemblances to the existing breeds # of sea-monsters; but at the same time bearing on the other hand similar # affinities to the annihilated antichronical Leviathans, their incalculable # seniors; I am, by a flood, borne back to that wondrous period, ere time itself # can be said to have begun; for time began with man. Here Saturn’s grey chaos # rolls over me, and I obtain dim, shuddering glimpses into those Polar # eternities; when wedged bastions of ice pressed hard upon what are now the # Tropics; and in all the 25,000 miles of this world’s circumference, not an # inhabitable hand’s breadth of land was visible. Then the whole world was the # whale’s; and, king of creation, he left his wake along the present lines of the # Andes and the Himmalehs. Who can show a pedigree like Leviathan? Ahab’s harpoon # had shed older blood than the Pharaoh’s. Methuselah seems a school-boy. I look # round to shake hands with Shem. I am horror-struck at this antemosaic, unsourced # existence of the unspeakable terrors of the whale, which, having been before all # time, must needs exist after all humane ages are over. # # But not alone has this Leviathan left his pre-adamite traces in the stereotype # plates of nature, and in limestone and marl bequeathed his ancient bust; but # upon Egyptian tablets, whose antiquity seems to claim for them an almost # fossiliferous character, we find the unmistakable print of his fin. In an # apartment of the great temple of Denderah, some fifty years ago, there was # discovered upon the granite ceiling a sculptured and painted planisphere, # abounding in centaurs, griffins, and dolphins, similar to the grotesque figures # on the celestial globe of the moderns. Gliding among them, old Leviathan swam as # of yore; was there swimming in that planisphere, centuries before Solomon was # cradled. # # Nor must there be omitted another strange attestation of the antiquity of the # whale, in his own osseous post-diluvian reality, as set down by the venerable # John Leo, the old Barbary traveller. # # “Not far from the Sea-side, they have a Temple, the Rafters and Beams of which # are made of Whale-Bones; for Whales of a monstrous size are oftentimes cast up # dead upon that shore. The Common People imagine, that by a secret Power bestowed # by God upon the Temple, no Whale can pass it without immediate death. But the # truth of the Matter is, that on either side of the Temple, there are Rocks that # shoot two Miles into the Sea, and wound the Whales when they light upon ’em. # They keep a Whale’s Rib of an incredible length for a Miracle, which lying upon # the Ground with its convex part uppermost, makes an Arch, the Head of which # cannot be reached by a Man upon a Camel’s Back. This Rib (says John Leo) is said # to have layn there a hundred Years before I saw it. Their Historians affirm, # that a Prophet who prophesy’d of Mahomet, came from this Temple, and some do not # stand to assert, that the Prophet Jonas was cast forth by the Whale at the Base # of the Temple.” # # In this Afric Temple of the Whale I leave you, reader, and if you be a # Nantucketer, and a whaleman, you will silently worship there. # # # # # # CHAPTER 105. Does the Whale’s Magnitude Diminish?—Will He Perish? # # Inasmuch, then, as this Leviathan comes floundering down upon us from the # head-waters of the Eternities, it may be fitly inquired, whether, in the long # course of his generations, he has not degenerated from the original bulk of his # sires. # # But upon investigation we find, that not only are the whales of the present day # superior in magnitude to those whose fossil remains are found in the Tertiary # system (embracing a distinct geological period prior to man), but of the whales # found in that Tertiary system, those belonging to its latter formations exceed # in size those of its earlier ones. # # Of all the pre-adamite whales yet exhumed, by far the largest is the Alabama one # mentioned in the last chapter, and that was less than seventy feet in length in # the skeleton. Whereas, we have already seen, that the tape-measure gives # seventy-two feet for the skeleton of a large sized modern whale. And I have # heard, on whalemen’s authority, that Sperm Whales have been captured near a # hundred feet long at the time of capture. # # But may it not be, that while the whales of the present hour are an advance in # magnitude upon those of all previous geological periods; may it not be, that # since Adam’s time they have degenerated? # # Assuredly, we must conclude so, if we are to credit the accounts of such # gentlemen as Pliny, and the ancient naturalists generally. For Pliny tells us of # whales that embraced acres of living bulk, and Aldrovandus of others which # measured eight hundred feet in length—Rope Walks and Thames Tunnels of Whales! # And even in the days of Banks and Solander, Cooke’s naturalists, we find a # Danish member of the Academy of Sciences setting down certain Iceland Whales # (reydan-siskur, or Wrinkled Bellies) at one hundred and twenty yards; that is, # three hundred and sixty feet. And Lacépède, the French naturalist, in his # elaborate history of whales, in the very beginning of his work (page 3), sets # down the Right Whale at one hundred metres, three hundred and twenty-eight feet. # And this work was published so late as A.D. 1825. # # But will any whaleman believe these stories? No. The whale of to-day is as big # as his ancestors in Pliny’s time. And if ever I go where Pliny is, I, a whaleman # (more than he was), will make bold to tell him so. Because I cannot understand # how it is, that while the Egyptian mummies that were buried thousands of years # before even Pliny was born, do not measure so much in their coffins as a modern # Kentuckian in his socks; and while the cattle and other animals sculptured on # the oldest Egyptian and Nineveh tablets, by the relative proportions in which # they are drawn, just as plainly prove that the high-bred, stall-fed, prize # cattle of Smithfield, not only equal, but far exceed in magnitude the fattest of # Pharaoh’s fat kine; in the face of all this, I will not admit that of all # animals the whale alone should have degenerated. # # But still another inquiry remains; one often agitated by the more recondite # Nantucketers. Whether owing to the almost omniscient look-outs at the mast-heads # of the whale-ships, now penetrating even through Behring’s straits, and into the # remotest secret drawers and lockers of the world; and the thousand harpoons and # lances darted along all continental coasts; the moot point is, whether Leviathan # can long endure so wide a chase, and so remorseless a havoc; whether he must not # at last be exterminated from the waters, and the last whale, like the last man, # smoke his last pipe, and then himself evaporate in the final puff. # # Comparing the humped herds of whales with the humped herds of buffalo, which, # not forty years ago, overspread by tens of thousands the prairies of Illinois # and Missouri, and shook their iron manes and scowled with their thunder-clotted # brows upon the sites of populous river-capitals, where now the polite broker # sells you land at a dollar an inch; in such a comparison an irresistible # argument would seem furnished, to show that the hunted whale cannot now escape # speedy extinction. # # But you must look at this matter in every light. Though so short a period # ago—not a good lifetime—the census of the buffalo in Illinois exceeded the # census of men now in London, and though at the present day not one horn or hoof # of them remains in all that region; and though the cause of this wondrous # extermination was the spear of man; yet the far different nature of the # whale-hunt peremptorily forbids so inglorious an end to the Leviathan. Forty men # in one ship hunting the Sperm Whales for forty-eight months think they have done # extremely well, and thank God, if at last they carry home the oil of forty fish. # Whereas, in the days of the old Canadian and Indian hunters and trappers of the # West, when the far west (in whose sunset suns still rise) was a wilderness and a # virgin, the same number of moccasined men, for the same number of months, # mounted on horse instead of sailing in ships, would have slain not forty, but # forty thousand and more buffaloes; a fact that, if need were, could be # statistically stated. # # Nor, considered aright, does it seem any argument in favour of the gradual # extinction of the Sperm Whale, for example, that in former years (the latter # part of the last century, say) these Leviathans, in small pods, were encountered # much oftener than at present, and, in consequence, the voyages were not so # prolonged, and were also much more remunerative. Because, as has been elsewhere # noticed, those whales, influenced by some views to safety, now swim the seas in # immense caravans, so that to a large degree the scattered solitaries, yokes, and # pods, and schools of other days are now aggregated into vast but widely # separated, unfrequent armies. That is all. And equally fallacious seems the # conceit, that because the so-called whale-bone whales no longer haunt many # grounds in former years abounding with them, hence that species also is # declining. For they are only being driven from promontory to cape; and if one # coast is no longer enlivened with their jets, then, be sure, some other and # remoter strand has been very recently startled by the unfamiliar spectacle. # # Furthermore: concerning these last mentioned Leviathans, they have two firm # fortresses, which, in all human probability, will for ever remain impregnable. # And as upon the invasion of their valleys, the frosty Swiss have retreated to # their mountains; so, hunted from the savannas and glades of the middle seas, the # whale-bone whales can at last resort to their Polar citadels, and diving under # the ultimate glassy barriers and walls there, come up among icy fields and # floes; and in a charmed circle of everlasting December, bid defiance to all # pursuit from man. # # But as perhaps fifty of these whale-bone whales are harpooned for one cachalot, # some philosophers of the forecastle have concluded that this positive havoc has # already very seriously diminished their battalions. But though for some time # past a number of these whales, not less than 13,000, have been annually slain on # the nor’ west coast by the Americans alone; yet there are considerations which # render even this circumstance of little or no account as an opposing argument in # this matter. # # Natural as it is to be somewhat incredulous concerning the populousness of the # more enormous creatures of the globe, yet what shall we say to Harto, the # historian of Goa, when he tells us that at one hunting the King of Siam took # 4,000 elephants; that in those regions elephants are numerous as droves of # cattle in the temperate climes. And there seems no reason to doubt that if these # elephants, which have now been hunted for thousands of years, by Semiramis, by # Porus, by Hannibal, and by all the successive monarchs of the East—if they still # survive there in great numbers, much more may the great whale outlast all # hunting, since he has a pasture to expatiate in, which is precisely twice as # large as all Asia, both Americas, Europe and Africa, New Holland, and all the # Isles of the sea combined. # # Moreover: we are to consider, that from the presumed great longevity of whales, # their probably attaining the age of a century and more, therefore at any one # period of time, several distinct adult generations must be contemporary. And # what that is, we may soon gain some idea of, by imagining all the grave-yards, # cemeteries, and family vaults of creation yielding up the live bodies of all the # men, women, and children who were alive seventy-five years ago; and adding this # countless host to the present human population of the globe. # # Wherefore, for all these things, we account the whale immortal in his species, # however perishable in his individuality. He swam the seas before the continents # broke water; he once swam over the site of the Tuileries, and Windsor Castle, # and the Kremlin. In Noah’s flood he despised Noah’s Ark; and if ever the world # is to be again flooded, like the Netherlands, to kill off its rats, then the # eternal whale will still survive, and rearing upon the topmost crest of the # equatorial flood, spout his frothed defiance to the skies. # # # # # # CHAPTER 106. Ahab’s Leg. # # The precipitating manner in which Captain Ahab had quitted the Samuel Enderby of # London, had not been unattended with some small violence to his own person. He # had lighted with such energy upon a thwart of his boat that his ivory leg had # received a half-splintering shock. And when after gaining his own deck, and his # own pivot-hole there, he so vehemently wheeled round with an urgent command to # the steersman (it was, as ever, something about his not steering inflexibly # enough); then, the already shaken ivory received such an additional twist and # wrench, that though it still remained entire, and to all appearances lusty, yet # Ahab did not deem it entirely trustworthy. # # And, indeed, it seemed small matter for wonder, that for all his pervading, mad # recklessness, Ahab did at times give careful heed to the condition of that dead # bone upon which he partly stood. For it had not been very long prior to the # Pequod’s sailing from Nantucket, that he had been found one night lying prone # upon the ground, and insensible; by some unknown, and seemingly inexplicable, # unimaginable casualty, his ivory limb having been so violently displaced, that # it had stake-wise smitten, and all but pierced his groin; nor was it without # extreme difficulty that the agonizing wound was entirely cured. # # Nor, at the time, had it failed to enter his monomaniac mind, that all the # anguish of that then present suffering was but the direct issue of a former woe; # and he too plainly seemed to see, that as the most poisonous reptile of the # marsh perpetuates his kind as inevitably as the sweetest songster of the grove; # so, equally with every felicity, all miserable events do naturally beget their # like. Yea, more than equally, thought Ahab; since both the ancestry and # posterity of Grief go further than the ancestry and posterity of Joy. For, not # to hint of this: that it is an inference from certain canonic teachings, that # while some natural enjoyments here shall have no children born to them for the # other world, but, on the contrary, shall be followed by the joy-childlessness of # all hell’s despair; whereas, some guilty mortal miseries shall still fertilely # beget to themselves an eternally progressive progeny of griefs beyond the grave; # not at all to hint of this, there still seems an inequality in the deeper # analysis of the thing. For, thought Ahab, while even the highest earthly # felicities ever have a certain unsignifying pettiness lurking in them, but, at # bottom, all heartwoes, a mystic significance, and, in some men, an archangelic # grandeur; so do their diligent tracings-out not belie the obvious deduction. To # trail the genealogies of these high mortal miseries, carries us at last among # the sourceless primogenitures of the gods; so that, in the face of all the glad, # hay-making suns, and soft cymballing, round harvest-moons, we must needs give in # to this: that the gods themselves are not for ever glad. The ineffaceable, sad # birth-mark in the brow of man, is but the stamp of sorrow in the signers. # # Unwittingly here a secret has been divulged, which perhaps might more properly, # in set way, have been disclosed before. With many other particulars concerning # Ahab, always had it remained a mystery to some, why it was, that for a certain # period, both before and after the sailing of the Pequod, he had hidden himself # away with such Grand-Lama-like exclusiveness; and, for that one interval, sought # speechless refuge, as it were, among the marble senate of the dead. Captain # Peleg’s bruited reason for this thing appeared by no means adequate; though, # indeed, as touching all Ahab’s deeper part, every revelation partook more of # significant darkness than of explanatory light. But, in the end, it all came # out; this one matter did, at least. That direful mishap was at the bottom of his # temporary recluseness. And not only this, but to that ever-contracting, dropping # circle ashore, who, for any reason, possessed the privilege of a less banned # approach to him; to that timid circle the above hinted casualty—remaining, as it # did, moodily unaccounted for by Ahab—invested itself with terrors, not entirely # underived from the land of spirits and of wails. So that, through their zeal for # him, they had all conspired, so far as in them lay, to muffle up the knowledge # of this thing from others; and hence it was, that not till a considerable # interval had elapsed, did it transpire upon the Pequod’s decks. # # But be all this as it may; let the unseen, ambiguous synod in the air, or the # vindictive princes and potentates of fire, have to do or not with earthly Ahab, # yet, in this present matter of his leg, he took plain practical procedures;—he # called the carpenter. # # And when that functionary appeared before him, he bade him without delay set # about making a new leg, and directed the mates to see him supplied with all the # studs and joists of jaw-ivory (Sperm Whale) which had thus far been accumulated # on the voyage, in order that a careful selection of the stoutest, # clearest-grained stuff might be secured. This done, the carpenter received # orders to have the leg completed that night; and to provide all the fittings for # it, independent of those pertaining to the distrusted one in use. Moreover, the # ship’s forge was ordered to be hoisted out of its temporary idleness in the # hold; and, to accelerate the affair, the blacksmith was commanded to proceed at # once to the forging of whatever iron contrivances might be needed. # # # # # # CHAPTER 107. The Carpenter. # # Seat thyself sultanically among the moons of Saturn, and take high abstracted # man alone; and he seems a wonder, a grandeur, and a woe. But from the same # point, take mankind in mass, and for the most part, they seem a mob of # unnecessary duplicates, both contemporary and hereditary. But most humble though # he was, and far from furnishing an example of the high, humane abstraction; the # Pequod’s carpenter was no duplicate; hence, he now comes in person on this # stage. # # Like all sea-going ship carpenters, and more especially those belonging to # whaling vessels, he was, to a certain off-handed, practical extent, alike # experienced in numerous trades and callings collateral to his own; the # carpenter’s pursuit being the ancient and outbranching trunk of all those # numerous handicrafts which more or less have to do with wood as an auxiliary # material. But, besides the application to him of the generic remark above, this # carpenter of the Pequod was singularly efficient in those thousand nameless # mechanical emergencies continually recurring in a large ship, upon a three or # four years’ voyage, in uncivilized and far-distant seas. For not to speak of his # readiness in ordinary duties:—repairing stove boats, sprung spars, reforming the # shape of clumsy-bladed oars, inserting bull’s eyes in the deck, or new # tree-nails in the side planks, and other miscellaneous matters more directly # pertaining to his special business; he was moreover unhesitatingly expert in all # manner of conflicting aptitudes, both useful and capricious. # # The one grand stage where he enacted all his various parts so manifold, was his # vice-bench; a long rude ponderous table furnished with several vices, of # different sizes, and both of iron and of wood. At all times except when whales # were alongside, this bench was securely lashed athwartships against the rear of # the Try-works. # # A belaying pin is found too large to be easily inserted into its hole: the # carpenter claps it into one of his ever-ready vices, and straightway files it # smaller. A lost land-bird of strange plumage strays on board, and is made a # captive: out of clean shaved rods of right-whale bone, and cross-beams of sperm # whale ivory, the carpenter makes a pagoda-looking cage for it. An oarsman # sprains his wrist: the carpenter concocts a soothing lotion. Stubb longed for # vermillion stars to be painted upon the blade of his every oar; screwing each # oar in his big vice of wood, the carpenter symmetrically supplies the # constellation. A sailor takes a fancy to wear shark-bone ear-rings: the # carpenter drills his ears. Another has the toothache: the carpenter out pincers, # and clapping one hand upon his bench bids him be seated there; but the poor # fellow unmanageably winces under the unconcluded operation; whirling round the # handle of his wooden vice, the carpenter signs him to clap his jaw in that, if # he would have him draw the tooth. # # Thus, this carpenter was prepared at all points, and alike indifferent and # without respect in all. Teeth he accounted bits of ivory; heads he deemed but # top-blocks; men themselves he lightly held for capstans. But while now upon so # wide a field thus variously accomplished and with such liveliness of expertness # in him, too; all this would seem to argue some uncommon vivacity of # intelligence. But not precisely so. For nothing was this man more remarkable, # than for a certain impersonal stolidity as it were; impersonal, I say; for it so # shaded off into the surrounding infinite of things, that it seemed one with the # general stolidity discernible in the whole visible world; which while # pauselessly active in uncounted modes, still eternally holds its peace, and # ignores you, though you dig foundations for cathedrals. Yet was this # half-horrible stolidity in him, involving, too, as it appeared, an all-ramifying # heartlessness;—yet was it oddly dashed at times, with an old, crutch-like, # antediluvian, wheezing humorousness, not unstreaked now and then with a certain # grizzled wittiness; such as might have served to pass the time during the # midnight watch on the bearded forecastle of Noah’s ark. Was it that this old # carpenter had been a life-long wanderer, whose much rolling, to and fro, not # only had gathered no moss; but what is more, had rubbed off whatever small # outward clingings might have originally pertained to him? He was a stript # abstract; an unfractioned integral; uncompromised as a new-born babe; living # without premeditated reference to this world or the next. You might almost say, # that this strange uncompromisedness in him involved a sort of unintelligence; # for in his numerous trades, he did not seem to work so much by reason or by # instinct, or simply because he had been tutored to it, or by any intermixture of # all these, even or uneven; but merely by a kind of deaf and dumb, spontaneous # literal process. He was a pure manipulator; his brain, if he had ever had one, # must have early oozed along into the muscles of his fingers. He was like one of # those unreasoning but still highly useful, multum in parvo, Sheffield # contrivances, assuming the exterior—though a little swelled—of a common pocket # knife; but containing, not only blades of various sizes, but also screw-drivers, # cork-screws, tweezers, awls, pens, rulers, nail-filers, countersinkers. So, if # his superiors wanted to use the carpenter for a screw-driver, all they had to do # was to open that part of him, and the screw was fast: or if for tweezers, take # him up by the legs, and there they were. # # Yet, as previously hinted, this omnitooled, open-and-shut carpenter, was, after # all, no mere machine of an automaton. If he did not have a common soul in him, # he had a subtle something that somehow anomalously did its duty. What that was, # whether essence of quicksilver, or a few drops of hartshorn, there is no # telling. But there it was; and there it had abided for now some sixty years or # more. And this it was, this same unaccountable, cunning life-principle in him; # this it was, that kept him a great part of the time soliloquizing; but only like # an unreasoning wheel, which also hummingly soliloquizes; or rather, his body was # a sentry-box and this soliloquizer on guard there, and talking all the time to # keep himself awake. # # # # # # CHAPTER 108. Ahab and the Carpenter. The Deck—First Night Watch. # # (Carpenter standing before his vice-bench, and by the light of two lanterns # busily filing the ivory joist for the leg, which joist is firmly fixed in the # vice. Slabs of ivory, leather straps, pads, screws, and various tools of all # sorts lying about the bench. Forward, the red flame of the forge is seen, where # the blacksmith is at work.) # # Drat the file, and drat the bone! That is hard which should be soft, and that is # soft which should be hard. So we go, who file old jaws and shinbones. Let’s try # another. Aye, now, this works better (sneezes). Halloa, this bone dust is # (sneezes)—why it’s (sneezes)—yes it’s (sneezes)—bless my soul, it won’t let me # speak! This is what an old fellow gets now for working in dead lumber. Saw a # live tree, and you don’t get this dust; amputate a live bone, and you don’t get # it (sneezes). Come, come, you old Smut, there, bear a hand, and let’s have that # ferule and buckle-screw; I’ll be ready for them presently. Lucky now (sneezes) # there’s no knee-joint to make; that might puzzle a little; but a mere # shinbone—why it’s easy as making hop-poles; only I should like to put a good # finish on. Time, time; if I but only had the time, I could turn him out as neat # a leg now as ever (sneezes) scraped to a lady in a parlor. Those buckskin legs # and calves of legs I’ve seen in shop windows wouldn’t compare at all. They soak # water, they do; and of course get rheumatic, and have to be doctored (sneezes) # with washes and lotions, just like live legs. There; before I saw it off, now, I # must call his old Mogulship, and see whether the length will be all right; too # short, if anything, I guess. Ha! that’s the heel; we are in luck; here he comes, # or it’s somebody else, that’s certain. # # AHAB (advancing). (During the ensuing scene, the carpenter continues sneezing at # times.) # # Well, manmaker! # # Just in time, sir. If the captain pleases, I will now mark the length. Let me # measure, sir. # # Measured for a leg! good. Well, it’s not the first time. About it! There; keep # thy finger on it. This is a cogent vice thou hast here, carpenter; let me feel # its grip once. So, so; it does pinch some. # # Oh, sir, it will break bones—beware, beware! # # No fear; I like a good grip; I like to feel something in this slippery world # that can hold, man. What’s Prometheus about there?—the blacksmith, I mean—what’s # he about? # # He must be forging the buckle-screw, sir, now. # # Right. It’s a partnership; he supplies the muscle part. He makes a fierce red # flame there! # # Aye, sir; he must have the white heat for this kind of fine work. # # Um-m. So he must. I do deem it now a most meaning thing, that that old Greek, # Prometheus, who made men, they say, should have been a blacksmith, and animated # them with fire; for what’s made in fire must properly belong to fire; and so # hell’s probable. How the soot flies! This must be the remainder the Greek made # the Africans of. Carpenter, when he’s through with that buckle, tell him to # forge a pair of steel shoulder-blades; there’s a pedlar aboard with a crushing # pack. # # Sir? # # Hold; while Prometheus is about it, I’ll order a complete man after a desirable # pattern. Imprimis, fifty feet high in his socks; then, chest modelled after the # Thames Tunnel; then, legs with roots to ’em, to stay in one place; then, arms # three feet through the wrist; no heart at all, brass forehead, and about a # quarter of an acre of fine brains; and let me see—shall I order eyes to see # outwards? No, but put a sky-light on top of his head to illuminate inwards. # There, take the order, and away. # # Now, what’s he speaking about, and who’s he speaking to, I should like to know? # Shall I keep standing here? (aside). # # ’Tis but indifferent architecture to make a blind dome; here’s one. No, no, no; # I must have a lantern. # # Ho, ho! That’s it, hey? Here are two, sir; one will serve my turn. # # What art thou thrusting that thief-catcher into my face for, man? Thrusted light # is worse than presented pistols. # # I thought, sir, that you spoke to carpenter. # # Carpenter? why that’s—but no;—a very tidy, and, I may say, an extremely # gentlemanlike sort of business thou art in here, carpenter;—or would’st thou # rather work in clay? # # Sir?—Clay? clay, sir? That’s mud; we leave clay to ditchers, sir. # # The fellow’s impious! What art thou sneezing about? # # Bone is rather dusty, sir. # # Take the hint, then; and when thou art dead, never bury thyself under living # people’s noses. # # Sir?—oh! ah!—I guess so;—yes—oh, dear! # # Look ye, carpenter, I dare say thou callest thyself a right good workmanlike # workman, eh? Well, then, will it speak thoroughly well for thy work, if, when I # come to mount this leg thou makest, I shall nevertheless feel another leg in the # same identical place with it; that is, carpenter, my old lost leg; the flesh and # blood one, I mean. Canst thou not drive that old Adam away? # # Truly, sir, I begin to understand somewhat now. Yes, I have heard something # curious on that score, sir; how that a dismasted man never entirely loses the # feeling of his old spar, but it will be still pricking him at times. May I # humbly ask if it be really so, sir? # # It is, man. Look, put thy live leg here in the place where mine once was; so, # now, here is only one distinct leg to the eye, yet two to the soul. Where thou # feelest tingling life; there, exactly there, there to a hair, do I. Is’t a # riddle? # # I should humbly call it a poser, sir. # # Hist, then. How dost thou know that some entire, living, thinking thing may not # be invisibly and uninterpenetratingly standing precisely where thou now # standest; aye, and standing there in thy spite? In thy most solitary hours, # then, dost thou not fear eavesdroppers? Hold, don’t speak! And if I still feel # the smart of my crushed leg, though it be now so long dissolved; then, why mayst # not thou, carpenter, feel the fiery pains of hell for ever, and without a body? # Hah! # # Good Lord! Truly, sir, if it comes to that, I must calculate over again; I think # I didn’t carry a small figure, sir. # # Look ye, pudding-heads should never grant premises.