(_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!’