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.