—How long before the leg is # done? # # Perhaps an hour, sir. # # Bungle away at it then, and bring it to me (turns to go). Oh, Life! Here I am, # proud as Greek god, and yet standing debtor to this blockhead for a bone to # stand on! Cursed be that mortal inter-indebtedness which will not do away with # ledgers. I would be free as air; and I’m down in the whole world’s books. I am # so rich, I could have given bid for bid with the wealthiest Prætorians at the # auction of the Roman empire (which was the world’s); and yet I owe for the flesh # in the tongue I brag with. By heavens! I’ll get a crucible, and into it, and # dissolve myself down to one small, compendious vertebra. So. # # CARPENTER (resuming his work). # # Well, well, well! Stubb knows him best of all, and Stubb always says he’s queer; # says nothing but that one sufficient little word queer; he’s queer, says Stubb; # he’s queer—queer, queer; and keeps dinning it into Mr. Starbuck all the # time—queer—sir—queer, queer, very queer. And here’s his leg! Yes, now that I # think of it, here’s his bedfellow! has a stick of whale’s jaw-bone for a wife! # And this is his leg; he’ll stand on this. What was that now about one leg # standing in three places, and all three places standing in one hell—how was # that? Oh! I don’t wonder he looked so scornful at me! I’m a sort of # strange-thoughted sometimes, they say; but that’s only haphazard-like. Then, a # short, little old body like me, should never undertake to wade out into deep # waters with tall, heron-built captains; the water chucks you under the chin # pretty quick, and there’s a great cry for life-boats. And here’s the heron’s # leg! long and slim, sure enough! Now, for most folks one pair of legs lasts a # lifetime, and that must be because they use them mercifully, as a tender-hearted # old lady uses her roly-poly old coach-horses. But Ahab; oh he’s a hard driver. # Look, driven one leg to death, and spavined the other for life, and now wears # out bone legs by the cord. Halloa, there, you Smut! bear a hand there with those # screws, and let’s finish it before the resurrection fellow comes a-calling with # his horn for all legs, true or false, as brewery-men go round collecting old # beer barrels, to fill ’em up again. What a leg this is! It looks like a real # live leg, filed down to nothing but the core; he’ll be standing on this # to-morrow; he’ll be taking altitudes on it. Halloa! I almost forgot the little # oval slate, smoothed ivory, where he figures up the latitude. So, so; chisel, # file, and sand-paper, now! # # # # # # CHAPTER 109. Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin. # # According to usage they were pumping the ship next morning; and lo! no # inconsiderable oil came up with the water; the casks below must have sprung a # bad leak. Much concern was shown; and Starbuck went down into the cabin to # report this unfavourable affair.* # # *In Sperm-whalemen with any considerable quantity of oil on board, it is a # regular semi-weekly duty to conduct a hose into the hold, and drench the casks # with sea-water; which afterwards, at varying intervals, is removed by the # ship’s pumps. Hereby the casks are sought to be kept damply tight; while by the # changed character of the withdrawn water, the mariners readily detect any # serious leakage in the precious cargo. # # Now, from the South and West the Pequod was drawing nigh to Formosa and the # Bashee Isles, between which lies one of the tropical outlets from the China # waters into the Pacific. And so Starbuck found Ahab with a general chart of the # oriental archipelagoes spread before him; and another separate one representing # the long eastern coasts of the Japanese islands—Niphon, Matsmai, and Sikoke. # With his snow-white new ivory leg braced against the screwed leg of his table, # and with a long pruning-hook of a jack-knife in his hand, the wondrous old man, # with his back to the gangway door, was wrinkling his brow, and tracing his old # courses again. # # “Who’s there?” hearing the footstep at the door, but not turning round to it. # “On deck! Begone!” # # “Captain Ahab mistakes; it is I. The oil in the hold is leaking, sir. We must up # Burtons and break out.” # # “Up Burtons and break out? Now that we are nearing Japan; heave-to here for a # week to tinker a parcel of old hoops?” # # “Either do that, sir, or waste in one day more oil than we may make good in a # year. What we come twenty thousand miles to get is worth saving, sir.” # # “So it is, so it is; if we get it.” # # “I was speaking of the oil in the hold, sir.” # # “And I was not speaking or thinking of that at all. Begone! Let it leak! I’m all # aleak myself. Aye! leaks in leaks! not only full of leaky casks, but those leaky # casks are in a leaky ship; and that’s a far worse plight than the Pequod’s, man. # Yet I don’t stop to plug my leak; for who can find it in the deep-loaded hull; # or how hope to plug it, even if found, in this life’s howling gale? Starbuck! # I’ll not have the Burtons hoisted.” # # “What will the owners say, sir?” # # “Let the owners stand on Nantucket beach and outyell the Typhoons. What cares # Ahab? Owners, owners? Thou art always prating to me, Starbuck, about those # miserly owners, as if the owners were my conscience. But look ye, the only real # owner of anything is its commander; and hark ye, my conscience is in this ship’s # keel.—On deck!” # # “Captain Ahab,” said the reddening mate, moving further into the cabin, with a # daring so strangely respectful and cautious that it almost seemed not only every # way seeking to avoid the slightest outward manifestation of itself, but within # also seemed more than half distrustful of itself; “A better man than I might # well pass over in thee what he would quickly enough resent in a younger man; # aye, and in a happier, Captain Ahab.” # # “Devils! Dost thou then so much as dare to critically think of me?—On deck!” # # “Nay, sir, not yet; I do entreat. And I do dare, sir—to be forbearing! Shall we # not understand each other better than hitherto, Captain Ahab?” # # Ahab seized a loaded musket from the rack (forming part of most South-Sea-men’s # cabin furniture), and pointing it towards Starbuck, exclaimed: “There is one God # that is Lord over the earth, and one Captain that is lord over the Pequod.—On # deck!” # # For an instant in the flashing eyes of the mate, and his fiery cheeks, you would # have almost thought that he had really received the blaze of the levelled tube. # But, mastering his emotion, he half calmly rose, and as he quitted the cabin, # paused for an instant and said: “Thou hast outraged, not insulted me, sir; but # for that I ask thee not to beware of Starbuck; thou wouldst but laugh; but let # Ahab beware of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man.” # # “He waxes brave, but nevertheless obeys; most careful bravery that!” murmured # Ahab, as Starbuck disappeared. “What’s that he said—Ahab beware of Ahab—there’s # something there!” Then unconsciously using the musket for a staff, with an iron # brow he paced to and fro in the little cabin; but presently the thick plaits of # his forehead relaxed, and returning the gun to the rack, he went to the deck. # # “Thou art but too good a fellow, Starbuck,” he said lowly to the mate; then # raising his voice to the crew: “Furl the t’gallant-sails, and close-reef the # top-sails, fore and aft; back the main-yard; up Burton, and break out in the # main-hold.” # # It were perhaps vain to surmise exactly why it was, that as respecting Starbuck, # Ahab thus acted. It may have been a flash of honesty in him; or mere prudential # policy which, under the circumstance, imperiously forbade the slightest symptom # of open disaffection, however transient, in the important chief officer of his # ship. However it was, his orders were executed; and the Burtons were hoisted. # # # # # # CHAPTER 110. Queequeg in His Coffin. # # Upon searching, it was found that the casks last struck into the hold were # perfectly sound, and that the leak must be further off. So, it being calm # weather, they broke out deeper and deeper, disturbing the slumbers of the huge # ground-tier butts; and from that black midnight sending those gigantic moles # into the daylight above. So deep did they go; and so ancient, and corroded, and # weedy the aspect of the lowermost puncheons, that you almost looked next for # some mouldy corner-stone cask containing coins of Captain Noah, with copies of # the posted placards, vainly warning the infatuated old world from the flood. # Tierce after tierce, too, of water, and bread, and beef, and shooks of staves, # and iron bundles of hoops, were hoisted out, till at last the piled decks were # hard to get about; and the hollow hull echoed under foot, as if you were # treading over empty catacombs, and reeled and rolled in the sea like an # air-freighted demijohn. Top-heavy was the ship as a dinnerless student with all # Aristotle in his head. Well was it that the Typhoons did not visit them then. # # Now, at this time it was that my poor pagan companion, and fast bosom-friend, # Queequeg, was seized with a fever, which brought him nigh to his endless end. # # Be it said, that in this vocation of whaling, sinecures are unknown; dignity and # danger go hand in hand; till you get to be Captain, the higher you rise the # harder you toil. So with poor Queequeg, who, as harpooneer, must not only face # all the rage of the living whale, but—as we have elsewhere seen—mount his dead # back in a rolling sea; and finally descend into the gloom of the hold, and # bitterly sweating all day in that subterraneous confinement, resolutely # manhandle the clumsiest casks and see to their stowage. To be short, among # whalemen, the harpooneers are the holders, so called. # # Poor Queequeg! when the ship was about half disembowelled, you should have # stooped over the hatchway, and peered down upon him there; where, stripped to # his woollen drawers, the tattooed savage was crawling about amid that dampness # and slime, like a green spotted lizard at the bottom of a well. And a well, or # an ice-house, it somehow proved to him, poor pagan; where, strange to say, for # all the heat of his sweatings, he caught a terrible chill which lapsed into a # fever; and at last, after some days’ suffering, laid him in his hammock, close # to the very sill of the door of death. How he wasted and wasted away in those # few long-lingering days, till there seemed but little left of him but his frame # and tattooing. But as all else in him thinned, and his cheek-bones grew sharper, # his eyes, nevertheless, seemed growing fuller and fuller; they became of a # strange softness of lustre; and mildly but deeply looked out at you there from # his sickness, a wondrous testimony to that immortal health in him which could # not die, or be weakened. And like circles on the water, which, as they grow # fainter, expand; so his eyes seemed rounding and rounding, like the rings of # Eternity. An awe that cannot be named would steal over you as you sat by the # side of this waning savage, and saw as strange things in his face, as any beheld # who were bystanders when Zoroaster died. For whatever is truly wondrous and # fearful in man, never yet was put into words or books. And the drawing near of # Death, which alike levels all, alike impresses all with a last revelation, which # only an author from the dead could adequately tell. So that—let us say it # again—no dying Chaldee or Greek had higher and holier thoughts than those, whose # mysterious shades you saw creeping over the face of poor Queequeg, as he quietly # lay in his swaying hammock, and the rolling sea seemed gently rocking him to his # final rest, and the ocean’s invisible flood-tide lifted him higher and higher # towards his destined heaven. # # Not a man of the crew but gave him up; and, as for Queequeg himself, what he # thought of his case was forcibly shown by a curious favour he asked. He called # one to him in the grey morning watch, when the day was just breaking, and taking # his hand, said that while in Nantucket he had chanced to see certain little # canoes of dark wood, like the rich war-wood of his native isle; and upon # inquiry, he had learned that all whalemen who died in Nantucket, were laid in # those same dark canoes, and that the fancy of being so laid had much pleased # him; for it was not unlike the custom of his own race, who, after embalming a # dead warrior, stretched him out in his canoe, and so left him to be floated away # to the starry archipelagoes; for not only do they believe that the stars are # isles, but that far beyond all visible horizons, their own mild, uncontinented # seas, interflow with the blue heavens; and so form the white breakers of the # milky way. He added, that he shuddered at the thought of being buried in his # hammock, according to the usual sea-custom, tossed like something vile to the # death-devouring sharks. No: he desired a canoe like those of Nantucket, all the # more congenial to him, being a whaleman, that like a whale-boat these # coffin-canoes were without a keel; though that involved but uncertain steering, # and much lee-way adown the dim ages. # # Now, when this strange circumstance was made known aft, the carpenter was at # once commanded to do Queequeg’s bidding, whatever it might include. There was # some heathenish, coffin-coloured old lumber aboard, which, upon a long previous # voyage, had been cut from the aboriginal groves of the Lackaday islands, and # from these dark planks the coffin was recommended to be made. No sooner was the # carpenter apprised of the order, than taking his rule, he forthwith with all the # indifferent promptitude of his character, proceeded into the forecastle and took # Queequeg’s measure with great accuracy, regularly chalking Queequeg’s person as # he shifted the rule. # # “Ah! poor fellow! he’ll have to die now,” ejaculated the Long Island sailor. # # Going to his vice-bench, the carpenter for convenience sake and general # reference, now transferringly measured on it the exact length the coffin was to # be, and then made the transfer permanent by cutting two notches at its # extremities. This done, he marshalled the planks and his tools, and to work. # # When the last nail was driven, and the lid duly planed and fitted, he lightly # shouldered the coffin and went forward with it, inquiring whether they were # ready for it yet in that direction. # # Overhearing the indignant but half-humorous cries with which the people on deck # began to drive the coffin away, Queequeg, to every one’s consternation, # commanded that the thing should be instantly brought to him, nor was there any # denying him; seeing that, of all mortals, some dying men are the most # tyrannical; and certainly, since they will shortly trouble us so little for # evermore, the poor fellows ought to be indulged. # # Leaning over in his hammock, Queequeg long regarded the coffin with an attentive # eye. He then called for his harpoon, had the wooden stock drawn from it, and # then had the iron part placed in the coffin along with one of the paddles of his # boat. All by his own request, also, biscuits were then ranged round the sides # within: a flask of fresh water was placed at the head, and a small bag of woody # earth scraped up in the hold at the foot; and a piece of sail-cloth being rolled # up for a pillow, Queequeg now entreated to be lifted into his final bed, that he # might make trial of its comforts, if any it had. He lay without moving a few # minutes, then told one to go to his bag and bring out his little god, Yojo. Then # crossing his arms on his breast with Yojo between, he called for the coffin lid # (hatch he called it) to be placed over him. The head part turned over with a # leather hinge, and there lay Queequeg in his coffin with little but his composed # countenance in view. “Rarmai” (it will do; it is easy), he murmured at last, and # signed to be replaced in his hammock. # # But ere this was done, Pip, who had been slily hovering near by all this while, # drew nigh to him where he lay, and with soft sobbings, took him by the hand; in # the other, holding his tambourine. # # “Poor rover! will ye never have done with all this weary roving? where go ye # now? But if the currents carry ye to those sweet Antilles where the beaches are # only beat with water-lilies, will ye do one little errand for me? Seek out one # Pip, who’s now been missing long: I think he’s in those far Antilles. If ye find # him, then comfort him; for he must be very sad; for look! he’s left his # tambourine behind;—I found it. Rig-a-dig, dig, dig! Now, Queequeg, die; and I’ll # beat ye your dying march.” # # “I have heard,” murmured Starbuck, gazing down the scuttle, “that in violent # fevers, men, all ignorance, have talked in ancient tongues; and that when the # mystery is probed, it turns out always that in their wholly forgotten childhood # those ancient tongues had been really spoken in their hearing by some lofty # scholars. So, to my fond faith, poor Pip, in this strange sweetness of his # lunacy, brings heavenly vouchers of all our heavenly homes. Where learned he # that, but there?—Hark! he speaks again: but more wildly now.” # # “Form two and two! Let’s make a General of him! Ho, where’s his harpoon? Lay it # across here.—Rig-a-dig, dig, dig! huzza! Oh for a game cock now to sit upon his # head and crow! Queequeg dies game!—mind ye that; Queequeg dies game!—take ye # good heed of that; Queequeg dies game! I say; game, game, game! but base little # Pip, he died a coward; died all a’shiver;—out upon Pip! Hark ye; if ye find Pip, # tell all the Antilles he’s a runaway; a coward, a coward, a coward! Tell them he # jumped from a whale-boat! I’d never beat my tambourine over base Pip, and hail # him General, if he were once more dying here. No, no! shame upon all # cowards—shame upon them! Let ’em go drown like Pip, that jumped from a # whale-boat. Shame! shame!” # # During all this, Queequeg lay with closed eyes, as if in a dream. Pip was led # away, and the sick man was replaced in his hammock. # # But now that he had apparently made every preparation for death; now that his # coffin was proved a good fit, Queequeg suddenly rallied; soon there seemed no # need of the carpenter’s box: and thereupon, when some expressed their delighted # surprise, he, in substance, said, that the cause of his sudden convalescence was # this;—at a critical moment, he had just recalled a little duty ashore, which he # was leaving undone; and therefore had changed his mind about dying: he could not # die yet, he averred. They asked him, then, whether to live or die was a matter # of his own sovereign will and pleasure. He answered, certainly. In a word, it # was Queequeg’s conceit, that if a man made up his mind to live, mere sickness # could not kill him: nothing but a whale, or a gale, or some violent, # ungovernable, unintelligent destroyer of that sort. # # Now, there is this noteworthy difference between savage and civilized; that # while a sick, civilized man may be six months convalescing, generally speaking, # a sick savage is almost half-well again in a day. So, in good time my Queequeg # gained strength; and at length after sitting on the windlass for a few indolent # days (but eating with a vigorous appetite) he suddenly leaped to his feet, threw # out his arms and legs, gave himself a good stretching, yawned a little bit, and # then springing into the head of his hoisted boat, and poising a harpoon, # pronounced himself fit for a fight. # # With a wild whimsiness, he now used his coffin for a sea-chest; and emptying # into it his canvas bag of clothes, set them in order there. Many spare hours he # spent, in carving the lid with all manner of grotesque figures and drawings; and # it seemed that hereby he was striving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the # twisted tattooing on his body. And this tattooing had been the work of a # departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had # written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a # mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own # proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose # mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heart beat against # them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away # with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the # last. And this thought it must have been which suggested to Ahab that wild # exclamation of his, when one morning turning away from surveying poor # Queequeg—“Oh, devilish tantalization of the gods!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 111. The Pacific. # # When gliding by the Bashee isles we emerged at last upon the great South Sea; # were it not for other things, I could have greeted my dear Pacific with # uncounted thanks, for now the long supplication of my youth was answered; that # serene ocean rolled eastwards from me a thousand leagues of blue. # # There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful # stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath; like those fabled # undulations of the Ephesian sod over the buried Evangelist St. John. And meet it # is, that over these sea-pastures, wide-rolling watery prairies and Potters’ # Fields of all four continents, the waves should rise and fall, and ebb and flow # unceasingly; for here, millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, # somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, # dreaming, still; tossing like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves # but made so by their restlessness. # # To any meditative Magian rover, this serene Pacific, once beheld, must ever # after be the sea of his adoption. It rolls the midmost waters of the world, the # Indian ocean and Atlantic being but its arms. The same waves wash the moles of # the new-built Californian towns, but yesterday planted by the recentest race of # men, and lave the faded but still gorgeous skirts of Asiatic lands, older than # Abraham; while all between float milky-ways of coral isles, and low-lying, # endless, unknown Archipelagoes, and impenetrable Japans. Thus this mysterious, # divine Pacific zones the world’s whole bulk about; makes all coasts one bay to # it; seems the tide-beating heart of earth. Lifted by those eternal swells, you # needs must own the seductive god, bowing your head to Pan. # # But few thoughts of Pan stirred Ahab’s brain, as standing like an iron statue at # his accustomed place beside the mizen rigging, with one nostril he unthinkingly # snuffed the sugary musk from the Bashee isles (in whose sweet woods mild lovers # must be walking), and with the other consciously inhaled the salt breath of the # new found sea; that sea in which the hated White Whale must even then be # swimming. Launched at length upon these almost final waters, and gliding towards # the Japanese cruising-ground, the old man’s purpose intensified itself. His firm # lips met like the lips of a vice; the Delta of his forehead’s veins swelled like # overladen brooks; in his very sleep, his ringing cry ran through the vaulted # hull, “Stern all! the White Whale spouts thick blood!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 112. The Blacksmith. # # Availing himself of the mild, summer-cool weather that now reigned in these # latitudes, and in preparation for the peculiarly active pursuits shortly to be # anticipated, Perth, the begrimed, blistered old blacksmith, had not removed his # portable forge to the hold again, after concluding his contributory work for # Ahab’s leg, but still retained it on deck, fast lashed to ringbolts by the # foremast; being now almost incessantly invoked by the headsmen, and harpooneers, # and bowsmen to do some little job for them; altering, or repairing, or new # shaping their various weapons and boat furniture. Often he would be surrounded # by an eager circle, all waiting to be served; holding boat-spades, pike-heads, # harpoons, and lances, and jealously watching his every sooty movement, as he # toiled. Nevertheless, this old man’s was a patient hammer wielded by a patient # arm. No murmur, no impatience, no petulance did come from him. Silent, slow, and # solemn; bowing over still further his chronically broken back, he toiled away, # as if toil were life itself, and the heavy beating of his hammer the heavy # beating of his heart. And so it was.—Most miserable! # # A peculiar walk in this old man, a certain slight but painful appearing yawing # in his gait, had at an early period of the voyage excited the curiosity of the # mariners. And to the importunity of their persisted questionings he had finally # given in; and so it came to pass that every one now knew the shameful story of # his wretched fate. # # Belated, and not innocently, one bitter winter’s midnight, on the road running # between two country towns, the blacksmith half-stupidly felt the deadly numbness # stealing over him, and sought refuge in a leaning, dilapidated barn. The issue # was, the loss of the extremities of both feet. Out of this revelation, part by # part, at last came out the four acts of the gladness, and the one long, and as # yet uncatastrophied fifth act of the grief of his life’s drama. # # He was an old man, who, at the age of nearly sixty, had postponedly encountered # that thing in sorrow’s technicals called ruin. He had been an artisan of famed # excellence, and with plenty to do; owned a house and garden; embraced a # youthful, daughter-like, loving wife, and three blithe, ruddy children; every # Sunday went to a cheerful-looking church, planted in a grove. But one night, # under cover of darkness, and further concealed in a most cunning disguisement, a # desperate burglar slid into his happy home, and robbed them all of everything. # And darker yet to tell, the blacksmith himself did ignorantly conduct this # burglar into his family’s heart. It was the Bottle Conjuror! Upon the opening of # that fatal cork, forth flew the fiend, and shrivelled up his home. Now, for # prudent, most wise, and economic reasons, the blacksmith’s shop was in the # basement of his dwelling, but with a separate entrance to it; so that always had # the young and loving healthy wife listened with no unhappy nervousness, but with # vigorous pleasure, to the stout ringing of her young-armed old husband’s hammer; # whose reverberations, muffled by passing through the floors and walls, came up # to her, not unsweetly, in her nursery; and so, to stout Labor’s iron lullaby, # the blacksmith’s infants were rocked to slumber. # # Oh, woe on woe! Oh, Death, why canst thou not sometimes be timely? Hadst thou # taken this old blacksmith to thyself ere his full ruin came upon him, then had # the young widow had a delicious grief, and her orphans a truly venerable, # legendary sire to dream of in their after years; and all of them a care-killing # competency. But Death plucked down some virtuous elder brother, on whose # whistling daily toil solely hung the responsibilities of some other family, and # left the worse than useless old man standing, till the hideous rot of life # should make him easier to harvest. # # Why tell the whole? The blows of the basement hammer every day grew more and # more between; and each blow every day grew fainter than the last; the wife sat # frozen at the window, with tearless eyes, glitteringly gazing into the weeping # faces of her children; the bellows fell; the forge choked up with cinders; the # house was sold; the mother dived down into the long church-yard grass; her # children twice followed her thither; and the houseless, familyless old man # staggered off a vagabond in crape; his every woe unreverenced; his grey head a # scorn to flaxen curls! # # Death seems the only desirable sequel for a career like this; but Death is only # a launching into the region of the strange Untried; it is but the first # salutation to the possibilities of the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the # Unshored; therefore, to the death-longing eyes of such men, who still have left # in them some interior compunctions against suicide, does the all-contributed and # all-receptive ocean alluringly spread forth his whole plain of unimaginable, # taking terrors, and wonderful, new-life adventures; and from the hearts of # infinite Pacifics, the thousand mermaids sing to them—“Come hither, # broken-hearted; here is another life without the guilt of intermediate death; # here are wonders supernatural, without dying for them. Come hither! bury thyself # in a life which, to your now equally abhorred and abhorring, landed world, is # more oblivious than death. Come hither! put up thy gravestone, too, within the # churchyard, and come hither, till we marry thee!” # # Hearkening to these voices, East and West, by early sunrise, and by fall of eve, # the blacksmith’s soul responded, Aye, I come! And so Perth went a-whaling. # # # # # # CHAPTER 113. The Forge. # # With matted beard, and swathed in a bristling shark-skin apron, about mid-day, # Perth was standing between his forge and anvil, the latter placed upon an # iron-wood log, with one hand holding a pike-head in the coals, and with the # other at his forge’s lungs, when Captain Ahab came along, carrying in his hand a # small rusty-looking leathern bag. While yet a little distance from the forge, # moody Ahab paused; till at last, Perth, withdrawing his iron from the fire, # began hammering it upon the anvil—the red mass sending off the sparks in thick # hovering flights, some of which flew close to Ahab. # # “Are these thy Mother Carey’s chickens, Perth? they are always flying in thy # wake; birds of good omen, too, but not to all;—look here, they burn; but # thou—thou liv’st among them without a scorch.” # # “Because I am scorched all over, Captain Ahab,” answered Perth, resting for a # moment on his hammer; “I am past scorching; not easily can’st thou scorch a # scar.” # # “Well, well; no more. Thy shrunk voice sounds too calmly, sanely woeful to me. # In no Paradise myself, I am impatient of all misery in others that is not mad. # Thou should’st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad? How can’st # thou endure without being mad? Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou can’st # not go mad?—What wert thou making there?” # # “Welding an old pike-head, sir; there were seams and dents in it.” # # “And can’st thou make it all smooth again, blacksmith, after such hard usage as # it had?” # # “I think so, sir.” # # “And I suppose thou can’st smoothe almost any seams and dents; never mind how # hard the metal, blacksmith?” # # “Aye, sir, I think I can; all seams and dents but one.” # # “Look ye here, then,” cried Ahab, passionately advancing, and leaning with both # hands on Perth’s shoulders; “look ye here—here—can ye smoothe out a seam like # this, blacksmith,” sweeping one hand across his ribbed brow; “if thou could’st, # blacksmith, glad enough would I lay my head upon thy anvil, and feel thy # heaviest hammer between my eyes. Answer! Can’st thou smoothe this seam?” # # “Oh! that is the one, sir! Said I not all seams and dents but one?” # # “Aye, blacksmith, it is the one; aye, man, it is unsmoothable; for though thou # only see’st it here in my flesh, it has worked down into the bone of my # skull—that is all wrinkles! But, away with child’s play; no more gaffs and pikes # to-day. Look ye here!” jingling the leathern bag, as if it were full of gold # coins. “I, too, want a harpoon made; one that a thousand yoke of fiends could # not part, Perth; something that will stick in a whale like his own fin-bone. # There’s the stuff,” flinging the pouch upon the anvil. “Look ye, blacksmith, # these are the gathered nail-stubbs of the steel shoes of racing horses.” # # “Horse-shoe stubbs, sir? Why, Captain Ahab, thou hast here, then, the best and # stubbornest stuff we blacksmiths ever work.” # # “I know it, old man; these stubbs will weld together like glue from the melted # bones of murderers. Quick! forge me the harpoon. And forge me first, twelve rods # for its shank; then wind, and twist, and hammer these twelve together like the # yarns and strands of a tow-line. Quick! I’ll blow the fire.” # # When at last the twelve rods were made, Ahab tried them, one by one, by # spiralling them, with his own hand, round a long, heavy iron bolt. “A flaw!” # rejecting the last one. “Work that over again, Perth.” # # This done, Perth was about to begin welding the twelve into one, when Ahab # stayed his hand, and said he would weld his own iron. As, then, with regular, # gasping hems, he hammered on the anvil, Perth passing to him the glowing rods, # one after the other, and the hard pressed forge shooting up its intense straight # flame, the Parsee passed silently, and bowing over his head towards the fire, # seemed invoking some curse or some blessing on the toil. But, as Ahab looked up, # he slid aside. # # “What’s that bunch of lucifers dodging about there for?” muttered Stubb, looking # on from the forecastle. “That Parsee smells fire like a fusee; and smells of it # himself, like a hot musket’s powder-pan.” # # At last the shank, in one complete rod, received its final heat; and as Perth, # to temper it, plunged it all hissing into the cask of water near by, the # scalding steam shot up into Ahab’s bent face. # # “Would’st thou brand me, Perth?” wincing for a moment with the pain; “have I # been but forging my own branding-iron, then?” # # “Pray God, not that; yet I fear something, Captain Ahab. Is not this harpoon for # the White Whale?” # # “For the white fiend! But now for the barbs; thou must make them thyself, man. # Here are my razors—the best of steel; here, and make the barbs sharp as the # needle-sleet of the Icy Sea.” # # For a moment, the old blacksmith eyed the razors as though he would fain not use # them. # # “Take them, man, I have no need for them; for I now neither shave, sup, nor pray # till—but here—to work!” # # Fashioned at last into an arrowy shape, and welded by Perth to the shank, the # steel soon pointed the end of the iron; and as the blacksmith was about giving # the barbs their final heat, prior to tempering them, he cried to Ahab to place # the water-cask near. # # “No, no—no water for that; I want it of the true death-temper. Ahoy, there! # Tashtego, Queequeg, Daggoo! What say ye, pagans! Will ye give me as much blood # as will cover this barb?” holding it high up. A cluster of dark nods replied, # Yes. Three punctures were made in the heathen flesh, and the White Whale’s barbs # were then tempered. # # “Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!” deliriously howled # Ahab, as the malignant iron scorchingly devoured the baptismal blood. # # Now, mustering the spare poles from below, and selecting one of hickory, with # the bark still investing it, Ahab fitted the end to the socket of the iron. A # coil of new tow-line was then unwound, and some fathoms of it taken to the # windlass, and stretched to a great tension. Pressing his foot upon it, till the # rope hummed like a harp-string, then eagerly bending over it, and seeing no # strandings, Ahab exclaimed, “Good! and now for the seizings.” # # At one extremity the rope was unstranded, and the separate spread yarns were all # braided and woven round the socket of the harpoon; the pole was then driven hard # up into the socket; from the lower end the rope was traced half-way along the # pole’s length, and firmly secured so, with intertwistings of twine. This done, # pole, iron, and rope—like the Three Fates—remained inseparable, and Ahab moodily # stalked away with the weapon; the sound of his ivory leg, and the sound of the # hickory pole, both hollowly ringing along every plank. But ere he entered his # cabin, light, unnatural, half-bantering, yet most piteous sound was heard. Oh, # Pip! thy wretched laugh, thy idle but unresting eye; all thy strange mummeries # not unmeaningly blended with the black tragedy of the melancholy ship, and # mocked it! # # # # # # CHAPTER 114. The Gilder. # # Penetrating further and further into the heart of the Japanese cruising ground, # the Pequod was soon all astir in the fishery. Often, in mild, pleasant weather, # for twelve, fifteen, eighteen, and twenty hours on the stretch, they were # engaged in the boats, steadily pulling, or sailing, or paddling after the # whales, or for an interlude of sixty or seventy minutes calmly awaiting their # uprising; though with but small success for their pains. # # At such times, under an abated sun; afloat all day upon smooth, slow heaving # swells; seated in his boat, light as a birch canoe; and so sociably mixing with # the soft waves themselves, that like hearth-stone cats they purr against the # gunwale; these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil # beauty and brilliancy of the ocean’s skin, one forgets the tiger heart that # pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but # conceals a remorseless fang. # # These are the times, when in his whale-boat the rover softly feels a certain # filial, confident, land-like feeling towards the sea; that he regards it as so # much flowery earth; and the distant ship revealing only the tops of her masts, # seems struggling forward, not through high rolling waves, but through the tall # grass of a rolling prairie: as when the western emigrants’ horses only show # their erected ears, while their hidden bodies widely wade through the amazing # verdure. # # The long-drawn virgin vales; the mild blue hill-sides; as over these there # steals the hush, the hum; you almost swear that play-wearied children lie # sleeping in these solitudes, in some glad May-time, when the flowers of the # woods are plucked. And all this mixes with your most mystic mood; so that fact # and fancy, half-way meeting, interpenetrate, and form one seamless whole. # # Nor did such soothing scenes, however temporary, fail of at least as temporary # an effect on Ahab. But if these secret golden keys did seem to open in him his # own secret golden treasuries, yet did his breath upon them prove but tarnishing. # # Oh, grassy glades! oh, ever vernal endless landscapes in the soul; in ye,—though # long parched by the dead drought of the earthy life,—in ye, men yet may roll, # like young horses in new morning clover; and for some few fleeting moments, feel # the cool dew of the life immortal on them. Would to God these blessed calms # would last. But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and # woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm. There is no steady # unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed gradations, # and at the last one pause:—through infancy’s unconscious spell, boyhood’s # thoughtless faith, adolescence’ doubt (the common doom), then scepticism, then # disbelief, resting at last in manhood’s pondering repose of If. But once gone # through, we trace the round again; and are infants, boys, and men, and Ifs # eternally. Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? In what rapt # ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the # foundling’s father hidden? Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded # mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, # and we must there to learn it. # # And that same day, too, gazing far down from his boat’s side into that same # golden sea, Starbuck lowly murmured:— # # “Loveliness unfathomable, as ever lover saw in his young bride’s eye!—Tell me # not of thy teeth-tiered sharks, and thy kidnapping cannibal ways. Let faith oust # fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.” # # And Stubb, fish-like, with sparkling scales, leaped up in that same golden # light:— # # “I am Stubb, and Stubb has his history; but here Stubb takes oaths that he has # always been jolly!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 115. The Pequod Meets The Bachelor. # # And jolly enough were the sights and the sounds that came bearing down before # the wind, some few weeks after Ahab’s harpoon had been welded. # # It was a Nantucket ship, the Bachelor, which had just wedged in her last cask of # oil, and bolted down her bursting hatches; and now, in glad holiday apparel, was # joyously, though somewhat vain-gloriously, sailing round among the # widely-separated ships on the ground, previous to pointing her prow for home. # # The three men at her mast-head wore long streamers of narrow red bunting at # their hats; from the stern, a whale-boat was suspended, bottom down; and hanging # captive from the bowsprit was seen the long lower jaw of the last whale they had # slain. Signals, ensigns, and jacks of all colours were flying from her rigging, # on every side. Sideways lashed in each of her three basketed tops were two # barrels of sperm; above which, in her top-mast cross-trees, you saw slender # breakers of the same precious fluid; and nailed to her main truck was a brazen # lamp. # # As was afterwards learned, the Bachelor had met with the most surprising # success; all the more wonderful, for that while cruising in the same seas # numerous other vessels had gone entire months without securing a single fish. # Not only had barrels of beef and bread been given away to make room for the far # more valuable sperm, but additional supplemental casks had been bartered for, # from the ships she had met; and these were stowed along the deck, and in the # captain’s and officers’ state-rooms. Even the cabin table itself had been # knocked into kindling-wood; and the cabin mess dined off the broad head of an # oil-butt, lashed down to the floor for a centrepiece. In the forecastle, the # sailors had actually caulked and pitched their chests, and filled them; it was # humorously added, that the cook had clapped a head on his largest boiler, and # filled it; that the steward had plugged his spare coffee-pot and filled it; that # the harpooneers had headed the sockets of their irons and filled them; that # indeed everything was filled with sperm, except the captain’s pantaloons # pockets, and those he reserved to thrust his hands into, in self-complacent # testimony of his entire satisfaction. # # As this glad ship of good luck bore down upon the moody Pequod, the barbarian # sound of enormous drums came from her forecastle; and drawing still nearer, a # crowd of her men were seen standing round her huge try-pots, which, covered with # the parchment-like poke or stomach skin of the black fish, gave forth a loud # roar to every stroke of the clenched hands of the crew. On the quarter-deck, the # mates and harpooneers were dancing with the olive-hued girls who had eloped with # them from the Polynesian Isles; while suspended in an ornamented boat, firmly # secured aloft between the foremast and mainmast, three Long Island negroes, with # glittering fiddle-bows of whale ivory, were presiding over the hilarious jig. # Meanwhile, others of the ship’s company were tumultuously busy at the masonry of # the try-works, from which the huge pots had been removed. You would have almost # thought they were pulling down the cursed Bastille, such wild cries they raised, # as the now useless brick and mortar were being hurled into the sea. # # Lord and master over all this scene, the captain stood erect on the ship’s # elevated quarter-deck, so that the whole rejoicing drama was full before him, # and seemed merely contrived for his own individual diversion. # # And Ahab, he too was standing on his quarter-deck, shaggy and black, with a # stubborn gloom; and as the two ships crossed each other’s wakes—one all # jubilations for things passed, the other all forebodings as to things to # come—their two captains in themselves impersonated the whole striking contrast # of the scene. # # “Come aboard, come aboard!” cried the gay Bachelor’s commander, lifting a glass # and a bottle in the air. # # “Hast seen the White Whale?” gritted Ahab in reply. # # “No; only heard of him; but don’t believe in him at all,” said the other # good-humoredly. “Come aboard!” # # “Thou art too damned jolly. Sail on. Hast lost any men?” # # “Not enough to speak of—two islanders, that’s all;—but come aboard, old hearty, # come along. I’ll soon take that black from your brow. Come along, will ye # (merry’s the play); a full ship and homeward-bound.” # # “How wondrous familiar is a fool!” muttered Ahab; then aloud, “Thou art a full # ship and homeward bound, thou sayst; well, then, call me an empty ship, and # outward-bound. So go thy ways, and I will mine. Forward there! Set all sail, and # keep her to the wind!” # # And thus, while the one ship went cheerily before the breeze, the other # stubbornly fought against it; and so the two vessels parted; the crew of the # Pequod looking with grave, lingering glances towards the receding Bachelor; but # the Bachelor’s men never heeding their gaze for the lively revelry they were in. # And as Ahab, leaning over the taffrail, eyed the homeward-bound craft, he took # from his pocket a small vial of sand, and then looking from the ship to the # vial, seemed thereby bringing two remote associations together, for that vial # was filled with Nantucket soundings. # # # # # # CHAPTER 116. The Dying Whale. # # Not seldom in this life, when, on the right side, fortune’s favourites sail # close by us, we, though all adroop before, catch somewhat of the rushing breeze, # and joyfully feel our bagging sails fill out. So seemed it with the Pequod. For # next day after encountering the gay Bachelor, whales were seen and four were # slain; and one of them by Ahab. # # It was far down the afternoon; and when all the spearings of the crimson fight # were done: and floating in the lovely sunset sea and sky, sun and whale both # stilly died together; then, such a sweetness and such plaintiveness, such # inwreathing orisons curled up in that rosy air, that it almost seemed as if far # over from the deep green convent valleys of the Manilla isles, the Spanish # land-breeze, wantonly turned sailor, had gone to sea, freighted with these # vesper hymns. # # Soothed again, but only soothed to deeper gloom, Ahab, who had sterned off from # the whale, sat intently watching his final wanings from the now tranquil boat. # For that strange spectacle observable in all sperm whales dying—the turning # sunwards of the head, and so expiring—that strange spectacle, beheld of such a # placid evening, somehow to Ahab conveyed a wondrousness unknown before. # # “He turns and turns him to it,—how slowly, but how steadfastly, his # homage-rendering and invoking brow, with his last dying motions. He too worships # fire; most faithful, broad, baronial vassal of the sun!—Oh that these # too-favouring eyes should see these too-favouring sights. Look! here, far # water-locked; beyond all hum of human weal or woe; in these most candid and # impartial seas; where to traditions no rocks furnish tablets; where for long # Chinese ages, the billows have still rolled on speechless and unspoken to, as # stars that shine upon the Niger’s unknown source; here, too, life dies sunwards # full of faith; but see! no sooner dead, than death whirls round the corpse, and # it heads some other way. # # “Oh, thou dark Hindoo half of nature, who of drowned bones hast builded thy # separate throne somewhere in the heart of these unverdured seas; thou art an # infidel, thou queen, and too truly speakest to me in the wide-slaughtering # Typhoon, and the hushed burial of its after calm. Nor has this thy whale # sunwards turned his dying head, and then gone round again, without a lesson to # me. # # “Oh, trebly hooped and welded hip of power! Oh, high aspiring, rainbowed # jet!—that one strivest, this one jettest all in vain! In vain, oh whale, dost # thou seek intercedings with yon all-quickening sun, that only calls forth life, # but gives it not again. Yet dost thou, darker half, rock me with a prouder, if a # darker faith. All thy unnamable imminglings float beneath me here; I am buoyed # by breaths of once living things, exhaled as air, but water now. # # “Then hail, for ever hail, O sea, in whose eternal tossings the wild fowl finds # his only rest. Born of earth, yet suckled by the sea; though hill and valley # mothered me, ye billows are my foster-brothers!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 117. The Whale Watch. # # The four whales slain that evening had died wide apart; one, far to windward; # one, less distant, to leeward; one ahead; one astern. These last three were # brought alongside ere nightfall; but the windward one could not be reached till # morning; and the boat that had killed it lay by its side all night; and that # boat was Ahab’s. # # The waif-pole was thrust upright into the dead whale’s spout-hole; and the # lantern hanging from its top, cast a troubled flickering glare upon the black, # glossy back, and far out upon the midnight waves, which gently chafed the # whale’s broad flank, like soft surf upon a beach. # # Ahab and all his boat’s crew seemed asleep but the Parsee; who crouching in the # bow, sat watching the sharks, that spectrally played round the whale, and tapped # the light cedar planks with their tails. A sound like the moaning in squadrons # over Asphaltites of unforgiven ghosts of Gomorrah, ran shuddering through the # air. # # Started from his slumbers, Ahab, face to face, saw the Parsee; and hooped round # by the gloom of the night they seemed the last men in a flooded world. “I have # dreamed it again,” said he. # # “Of the hearses? Have I not said, old man, that neither hearse nor coffin can be # thine?” # # “And who are hearsed that die on the sea?” # # “But I said, old man, that ere thou couldst die on this voyage, two hearses must # verily be seen by thee on the sea; the first not made by mortal hands; and the # visible wood of the last one must be grown in America.” # # “Aye, aye! a strange sight that, Parsee:—a hearse and its plumes floating over # the ocean with the waves for the pall-bearers. Ha! Such a sight we shall not # soon see.” # # “Believe it or not, thou canst not die till it be seen, old man.” # # “And what was that saying about thyself?” # # “Though it come to the last, I shall still go before thee thy pilot.” # # “And when thou art so gone before—if that ever befall—then ere I can follow, # thou must still appear to me, to pilot me still?—Was it not so? Well, then, did # I believe all ye say, oh my pilot! I have here two pledges that I shall yet slay # Moby Dick and survive it.” # # “Take another pledge, old man,” said the Parsee, as his eyes lighted up like # fire-flies in the gloom—“Hemp only can kill thee.” # # “The gallows, ye mean.—I am immortal then, on land and on sea,” cried Ahab, with # a laugh of derision;—“Immortal on land and on sea!” # # Both were silent again, as one man. The grey dawn came on, and the slumbering # crew arose from the boat’s bottom, and ere noon the dead whale was brought to # the ship. # # # # # # CHAPTER 118. The Quadrant. # # The season for the Line at length drew near; and every day when Ahab, coming # from his cabin, cast his eyes aloft, the vigilant helmsman would ostentatiously # handle his spokes, and the eager mariners quickly run to the braces, and would # stand there with all their eyes centrally fixed on the nailed doubloon; # impatient for the order to point the ship’s prow for the equator. In good time # the order came. It was hard upon high noon; and Ahab, seated in the bows of his # high-hoisted boat, was about taking his wonted daily observation of the sun to # determine his latitude. # # Now, in that Japanese sea, the days in summer are as freshets of effulgences. # That unblinkingly vivid Japanese sun seems the blazing focus of the glassy # ocean’s immeasurable burning-glass. The sky looks lacquered; clouds there are # none; the horizon floats; and this nakedness of unrelieved radiance is as the # insufferable splendors of God’s throne. Well that Ahab’s quadrant was furnished # with coloured glasses, through which to take sight of that solar fire. So, # swinging his seated form to the roll of the ship, and with his # astrological-looking instrument placed to his eye, he remained in that posture # for some moments to catch the precise instant when the sun should gain its # precise meridian. Meantime while his whole attention was absorbed, the Parsee # was kneeling beneath him on the ship’s deck, and with face thrown up like # Ahab’s, was eyeing the same sun with him; only the lids of his eyes half hooded # their orbs, and his wild face was subdued to an earthly passionlessness. At # length the desired observation was taken; and with his pencil upon his ivory # leg, Ahab soon calculated what his latitude must be at that precise instant. # Then falling into a moment’s revery, he again looked up towards the sun and # murmured to himself: “Thou sea-mark! thou high and mighty Pilot! thou tellest me # truly where I am—but canst thou cast the least hint where I shall be? Or canst # thou tell where some other thing besides me is this moment living? Where is Moby # Dick? This instant thou must be eyeing him. These eyes of mine look into the # very eye that is even now beholding him; aye, and into the eye that is even now # equally beholding the objects on the unknown, thither side of thee, thou sun!” # # Then gazing at his quadrant, and handling, one after the other, its numerous # cabalistical contrivances, he pondered again, and muttered: “Foolish toy! # babies’ plaything of haughty Admirals, and Commodores, and Captains; the world # brags of thee, of thy cunning and might; but what after all canst thou do, but # tell the poor, pitiful point, where thou thyself happenest to be on this wide # planet, and the hand that holds thee: no! not one jot more! Thou canst not tell # where one drop of water or one grain of sand will be to-morrow noon; and yet # with thy impotence thou insultest the sun! Science! Curse thee, thou vain toy; # and cursed be all the things that cast man’s eyes aloft to that heaven, whose # live vividness but scorches him, as these old eyes are even now scorched with # thy light, O sun! Level by nature to this earth’s horizon are the glances of # man’s eyes; not shot from the crown of his head, as if God had meant him to gaze # on his firmament. Curse thee, thou quadrant!” dashing it to the deck, “no longer # will I guide my earthly way by thee; the level ship’s compass, and the level # dead-reckoning, by log and by line; these shall conduct me, and show me my place # on the sea. Aye,” lighting from the boat to the deck, “thus I trample on thee, # thou paltry thing that feebly pointest on high; thus I split and destroy thee!” # # As the frantic old man thus spoke and thus trampled with his live and dead feet, # a sneering triumph that seemed meant for Ahab, and a fatalistic despair that # seemed meant for himself—these passed over the mute, motionless Parsee’s face. # Unobserved he rose and glided away; while, awestruck by the aspect of their # commander, the seamen clustered together on the forecastle, till Ahab, # troubledly pacing the deck, shouted out—“To the braces! Up helm!—square in!” # # In an instant the yards swung round; and as the ship half-wheeled upon her heel, # her three firm-seated graceful masts erectly poised upon her long, ribbed hull, # seemed as the three Horatii pirouetting on one sufficient steed. # # Standing between the knight-heads, Starbuck watched the Pequod’s tumultuous way, # and Ahab’s also, as he went lurching along the deck. # # “I have sat before the dense coal fire and watched it all aglow, full of its # tormented flaming life; and I have seen it wane at last, down, down, to dumbest # dust. Old man of oceans! of all this fiery life of thine, what will at length # remain but one little heap of ashes!” # # “Aye,” cried Stubb, “but sea-coal ashes—mind ye that, Mr. Starbuck—sea-coal, not # your common charcoal. Well, well; I heard Ahab mutter, ‘Here some one thrusts # these cards into these old hands of mine; swears that I must play them, and no # others.’ And damn me, Ahab, but thou actest right; live in the game, and die in # it!