Moby Dick Page #3

toward the whaling grounds off the Azores.

The crew came from all the isles of the sea,

all the ends of the earth:

from Greenland to Mombasa...

from Clyde to Kokovoko.

Flask, the third mate,

bullied everybody bigger than himself...

particularly whales,

with whom he carried on a one-sided feud...

as though the great leviathans

had mortally insulted him and his forebears.

And there was Pip, black little Pip,

the cabin boy from Alabama.

Second in command was Starbuck...

whose Quaker stock had furnished

many a whaleboat with its champion.

No crusader after perils...

his courage was one of the great staples

of the ship, like beef or flour:

there when required,

and not to be foolishly wasted.

Ship 's carpenter:

he fixed everything

from stove boats to broken arms and legs.

Perth, the blacksmith, lived amidst

thick, hovering flights of sparks.

He breathed them in and out.

They nested in his ears.

But Perth cared not because, as he said...

he was scorched all over,

and you cannot scorch a scar.

Queequeg was our first harpooneer.

Next was Tashtego, the Indian

from a great warrior race of red men...

come to hunt whale instead of buffalo.

Then Daggoo, who got his boldness

and majesty and grace...

from having killed a lion single-handed

and partaken of its flesh.

Stubb, the second mate.

Stubb, who 'd have tied a bowline

in the devil's tail for a joke.

Carefree, foolish, laughing, wise Stubb.

Of our supreme lord and dictator,

there was no sign.

Ahab stayed silent

behind his locked door...

all the daylight hours.

It's him again. It's Ahab.

Ahab come out in moonlight.

Strange.

Only at night.

Every night, all alone, walking the deck.

"Sand it, holystone it," they say.

And when you're done, what happens?

"Start over again," they say.

"Clean it up, sand it down, buff it off."

Keeps you busy, lad. No time for mischief.

Here we go.

Looming straight up and over us...

Like a solid iron figurehead

suddenly thrust into our vision...

stood Captain Ahab.

His whole, high, broad form...

weighed down upon a barbaric white leg

carved from the jawbone of a whale.

He did not feel the wind

or smell the salt air.

He only stood staring at the horizon...

with the marks of some inner crucifixion

and woe deep in his face.

-Mr. Starbuck.

-Sir?

Call everybody aft.

All hands aft!

Down, mastheads!

What do you do

when you see a whale, men?

-Sing out for him!

-Aye!

-Good. What do you do next?

-Lower away, and after him!

And what tune is it you pull to, men?

A dead whale or a stove boat!

All you mastheaders...

now hear me.

You're to look...

for a white whale.

A whale as white and as big

as a mountain of snow.

You see this Spanish gold ounce?

Carpenter, hand me your top maul.

Whosoever of ye...

finds me that white whale...

ye shall have this Spanish gold ounce,

my boys.

It's a white whale, I say.

Skin your eyes for him.

Captain, sir, could it be the one that fantails

a little curious before he go down?

Has he a curious spout,

all bushy and mighty quick and high, sir?

And irons in his hide, many irons,

all twist around?

Aye, like corkscrews.

He's struck full of harpoons, men.

And his spout is a big one,

like a whole shock of wheat.

And he fantails like a broken jib in a storm.

Death, men, you've seen him.

It's Moby Dick.

Captain Ahab...

was it not Moby Dick took off thy leg?

Aye.

It was Moby Dick...

that tore my soul and body

until they bled into each other.

I'll follow him around the Horn...

and around the Norway Maelstrom...

and around perdition's flames...

before I give him up.

This is what you've shipped for, men.

To chase that white whale

on both sides of land...

and over all sides of earth...

until he spouts black blood

and rolls dead out.

What say ye?

I think you do look brave.

-Will you splice hands on it?

-Aye!

Steward,

go draw the great measure of grog.

Harpooneers, get your weapons.

Mates, your lances.

Ye mariners, now ring me in...

that I may revive a noble custom

of my fisherman fathers.

The measure. Drink and pass.

Round with it, round.

Quick draughts, long swallows, men.

It's hot as Satan's hoof.

That way it went, this way it comes.

It spiralizes in ye.

Here, hand it me.

Well done. Almost drained.

Advance, mates.

Cross your lances.

Now, let me touch the axis.

Do you feel it?

That same lightning which struck me...

I now strike to this iron.

Does it burn, men?

Harpooneers, break your weapons.

Turn up the sockets.

Drink here, harpooneers...

drink and swear.

God hunt us all...

if we do not hunt Moby Dick to his death.

Death to Moby Dick!

Moby Dick.

Do they name certain whales, then?

Aye. Special, people-murdering whales

with long histories.

Whales that have killed 10 times 100 men.

Whales like Timor Tim,

New Zealand Tom...

or Morquan, King of the Japan Seas.

Whales have big names

to go with big doings.

The biggest of them all is Moby Dick.

A white whale, Ahab said.

Can a whale be white?

He's white,

whiter than all the snow that ever fell.

Like a great marble tombstone,

he is, afloat.

Wherever he swims,

white sky birds wheel above him.

-Birds white as the angels.

-Which oceans does he swim in, Manxman?

All oceans. He's been spied

in different seas 1,000 mile apart...

-on the same day at the same hour.

-Maybe it just ain't one whale...

but a whole breed.

Maybe Moby Dick's 100 whales.

Then they all have crooked jaws

and wrinkled brows...

and a dozen irons stuck

in their white humps.

Aye, many have lowered for Moby Dick

and struck him...

only to know his vengeance.

Some have boasted they killed him...

but always he comes gliding back...

huge and white and secret-like.

Immortal, he is, they say.

You ain't trying to scare us, Manxman?

I say what I say.

There she blows!

Sperm whale to starboard!

There she blows!

There go flukes!

-Flukes gone down!

-Larboard!

Stow all line tubs!

Fill up the mainsail!

Bear away, boats!

-Bet you a dollar we strike first!

-Right, Stubb. A dollar you don't.

That's it, boys.

Pull, my men.

Why in the name of gudgeons

and ginger cakes...

can't ye pull and start your eyes out?

Why don't you break your backbones, boys?

Pull, then.

Do pull, will you, please? So, so now.

Pull, boys! Pull!

Pull, blast you!

Take the oars off!

Pull, my good boys.

That's fine.

Pull.

Pull, my good boys.

Long and strong, boys.

Pull and burst all your livers and lungs!

Stop snoring, you sleepers!

Pull, can't ye? Pull!

Merrily, hearts!

Fine.

That's fine.

Come on, men. Pull ahead.

Pull, can't ye?

Man overboard!

Cut him loose.

Queequeg, my fine friend,

does this sort of thing happen very often?

True, true.

Heave away, boys!

And so we stripped our first whale...

and boiled the blubber down

to a fine, pure oil...

that would keep the lamps burning

in a thousand homes...

the clocks ticking on their mantelpieces...

and perhaps anoint the head of a king.

And when at last we cast

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