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 119. The Candles. # # Warmest climes but nurse the cruellest fangs: the tiger of Bengal crouches in # spiced groves of ceaseless verdure. Skies the most effulgent but basket the # deadliest thunders: gorgeous Cuba knows tornadoes that never swept tame northern # lands. So, too, it is, that in these resplendent Japanese seas the mariner # encounters the direst of all storms, the Typhoon. It will sometimes burst from # out that cloudless sky, like an exploding bomb upon a dazed and sleepy town. # # Towards evening of that day, the Pequod was torn of her canvas, and bare-poled # was left to fight a Typhoon which had struck her directly ahead. When darkness # came on, sky and sea roared and split with the thunder, and blazed with the # lightning, that showed the disabled masts fluttering here and there with the # rags which the first fury of the tempest had left for its after sport. # # Holding by a shroud, Starbuck was standing on the quarter-deck; at every flash # of the lightning glancing aloft, to see what additional disaster might have # befallen the intricate hamper there; while Stubb and Flask were directing the # men in the higher hoisting and firmer lashing of the boats. But all their pains # seemed naught. Though lifted to the very top of the cranes, the windward quarter # boat (Ahab’s) did not escape. A great rolling sea, dashing high up against the # reeling ship’s high teetering side, stove in the boat’s bottom at the stern, and # left it again, all dripping through like a sieve. # # “Bad work, bad work! Mr. Starbuck,” said Stubb, regarding the wreck, “but the # sea will have its way. Stubb, for one, can’t fight it. You see, Mr. Starbuck, a # wave has such a great long start before it leaps, all round the world it runs, # and then comes the spring! But as for me, all the start I have to meet it, is # just across the deck here. But never mind; it’s all in fun: so the old song # says;”—(sings.) # # Oh! jolly is the gale, And a joker is the whale, A’ flourishin’ his tail,— # Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky-poky lad, is the Ocean, oh! # # The scud all a flyin’, That’s his flip only foamin’; When he stirs in the # spicin’,— Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky-poky lad, is the # Ocean, oh! # # Thunder splits the ships, But he only smacks his lips, A tastin’ of this # flip,— Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky-poky lad, is the Ocean, # oh! # # “Avast Stubb,” cried Starbuck, “let the Typhoon sing, and strike his harp here # in our rigging; but if thou art a brave man thou wilt hold thy peace.” # # “But I am not a brave man; never said I was a brave man; I am a coward; and I # sing to keep up my spirits. And I tell you what it is, Mr. Starbuck, there’s no # way to stop my singing in this world but to cut my throat. And when that’s done, # ten to one I sing ye the doxology for a wind-up.” # # “Madman! look through my eyes if thou hast none of thine own.” # # “What! how can you see better of a dark night than anybody else, never mind how # foolish?” # # “Here!” cried Starbuck, seizing Stubb by the shoulder, and pointing his hand # towards the weather bow, “markest thou not that the gale comes from the # eastward, the very course Ahab is to run for Moby Dick? the very course he swung # to this day noon? now mark his boat there; where is that stove? In the # stern-sheets, man; where he is wont to stand—his stand-point is stove, man! Now # jump overboard, and sing away, if thou must! # # “I don’t half understand ye: what’s in the wind?” # # “Yes, yes, round the Cape of Good Hope is the shortest way to Nantucket,” # soliloquized Starbuck suddenly, heedless of Stubb’s question. “The gale that now # hammers at us to stave us, we can turn it into a fair wind that will drive us # towards home. Yonder, to windward, all is blackness of doom; but to leeward, # homeward—I see it lightens up there; but not with the lightning.” # # At that moment in one of the intervals of profound darkness, following the # flashes, a voice was heard at his side; and almost at the same instant a volley # of thunder peals rolled overhead. # # “Who’s there?” # # “Old Thunder!” said Ahab, groping his way along the bulwarks to his pivot-hole; # but suddenly finding his path made plain to him by elbowed lances of fire. # # Now, as the lightning rod to a spire on shore is intended to carry off the # perilous fluid into the soil; so the kindred rod which at sea some ships carry # to each mast, is intended to conduct it into the water. But as this conductor # must descend to considerable depth, that its end may avoid all contact with the # hull; and as moreover, if kept constantly towing there, it would be liable to # many mishaps, besides interfering not a little with some of the rigging, and # more or less impeding the vessel’s way in the water; because of all this, the # lower parts of a ship’s lightning-rods are not always overboard; but are # generally made in long slender links, so as to be the more readily hauled up # into the chains outside, or thrown down into the sea, as occasion may require. # # “The rods! the rods!” cried Starbuck to the crew, suddenly admonished to # vigilance by the vivid lightning that had just been darting flambeaux, to light # Ahab to his post. “Are they overboard? drop them over, fore and aft. Quick!” # # “Avast!” cried Ahab; “let’s have fair play here, though we be the weaker side. # Yet I’ll contribute to raise rods on the Himmalehs and Andes, that all the world # may be secured; but out on privileges! Let them be, sir.” # # “Look aloft!” cried Starbuck. “The corpusants! the corpusants!” # # All the yard-arms were tipped with a pallid fire; and touched at each # tri-pointed lightning-rod-end with three tapering white flames, each of the # three tall masts was silently burning in that sulphurous air, like three # gigantic wax tapers before an altar. # # “Blast the boat! let it go!” cried Stubb at this instant, as a swashing sea # heaved up under his own little craft, so that its gunwale violently jammed his # hand, as he was passing a lashing. “Blast it!”—but slipping backward on the # deck, his uplifted eyes caught the flames; and immediately shifting his tone he # cried—“The corpusants have mercy on us all!” # # To sailors, oaths are household words; they will swear in the trance of the # calm, and in the teeth of the tempest; they will imprecate curses from the # topsail-yard-arms, when most they teeter over to a seething sea; but in all my # voyagings, seldom have I heard a common oath when God’s burning finger has been # laid on the ship; when His “Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin” has been woven into the # shrouds and the cordage. # # While this pallidness was burning aloft, few words were heard from the enchanted # crew; who in one thick cluster stood on the forecastle, all their eyes gleaming # in that pale phosphorescence, like a far away constellation of stars. Relieved # against the ghostly light, the gigantic jet negro, Daggoo, loomed up to thrice # his real stature, and seemed the black cloud from which the thunder had come. # The parted mouth of Tashtego revealed his shark-white teeth, which strangely # gleamed as if they too had been tipped by corpusants; while lit up by the # preternatural light, Queequeg’s tattooing burned like Satanic blue flames on his # body. # # The tableau all waned at last with the pallidness aloft; and once more the # Pequod and every soul on her decks were wrapped in a pall. A moment or two # passed, when Starbuck, going forward, pushed against some one. It was Stubb. # “What thinkest thou now, man; I heard thy cry; it was not the same in the song.” # # “No, no, it wasn’t; I said the corpusants have mercy on us all; and I hope they # will, still. But do they only have mercy on long faces?—have they no bowels for # a laugh? And look ye, Mr. Starbuck—but it’s too dark to look. Hear me, then: I # take that mast-head flame we saw for a sign of good luck; for those masts are # rooted in a hold that is going to be chock a’ block with sperm-oil, d’ye see; # and so, all that sperm will work up into the masts, like sap in a tree. Yes, our # three masts will yet be as three spermaceti candles—that’s the good promise we # saw.” # # At that moment Starbuck caught sight of Stubb’s face slowly beginning to glimmer # into sight. Glancing upwards, he cried: “See! see!” and once more the high # tapering flames were beheld with what seemed redoubled supernaturalness in their # pallor. # # “The corpusants have mercy on us all,” cried Stubb, again. # # At the base of the mainmast, full beneath the doubloon and the flame, the Parsee # was kneeling in Ahab’s front, but with his head bowed away from him; while near # by, from the arched and overhanging rigging, where they had just been engaged # securing a spar, a number of the seamen, arrested by the glare, now cohered # together, and hung pendulous, like a knot of numbed wasps from a drooping, # orchard twig. In various enchanted attitudes, like the standing, or stepping, or # running skeletons in Herculaneum, others remained rooted to the deck; but all # their eyes upcast. # # “Aye, aye, men!” cried Ahab. “Look up at it; mark it well; the white flame but # lights the way to the White Whale! Hand me those mainmast links there; I would # fain feel this pulse, and let mine beat against it; blood against fire! So.” # # Then turning—the last link held fast in his left hand, he put his foot upon the # Parsee; and with fixed upward eye, and high-flung right arm, he stood erect # before the lofty tri-pointed trinity of flames. # # “Oh! thou clear spirit of clear fire, whom on these seas I as Persian once did # worship, till in the sacramental act so burned by thee, that to this hour I bear # the scar; I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right # worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e’en # for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts # thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my # earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the # midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a # point at best; whencesoe’er I came; wheresoe’er I go; yet while I earthly live, # the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is # pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and # kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou # launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there’s that in here that still # remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like # a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.” # # [Sudden, repeated flashes of lightning; the nine flames leap lengthwise to # thrice their previous height; Ahab, with the rest, closes his eyes, his right # hand pressed hard upon them.] # # “I own thy speechless, placeless power; said I not so? Nor was it wrung from me; # nor do I now drop these links. Thou canst blind; but I can then grope. Thou # canst consume; but I can then be ashes. Take the homage of these poor eyes, and # shutter-hands. I would not take it. The lightning flashes through my skull; mine # eye-balls ache and ache; my whole beaten brain seems as beheaded, and rolling on # some stunning ground. Oh, oh! Yet blindfold, yet will I talk to thee. Light # though thou be, thou leapest out of darkness; but I am darkness leaping out of # light, leaping out of thee! The javelins cease; open eyes; see, or not? There # burn the flames! Oh, thou magnanimous! now I do glory in my genealogy. But thou # art but my fiery father; my sweet mother, I know not. Oh, cruel! what hast thou # done with her? There lies my puzzle; but thine is greater. Thou knowest not how # came ye, hence callest thyself unbegotten; certainly knowest not thy beginning, # hence callest thyself unbegun. I know that of me, which thou knowest not of # thyself, oh, thou omnipotent. There is some unsuffusing thing beyond thee, thou # clear spirit, to whom all thy eternity is but time, all thy creativeness # mechanical. Through thee, thy flaming self, my scorched eyes do dimly see it. # Oh, thou foundling fire, thou hermit immemorial, thou too hast thy # incommunicable riddle, thy unparticipated grief. Here again with haughty agony, # I read my sire. Leap! leap up, and lick the sky! I leap with thee; I burn with # thee; would fain be welded with thee; defyingly I worship thee!” # # “The boat! the boat!” cried Starbuck, “look at thy boat, old man!” # # Ahab’s harpoon, the one forged at Perth’s fire, remained firmly lashed in its # conspicuous crotch, so that it projected beyond his whale-boat’s bow; but the # sea that had stove its bottom had caused the loose leather sheath to drop off; # and from the keen steel barb there now came a levelled flame of pale, forked # fire. As the silent harpoon burned there like a serpent’s tongue, Starbuck # grasped Ahab by the arm—“God, God is against thee, old man; forbear! ’tis an ill # voyage! ill begun, ill continued; let me square the yards, while we may, old # man, and make a fair wind of it homewards, to go on a better voyage than this.” # # Overhearing Starbuck, the panic-stricken crew instantly ran to the braces—though # not a sail was left aloft. For the moment all the aghast mate’s thoughts seemed # theirs; they raised a half mutinous cry. But dashing the rattling lightning # links to the deck, and snatching the burning harpoon, Ahab waved it like a torch # among them; swearing to transfix with it the first sailor that but cast loose a # rope’s end. Petrified by his aspect, and still more shrinking from the fiery # dart that he held, the men fell back in dismay, and Ahab again spoke:— # # “All your oaths to hunt the White Whale are as binding as mine; and heart, soul, # and body, lungs and life, old Ahab is bound. And that ye may know to what tune # this heart beats; look ye here; thus I blow out the last fear!” And with one # blast of his breath he extinguished the flame. # # As in the hurricane that sweeps the plain, men fly the neighborhood of some # lone, gigantic elm, whose very height and strength but render it so much the # more unsafe, because so much the more a mark for thunderbolts; so at those last # words of Ahab’s many of the mariners did run from him in a terror of dismay. # # # # # # CHAPTER 120. The Deck Towards the End of the First Night Watch. # # Ahab standing by the helm. Starbuck approaching him. # # “We must send down the main-top-sail yard, sir. The band is working loose and # the lee lift is half-stranded. Shall I strike it, sir?” # # “Strike nothing; lash it. If I had sky-sail poles, I’d sway them up now.” # # “Sir!—in God’s name!—sir?” # # “Well.” # # “The anchors are working, sir. Shall I get them inboard?” # # “Strike nothing, and stir nothing, but lash everything. The wind rises, but it # has not got up to my table-lands yet. Quick, and see to it.—By masts and keels! # he takes me for the hunch-backed skipper of some coasting smack. Send down my # main-top-sail yard! Ho, gluepots! Loftiest trucks were made for wildest winds, # and this brain-truck of mine now sails amid the cloud-scud. Shall I strike that? # Oh, none but cowards send down their brain-trucks in tempest time. What a # hooroosh aloft there! I would e’en take it for sublime, did I not know that the # colic is a noisy malady. Oh, take medicine, take medicine!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 121. Midnight.—The Forecastle Bulwarks. # # Stubb and Flask mounted on them, and passing additional lashings over the # anchors there hanging. # # “No, Stubb; you may pound that knot there as much as you please, but you will # never pound into me what you were just now saying. And how long ago is it since # you said the very contrary? Didn’t you once say that whatever ship Ahab sails # in, that ship should pay something extra on its insurance policy, just as though # it were loaded with powder barrels aft and boxes of lucifers forward? Stop, now; # didn’t you say so?” # # “Well, suppose I did? What then? I’ve part changed my flesh since that time, why # not my mind? Besides, supposing we are loaded with powder barrels aft and # lucifers forward; how the devil could the lucifers get afire in this drenching # spray here? Why, my little man, you have pretty red hair, but you couldn’t get # afire now. Shake yourself; you’re Aquarius, or the water-bearer, Flask; might # fill pitchers at your coat collar. Don’t you see, then, that for these extra # risks the Marine Insurance companies have extra guarantees? Here are hydrants, # Flask. But hark, again, and I’ll answer ye the other thing. First take your leg # off from the crown of the anchor here, though, so I can pass the rope; now # listen. What’s the mighty difference between holding a mast’s lightning-rod in # the storm, and standing close by a mast that hasn’t got any lightning-rod at all # in a storm? Don’t you see, you timber-head, that no harm can come to the holder # of the rod, unless the mast is first struck? What are you talking about, then? # Not one ship in a hundred carries rods, and Ahab,—aye, man, and all of us,—were # in no more danger then, in my poor opinion, than all the crews in ten thousand # ships now sailing the seas. Why, you King-Post, you, I suppose you would have # every man in the world go about with a small lightning-rod running up the corner # of his hat, like a militia officer’s skewered feather, and trailing behind like # his sash. Why don’t ye be sensible, Flask? it’s easy to be sensible; why don’t # ye, then? any man with half an eye can be sensible.” # # “I don’t know that, Stubb. You sometimes find it rather hard.” # # “Yes, when a fellow’s soaked through, it’s hard to be sensible, that’s a fact. # And I am about drenched with this spray. Never mind; catch the turn there, and # pass it. Seems to me we are lashing down these anchors now as if they were never # going to be used again. Tying these two anchors here, Flask, seems like tying a # man’s hands behind him. And what big generous hands they are, to be sure. These # are your iron fists, hey? What a hold they have, too! I wonder, Flask, whether # the world is anchored anywhere; if she is, she swings with an uncommon long # cable, though. There, hammer that knot down, and we’ve done. So; next to # touching land, lighting on deck is the most satisfactory. I say, just wring out # my jacket skirts, will ye? Thank ye. They laugh at long-togs so, Flask; but # seems to me, a long tailed coat ought always to be worn in all storms afloat. # The tails tapering down that way, serve to carry off the water, d’ye see. Same # with cocked hats; the cocks form gable-end eave-troughs, Flask. No more # monkey-jackets and tarpaulins for me; I must mount a swallow-tail, and drive # down a beaver; so. Halloa! whew! there goes my tarpaulin overboard; Lord, Lord, # that the winds that come from heaven should be so unmannerly! This is a nasty # night, lad.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 122. Midnight Aloft.—Thunder and Lightning. # # The main-top-sail yard.—Tashtego passing new lashings around it. # # “Um, um, um. Stop that thunder! Plenty too much thunder up here. What’s the use # of thunder? Um, um, um. We don’t want thunder; we want rum; give us a glass of # rum. Um, um, um!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 123. The Musket. # # During the most violent shocks of the Typhoon, the man at the Pequod’s jaw-bone # tiller had several times been reelingly hurled to the deck by its spasmodic # motions, even though preventer tackles had been attached to it—for they were # slack—because some play to the tiller was indispensable. # # In a severe gale like this, while the ship is but a tossed shuttlecock to the # blast, it is by no means uncommon to see the needles in the compasses, at # intervals, go round and round. It was thus with the Pequod’s; at almost every # shock the helmsman had not failed to notice the whirling velocity with which # they revolved upon the cards; it is a sight that hardly anyone can behold # without some sort of unwonted emotion. # # Some hours after midnight, the Typhoon abated so much, that through the # strenuous exertions of Starbuck and Stubb—one engaged forward and the other # aft—the shivered remnants of the jib and fore and main-top-sails were cut adrift # from the spars, and went eddying away to leeward, like the feathers of an # albatross, which sometimes are cast to the winds when that storm-tossed bird is # on the wing. # # The three corresponding new sails were now bent and reefed, and a storm-trysail # was set further aft; so that the ship soon went through the water with some # precision again; and the course—for the present, East-south-east—which he was to # steer, if practicable, was once more given to the helmsman. For during the # violence of the gale, he had only steered according to its vicissitudes. But as # he was now bringing the ship as near her course as possible, watching the # compass meanwhile, lo! a good sign! the wind seemed coming round astern; aye, # the foul breeze became fair! # # Instantly the yards were squared, to the lively song of “Ho! the fair wind! # oh-ye-ho, cheerly men!” the crew singing for joy, that so promising an event # should so soon have falsified the evil portents preceding it. # # In compliance with the standing order of his commander—to report immediately, # and at any one of the twenty-four hours, any decided change in the affairs of # the deck,—Starbuck had no sooner trimmed the yards to the breeze—however # reluctantly and gloomily,—than he mechanically went below to apprise Captain # Ahab of the circumstance. # # Ere knocking at his state-room, he involuntarily paused before it a moment. The # cabin lamp—taking long swings this way and that—was burning fitfully, and # casting fitful shadows upon the old man’s bolted door,—a thin one, with fixed # blinds inserted, in place of upper panels. The isolated subterraneousness of the # cabin made a certain humming silence to reign there, though it was hooped round # by all the roar of the elements. The loaded muskets in the rack were shiningly # revealed, as they stood upright against the forward bulkhead. Starbuck was an # honest, upright man; but out of Starbuck’s heart, at that instant when he saw # the muskets, there strangely evolved an evil thought; but so blent with its # neutral or good accompaniments that for the instant he hardly knew it for # itself. # # “He would have shot me once,” he murmured, “yes, there’s the very musket that he # pointed at me;—that one with the studded stock; let me touch it—lift it. # Strange, that I, who have handled so many deadly lances, strange, that I should # shake so now. Loaded? I must see. Aye, aye; and powder in the pan;—that’s not # good. Best spill it?—wait. I’ll cure myself of this. I’ll hold the musket boldly # while I think.—I come to report a fair wind to him. But how fair? Fair for death # and doom,—that’s fair for Moby Dick. It’s a fair wind that’s only fair for that # accursed fish.—The very tube he pointed at me!—the very one; this one—I hold it # here; he would have killed me with the very thing I handle now.—Aye and he would # fain kill all his crew. Does he not say he will not strike his spars to any # gale? Has he not dashed his heavenly quadrant? and in these same perilous seas, # gropes he not his way by mere dead reckoning of the error-abounding log? and in # this very Typhoon, did he not swear that he would have no lightning-rods? But # shall this crazed old man be tamely suffered to drag a whole ship’s company down # to doom with him?—Yes, it would make him the wilful murderer of thirty men and # more, if this ship come to any deadly harm; and come to deadly harm, my soul # swears this ship will, if Ahab have his way. If, then, he were this instant—put # aside, that crime would not be his. Ha! is he muttering in his sleep? Yes, just # there,—in there, he’s sleeping. Sleeping? aye, but still alive, and soon awake # again. I can’t withstand thee, then, old man. Not reasoning; not remonstrance; # not entreaty wilt thou hearken to; all this thou scornest. Flat obedience to thy # own flat commands, this is all thou breathest. Aye, and say’st the men have # vow’d thy vow; say’st all of us are Ahabs. Great God forbid!—But is there no # other way? no lawful way?—Make him a prisoner to be taken home? What! hope to # wrest this old man’s living power from his own living hands? Only a fool would # try it. Say he were pinioned even; knotted all over with ropes and hawsers; # chained down to ring-bolts on this cabin floor; he would be more hideous than a # caged tiger, then. I could not endure the sight; could not possibly fly his # howlings; all comfort, sleep itself, inestimable reason would leave me on the # long intolerable voyage. What, then, remains? The land is hundreds of leagues # away, and locked Japan the nearest. I stand alone here upon an open sea, with # two oceans and a whole continent between me and law.—Aye, aye, ’tis so.—Is # heaven a murderer when its lightning strikes a would-be murderer in his bed, # tindering sheets and skin together?—And would I be a murderer, then, if”—and # slowly, stealthily, and half sideways looking, he placed the loaded musket’s end # against the door. # # “On this level, Ahab’s hammock swings within; his head this way. A touch, and # Starbuck may survive to hug his wife and child again.—Oh Mary! Mary!—boy! boy! # boy!—But if I wake thee not to death, old man, who can tell to what unsounded # deeps Starbuck’s body this day week may sink, with all the crew! Great God, # where art Thou? Shall I? shall I?—The wind has gone down and shifted, sir; the # fore and main topsails are reefed and set; she heads her course.” # # “Stern all! Oh Moby Dick, I clutch thy heart at last!” # # Such were the sounds that now came hurtling from out the old man’s tormented # sleep, as if Starbuck’s voice had caused the long dumb dream to speak. # # The yet levelled musket shook like a drunkard’s arm against the panel; Starbuck # seemed wrestling with an angel; but turning from the door, he placed the # death-tube in its rack, and left the place. # # “He’s too sound asleep, Mr. Stubb; go thou down, and wake him, and tell him. I # must see to the deck here. Thou know’st what to say.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 124. The Needle. # # Next morning the not-yet-subsided sea rolled in long slow billows of mighty # bulk, and striving in the Pequod’s gurgling track, pushed her on like giants’ # palms outspread. The strong, unstaggering breeze abounded so, that sky and air # seemed vast outbellying sails; the whole world boomed before the wind. Muffled # in the full morning light, the invisible sun was only known by the spread # intensity of his place; where his bayonet rays moved on in stacks. Emblazonings, # as of crowned Babylonian kings and queens, reigned over everything. The sea was # as a crucible of molten gold, that bubblingly leaps with light and heat. # # Long maintaining an enchanted silence, Ahab stood apart; and every time the # tetering ship loweringly pitched down her bowsprit, he turned to eye the bright # sun’s rays produced ahead; and when she profoundly settled by the stern, he # turned behind, and saw the sun’s rearward place, and how the same yellow rays # were blending with his undeviating wake. # # “Ha, ha, my ship! thou mightest well be taken now for the sea-chariot of the # sun. Ho, ho! all ye nations before my prow, I bring the sun to ye! Yoke on the # further billows; hallo! a tandem, I drive the sea!” # # But suddenly reined back by some counter thought, he hurried towards the helm, # huskily demanding how the ship was heading. # # “East-sou-east, sir,” said the frightened steersman. # # “Thou liest!” smiting him with his clenched fist. “Heading East at this hour in # the morning, and the sun astern?” # # Upon this every soul was confounded; for the phenomenon just then observed by # Ahab had unaccountably escaped every one else; but its very blinding # palpableness must have been the cause. # # Thrusting his head half way into the binnacle, Ahab caught one glimpse of the # compasses; his uplifted arm slowly fell; for a moment he almost seemed to # stagger. Standing behind him Starbuck looked, and lo! the two compasses pointed # East, and the Pequod was as infallibly going West. # # But ere the first wild alarm could get out abroad among the crew, the old man # with a rigid laugh exclaimed, “I have it! It has happened before. Mr. Starbuck, # last night’s thunder turned our compasses—that’s all. Thou hast before now heard # of such a thing, I take it.” # # “Aye; but never before has it happened to me, sir,” said the pale mate, # gloomily. # # Here, it must needs be said, that accidents like this have in more than one case # occurred to ships in violent storms. The magnetic energy, as developed in the # mariner’s needle, is, as all know, essentially one with the electricity beheld # in heaven; hence it is not to be much marvelled at, that such things should be. # Instances where the lightning has actually struck the vessel, so as to smite # down some of the spars and rigging, the effect upon the needle has at times been # still more fatal; all its loadstone virtue being annihilated, so that the before # magnetic steel was of no more use than an old wife’s knitting needle. But in # either case, the needle never again, of itself, recovers the original virtue # thus marred or lost; and if the binnacle compasses be affected, the same fate # reaches all the others that may be in the ship; even were the lowermost one # inserted into the kelson. # # Deliberately standing before the binnacle, and eyeing the transpointed # compasses, the old man, with the sharp of his extended hand, now took the # precise bearing of the sun, and satisfied that the needles were exactly # inverted, shouted out his orders for the ship’s course to be changed # accordingly. The yards were hard up; and once more the Pequod thrust her # undaunted bows into the opposing wind, for the supposed fair one had only been # juggling her. # # Meanwhile, whatever were his own secret thoughts, Starbuck said nothing, but # quietly he issued all requisite orders; while Stubb and Flask—who in some small # degree seemed then to be sharing his feelings—likewise unmurmuringly acquiesced. # As for the men, though some of them lowly rumbled, their fear of Ahab was # greater than their fear of Fate. But as ever before, the pagan harpooneers # remained almost wholly unimpressed; or if impressed, it was only with a certain # magnetism shot into their congenial hearts from inflexible Ahab’s. # # For a space the old man walked the deck in rolling reveries. But chancing to # slip with his ivory heel, he saw the crushed copper sight-tubes of the quadrant # he had the day before dashed to the deck. # # “Thou poor, proud heaven-gazer and sun’s pilot! yesterday I wrecked thee, and # to-day the compasses would fain have wrecked me. So, so. But Ahab is lord over # the level loadstone yet. Mr. Starbuck—a lance without a pole; a top-maul, and # the smallest of the sail-maker’s needles. Quick!” # # Accessory, perhaps, to the impulse dictating the thing he was now about to do, # were certain prudential motives, whose object might have been to revive the # spirits of his crew by a stroke of his subtile skill, in a matter so wondrous as # that of the inverted compasses. Besides, the old man well knew that to steer by # transpointed needles, though clumsily practicable, was not a thing to be passed # over by superstitious sailors, without some shudderings and evil portents. # # “Men,” said he, steadily turning upon the crew, as the mate handed him the # things he had demanded, “my men, the thunder turned old Ahab’s needles; but out # of this bit of steel Ahab can make one of his own, that will point as true as # any.” # # Abashed glances of servile wonder were exchanged by the sailors, as this was # said; and with fascinated eyes they awaited whatever magic might follow. But # Starbuck looked away. # # With a blow from the top-maul Ahab knocked off the steel head of the lance, and # then handing to the mate the long iron rod remaining, bade him hold it upright, # without its touching the deck. Then, with the maul, after repeatedly smiting the # upper end of this iron rod, he placed the blunted needle endwise on the top of # it, and less strongly hammered that, several times, the mate still holding the # rod as before. Then going through some small strange motions with it—whether # indispensable to the magnetizing of the steel, or merely intended to augment the # awe of the crew, is uncertain—he called for linen thread; and moving to the # binnacle, slipped out the two reversed needles there, and horizontally suspended # the sail-needle by its middle, over one of the compass-cards. At first, the # steel went round and round, quivering and vibrating at either end; but at last # it settled to its place, when Ahab, who had been intently watching for this # result, stepped frankly back from the binnacle, and pointing his stretched arm # towards it, exclaimed,—“Look ye, for yourselves, if Ahab be not lord of the # level loadstone! The sun is East, and that compass swears it!” # # One after another they peered in, for nothing but their own eyes could persuade # such ignorance as theirs, and one after another they slunk away. # # In his fiery eyes of scorn and triumph, you then saw Ahab in all his fatal # pride. # # # # # # CHAPTER 125. The Log and Line. # # While now the fated Pequod had been so long afloat this voyage, the log and line # had but very seldom been in use. Owing to a confident reliance upon other means # of determining the vessel’s place, some merchantmen, and many whalemen, # especially when cruising, wholly neglect to heave the log; though at the same # time, and frequently more for form’s sake than anything else, regularly putting # down upon the customary slate the course steered by the ship, as well as the # presumed average rate of progression every hour. It had been thus with the # Pequod. The wooden reel and angular log attached hung, long untouched, just # beneath the railing of the after bulwarks. Rains and spray had damped it; sun # and wind had warped it; all the elements had combined to rot a thing that hung # so idly. But heedless of all this, his mood seized Ahab, as he happened to # glance upon the reel, not many hours after the magnet scene, and he remembered # how his quadrant was no more, and recalled his frantic oath about the level log # and line. The ship was sailing plungingly; astern the billows rolled in riots. # # “Forward, there! Heave the log!” # # Two seamen came. The golden-hued Tahitian and the grizzly Manxman. “Take the # reel, one of ye, I’ll heave.” # # They went towards the extreme stern, on the ship’s lee side, where the deck, # with the oblique energy of the wind, was now almost dipping into the creamy, # sidelong-rushing sea. # # The Manxman took the reel, and holding it high up, by the projecting handle-ends # of the spindle, round which the spool of line revolved, so stood with the # angular log hanging downwards, till Ahab advanced to him. # # Ahab stood before him, and was lightly unwinding some thirty or forty turns to # form a preliminary hand-coil to toss overboard, when the old Manxman, who was # intently eyeing both him and the line, made bold to speak. # # “Sir, I mistrust it; this line looks far gone, long heat and wet have spoiled # it.” # # “’Twill hold, old gentleman. Long heat and wet, have they spoiled thee? Thou # seem’st to hold. Or, truer perhaps, life holds thee; not thou it.” # # “I hold the spool, sir. But just as my captain says. With these grey hairs of # mine ’tis not worth while disputing, ’specially with a superior, who’ll ne’er # confess.” # # “What’s that? There now’s a patched professor in Queen Nature’s granite-founded # College; but methinks he’s too subservient. Where wert thou born?” # # “In the little rocky Isle of Man, sir.” # # “Excellent! Thou’st hit the world by that.” # # “I know not, sir, but I was born there.” # # “In the Isle of Man, hey? Well, the other way, it’s good. Here’s a man from Man; # a man born in once independent Man, and now unmanned of Man; which is sucked # in—by what? Up with the reel! The dead, blind wall butts all inquiring heads at # last. Up with it! So.” # # The log was heaved. The loose coils rapidly straightened out in a long dragging # line astern, and then, instantly, the reel began to whirl. In turn, jerkingly # raised and lowered by the rolling billows, the towing resistance of the log # caused the old reelman to stagger strangely. # # “Hold hard!” # # Snap! the overstrained line sagged down in one long festoon; the tugging log was # gone. # # “I crush the quadrant, the thunder turns the needles, and now the mad sea parts # the log-line. But Ahab can mend all. Haul in here, Tahitian; reel up, Manxman. # And look ye, let the carpenter make another log, and mend thou the line. See to # it.” # # “There he goes now; to him nothing’s happened; but to me, the skewer seems # loosening out of the middle of the world. Haul in, haul in, Tahitian! These # lines run whole, and whirling out: come in broken, and dragging slow. Ha, Pip? # come to help; eh, Pip?” # # “Pip? whom call ye Pip? Pip jumped from the whale-boat. Pip’s missing. Let’s see # now if ye haven’t fished him up here, fisherman. It drags hard; I guess he’s # holding on. Jerk him, Tahiti! Jerk him off; we haul in no cowards here. Ho! # there’s his arm just breaking water. A hatchet! a hatchet! cut it off—we haul in # no cowards here. Captain Ahab! sir, sir! here’s Pip, trying to get on board # again.” # # “Peace, thou crazy loon,” cried the Manxman, seizing him by the arm. “Away from # the quarter-deck!” # # “The greater idiot ever scolds the lesser,” muttered Ahab, advancing. “Hands off # from that holiness! Where sayest thou Pip was, boy? # # “Astern there, sir, astern! Lo! lo!” # # “And who art thou, boy? I see not my reflection in the vacant pupils of thy # eyes. Oh God! that man should be a thing for immortal souls to sieve through! # Who art thou, boy?” # # “Bell-boy, sir; ship’s-crier; ding, dong, ding! Pip! Pip! Pip! One hundred # pounds of clay reward for Pip; five feet high—looks cowardly—quickest known by # that! Ding, dong, ding! Who’s seen Pip the coward?” # # “There can be no hearts above the snow-line. Oh, ye frozen heavens! look down # here. Ye did beget this luckless child, and have abandoned him, ye creative # libertines. Here, boy; Ahab’s cabin shall be Pip’s home henceforth, while Ahab # lives. Thou touchest my inmost centre, boy; thou art tied to me by cords woven # of my heart-strings. Come, let’s down.” # # “What’s this? here’s velvet shark-skin,” intently gazing at Ahab’s hand, and # feeling it. “Ah, now, had poor Pip but felt so kind a thing as this, perhaps he # had ne’er been lost! This seems to me, sir, as a man-rope; something that weak # souls may hold by. Oh, sir, let old Perth now come and rivet these two hands # together; the black one with the white, for I will not let this go.” # # “Oh, boy, nor will I thee, unless I should thereby drag thee to worse horrors # than are here. Come, then, to my cabin. Lo! ye believers in gods all goodness, # and in man all ill, lo you! see the omniscient gods oblivious of suffering man; # and man, though idiotic, and knowing not what he does, yet full of the sweet # things of love and gratitude. Come! I feel prouder leading thee by thy black # hand, than though I grasped an Emperor’s!” # # “There go two daft ones now,” muttered the old Manxman. “One daft with strength, # the other daft with weakness. But here’s the end of the rotten line—all # dripping, too. Mend it, eh? I think we had best have a new line altogether. I’ll # see Mr. Stubb about it.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 126. The Life-Buoy. # # Steering now south-eastward by Ahab’s levelled steel, and her progress solely # determined by Ahab’s level log and line; the Pequod held on her path towards the # Equator. Making so long a passage through such unfrequented waters, descrying no # ships, and ere long, sideways impelled by unvarying trade winds, over waves # monotonously mild; all these seemed the strange calm things preluding some # riotous and desperate scene. # # At last, when the ship drew near to the outskirts, as it were, of the Equatorial # fishing-ground, and in the deep darkness that goes before the dawn, was sailing # by a cluster of rocky islets; the watch—then headed by Flask—was startled by a # cry so plaintively wild and unearthly—like half-articulated wailings of the # ghosts of all Herod’s murdered Innocents—that one and all, they started from # their reveries, and for the space of some moments stood, or sat, or leaned all # transfixedly listening, like the carved Roman slave, while that wild cry # remained within hearing. The Christian or civilized part of the crew said it was # mermaids, and shuddered; but the pagan harpooneers remained unappalled. Yet the # grey Manxman—the oldest mariner of all—declared that the wild thrilling sounds # that were heard, were the voices of newly drowned men in the sea. # # Below in his hammock, Ahab did not hear of this till grey dawn, when he came to # the deck; it was then recounted to him by Flask, not unaccompanied with hinted # dark meanings. He hollowly laughed, and thus explained the wonder. # # Those rocky islands the ship had passed were the resort of great numbers of # seals, and some young seals that had lost their dams, or some dams that had lost # their cubs, must have risen nigh the ship and kept company with her, crying and # sobbing with their human sort of wail. But this only the more affected some of # them, because most mariners cherish a very superstitious feeling about seals, # arising not only from their peculiar tones when in distress, but also from the # human look of their round heads and semi-intelligent faces, seen peeringly # uprising from the water alongside. In the sea, under certain circumstances, # seals have more than once been mistaken for men. # # But the bodings of the crew were destined to receive a most plausible # confirmation in the fate of one of their number that morning. At sun-rise this # man went from his hammock to his mast-head at the fore; and whether it was that # he was not yet half waked from his sleep (for sailors sometimes go aloft in a # transition state), whether it was thus with the man, there is now no telling; # but, be that as it may, he had not been long at his perch, when a cry was # heard—a cry and a rushing—and looking up, they saw a falling phantom in the air; # and looking down, a little tossed heap of white bubbles in the blue of the sea. # # The life-buoy—a long slender cask—was dropped from the stern, where it always # hung obedient to a cunning spring; but no hand rose to seize it, and the sun # having long beat upon this cask it had shrunken, so that it slowly filled, and # that parched wood also filled at its every pore; and the studded iron-bound cask # followed the sailor to the bottom, as if to yield him his pillow, though in # sooth but a hard one. # # And thus the first man of the Pequod that mounted the mast to look out for the # White Whale, on the White Whale’s own peculiar ground; that man was swallowed up # in the deep. But few, perhaps, thought of that at the time. Indeed, in some # sort, they were not grieved at this event, at least as a portent; for they # regarded it, not as a foreshadowing of evil in the future, but as the fulfilment # of an evil already presaged. They declared that now they knew the reason of # those wild shrieks they had heard the night before. But again the old Manxman # said nay. # # The lost life-buoy was now to be replaced; Starbuck was directed to see to it; # but as no cask of sufficient lightness could be found, and as in the feverish # eagerness of what seemed the approaching crisis of the voyage, all hands were # impatient of any toil but what was directly connected with its final end, # whatever that might prove to be; therefore, they were going to leave the ship’s # stern unprovided with a buoy, when by certain strange signs and inuendoes # Queequeg hinted a hint concerning his coffin. # # “A life-buoy of a coffin!” cried Starbuck, starting. # # “Rather queer, that, I should say,” said Stubb. # # “It will make a good enough one,” said Flask, “the carpenter here can arrange it # easily.” # # “Bring it up; there’s nothing else for it,” said Starbuck, after a melancholy # pause. “Rig it, carpenter; do not look at me so—the coffin, I mean. Dost thou # hear me? Rig it.” # # “And shall I nail down the lid, sir?” moving his hand as with a hammer. # # “Aye.” # # “And shall I caulk the seams, sir?” moving his hand as with a caulking-iron. # # “Aye.” # # “And shall I then pay over the same with pitch, sir?” moving his hand as with a # pitch-pot. # # “Away! what possesses thee to this? Make a life-buoy of the coffin, and no # more.—Mr. Stubb, Mr. Flask, come forward with me.” # # “He goes off in a huff. The whole he can endure; at the parts he baulks. Now I # don’t like this. I make a leg for Captain Ahab, and he wears it like a # gentleman; but I make a bandbox for Queequeg, and he won’t put his head into it. # Are all my pains to go for nothing with that coffin? And now I’m ordered to make # a life-buoy of it. It’s like turning an old coat; going to bring the flesh on # the other side now. I don’t like this cobbling sort of business—I don’t like it # at all; it’s undignified; it’s not my place. Let tinkers’ brats do tinkerings; # we are their betters. I like to take in hand none but clean, virgin, # fair-and-square mathematical jobs, something that regularly begins at the # beginning, and is at the middle when midway, and comes to an end at the # conclusion; not a cobbler’s job, that’s at an end in the middle, and at the # beginning at the end. It’s the old woman’s tricks to be giving cobbling jobs. # Lord! what an affection all old women have for tinkers. I know an old woman of # sixty-five who ran away with a bald-headed young tinker once. And that’s the # reason I never would work for lonely widow old women ashore, when I kept my # job-shop in the Vineyard; they might have taken it into their lonely old heads # to run off with me. But heigh-ho! there are no caps at sea but snow-caps. Let me # see. Nail down the lid; caulk the seams; pay over the same with pitch; batten # them down tight, and hang it with the snap-spring over the ship’s stern. Were # ever such things done before with a coffin? Some superstitious old carpenters, # now, would be tied up in the rigging, ere they would do the job. But I’m made of # knotty Aroostook hemlock; I don’t budge. Cruppered with a coffin! Sailing about # with a grave-yard tray! But never mind. We workers in woods make # bridal-bedsteads and card-tables, as well as coffins and hearses. We work by the # month, or by the job, or by the profit; not for us to ask the why and wherefore # of our work, unless it be too confounded cobbling, and then we stash it if we # can. Hem! I’ll do the job, now, tenderly. I’ll have me—let’s see—how many in the # ship’s company, all told? But I’ve forgotten. Any way, I’ll have me thirty # separate, Turk’s-headed life-lines, each three feet long hanging all round to # the coffin. Then, if the hull go down, there’ll be thirty lively fellows all # fighting for one coffin, a sight not seen very often beneath the sun! Come # hammer, caulking-iron, pitch-pot, and marling-spike! Let’s to it.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 127. The Deck. # # The coffin laid upon two line-tubs, between the vice-bench and the open # hatchway; the Carpenter caulking its seams; the string of twisted oakum slowly # unwinding from a large roll of it placed in the bosom of his frock.—Ahab comes # slowly from the cabin-gangway, and hears Pip following him. # # “Back, lad; I will be with ye again presently. He goes! Not this hand complies # with my humor more genially than that boy.—Middle aisle of a church! What’s # here?” # # “Life-buoy, sir. Mr. Starbuck’s orders. Oh, look, sir! Beware the hatchway!” # # “Thank ye, man. Thy coffin lies handy to the vault.” # # “Sir? The hatchway? oh! So it does, sir, so it does.” # # “Art not thou the leg-maker? Look, did not this stump come from thy shop?” # # “I believe it did, sir; does the ferrule stand, sir?” # # “Well enough. But art thou not also the undertaker?” # # “Aye, sir; I patched up this thing here as a coffin for Queequeg; but they’ve # set me now to turning it into something else.” # # “Then tell me; art thou not an arrant, all-grasping, intermeddling, # monopolising, heathenish old scamp, to be one day making legs, and the next day # coffins to clap them in, and yet again life-buoys out of those same coffins? # Thou art as unprincipled as the gods, and as much of a jack-of-all-trades.” # # “But I do not mean anything, sir. I do as I do.” # # “The gods again. Hark ye, dost thou not ever sing working about a coffin? The # Titans, they say, hummed snatches when chipping out the craters for volcanoes; # and the grave-digger in the play sings, spade in hand. Dost thou never?” # # “Sing, sir? Do I sing? Oh, I’m indifferent enough, sir, for that; but the reason # why the grave-digger made music must have been because there was none in his # spade, sir. But the caulking mallet is full of it. Hark to it.” # # “Aye, and that’s because the lid there’s a sounding-board; and what in all # things makes the sounding-board is this—there’s naught beneath. And yet, a # coffin with a body in it rings pretty much the same, Carpenter. Hast thou ever # helped carry a bier, and heard the coffin knock against the churchyard gate, # going in? # # “Faith, sir, I’ve——” # # “Faith? What’s that?” # # “Why, faith, sir, it’s only a sort of exclamation-like—that’s all, sir.” # # “Um, um; go on.” # # “I was about to say, sir, that——” # # “Art thou a silk-worm? Dost thou spin thy own shroud out of thyself? Look at thy # bosom! Despatch! and get these traps out of sight.” # # “He goes aft. That was sudden, now; but squalls come sudden in hot latitudes. # I’ve heard that the Isle of Albemarle, one of the Gallipagos, is cut by the # Equator right in the middle. Seems to me some sort of Equator cuts yon old man, # too, right in his middle. He’s always under the Line—fiery hot, I tell ye! He’s # looking this way—come, oakum; quick. Here we go again. This wooden mallet is the # cork, and I’m the professor of musical glasses—tap, tap!” # # (Ahab to himself.) # # “There’s a sight! There’s a sound! The greyheaded woodpecker tapping the hollow # tree! Blind and dumb might well be envied now. See! that thing rests on two # line-tubs, full of tow-lines. A most malicious wag, that fellow. Rat-tat! So # man’s seconds tick! Oh! how immaterial are all materials! What things real are # there, but imponderable thoughts? Here now’s the very dreaded symbol of grim # death, by a mere hap, made the expressive sign of the help and hope of most # endangered life. A life-buoy of a coffin! Does it go further? Can it be that in # some spiritual sense the coffin is, after all, but an immortality-preserver! # I’ll think of that. But no. So far gone am I in the dark side of earth, that its # other side, the theoretic bright one, seems but uncertain twilight to me. Will # ye never have done, Carpenter, with that accursed sound? I go below; let me not # see that thing here when I return again. Now, then, Pip, we’ll talk this over; I # do suck most wondrous philosophies from thee! Some unknown conduits from the # unknown worlds must empty into thee!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 128. The Pequod Meets The Rachel. # # Next day, a large ship, the Rachel, was descried, bearing directly down upon the # Pequod, all her spars thickly clustering with men. At the time the Pequod was # making good speed through the water; but as the broad-winged windward stranger # shot nigh to her, the boastful sails all fell together as blank bladders that # are burst, and all life fled from the smitten hull. # # “Bad news; she brings bad news,” muttered the old Manxman. But ere her # commander, who, with trumpet to mouth, stood up in his boat; ere he could # hopefully hail, Ahab’s voice was heard. # # “Hast seen the White Whale?” # # “Aye, yesterday. Have ye seen a whale-boat adrift?” # # Throttling his joy, Ahab negatively answered this unexpected question; and would # then have fain boarded the stranger, when the stranger captain himself, having # stopped his vessel’s way, was seen descending her side. A few keen pulls, and # his boat-hook soon clinched the Pequod’s main-chains, and he sprang to the deck. # Immediately he was recognised by Ahab for a Nantucketer he knew. But no formal # salutation was exchanged. # # “Where was he?—not killed!—not killed!” cried Ahab, closely advancing. “How was # it?” # # It seemed that somewhat late on the afternoon of the day previous, while three # of the stranger’s boats were engaged with a shoal of whales, which had led them # some four or five miles from the ship; and while they were yet in swift chase to # windward, the white hump and head of Moby Dick had suddenly loomed up out of the # water, not very far to leeward; whereupon, the fourth rigged boat—a reserved # one—had been instantly lowered in chase. After a keen sail before the wind, this # fourth boat—the swiftest keeled of all—seemed to have succeeded in fastening—at # least, as well as the man at the mast-head could tell anything about it. In the # distance he saw the diminished dotted boat; and then a swift gleam of bubbling # white water; and after that nothing more; whence it was concluded that the # stricken whale must have indefinitely run away with his pursuers, as often # happens. There was some apprehension, but no positive alarm, as yet. The recall # signals were placed in the rigging; darkness came on; and forced to pick up her # three far to windward boats—ere going in quest of the fourth one in the # precisely opposite direction—the ship had not only been necessitated to leave # that boat to its fate till near midnight, but, for the time, to increase her # distance from it. But the rest of her crew being at last safe aboard, she # crowded all sail—stunsail on stunsail—after the missing boat; kindling a fire in # her try-pots for a beacon; and every other man aloft on the look-out. But though # when she had thus sailed a sufficient distance to gain the presumed place of the # absent ones when last seen; though she then paused to lower her spare boats to # pull all around her; and not finding anything, had again dashed on; again # paused, and lowered her boats; and though she had thus continued doing till # daylight; yet not the least glimpse of the missing keel had been seen. # # The story told, the stranger Captain immediately went on to reveal his object in # boarding the Pequod. He desired that ship to unite with his own in the search; # by sailing over the sea some four or five miles apart, on parallel lines, and so # sweeping a double horizon, as it were. # # “I will wager something now,” whispered Stubb to Flask, “that some one in that # missing boat wore off that Captain’s best coat; mayhap, his watch—he’s so cursed # anxious to get it back. Who ever heard of two pious whale-ships cruising after # one missing whale-boat in the height of the whaling season? See, Flask, only see # how pale he looks—pale in the very buttons of his eyes—look—it wasn’t the # coat—it must have been the—” # # “My boy, my own boy is among them. For God’s sake—I beg, I conjure”—here # exclaimed the stranger Captain to Ahab, who thus far had but icily received his # petition. “For eight-and-forty hours let me charter your ship—I will gladly pay # for it, and roundly pay for it—if there be no other way—for eight-and-forty # hours only—only that—you must, oh, you must, and you shall do this thing.” # # “His son!” cried Stubb, “oh, it’s his son he’s lost! I take back the coat and # watch—what says Ahab? We must save that boy.” # # “He’s drowned with the rest on ’em, last night,” said the old Manx sailor # standing behind them; “I heard; all of ye heard their spirits.” # # Now, as it shortly turned out, what made this incident of the Rachel’s the more # melancholy, was the circumstance, that not only was one of the Captain’s sons # among the number of the missing boat’s crew; but among the number of the other # boat’s crews, at the same time, but on the other hand, separated from the ship # during the dark vicissitudes of the chase, there had been still another son; as # that for a time, the wretched father was plunged to the bottom of the cruellest # perplexity; which was only solved for him by his chief mate’s instinctively # adopting the ordinary procedure of a whale-ship in such emergencies, that is, # when placed between jeopardized but divided boats, always to pick up the # majority first. But the captain, for some unknown constitutional reason, had # refrained from mentioning all this, and not till forced to it by Ahab’s iciness # did he allude to his one yet missing boy; a little lad, but twelve years old, # whose father with the earnest but unmisgiving hardihood of a Nantucketer’s # paternal love, had thus early sought to initiate him in the perils and wonders # of a vocation almost immemorially the destiny of all his race. Nor does it # unfrequently occur, that Nantucket captains will send a son of such tender age # away from them, for a protracted three or four years’ voyage in some other ship # than their own; so that their first knowledge of a whaleman’s career shall be # unenervated by any chance display of a father’s natural but untimely partiality, # or undue apprehensiveness and concern. # # Meantime, now the stranger was still beseeching his poor boon of Ahab; and Ahab # still stood like an anvil, receiving every shock, but without the least # quivering of his own. # # “I will not go,” said the stranger, “till you say aye to me. Do to me as you # would have me do to you in the like case. For you too have a boy, Captain # Ahab—though but a child, and nestling safely at home now—a child of your old age # too—Yes, yes, you relent; I see it—run, run, men, now, and stand by to square in # the yards.” # # “Avast,” cried Ahab—“touch not a rope-yarn”; then in a voice that prolongingly # moulded every word—“Captain Gardiner, I will not do it. Even now I lose time. # Good-bye, good-bye. God bless ye, man, and may I forgive myself, but I must go. # Mr. Starbuck, look at the binnacle watch, and in three minutes from this present # instant warn off all strangers: then brace forward again, and let the ship sail # as before.” # # Hurriedly turning, with averted face, he descended into his cabin, leaving the # strange captain transfixed at this unconditional and utter rejection of his so # earnest suit. But starting from his enchantment, Gardiner silently hurried to # the side; more fell than stepped into his boat, and returned to his ship. # # Soon the two ships diverged their wakes; and long as the strange vessel was in # view, she was seen to yaw hither and thither at every dark spot, however small, # on the sea. This way and that her yards were swung round; starboard and # larboard, she continued to tack; now she beat against a head sea; and again it # pushed her before it; while all the while, her masts and yards were thickly # clustered with men, as three tall cherry trees, when the boys are cherrying # among the boughs. # # But by her still halting course and winding, woeful way, you plainly saw that # this ship that so wept with spray, still remained without comfort. She was # Rachel, weeping for her children, because they were not. # # # # # # CHAPTER 129. The Cabin. # # (Ahab moving to go on deck; Pip catches him by the hand to follow.) # # “Lad, lad, I tell thee thou must not follow Ahab now. The hour is coming when # Ahab would not scare thee from him, yet would not have thee by him. There is # that in thee, poor lad, which I feel too curing to my malady. Like cures like; # and for this hunt, my malady becomes my most desired health. Do thou abide below # here, where they shall serve thee, as if thou wert the captain. Aye, lad, thou # shalt sit here in my own screwed chair; another screw to it, thou must be.” # # “No, no, no! ye have not a whole body, sir; do ye but use poor me for your one # lost leg; only tread upon me, sir; I ask no more, so I remain a part of ye.” # # “Oh! spite of million villains, this makes me a bigot in the fadeless fidelity # of man!—and a black! and crazy!—but methinks like-cures-like applies to him too; # he grows so sane again.” # # “They tell me, sir, that Stubb did once desert poor little Pip, whose drowned # bones now show white, for all the blackness of his living skin. But I will never # desert ye, sir, as Stubb did him. Sir, I must go with ye.” # # “If thou speakest thus to me much more, Ahab’s purpose keels up in him. I tell # thee no; it cannot be.” # # “Oh good master, master, master! # # “Weep so, and I will murder thee! have a care, for Ahab too is mad. Listen, and # thou wilt often hear my ivory foot upon the deck, and still know that I am # there. And now I quit thee. Thy hand!—Met! True art thou, lad, as the # circumference to its centre. So: God for ever bless thee; and if it come to # that,—God for ever save thee, let what will befall.” # # (Ahab goes; Pip steps one step forward.) # # “Here he this instant stood; I stand in his air,—but I’m alone. Now were even # poor Pip here I could endure it, but he’s missing. Pip! Pip! Ding, dong, ding! # Who’s seen Pip? He must be up here; let’s try the door. What? neither lock, nor # bolt, nor bar; and yet there’s no opening it. It must be the spell; he told me # to stay here: Aye, and told me this screwed chair was mine. Here, then, I’ll # seat me, against the transom, in the ship’s full middle, all her keel and her # three masts before me. Here, our old sailors say, in their black seventy-fours # great admirals sometimes sit at table, and lord it over rows of captains and # lieutenants. Ha! what’s this? epaulets! epaulets! the epaulets all come # crowding! Pass round the decanters; glad to see ye; fill up, monsieurs! What an # odd feeling, now, when a black boy’s host to white men with gold lace upon their # coats!—Monsieurs, have ye seen one Pip?—a little negro lad, five feet high, # hang-dog look, and cowardly! Jumped from a whale-boat once;—seen him? No! Well # then, fill up again, captains, and let’s drink shame upon all cowards! I name no # names. Shame upon them! Put one foot upon the table. Shame upon all # cowards.—Hist! above there, I hear ivory—Oh, master! master! I am indeed # down-hearted when you walk over me. But here I’ll stay, though this stern # strikes rocks; and they bulge through; and oysters come to join me.” # # # # # # CHAPTER 130. The Hat. # # And now that at the proper time and place, after so long and wide a preliminary # cruise, Ahab,—all other whaling waters swept—seemed to have chased his foe into # an ocean-fold, to slay him the more securely there; now, that he found himself # hard by the very latitude and longitude where his tormenting wound had been # inflicted; now that a vessel had been spoken which on the very day preceding had # actually encountered Moby Dick;—and now that all his successive meetings with # various ships contrastingly concurred to show the demoniac indifference with # which the white whale tore his hunters, whether sinning or sinned against; now # it was that there lurked a something in the old man’s eyes, which it was hardly # sufferable for feeble souls to see. As the unsetting polar star, which through # the livelong, arctic, six months’ night sustains its piercing, steady, central # gaze; so Ahab’s purpose now fixedly gleamed down upon the constant midnight of # the gloomy crew. It domineered above them so, that all their bodings, doubts, # misgivings, fears, were fain to hide beneath their souls, and not sprout forth a # single spear or leaf. # # In this foreshadowing interval too, all humor, forced or natural, vanished. # Stubb no more strove to raise a smile; Starbuck no more strove to check one. # Alike, joy and sorrow, hope and fear, seemed ground to finest dust, and # powdered, for the time, in the clamped mortar of Ahab’s iron soul. Like # machines, they dumbly moved about the deck, ever conscious that the old man’s # despot eye was on them. # # But did you deeply scan him in his more secret confidential hours; when he # thought no glance but one was on him; then you would have seen that even as # Ahab’s eyes so awed the crew’s, the inscrutable Parsee’s glance awed his; or # somehow, at least, in some wild way, at times affected it. Such an added, # gliding strangeness began to invest the thin Fedallah now; such ceaseless # shudderings shook him; that the men looked dubious at him; half uncertain, as it # seemed, whether indeed he were a mortal substance, or else a tremulous shadow # cast upon the deck by some unseen being’s body. And that shadow was always # hovering there. For not by night, even, had Fedallah ever certainly been known # to slumber, or go below. He would stand still for hours: but never sat or # leaned; his wan but wondrous eyes did plainly say—We two watchmen never rest. # # Nor, at any time, by night or day could the mariners now step upon the deck, # unless Ahab was before them; either standing in his pivot-hole, or exactly # pacing the planks between two undeviating limits,—the main-mast and the mizen; # or else they saw him standing in the cabin-scuttle,—his living foot advanced # upon the deck, as if to step; his hat slouched heavily over his eyes; so that # however motionless he stood, however the days and nights were added on, that he # had not swung in his hammock; yet hidden beneath that slouching hat, they could # never tell unerringly whether, for all this, his eyes were really closed at # times; or whether he was still intently scanning them; no matter, though he # stood so in the scuttle for a whole hour on the stretch, and the unheeded # night-damp gathered in beads of dew upon that stone-carved coat and hat. The # clothes that the night had wet, the next day’s sunshine dried upon him; and so, # day after day, and night after night; he went no more beneath the planks; # whatever he wanted from the cabin that thing he sent for. # # He ate in the same open air; that is, his two only meals,—breakfast and dinner: # supper he never touched; nor reaped his beard; which darkly grew all gnarled, as # unearthed roots of trees blown over, which still grow idly on at naked base, # though perished in the upper verdure. But though his whole life was now become # one watch on deck; and though the Parsee’s mystic watch was without intermission # as his own; yet these two never seemed to speak—one man to the other—unless at # long intervals some passing unmomentous matter made it necessary. Though such a # potent spell seemed secretly to join the twain; openly, and to the awe-struck # crew, they seemed pole-like asunder. If by day they chanced to speak one word; # by night, dumb men were both, so far as concerned the slightest verbal # interchange. At times, for longest hours, without a single hail, they stood far # parted in the starlight; Ahab in his scuttle, the Parsee by the mainmast; but # still fixedly gazing upon each other; as if in the Parsee Ahab saw his # forethrown shadow, in Ahab the Parsee his abandoned substance. # # And yet, somehow, did Ahab—in his own proper self, as daily, hourly, and every # instant, commandingly revealed to his subordinates,—Ahab seemed an independent # lord; the Parsee but his slave. Still again both seemed yoked together, and an # unseen tyrant driving them; the lean shade siding the solid rib. For be this # Parsee what he may, all rib and keel was solid Ahab. # # At the first faintest glimmering of the dawn, his iron voice was heard from # aft,—“Man the mast-heads!”—and all through the day, till after sunset and after # twilight, the same voice every hour, at the striking of the helmsman’s bell, was # heard—“What d’ye see?—sharp! sharp!” # # But when three or four days had slided by, after meeting the children-seeking # Rachel; and no spout had yet been seen; the monomaniac old man seemed # distrustful of his crew’s fidelity; at least, of nearly all except the Pagan # harpooneers; he seemed to doubt, even, whether Stubb and Flask might not # willingly overlook the sight he sought. But if these suspicions were really his, # he sagaciously refrained from verbally expressing them, however his actions # might seem to hint them. # # “I will have the first sight of the whale myself,”—he said. “Aye! Ahab must have # the doubloon!” and with his own hands he rigged a nest of basketed bowlines; and # sending a hand aloft, with a single sheaved block, to secure to the main-mast # head, he received the two ends of the downward-reeved rope; and attaching one to # his basket prepared a pin for the other end, in order to fasten it at the rail. # This done, with that end yet in his hand and standing beside the pin, he looked # round upon his crew, sweeping from one to the other; pausing his glance long # upon Daggoo, Queequeg, Tashtego; but shunning Fedallah; and then settling his # firm relying eye upon the chief mate, said,—“Take the rope, sir—I give it into # thy hands, Starbuck.” Then arranging his person in the basket, he gave the word # for them to hoist him to his perch, Starbuck being the one who secured the rope # at last; and afterwards stood near it. And thus, with one hand clinging round # the royal mast, Ahab gazed abroad upon the sea for miles and miles,—ahead, # astern, this side, and that,—within the wide expanded circle commanded at so # great a height. # # When in working with his hands at some lofty almost isolated place in the # rigging, which chances to afford no foothold, the sailor at sea is hoisted up to # that spot, and sustained there by the rope; under these circumstances, its # fastened end on deck is always given in strict charge to some one man who has # the special watch of it. Because in such a wilderness of running rigging, whose # various different relations aloft cannot always be infallibly discerned by what # is seen of them at the deck; and when the deck-ends of these ropes are being # every few minutes cast down from the fastenings, it would be but a natural # fatality, if, unprovided with a constant watchman, the hoisted sailor should by # some carelessness of the crew be cast adrift and fall all swooping to the sea. # So Ahab’s proceedings in this matter were not unusual; the only strange thing # about them seemed to be, that Starbuck, almost the one only man who had ever # ventured to oppose him with anything in the slightest degree approaching to # decision—one of those too, whose faithfulness on the look-out he had seemed to # doubt somewhat;—it was strange, that this was the very man he should select for # his watchman; freely giving his whole life into such an otherwise distrusted # person’s hands. # # Now, the first time Ahab was perched aloft; ere he had been there ten minutes; # one of those red-billed savage sea-hawks which so often fly incommodiously close # round the manned mast-heads of whalemen in these latitudes; one of these birds # came wheeling and screaming round his head in a maze of untrackably swift # circlings. Then it darted a thousand feet straight up into the air; then # spiralized downwards, and went eddying again round his head. # # But with his gaze fixed upon the dim and distant horizon, Ahab seemed not to # mark this wild bird; nor, indeed, would any one else have marked it much, it # being no uncommon circumstance; only now almost the least heedful eye seemed to # see some sort of cunning meaning in almost every sight. # # “Your hat, your hat, sir!” suddenly cried the Sicilian seaman, who being posted # at the mizen-mast-head, stood directly behind Ahab, though somewhat lower than # his level, and with a deep gulf of air dividing them. # # But already the sable wing was before the old man’s eyes; the long hooked bill # at his head: with a scream, the black hawk darted away with his prize. # # An eagle flew thrice round Tarquin’s head, removing his cap to replace it, and # thereupon Tanaquil, his wife, declared that Tarquin would be king of Rome. But # only by the replacing of the cap was that omen accounted good. Ahab’s hat was # never restored; the wild hawk flew on and on with it; far in advance of the # prow: and at last disappeared; while from the point of that disappearance, a # minute black spot was dimly discerned, falling from that vast height into the # sea. # # # # # # CHAPTER 131. The Pequod Meets The Delight. # # The intense Pequod sailed on; the rolling waves and days went by; the # life-buoy-coffin still lightly swung; and another ship, most miserably misnamed # the Delight, was descried. As she drew nigh, all eyes were fixed upon her broad # beams, called shears, which, in some whaling-ships, cross the quarter-deck at # the height of eight or nine feet; serving to carry the spare, unrigged, or # disabled boats. # # Upon the stranger’s shears were beheld the shattered, white ribs, and some few # splintered planks, of what had once been a whale-boat; but you now saw through # this wreck, as plainly as you see through the peeled, half-unhinged, and # bleaching skeleton of a horse. # # “Hast seen the White Whale?” # # “Look!” replied the hollow-cheeked captain from his taffrail; and with his # trumpet he pointed to the wreck. # # “Hast killed him?” # # “The harpoon is not yet forged that ever will do that,” answered the other, # sadly glancing upon a rounded hammock on the deck, whose gathered sides some # noiseless sailors were busy in sewing together. # # “Not forged!” and snatching Perth’s levelled iron from the crotch, Ahab held it # out, exclaiming—“Look ye, Nantucketer; here in this hand I hold his death! # Tempered in blood, and tempered by lightning are these barbs; and I swear to # temper them triply in that hot place behind the fin, where the White Whale most # feels his accursed life!” # # “Then God keep thee, old man—see’st thou that”—pointing to the hammock—“I bury # but one of five stout men, who were alive only yesterday; but were dead ere # night. Only that one I bury; the rest were buried before they died; you sail # upon their tomb.” Then turning to his crew—“Are ye ready there? place the plank # then on the rail, and lift the body; so, then—Oh! God”—advancing towards the # hammock with uplifted hands—“may the resurrection and the life——” # # “Brace forward! Up helm!” cried Ahab like lightning to his men. # # But the suddenly started Pequod was not quick enough to escape the sound of the # splash that the corpse soon made as it struck the sea; not so quick, indeed, but # that some of the flying bubbles might have sprinkled her hull with their ghostly # baptism. # # As Ahab now glided from the dejected Delight, the strange life-buoy hanging at # the Pequod’s stern came into conspicuous relief. # # “Ha! yonder! look yonder, men!” cried a foreboding voice in her wake. “In vain, # oh, ye strangers, ye fly our sad burial; ye but turn us your taffrail to show us # your coffin!” # # # # # # CHAPTER 132. The Symphony. # # It was a clear steel-blue day. The firmaments of air and sea were hardly # separable in that all-pervading azure; only, the pensive air was transparently # pure and soft, with a woman’s look, and the robust and man-like sea heaved with # long, strong, lingering swells, as Samson’s chest in his sleep. # # Hither, and thither, on high, glided the snow-white wings of small, unspeckled # birds; these were the gentle thoughts of the feminine air; but to and fro in the # deeps, far down in the bottomless blue, rushed mighty leviathans, sword-fish, # and sharks; and these were the strong, troubled, murderous thinkings of the # masculine sea. # # But though thus contrasting within, the contrast was only in shades and shadows # without; those two seemed one; it was only the sex, as it were, that # distinguished them. # # Aloft, like a royal czar and king, the sun seemed giving this gentle air to this # bold and rolling sea; even as bride to groom. And at the girdling line of the # horizon, a soft and tremulous motion—most seen here at the equator—denoted the # fond, throbbing trust, the loving alarms, with which the poor bride gave her # bosom away. # # Tied up and twisted; gnarled and knotted with wrinkles; haggardly firm and # unyielding; his eyes glowing like coals, that still glow in the ashes of ruin; # untottering Ahab stood forth in the clearness of the morn; lifting his # splintered helmet of a brow to the fair girl’s forehead of heaven. # # Oh, immortal infancy, and innocency of the azure! Invisible winged creatures # that frolic all round us! Sweet childhood of air and sky! how oblivious were ye # of old Ahab’s close-coiled woe! But so have I seen little Miriam and Martha, # laughing-eyed elves, heedlessly gambol around their old sire; sporting with the # circle of singed locks which grew on the marge of that burnt-out crater of his # brain. # # Slowly crossing the deck from the scuttle, Ahab leaned over the side and watched # how his shadow in the water sank and sank to his gaze, the more and the more # that he strove to pierce the profundity. But the lovely aromas in that enchanted # air did at last seem to dispel, for a moment, the cankerous thing in his soul. # That glad, happy air, that winsome sky, did at last stroke and caress him; the # step-mother world, so long cruel—forbidding—now threw affectionate arms round # his stubborn neck, and did seem to joyously sob over him, as if over one, that # however wilful and erring, she could yet find it in her heart to save and to # bless. From beneath his slouched hat Ahab dropped a tear into the sea; nor did # all the Pacific contain such wealth as that one wee drop. # # Starbuck saw the old man; saw him, how he heavily leaned over the side; and he # seemed to hear in his own true heart the measureless sobbing that stole out of # the centre of the serenity around. Careful not to touch him, or be noticed by # him, he yet drew near to him, and stood there. # # Ahab turned. # # “Starbuck!” # # “Sir.” # # “Oh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On such a # day—very much such a sweetness as this—I struck my first whale—a boy-harpooneer # of eighteen! Forty—forty—forty years ago!—ago! Forty years of continual whaling! # forty years of privation, and peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless # sea! for forty years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to # make war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those forty # years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life I have led; the # desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned, walled-town of a Captain’s # exclusiveness, which admits but small entrance to any sympathy from the green # country without—oh, weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary # command!—when I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to # me before—and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare—fit emblem of # the dry nourishment of my soil!—when the poorest landsman has had fresh fruit to # his daily hand, and broken the world’s fresh bread to my mouldy crusts—away, # whole oceans away, from that young girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for # Cape Horn the next day, leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow—wife? # wife?—rather a widow with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when # I married her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood # and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab has # furiously, foamingly chased his prey—more a demon than a man!—aye, aye! what a # forty years’ fool—fool—old fool, has old Ahab been! Why this strife of the # chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how # the richer or better is Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that # with this weary load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under # me? Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep. Locks so # grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look very old, so very, # very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, and humped, as though I were # Adam, staggering beneath the piled centuries since Paradise. God! God! # God!—crack my heart!—stave my brain!—mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of # grey hairs, have I lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus # intolerably old? Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human # eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. By # the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic glass, man; I see # my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on board, on board!—lower not # when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be # thine. No, no! not with the far away home I see in that eye!” # # “Oh, my Captain! my Captain! noble soul! grand old heart, after all! why should # any one give chase to that hated fish! Away with me! let us fly these deadly # waters! let us home! Wife and child, too, are Starbuck’s—wife and child of his # brotherly, sisterly, play-fellow youth; even as thine, sir, are the wife and # child of thy loving, longing, paternal old age! Away! let us away!—this instant # let me alter the course! How cheerily, how hilariously, O my Captain, would we # bowl on our way to see old Nantucket again! I think, sir, they have some such # mild blue days, even as this, in Nantucket.” # # “They have, they have. I have seen them—some summer days in the morning. About # this time—yes, it is his noon nap now—the boy vivaciously wakes; sits up in bed; # and his mother tells him of me, of cannibal old me; how I am abroad upon the # deep, but will yet come back to dance him again.” # # “’Tis my Mary, my Mary herself! She promised that my boy, every morning, should # be carried to the hill to catch the first glimpse of his father’s sail! Yes, # yes! no more! it is done! we head for Nantucket! Come, my Captain, study out the # course, and let us away! See, see! the boy’s face from the window! the boy’s # hand on the hill!” # # But Ahab’s glance was averted; like a blighted fruit tree he shook, and cast his # last, cindered apple to the soil. # # “What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozening, # hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against # all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming # myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, # natural heart, I durst not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, # that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an # errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible # power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think # thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, # and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned round and round in this world, like # yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling # sky, and this unsounded sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to # chase and fang that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! Who’s to doom, when # the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild # looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a far-away meadow; they # have been making hay somewhere under the slopes of the Andes, Starbuck, and the # mowers are sleeping among the new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, # we all sleep at last on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last # year’s scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths—Starbuck!” # # But blanched to a corpse’s hue with despair, the Mate had stolen away. # # Ahab crossed the deck to gaze over on the other side; but started at two # reflected, fixed eyes in the water there. Fedallah was motionlessly leaning over # the same rail. # # # # # # CHAPTER 133. The Chase—First Day. # # That night, in the mid-watch, when the old man—as his wont at intervals—stepped # forth from the scuttle in which he leaned, and went to his pivot-hole, he # suddenly thrust out his face fiercely, snuffing up the sea air as a sagacious # ship’s dog will, in drawing nigh to some barbarous isle. He declared that a # whale must be near. Soon that peculiar odor, sometimes to a great distance given # forth by the living sperm whale, was palpable to all the watch; nor was any # mariner surprised when, after inspecting the compass, and then the dog-vane, and # then ascertaining the precise bearing of the odor as nearly as possible, Ahab # rapidly ordered the ship’s course to be slightly altered, and the sail to be # shortened. # # The acute policy dictating these movements was sufficiently vindicated at # daybreak, by the sight of a long sleek on the sea directly and lengthwise ahead, # smooth as oil, and resembling in the pleated watery wrinkles bordering it, the # polished metallic-like marks of some swift tide-rip, at the mouth of a deep, # rapid stream. # # “Man the mast-heads! Call all hands!” # # Thundering with the butts of three clubbed handspikes on the forecastle deck, # Daggoo roused the sleepers with such judgment claps that they seemed to exhale # from the scuttle, so instantaneously did they appear with their clothes in their # hands. # # “What d’ye see?” cried Ahab, flattening his face to the sky. # # “Nothing, nothing sir!” was the sound hailing down in reply. # # “T’gallant sails!—stunsails! alow and aloft, and on both sides!” # # All sail being set, he now cast loose the life-line, reserved for swaying him to # the main royal-mast head; and in a few moments they were hoisting him thither, # when, while but two thirds of the way aloft, and while peering ahead through the # horizontal vacancy between the main-top-sail and top-gallant-sail, he raised a # gull-like cry in the air. “There she blows!—there she blows! A hump like a # snow-hill! It is Moby Dick!” # # Fired by the cry which seemed simultaneously taken up by the three look-outs, # the men on deck rushed to the rigging to behold the famous whale they had so # long been pursuing. Ahab had now gained his final perch, some feet above the # other look-outs, Tashtego standing just beneath him on the cap of the # top-gallant-mast, so that the Indian’s head was almost on a level with Ahab’s # heel. From this height the whale was now seen some mile or so ahead, at every # roll of the sea revealing his high sparkling hump, and regularly jetting his # silent spout into the air. To the credulous mariners it seemed the same silent # spout they had so long ago beheld in the moonlit Atlantic and Indian Oceans. # # “And did none of ye see it before?” cried Ahab, hailing the perched men all # around him. # # “I saw him almost that same instant, sir, that Captain Ahab did, and I cried # out,” said Tashtego. # # “Not the same instant; not the same—no, the doubloon is mine, Fate reserved the # doubloon for me. I only; none of ye could have raised the White Whale first. # There she blows!—there she blows!—there she blows! There again!—there again!” he # cried, in long-drawn, lingering, methodic tones, attuned to the gradual # prolongings of the whale’s visible jets. “He’s going to sound! In stunsails! # Down top-gallant-sails! Stand by three boats. Mr. Starbuck, remember, stay on # board, and keep the ship. Helm there! Luff, luff a point! So; steady, man, # steady! There go flukes! No, no; only black water! All ready the boats there? # Stand by, stand by! Lower me, Mr. Starbuck; lower, lower,—quick, quicker!” and # he slid through the air to the deck. # # “He is heading straight to leeward, sir,” cried Stubb, “right away from us; # cannot have seen the ship yet.” # # “Be dumb, man! Stand by the braces! Hard down the helm!—brace up! Shiver # her!—shiver her!—So; well that! Boats, boats!” # # Soon all the boats but Starbuck’s were dropped; all the boat-sails set—all the # paddles plying; with rippling swiftness, shooting to leeward; and Ahab heading # the onset. A pale, death-glimmer lit up Fedallah’s sunken eyes; a hideous motion # gnawed his mouth. # # Like noiseless nautilus shells, their light prows sped through the sea; but only # slowly they neared the foe. As they neared him, the ocean grew still more # smooth; seemed drawing a carpet over its waves; seemed a noon-meadow, so # serenely it spread. At length the breathless hunter came so nigh his seemingly # unsuspecting prey, that his entire dazzling hump was distinctly visible, sliding # along the sea as if an isolated thing, and continually set in a revolving ring # of finest, fleecy, greenish foam. He saw the vast, involved wrinkles of the # slightly projecting head beyond. Before it, far out on the soft Turkish-rugged # waters, went the glistening white shadow from his broad, milky forehead, a # musical rippling playfully accompanying the shade; and behind, the blue waters # interchangeably flowed over into the moving valley of his steady wake; and on # either hand bright bubbles arose and danced by his side. But these were broken # again by the light toes of hundreds of gay fowl softly feathering the sea, # alternate with their fitful flight; and like to some flag-staff rising from the # painted hull of an argosy, the tall but shattered pole of a recent lance # projected from the white whale’s back; and at intervals one of the cloud of # soft-toed fowls hovering, and to and fro skimming like a canopy over the fish, # silently perched and rocked on this pole, the long tail feathers streaming like # pennons. # # A gentle joyousness—a mighty mildness of repose in swiftness, invested the # gliding whale. Not the white bull Jupiter swimming away with ravished Europa # clinging to his graceful horns; his lovely, leering eyes sideways intent upon # the maid; with smooth bewitching fleetness, rippling straight for the nuptial # bower in Crete; not Jove, not that great majesty Supreme! did surpass the # glorified White Whale as he so divinely swam. # # On each soft side—coincident with the parted swell, that but once leaving him, # then flowed so wide away—on each bright side, the whale shed off enticings. No # wonder there had been some among the hunters who namelessly transported and # allured by all this serenity, had ventured to assail it; but had fatally found # that quietude but the vesture of tornadoes. Yet calm, enticing calm, oh, whale! # thou glidest on, to all who for the first time eye thee, no matter how many in # that same way thou may’st have bejuggled and destroyed before. # # And thus, through the serene tranquillities of the tropical sea, among waves # whose hand-clappings were suspended by exceeding rapture, Moby Dick moved on, # still withholding from sight the full terrors of his submerged trunk, entirely # hiding the wrenched hideousness of his jaw. But soon the fore part of him slowly # rose from the water; for an instant his whole marbleized body formed a high # arch, like Virginia’s Natural Bridge, and warningly waving his bannered flukes # in the air, the grand god revealed himself, sounded, and went out of sight. # Hoveringly halting, and dipping on the wing, the white sea-fowls longingly # lingered over the agitated pool that he left. # # With oars apeak, and paddles down, the sheets of their sails adrift, the three # boats now stilly floated, awaiting Moby Dick’s reappearance. # # “An hour,” said Ahab, standing rooted in his boat’s stern; and he gazed beyond # the whale’s place, towards the dim blue spaces and wide wooing vacancies to # leeward. It was only an instant; for again his eyes seemed whirling round in his # head as he swept the watery circle. The breeze now freshened; the sea began to # swell. # # “The birds!—the birds!” cried Tashtego. # # In long Indian file, as when herons take wing, the white birds were now all # flying towards Ahab’s boat; and when within a few yards began fluttering over # the water there, wheeling round and round, with joyous, expectant cries. Their # vision was keener than man’s; Ahab could discover no sign in the sea. But # suddenly as he peered down and down into its depths, he profoundly saw a white # living spot no bigger than a white weasel, with wonderful celerity uprising, and # magnifying as it rose, till it turned, and then there were plainly revealed two # long crooked rows of white, glistening teeth, floating up from the # undiscoverable bottom. It was Moby Dick’s open mouth and scrolled jaw; his vast, # shadowed bulk still half blending with the blue of the sea. The glittering mouth # yawned beneath the boat like an open-doored marble tomb; and giving one sidelong # sweep with his steering oar, Ahab whirled the craft aside from this tremendous # apparition. Then, calling upon Fedallah to change places with him, went forward # to the bows, and seizing Perth’s harpoon, commanded his crew to grasp their oars # and stand by to stern. # # Now, by reason of this timely spinning round the boat upon its axis, its bow, by # anticipation, was made to face the whale’s head while yet under water. But as if # perceiving this stratagem, Moby Dick, with that malicious intelligence ascribed # to him, sidelingly transplanted himself, as it were, in an instant, shooting his # pleated head lengthwise beneath the boat. # # Through and through; through every plank and each rib, it thrilled for an # instant, the whale obliquely lying on his back, in the manner of a biting shark, # slowly and feelingly taking its bows full within his mouth, so that the long, # narrow, scrolled lower jaw curled high up into the open air, and one of the # teeth caught in a row-lock. The bluish pearl-white of the inside of the jaw was # within six inches of Ahab’s head, and reached higher than that. In this attitude # the White Whale now shook the slight cedar as a mildly cruel cat her mouse. With # unastonished eyes Fedallah gazed, and crossed his arms; but the tiger-yellow # crew were tumbling over each other’s heads to gain the uttermost stern. # # And now, while both elastic gunwales were springing in and out, as the whale # dallied with the doomed craft in this devilish way; and from his body being # submerged beneath the boat, he could not be darted at from the bows, for the # bows were almost inside of him, as it were; and while the other boats # involuntarily paused, as before a quick crisis impossible to withstand, then it # was that monomaniac Ahab, furious with this tantalizing vicinity of his foe, # which placed him all alive and helpless in the very jaws he hated; frenzied with # all this, he seized the long bone with his naked hands, and wildly strove to # wrench it from its gripe. As now he thus vainly strove, the jaw slipped from # him; the frail gunwales bent in, collapsed, and snapped, as both jaws, like an # enormous shears, sliding further aft, bit the craft completely in twain, and # locked themselves fast again in the sea, midway between the two floating wrecks. # These floated aside, the broken ends drooping, the crew at the stern-wreck # clinging to the gunwales, and striving to hold fast to the oars to lash them # across. # # At that preluding moment, ere the boat was yet snapped, Ahab, the first to # perceive the whale’s intent, by the crafty upraising of his head, a movement # that loosed his hold for the time; at that moment his hand had made one final # effort to push the boat out of the bite. But only slipping further into the # whale’s mouth, and tilting over sideways as it slipped, the boat had shaken off # his hold on the jaw; spilled him out of it, as he leaned to the push; and so he # fell flat-faced upon the sea. # # Ripplingly withdrawing from his prey, Moby Dick now lay at a little distance, # vertically thrusting his oblong white head up and down in the billows; and at # the same time slowly revolving his whole spindled body; so that when his vast # wrinkled forehead rose—some twenty or more feet out of the water—the now rising # swells, with all their confluent waves, dazzlingly broke against it; # vindictively tossing their shivered spray still higher into the air.* So, in a # gale, the but half baffled Channel billows only recoil from the base of the # Eddystone, triumphantly to overleap its summit with their scud. # # *This motion is peculiar to the sperm whale. It receives its designation # (pitchpoling) from its being likened to that preliminary up-and-down poise of # the whale-lance, in the exercise called pitchpoling, previously described. By # this motion the whale must best and most comprehensively view whatever objects # may be encircling him. # # But soon resuming his horizontal attitude, Moby Dick swam swiftly round and # round the wrecked crew; sideways churning the water in his vengeful wake, as if # lashing himself up to still another and more deadly assault. The sight of the # splintered boat seemed to madden him, as the blood of grapes and mulberries cast # before Antiochus’s elephants in the book of Maccabees. Meanwhile Ahab half # smothered in the foam of the whale’s insolent tail, and too much of a cripple to # swim,—though he could still keep afloat, even in the heart of such a whirlpool # as that; helpless Ahab’s head was seen, like a tossed bubble which the least # chance shock might burst. From the boat’s fragmentary stern, Fedallah # incuriously and mildly eyed him; the clinging crew, at the other drifting end, # could not succor him; more than enough was it for them to look to themselves. # For so revolvingly appalling was the White Whale’s aspect, and so planetarily # swift the ever-contracting circles he made, that he seemed horizontally swooping # upon them. And though the other boats, unharmed, still hovered hard by; still # they dared not pull into the eddy to strike, lest that should be the signal for # the instant destruction of the jeopardized castaways, Ahab and all; nor in that # case could they themselves hope to escape. With straining eyes, then, they # remained on the outer edge of the direful zone, whose centre had now become the # old man’s head. # # Meantime, from the beginning all this had been descried from the ship’s mast # heads; and squaring her yards, she had borne down upon the scene; and was now so # nigh, that Ahab in the water hailed her!—“Sail on the”—but that moment a # breaking sea dashed on him from Moby Dick, and whelmed him for the time. But # struggling out of it again, and chancing to rise on a towering crest, he # shouted,—“Sail on the whale!—Drive him off!” # # The Pequod’s prows were pointed; and breaking up the charmed circle, she # effectually parted the white whale from his victim. As he sullenly swam off, the # boats flew to the rescue. # # Dragged into Stubb’s boat with blood-shot, blinded eyes, the white brine caking # in his wrinkles; the long tension of Ahab’s bodily strength did crack, and # helplessly he yielded to his body’s doom: for a time, lying all crushed in the # bottom of Stubb’s boat, like one trodden under foot of herds of elephants. Far # inland, nameless wails came from him, as desolate sounds from out ravines. # # But this intensity of his physical prostration did but so much the more # abbreviate it. In an instant’s compass, great hearts sometimes condense to one # deep pang, the sum total of those shallow pains kindly diffused through feebler # men’s whole lives. And so, such hearts, though summary in each one suffering; # still, if the gods decree it, in their life-time aggregate a whole age of woe, # wholly made up of instantaneous intensities; for even in their pointless # centres, those noble natures contain the entire circumferences of inferior # souls. # # “The harpoon,” said Ahab, half way rising, and draggingly leaning on one bended # arm—“is it safe?” # # “Aye, sir, for it was not darted; this is it,” said Stubb, showing it. # # “Lay it before me;—any missing men?” # # “One, two, three, four, five;—there were five oars, sir, and here are five men.” # # “That’s good.—Help me, man; I wish to stand. So, so, I see him! there! there! # going to leeward still; what a leaping spout!—Hands off from me! The eternal sap # runs up in Ahab’s bones again! Set the sail; out oars; the helm!” # # It is often the case that when a boat is stove, its crew, being picked up by # another boat, help to work that second boat; and the chase is thus continued # with what is called double-banked oars. It was thus now. But the added power of # the boat did not equal the added power of the whale, for he seemed to have # treble-banked his every fin; swimming with a velocity which plainly showed, that # if now, under these circumstances, pushed on, the chase would prove an # indefinitely prolonged, if not a hopeless one; nor could any crew endure for so # long a period, such an unintermitted, intense straining at the oar; a thing # barely tolerable only in some one brief vicissitude. The ship itself, then, as # it sometimes happens, offered the most promising intermediate means of # overtaking the chase. Accordingly, the boats now made for her, and were soon # swayed up to their cranes—the two parts of the wrecked boat having been # previously secured by her—and then hoisting everything to her side, and stacking # her canvas high up, and sideways outstretching it with stun-sails, like the # double-jointed wings of an albatross; the Pequod bore down in the leeward wake # of Moby-Dick. At the well known, methodic intervals, the whale’s glittering # spout was regularly announced from the manned mast-heads; and when he would be # reported as just gone down, Ahab would take the time, and then pacing the deck, # binnacle-watch in hand, so soon as the last second of the allotted hour expired, # his voice was heard.—“Whose is the doubloon now? D’ye see him?” and if the reply # was, No, sir! straightway he commanded them to lift him to his perch. In this # way the day wore on; Ahab, now aloft and motionless; anon, unrestingly pacing # the planks. # # As he was thus walking, uttering no sound, except to hail the men aloft, or to # bid them hoist a sail still higher, or to spread one to a still greater # breadth—thus to and fro pacing, beneath his slouched hat, at every turn he # passed his own wrecked boat, which had been dropped upon the quarter-deck, and # lay there reversed; broken bow to shattered stern. At last he paused before it; # and as in an already over-clouded sky fresh troops of clouds will sometimes sail # across, so over the old man’s face there now stole some such added gloom as # this. # # Stubb saw him pause; and perhaps intending, not vainly, though, to evince his # own unabated fortitude, and thus keep up a valiant place in his Captain’s mind, # he advanced, and eyeing the wreck exclaimed—“The thistle the ass refused; it # pricked his mouth too keenly, sir; ha! ha!” # # “What soulless thing is this that laughs before a wreck? Man, man! did I not # know thee brave as fearless fire (and as mechanical) I could swear thou wert a # poltroon. Groan nor laugh should be heard before a wreck.” # # “Aye, sir,” said Starbuck drawing near, “’tis a solemn sight; an omen, and an # ill one.” # # “Omen? omen?—the dictionary! If the gods think to speak outright to man, they # will honorably speak outright; not shake their heads, and give an old wives’ # darkling hint.—Begone! Ye two are the opposite poles of one thing; Starbuck is # Stubb reversed, and Stubb is Starbuck; and ye two are all mankind; and Ahab # stands alone among the millions of the peopled earth, nor gods nor men his # neighbors! Cold, cold—I shiver!—How now? Aloft there! D’ye see him? Sing out for # every spout, though he spout ten times a second!” # # The day was nearly done; only the hem of his golden robe was rustling. Soon, it # was almost dark, but the look-out men still remained unset. # # “Can’t see the spout now, sir;—too dark”—cried a voice from the air. # # “How heading when last seen?” # # “As before, sir,—straight to leeward.” # # “Good! he will travel slower now ’tis night. Down royals and top-gallant # stun-sails, Mr. Starbuck. We must not run over him before morning; he’s making a # passage now, and may heave-to a while. Helm there! keep her full before the # wind!—Aloft! come down!—Mr. Stubb, send a fresh hand to the fore-mast head, and # see it manned till morning.”—Then advancing towards the doubloon in the # main-mast—“Men, this gold is mine, for I earned it; but I shall let it abide # here till the White Whale is dead; and then, whosoever of ye first raises him, # upon the day he shall be killed, this gold is that man’s; and if on that day I # shall again raise him, then, ten times its sum shall be divided among all of ye! # Away now!—the deck is thine, sir!” # # And so saying, he placed himself half way within the scuttle, and slouching his # hat, stood there till dawn, except when at intervals rousing himself to see how # the night wore on. # # # # # # CHAPTER 134. The Chase—Second Day. # # At day-break, the three mast-heads were punctually manned afresh. # # “D’ye see him?” cried Ahab after allowing a little space for the light to # spread. # # “See nothing, sir.” # # “Turn up all hands and make sail! he travels faster than I thought for;—the # top-gallant sails!—aye, they should have been kept on her all night. But no # matter—’tis but resting for the rush.” # # Here be it said, that this pertinacious pursuit of one particular whale, # continued through day into night, and through night into day, is a thing by no # means unprecedented in the South sea fishery. For such is the wonderful skill, # prescience of experience, and invincible confidence acquired by some great # natural geniuses among the Nantucket commanders; that from the simple # observation of a whale when last descried, they will, under certain given # circumstances, pretty accurately foretell both the direction in which he will # continue to swim for a time, while out of sight, as well as his probable rate of # progression during that period. And, in these cases, somewhat as a pilot, when # about losing sight of a coast, whose general trending he well knows, and which # he desires shortly to return to again, but at some further point; like as this # pilot stands by his compass, and takes the precise bearing of the cape at # present visible, in order the more certainly to hit aright the remote, unseen # headland, eventually to be visited: so does the fisherman, at his compass, with # the whale; for after being chased, and diligently marked, through several hours # of daylight, then, when night obscures the fish, the creature’s future wake # through the darkness is almost as established to the sagacious mind of the # hunter, as the pilot’s coast is to him. So that to this hunter’s wondrous skill, # the proverbial evanescence of a thing writ in water, a wake, is to all desired # purposes well nigh as reliable as the steadfast land. And as the mighty iron # Leviathan of the modern railway is so familiarly known in its every pace, that, # with watches in their hands, men time his rate as doctors that of a baby’s # pulse; and lightly say of it, the up train or the down train will reach such or # such a spot, at such or such an hour; even so, almost, there are occasions when # these Nantucketers time that other Leviathan of the deep, according to the # observed humor of his speed; and say to themselves, so many hours hence this # whale will have gone two hundred miles, will have about reached this or that # degree of latitude or longitude. But to render this acuteness at all successful # in the end, the wind and the sea must be the whaleman’s allies; for of what # present avail to the becalmed or windbound mariner is the skill that assures him # he is exactly ninety-three leagues and a quarter from his port? Inferable from # these statements, are many collateral subtile matters touching the chase of # whales. # # The ship tore on; leaving such a furrow in the sea as when a cannon-ball, # missent, becomes a plough-share and turns up the level field. # # “By salt and hemp!” cried Stubb, “but this swift motion of the deck creeps up # one’s legs and tingles at the heart. This ship and I are two brave fellows!—Ha, # ha! Some one take me up, and launch me, spine-wise, on the sea,—for by # live-oaks! my spine’s a keel. Ha, ha! we go the gait that leaves no dust # behind!” # # “There she blows—she blows!—she blows!—right ahead!” was now the mast-head cry. # # “Aye, aye!” cried Stubb, “I knew it—ye can’t escape—blow on and split your # spout, O whale! the mad fiend himself is after ye! blow your trump—blister your # lungs!—Ahab will dam off your blood, as a miller shuts his watergate upon the # stream!” # # And Stubb did but speak out for well nigh all that crew. The frenzies of the # chase had by this time worked them bubblingly up, like old wine worked anew. # Whatever pale fears and forebodings some of them might have felt before; these # were not only now kept out of sight through the growing awe of Ahab, but they # were broken up, and on all sides routed, as timid prairie hares that scatter # before the bounding bison. The hand of Fate had snatched all their souls; and by # the stirring perils of the previous day; the rack of the past night’s suspense; # the fixed, unfearing, blind, reckless way in which their wild craft went # plunging towards its flying mark; by all these things, their hearts were bowled # along. The wind that made great bellies of their sails, and rushed the vessel on # by arms invisible as irresistible; this seemed the symbol of that unseen agency # which so enslaved them to the race. # # They were one man, not thirty. For as the one ship that held them all; though it # was put together of all contrasting things—oak, and maple, and pine wood; iron, # and pitch, and hemp—yet all these ran into each other in the one concrete hull, # which shot on its way, both balanced and directed by the long central keel; even # so, all the individualities of the crew, this man’s valor, that man’s fear; # guilt and guiltiness, all varieties were welded into oneness, and were all # directed to that fatal goal which Ahab their one lord and keel did point to. # # The rigging lived. The mast-heads, like the tops of tall palms, were # outspreadingly tufted with arms and legs. Clinging to a spar with one hand, some # reached forth the other with impatient wavings; others, shading their eyes from # the vivid sunlight, sat far out on the rocking yards; all the spars in full # bearing of mortals, ready and ripe for their fate. Ah! how they still strove # through that infinite blueness to seek out the thing that might destroy them! # # “Why sing ye not out for him, if ye see him?” cried Ahab, when, after the lapse # of some minutes since the first cry, no more had been heard. “Sway me up, men; # ye have been deceived; not Moby Dick casts one odd jet that way, and then # disappears.” # # It was even so; in their headlong eagerness, the men had mistaken some other # thing for the whale-spout, as the event itself soon proved; for hardly had Ahab # reached his perch; hardly was the rope belayed to its pin on deck, when he # struck the key-note to an orchestra, that made the air vibrate as with the # combined discharges of rifles. The triumphant halloo of thirty buckskin lungs # was heard, as—much nearer to the ship than the place of the imaginary jet, less # than a mile ahead—Moby Dick bodily burst into view! For not by any calm and # indolent spoutings; not by the peaceable gush of that mystic fountain in his # head, did the White Whale now reveal his vicinity; but by the far more wondrous # phenomenon of breaching. Rising with his utmost velocity from the furthest # depths, the Sperm Whale thus booms his entire bulk into the pure element of air, # and piling up a mountain of dazzling foam, shows his place to the distance of # seven miles and more. In those moments, the torn, enraged waves he shakes off, # seem his mane; in some cases, this breaching is his act of defiance. # # “There she breaches! there she breaches!” was the cry, as in his immeasurable # bravadoes the White Whale tossed himself salmon-like to Heaven. So suddenly seen # in the blue plain of the sea, and relieved against the still bluer margin of the # sky, the spray that he raised, for the moment, intolerably glittered and glared # like a glacier; and stood there gradually fading and fading away from its first # sparkling intensity, to the dim mistiness of an advancing shower in a vale. # # “Aye, breach your last to the sun, Moby Dick!” cried Ahab, “thy hour and thy # harpoon are at hand!—Down! down all of ye, but one man at the fore. The # boats!—stand by!” # # Unmindful of the tedious rope-ladders of the shrouds, the men, like shooting # stars, slid to the deck, by the isolated backstays and halyards; while Ahab, # less dartingly, but still rapidly was dropped from his perch. # # “Lower away,” he cried, so soon as he had reached his boat—a spare one, rigged # the afternoon previous. “Mr. Starbuck, the ship is thine—keep away from the # boats, but keep near them. Lower, all!” # # As if to strike a quick terror into them, by this time being the first assailant # himself, Moby Dick had turned, and was now coming for the three crews. Ahab’s # boat was central; and cheering his men, he told them he would take the whale # head-and-head,—that is, pull straight up to his forehead,—a not uncommon thing; # for when within a certain limit, such a course excludes the coming onset from # the whale’s sidelong vision. But ere that close limit was gained, and while yet # all three boats were plain as the ship’s three masts to his eye; the White Whale # churning himself into furious speed, almost in an instant as it were, rushing # among the boats with open jaws, and a lashing tail, offered appalling battle on # every side; and heedless of the irons darted at him from every boat, seemed only # intent on annihilating each separate plank of which those boats were made. But # skilfully manœuvred, incessantly wheeling like trained chargers in the field; # the boats for a while eluded him; though, at times, but by a plank’s breadth; # while all the time, Ahab’s unearthly slogan tore every other cry but his to # shreds. # # But at last in his untraceable evolutions, the White Whale so crossed and # recrossed, and in a thousand ways entangled the slack of the three lines now # fast to him, that they foreshortened, and, of themselves, warped the devoted # boats towards the planted irons in him; though now for a moment the whale drew # aside a little, as if to rally for a more tremendous charge. Seizing that # opportunity, Ahab first paid out more line: and then was rapidly hauling and # jerking in upon it again—hoping that way to disencumber it of some snarls—when # lo!—a sight more savage than the embattled teeth of sharks! # # Caught and twisted—corkscrewed in the mazes of the line, loose harpoons and # lances, with all their bristling barbs and points, came flashing and dripping up # to the chocks in the bows of Ahab’s boat. Only one thing could be done. Seizing # the boat-knife, he critically reached within—through—and then, without—the rays # of steel; dragged in the line beyond, passed it, inboard, to the bowsman, and # then, twice sundering the rope near the chocks—dropped the intercepted fagot of # steel into the sea; and was all fast again. That instant, the White Whale made a # sudden rush among the remaining tangles of the other lines; by so doing, # irresistibly dragged the more involved boats of Stubb and Flask towards his # flukes; dashed them together like two rolling husks on a surf-beaten beach, and # then, diving down into the sea, disappeared in a boiling maelstrom, in which, # for a space, the odorous cedar chips of the wrecks danced round and round, like # the grated nutmeg in a swiftly stirred bowl of punch. # # While the two crews were yet circling in the waters, reaching out after the # revolving line-tubs, oars, and other floating furniture, while aslope little # Flask bobbed up and down like an empty vial, twitching his legs upwards to # escape the dreaded jaws of sharks; and Stubb was lustily singing out for some # one to ladle him up; and while the old man’s line—now parting—admitted of his # pulling into the creamy pool to rescue whom he could;—in that wild # simultaneousness of a thousand concreted perils,—Ahab’s yet unstricken boat # seemed drawn up towards Heaven by invisible wires,—as, arrow-like, shooting # perpendicularly from the sea, the White Whale dashed his broad forehead against # its bottom, and sent it, turning over and over, into the air; till it fell # again—gunwale downwards—and Ahab and his men struggled out from under it, like # seals from a sea-side cave. # # The first uprising momentum of the whale—modifying its direction as he struck # the surface—involuntarily launched him along it, to a little distance from the # centre of the destruction he had made; and with his back to it, he now lay for a # moment slowly feeling with his flukes from side to side; and whenever a stray # oar, bit of plank, the least chip or crumb of the boats touched his skin, his # tail swiftly drew back, and came sideways smiting the sea. But soon, as if # satisfied that his work for that time was done, he pushed his pleated forehead # through the ocean, and trailing after him the intertangled lines, continued his # leeward way at a traveller’s methodic pace. # # As before, the attentive ship having descried the whole fight, again came # bearing down to the rescue, and dropping a boat, picked up the floating # mariners, tubs, oars, and whatever else could be caught at, and safely landed # them on her decks. Some sprained shoulders, wrists, and ankles; livid # contusions; wrenched harpoons and lances; inextricable intricacies of rope; # shattered oars and planks; all these were there; but no fatal or even serious # ill seemed to have befallen any one. As with Fedallah the day before, so Ahab # was now found grimly clinging to his boat’s broken half, which afforded a # comparatively easy float; nor did it so exhaust him as the previous day’s # mishap. # # But when he was helped to the deck, all eyes were fastened upon him; as instead # of standing by himself he still half-hung upon the shoulder of Starbuck, who had # thus far been the foremost to assist him. His ivory leg had been snapped off, # leaving but one short sharp splinter. # # “Aye, aye, Starbuck, ’tis sweet to lean sometimes, be the leaner who he will; # and would old Ahab had leaned oftener than he has.” # # “The ferrule has not stood, sir,” said the carpenter, now coming up; “I put good # work into that leg.” # # “But no bones broken, sir, I hope,” said Stubb with true concern. # # “Aye! and all splintered to pieces, Stubb!—d’ye see it.—But even with a broken # bone, old Ahab is untouched; and I account no living bone of mine one jot more # me, than this dead one that’s lost. Nor white whale, nor man, nor fiend, can so # much as graze old Ahab in his own proper and inaccessible being. Can any lead # touch yonder floor, any mast scrape yonder roof?—Aloft there! which way?” # # “Dead to leeward, sir.” # # “Up helm, then; pile on the sail again, ship keepers! down the rest of the spare # boats and rig them—Mr. Starbuck away, and muster the boat’s crews.” # # “Let me first help thee towards the bulwarks, sir.” # # “Oh, oh, oh! how this splinter gores me now! Accursed fate! that the # unconquerable captain in the soul should have such a craven mate!” # # “Sir?” # # “My body, man, not thee. Give me something for a cane—there, that shivered lance # will do. Muster the men. Surely I have not seen him yet. By heaven it cannot # be!—missing?—quick! call them all.” # # The old man’s hinted thought was true. Upon mustering the company, the Parsee # was not there. # # “The Parsee!” cried Stubb—“he must have been caught in——” # # “The black vomit wrench thee!—run all of ye above, alow, cabin, forecastle—find # him—not gone—not gone!” # # But quickly they returned to him with the tidings that the Parsee was nowhere to # be found. # # “Aye, sir,” said Stubb—“caught among the tangles of your line—I thought I saw # him dragging under.” # # “My line! my line? Gone?—gone? What means that little word?—What death-knell # rings in it, that old Ahab shakes as if he were the belfry. The harpoon, # too!—toss over the litter there,—d’ye see it?—the forged iron, men, the white # whale’s—no, no, no,—blistered fool! this hand did dart it!—’tis in the # fish!—Aloft there! Keep him nailed—Quick!—all hands to the rigging of the # boats—collect the oars—harpooneers! the irons, the irons!—hoist the royals # higher—a pull on all the sheets!—helm there! steady, steady for your life! I’ll # ten times girdle the unmeasured globe; yea and dive straight through it, but # I’ll slay him yet!” # # “Great God! but for one single instant show thyself,” cried Starbuck; “never, # never wilt thou capture him, old man—In Jesus’ name no more of this, that’s # worse than devil’s madness. Two days chased; twice stove to splinters; thy very # leg once more snatched from under thee; thy evil shadow gone—all good angels # mobbing thee with warnings:—what more wouldst thou have?—Shall we keep chasing # this murderous fish till he swamps the last man? Shall we be dragged by him to # the bottom of the sea? Shall we be towed by him to the infernal world? Oh, # oh,—Impiety and blasphemy to hunt him more!” # # “Starbuck, of late I’ve felt strangely moved to thee; ever since that hour we # both saw—thou know’st what, in one another’s eyes. But in this matter of the # whale, be the front of thy face to me as the palm of this hand—a lipless, # unfeatured blank. Ahab is for ever Ahab, man. This whole act’s immutably # decreed. ’Twas rehearsed by thee and me a billion years before this ocean # rolled. Fool! I am the Fates’ lieutenant; I act under orders. Look thou, # underling! that thou obeyest mine.—Stand round me, men. Ye see an old man cut # down to the stump; leaning on a shivered lance; propped up on a lonely foot. # ’Tis Ahab—his body’s part; but Ahab’s soul’s a centipede, that moves upon a # hundred legs. I feel strained, half stranded, as ropes that tow dismasted # frigates in a gale; and I may look so. But ere I break, ye’ll hear me crack; and # till ye hear that, know that Ahab’s hawser tows his purpose yet. Believe ye, # men, in the things called omens? Then laugh aloud, and cry encore! For ere they # drown, drowning things will twice rise to the surface; then rise again, to sink # for evermore. So with Moby Dick—two days he’s floated—tomorrow will be the # third. Aye, men, he’ll rise once more,—but only to spout his last! D’ye feel # brave men, brave?” # # “As fearless fire,” cried Stubb. # # “And as mechanical,” muttered Ahab. Then as the men went forward, he muttered # on: “The things called omens! And yesterday I talked the same to Starbuck there, # concerning my broken boat. Oh! how valiantly I seek to drive out of others’ # hearts what’s clinched so fast in mine!—The Parsee—the Parsee!—gone, gone? and # he was to go before:—but still was to be seen again ere I could perish—How’s # that?—There’s a riddle now might baffle all the lawyers backed by the ghosts of # the whole line of judges:—like a hawk’s beak it pecks my brain. I’ll, I’ll solve # it, though!” # # When dusk descended, the whale was still in sight to leeward. # # So once more the sail was shortened, and everything passed nearly as on the # previous night; only, the sound of hammers, and the hum of the grindstone was # heard till nearly daylight, as the men toiled by lanterns in the complete and # careful rigging of the spare boats and sharpening their fresh weapons for the # morrow. Meantime, of the broken keel of Ahab’s wrecked craft the carpenter made # him another leg; while still as on the night before, slouched Ahab stood fixed # within his scuttle; his hid, heliotrope glance anticipatingly gone backward on # its dial; sat due eastward for the earliest sun. # # # # # # CHAPTER 135. The Chase.—Third Day. # # The morning of the third day dawned fair and fresh, and once more the solitary # night-man at the fore-mast-head was relieved by crowds of the daylight # look-outs, who dotted every mast and almost every spar. # # “D’ye see him?” cried Ahab; but the whale was not yet in sight. # # “In his infallible wake, though; but follow that wake, that’s all. Helm there; # steady, as thou goest, and hast been going. What a lovely day again! were it a # new-made world, and made for a summer-house to the angels, and this morning the # first of its throwing open to them, a fairer day could not dawn upon that world. # Here’s food for thought, had Ahab time to think; but Ahab never thinks; he only # feels, feels, feels; that’s tingling enough for mortal man! to think’s audacity. # God only has that right and privilege. Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness # and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for # that. And yet, I’ve sometimes thought my brain was very calm—frozen calm, this # old skull cracks so, like a glass in which the contents turned to ice, and # shiver it. And still this hair is growing now; this moment growing, and heat # must breed it; but no, it’s like that sort of common grass that will grow # anywhere, between the earthy clefts of Greenland ice or in Vesuvius lava. How # the wild winds blow it; they whip it about me as the torn shreds of split sails # lash the tossed ship they cling to. A vile wind that has no doubt blown ere this # through prison corridors and cells, and wards of hospitals, and ventilated them, # and now comes blowing hither as innocent as fleeces. Out upon it!—it’s tainted. # Were I the wind, I’d blow no more on such a wicked, miserable world. I’d crawl # somewhere to a cave, and slink there. And yet, ’tis a noble and heroic thing, # the wind! who ever conquered it? In every fight it has the last and bitterest # blow. Run tilting at it, and you but run through it. Ha! a coward wind that # strikes stark naked men, but will not stand to receive a single blow. Even Ahab # is a braver thing—a nobler thing than that. Would now the wind but had a body; # but all the things that most exasperate and outrage mortal man, all these things # are bodiless, but only bodiless as objects, not as agents. There’s a most # special, a most cunning, oh, a most malicious difference! And yet, I say again, # and swear it now, that there’s something all glorious and gracious in the wind. # These warm Trade Winds, at least, that in the clear heavens blow straight on, in # strong and steadfast, vigorous mildness; and veer not from their mark, however # the baser currents of the sea may turn and tack, and mightiest Mississippies of # the land swift and swerve about, uncertain where to go at last. And by the # eternal Poles! these same Trades that so directly blow my good ship on; these # Trades, or something like them—something so unchangeable, and full as strong, # blow my keeled soul along! To it! Aloft there! What d’ye see?” # # “Nothing, sir.” # # “Nothing! and noon at hand! The doubloon goes a-begging! See the sun! Aye, aye, # it must be so. I’ve oversailed him. How, got the start? Aye, he’s chasing me # now; not I, him—that’s bad; I might have known it, too. Fool! the lines—the # harpoons he’s towing. Aye, aye, I have run him by last night. About! about! Come # down, all of ye, but the regular look outs! Man the braces!” # # Steering as she had done, the wind had been somewhat on the Pequod’s quarter, so # that now being pointed in the reverse direction, the braced ship sailed hard # upon the breeze as she rechurned the cream in her own white wake. # # “Against the wind he now steers for the open jaw,” murmured Starbuck to himself, # as he coiled the new-hauled main-brace upon the rail. “God keep us, but already # my bones feel damp within me, and from the inside wet my flesh. I misdoubt me # that I disobey my God in obeying him!” # # “Stand by to sway me up!” cried Ahab, advancing to the hempen basket. “We should # meet him soon.” # # “Aye, aye, sir,” and straightway Starbuck did Ahab’s bidding, and once more Ahab # swung on high. # # A whole hour now passed; gold-beaten out to ages. Time itself now held long # breaths with keen suspense. But at last, some three points off the weather bow, # Ahab descried the spout again, and instantly from the three mast-heads three # shrieks went up as if the tongues of fire had voiced it. # # “Forehead to forehead I meet thee, this third time, Moby Dick! On deck # there!—brace sharper up; crowd her into the wind’s eye. He’s too far off to # lower yet, Mr. Starbuck. The sails shake! Stand over that helmsman with a # top-maul! So, so; he travels fast, and I must down. But let me have one more # good round look aloft here at the sea; there’s time for that. An old, old sight, # and yet somehow so young; aye, and not changed a wink since I first saw it, a # boy, from the sand-hills of Nantucket! The same!—the same!—the same to Noah as # to me. There’s a soft shower to leeward. Such lovely leewardings! They must lead # somewhere—to something else than common land, more palmy than the palms. # Leeward! the white whale goes that way; look to windward, then; the better if # the bitterer quarter. But good bye, good bye, old mast-head! What’s this?—green? # aye, tiny mosses in these warped cracks. No such green weather stains on Ahab’s # head! There’s the difference now between man’s old age and matter’s. But aye, # old mast, we both grow old together; sound in our hulls, though, are we not, my # ship? Aye, minus a leg, that’s all. By heaven this dead wood has the better of # my live flesh every way. I can’t compare with it; and I’ve known some ships made # of dead trees outlast the lives of men made of the most vital stuff of vital # fathers. What’s that he said? he should still go before me, my pilot; and yet to # be seen again? But where? Will I have eyes at the bottom of the sea, supposing I # descend those endless stairs? and all night I’ve been sailing from him, wherever # he did sink to. Aye, aye, like many more thou told’st direful truth as touching # thyself, O Parsee; but, Ahab, there thy shot fell short. Good-bye, # mast-head—keep a good eye upon the whale, the while I’m gone. We’ll talk # to-morrow, nay, to-night, when the white whale lies down there, tied by head and # tail.” # # He gave the word; and still gazing round him, was steadily lowered through the # cloven blue air to the deck. # # In due time the boats were lowered; but as standing in his shallop’s stern, Ahab # just hovered upon the point of the descent, he waved to the mate,—who held one # of the tackle-ropes on deck—and bade him pause. # # “Starbuck!” # # “Sir?” # # “For the third time my soul’s ship starts upon this voyage, Starbuck.” # # “Aye, sir, thou wilt have it so.” # # “Some ships sail from their ports, and ever afterwards are missing, Starbuck!” # # “Truth, sir: saddest truth.” # # “Some men die at ebb tide; some at low water; some at the full of the flood;—and # I feel now like a billow that’s all one crested comb, Starbuck. I am old;—shake # hands with me, man.” # # Their hands met; their eyes fastened; Starbuck’s tears the glue. # # “Oh, my captain, my captain!—noble heart—go not—go not!—see, it’s a brave man # that weeps; how great the agony of the persuasion then!” # # “Lower away!”—cried Ahab, tossing the mate’s arm from him. “Stand by the crew!” # # In an instant the boat was pulling round close under the stern. # # “The sharks! the sharks!” cried a voice from the low cabin-window there; “O # master, my master, come back!” # # But Ahab heard nothing; for his own voice was high-lifted then; and the boat # leaped on. # # Yet the voice spake true; for scarce had he pushed from the ship, when numbers # of sharks, seemingly rising from out the dark waters beneath the hull, # maliciously snapped at the blades of the oars, every time they dipped in the # water; and in this way accompanied the boat with their bites. It is a thing not # uncommonly happening to the whale-boats in those swarming seas; the sharks at # times apparently following them in the same prescient way that vultures hover # over the banners of marching regiments in the east. But these were the first # sharks that had been observed by the Pequod since the White Whale had been first # descried; and whether it was that Ahab’s crew were all such tiger-yellow # barbarians, and therefore their flesh more musky to the senses of the sharks—a # matter sometimes well known to affect them,—however it was, they seemed to # follow that one boat without molesting the others. # # “Heart of wrought steel!” murmured Starbuck gazing over the side, and following # with his eyes the receding boat—“canst thou yet ring boldly to that # sight?—lowering thy keel among ravening sharks, and followed by them, # open-mouthed to the chase; and this the critical third day?—For when three days # flow together in one continuous intense pursuit; be sure the first is the # morning, the second the noon, and the third the evening and the end of that # thing—be that end what it may. Oh! my God! what is this that shoots through me, # and leaves me so deadly calm, yet expectant,—fixed at the top of a shudder! # Future things swim before me, as in empty outlines and skeletons; all the past # is somehow grown dim. Mary, girl! thou fadest in pale glories behind me; boy! I # seem to see but thy eyes grown wondrous blue. Strangest problems of life seem # clearing; but clouds sweep between—Is my journey’s end coming? My legs feel # faint; like his who has footed it all day. Feel thy heart,—beats it yet? Stir # thyself, Starbuck!—stave it off—move, move! speak aloud!—Mast-head there! See ye # my boy’s hand on the hill?—Crazed;—aloft there!—keep thy keenest eye upon the # boats:—mark well the whale!—Ho! again!—drive off that hawk! see! he pecks—he # tears the vane”—pointing to the red flag flying at the main-truck—“Ha! he soars # away with it!—Where’s the old man now? see’st thou that sight, oh Ahab!—shudder, # shudder!” # # The boats had not gone very far, when by a signal from the mast-heads—a downward # pointed arm, Ahab knew that the whale had sounded; but intending to be near him # at the next rising, he held on his way a little sideways from the vessel; the # becharmed crew maintaining the profoundest silence, as the head-beat waves # hammered and hammered against the opposing bow. # # “Drive, drive in your nails, oh ye waves! to their uttermost heads drive them # in! ye but strike a thing without a lid; and no coffin and no hearse can be # mine:—and hemp only can kill me! Ha! ha!” # # Suddenly the waters around them slowly swelled in broad circles; then quickly # upheaved, as if sideways sliding from a submerged berg of ice, swiftly rising to # the surface. A low rumbling sound was heard; a subterraneous hum; and then all # held their breaths; as bedraggled with trailing ropes, and harpoons, and lances, # a vast form shot lengthwise, but obliquely from the sea. Shrouded in a thin # drooping veil of mist, it hovered for a moment in the rainbowed air; and then # fell swamping back into the deep. Crushed thirty feet upwards, the waters # flashed for an instant like heaps of fountains, then brokenly sank in a shower # of flakes, leaving the circling surface creamed like new milk round the marble # trunk of the whale. # # “Give way!” cried Ahab to the oarsmen, and the boats darted forward to the # attack; but maddened by yesterday’s fresh irons that corroded in him, Moby Dick # seemed combinedly possessed by all the angels that fell from heaven. The wide # tiers of welded tendons overspreading his broad white forehead, beneath the # transparent skin, looked knitted together; as head on, he came churning his tail # among the boats; and once more flailed them apart; spilling out the irons and # lances from the two mates’ boats, and dashing in one side of the upper part of # their bows, but leaving Ahab’s almost without a scar. # # While Daggoo and Queequeg were stopping the strained planks; and as the whale # swimming out from them, turned, and showed one entire flank as he shot by them # again; at that moment a quick cry went up. Lashed round and round to the fish’s # back; pinioned in the turns upon turns in which, during the past night, the # whale had reeled the involutions of the lines around him, the half torn body of # the Parsee was seen; his sable raiment frayed to shreds; his distended eyes # turned full upon old Ahab. # # The harpoon dropped from his hand. # # “Befooled, befooled!”—drawing in a long lean breath—“Aye, Parsee! I see thee # again.—Aye, and thou goest before; and this, this then is the hearse that thou # didst promise. But I hold thee to the last letter of thy word. Where is the # second hearse? Away, mates, to the ship! those boats are useless now; repair # them if ye can in time, and return to me; if not, Ahab is enough to die—Down, # men! the first thing that but offers to jump from this boat I stand in, that # thing I harpoon. Ye are not other men, but my arms and my legs; and so obey # me.—Where’s the whale? gone down again?” # # But he looked too nigh the boat; for as if bent upon escaping with the corpse he # bore, and as if the particular place of the last encounter had been but a stage # in his leeward voyage, Moby Dick was now again steadily swimming forward; and # had almost passed the ship,—which thus far had been sailing in the contrary # direction to him, though for the present her headway had been stopped. He seemed # swimming with his utmost velocity, and now only intent upon pursuing his own # straight path in the sea. # # “Oh! Ahab,” cried Starbuck, “not too late is it, even now, the third day, to # desist. See! Moby Dick seeks thee not. It is thou, thou, that madly seekest # him!” # # Setting sail to the rising wind, the lonely boat was swiftly impelled to # leeward, by both oars and canvas. And at last when Ahab was sliding by the # vessel, so near as plainly to distinguish Starbuck’s face as he leaned over the # rail, he hailed him to turn the vessel about, and follow him, not too swiftly, # at a judicious interval. Glancing upwards, he saw Tashtego, Queequeg, and # Daggoo, eagerly mounting to the three mast-heads; while the oarsmen were rocking # in the two staved boats which had but just been hoisted to the side, and were # busily at work in repairing them. One after the other, through the port-holes, # as he sped, he also caught flying glimpses of Stubb and Flask, busying # themselves on deck among bundles of new irons and lances. As he saw all this; as # he heard the hammers in the broken boats; far other hammers seemed driving a # nail into his heart. But he rallied. And now marking that the vane or flag was # gone from the main-mast-head, he shouted to Tashtego, who had just gained that # perch, to descend again for another flag, and a hammer and nails, and so nail it # to the mast. # # Whether fagged by the three days’ running chase, and the resistance to his # swimming in the knotted hamper he bore; or whether it was some latent # deceitfulness and malice in him: whichever was true, the White Whale’s way now # began to abate, as it seemed, from the boat so rapidly nearing him once more; # though indeed the whale’s last start had not been so long a one as before. And # still as Ahab glided over the waves the unpitying sharks accompanied him; and so # pertinaciously stuck to the boat; and so continually bit at the plying oars, # that the blades became jagged and crunched, and left small splinters in the sea, # at almost every dip. # # “Heed them not! those teeth but give new rowlocks to your oars. Pull on! ’tis # the better rest, the shark’s jaw than the yielding water.” # # “But at every bite, sir, the thin blades grow smaller and smaller!” # # “They will last long enough! pull on!—But who can tell”—he muttered—“whether # these sharks swim to feast on the whale or on Ahab?—But pull on! Aye, all alive, # now—we near him. The helm! take the helm! let me pass,”—and so saying two of the # oarsmen helped him forward to the bows of the still flying boat. # # At length as the craft was cast to one side, and ran ranging along with the # White Whale’s flank, he seemed strangely oblivious of its advance—as the whale # sometimes will—and Ahab was fairly within the smoky mountain mist, which, thrown # off from the whale’s spout, curled round his great, Monadnock hump; he was even # thus close to him; when, with body arched back, and both arms lengthwise # high-lifted to the poise, he darted his fierce iron, and his far fiercer curse # into the hated whale. As both steel and curse sank to the socket, as if sucked # into a morass, Moby Dick sideways writhed; spasmodically rolled his nigh flank # against the bow, and, without staving a hole in it, so suddenly canted the boat # over, that had it not been for the elevated part of the gunwale to which he then # clung, Ahab would once more have been tossed into the sea. As it was, three of # the oarsmen—who foreknew not the precise instant of the dart, and were therefore # unprepared for its effects—these were flung out; but so fell, that, in an # instant two of them clutched the gunwale again, and rising to its level on a # combing wave, hurled themselves bodily inboard again; the third man helplessly # dropping astern, but still afloat and swimming. # # Almost simultaneously, with a mighty volition of ungraduated, instantaneous # swiftness, the White Whale darted through the weltering sea. But when Ahab cried # out to the steersman to take new turns with the line, and hold it so; and # commanded the crew to turn round on their seats, and tow the boat up to the # mark; the moment the treacherous line felt that double strain and tug, it # snapped in the empty air! # # “What breaks in me? Some sinew cracks!—’tis whole again; oars! oars! Burst in # upon him!” # # Hearing the tremendous rush of the sea-crashing boat, the whale wheeled round to # present his blank forehead at bay; but in that evolution, catching sight of the # nearing black hull of the ship; seemingly seeing in it the source of all his # persecutions; bethinking it—it may be—a larger and nobler foe; of a sudden, he # bore down upon its advancing prow, smiting his jaws amid fiery showers of foam. # # Ahab staggered; his hand smote his forehead. “I grow blind; hands! stretch out # before me that I may yet grope my way. Is’t night?” # # “The whale! The ship!” cried the cringing oarsmen. # # “Oars! oars! Slope downwards to thy depths, O sea, that ere it be for ever too # late, Ahab may slide this last, last time upon his mark! I see: the ship! the # ship! Dash on, my men! Will ye not save my ship?” # # But as the oarsmen violently forced their boat through the sledge-hammering # seas, the before whale-smitten bow-ends of two planks burst through, and in an # instant almost, the temporarily disabled boat lay nearly level with the waves; # its half-wading, splashing crew, trying hard to stop the gap and bale out the # pouring water. # # Meantime, for that one beholding instant, Tashtego’s mast-head hammer remained # suspended in his hand; and the red flag, half-wrapping him as with a plaid, then # streamed itself straight out from him, as his own forward-flowing heart; while # Starbuck and Stubb, standing upon the bowsprit beneath, caught sight of the # down-coming monster just as soon as he. # # “The whale, the whale! Up helm, up helm! Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug # me close! Let not Starbuck die, if die he must, in a woman’s fainting fit. Up # helm, I say—ye fools, the jaw! the jaw! Is this the end of all my bursting # prayers? all my life-long fidelities? Oh, Ahab, Ahab, lo, thy work. Steady! # helmsman, steady. Nay, nay! Up helm again! He turns to meet us! Oh, his # unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart. # My God, stand by me now!” # # “Stand not by me, but stand under me, whoever you are that will now help Stubb; # for Stubb, too, sticks here. I grin at thee, thou grinning whale! Who ever # helped Stubb, or kept Stubb awake, but Stubb’s own unwinking eye? And now poor # Stubb goes to bed upon a mattrass that is all too soft; would it were stuffed # with brushwood! I grin at thee, thou grinning whale! Look ye, sun, moon, and # stars! I call ye assassins of as good a fellow as ever spouted up his ghost. For # all that, I would yet ring glasses with ye, would ye but hand the cup! Oh, oh! # oh, oh! thou grinning whale, but there’ll be plenty of gulping soon! Why fly ye # not, O Ahab! For me, off shoes and jacket to it; let Stubb die in his drawers! A # most mouldy and over salted death, though;—cherries! cherries! cherries! Oh, # Flask, for one red cherry ere we die!” # # “Cherries? I only wish that we were where they grow. Oh, Stubb, I hope my poor # mother’s drawn my part-pay ere this; if not, few coppers will now come to her, # for the voyage is up.” # # From the ship’s bows, nearly all the seamen now hung inactive; hammers, bits of # plank, lances, and harpoons, mechanically retained in their hands, just as they # had darted from their various employments; all their enchanted eyes intent upon # the whale, which from side to side strangely vibrating his predestinating head, # sent a broad band of overspreading semicircular foam before him as he rushed. # Retribution, swift vengeance, eternal malice were in his whole aspect, and spite # of all that mortal man could do, the solid white buttress of his forehead smote # the ship’s starboard bow, till men and timbers reeled. Some fell flat upon their # faces. Like dislodged trucks, the heads of the harpooneers aloft shook on their # bull-like necks. Through the breach, they heard the waters pour, as mountain # torrents down a flume. # # “The ship! The hearse!—the second hearse!” cried Ahab from the boat; “its wood # could only be American!” # # Diving beneath the settling ship, the whale ran quivering along its keel; but # turning under water, swiftly shot to the surface again, far off the other bow, # but within a few yards of Ahab’s boat, where, for a time, he lay quiescent. # # “I turn my body from the sun. What ho, Tashtego! let me hear thy hammer. Oh! ye # three unsurrendered spires of mine; thou uncracked keel; and only god-bullied # hull; thou firm deck, and haughty helm, and Pole-pointed prow,—death-glorious # ship! must ye then perish, and without me? Am I cut off from the last fond pride # of meanest shipwrecked captains? Oh, lonely death on lonely life! Oh, now I feel # my topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief. Ho, ho! from all your furthest # bounds, pour ye now in, ye bold billows of my whole foregone life, and top this # one piled comber of my death! Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but # unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at # thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all # hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to # pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale! Thus, # I give up the spear!” # # The harpoon was darted; the stricken whale flew forward; with igniting velocity # the line ran through the grooves;—ran foul. Ahab stooped to clear it; he did # clear it; but the flying turn caught him round the neck, and voicelessly as # Turkish mutes bowstring their victim, he was shot out of the boat, ere the crew # knew he was gone. Next instant, the heavy eye-splice in the rope’s final end # flew out of the stark-empty tub, knocked down an oarsman, and smiting the sea, # disappeared in its depths. # # For an instant, the tranced boat’s crew stood still; then turned. “The ship? # Great God, where is the ship?” Soon they through dim, bewildering mediums saw # her sidelong fading phantom, as in the gaseous Fata Morgana; only the uppermost # masts out of water; while fixed by infatuation, or fidelity, or fate, to their # once lofty perches, the pagan harpooneers still maintained their sinking # lookouts on the sea. And now, concentric circles seized the lone boat itself, # and all its crew, and each floating oar, and every lance-pole, and spinning, # animate and inanimate, all round and round in one vortex, carried the smallest # chip of the Pequod out of sight. # # But as the last whelmings intermixingly poured themselves over the sunken head # of the Indian at the mainmast, leaving a few inches of the erect spar yet # visible, together with long streaming yards of the flag, which calmly undulated, # with ironical coincidings, over the destroying billows they almost touched;—at # that instant, a red arm and a hammer hovered backwardly uplifted in the open # air, in the act of nailing the flag faster and yet faster to the subsiding spar. # A sky-hawk that tauntingly had followed the main-truck downwards from its # natural home among the stars, pecking at the flag, and incommoding Tashtego # there; this bird now chanced to intercept its broad fluttering wing between the # hammer and the wood; and simultaneously feeling that etherial thrill, the # submerged savage beneath, in his death-gasp, kept his hammer frozen there; and # so the bird of heaven, with archangelic shrieks, and his imperial beak thrust # upwards, and his whole captive form folded in the flag of Ahab, went down with # his ship, which, like Satan, would not sink to hell till she had dragged a # living part of heaven along with her, and helmeted herself with it. # # Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf # beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the # sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago. # # # # # # Epilogue “AND I ONLY AM ESCAPED ALONE TO TELL THEE” Job. # # The drama’s done. Why then here does any one step forth?—Because one did survive # the wreck. # # It so chanced, that after the Parsee’s disappearance, I was he whom the Fates # ordained to take the place of Ahab’s bowsman, when that bowsman assumed the # vacant post; the same, who, when on the last day the three men were tossed from # out of the rocking boat, was dropped astern. So, floating on the margin of the # ensuing scene, and in full sight of it, when the halfspent suction of the sunk # ship reached me, I was then, but slowly, drawn towards the closing vortex. When # I reached it, it had subsided to a creamy pool. Round and round, then, and ever # contracting towards the button-like black bubble at the axis of that slowly # wheeling circle, like another Ixion I did revolve. Till, gaining that vital # centre, the black bubble upward burst; and now, liberated by reason of its # cunning spring, and, owing to its great buoyancy, rising with great force, the # coffin life-buoy shot lengthwise from the sea, fell over, and floated by my # side. Buoyed up by that coffin, for almost one whole day and night, I floated on # a soft and dirgelike main. The unharming sharks, they glided by as if with # padlocks on their mouths; the savage sea-hawks sailed with sheathed beaks. On # the second day, a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at last. It was the # devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing # children, only found another orphan. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK # MOBY-DICK; OR THE WHALE *** This file should be named 2701-h.htm or 2701-h.zip # This and all associated files of various formats will be found in # https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/2701/ Updated editions will replace the previous # one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions # not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States # copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute # it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright # royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this # license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works # to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. 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