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his wrinkled brow, till it almost seemed thatwhilehe himselfwas marking out lines and courses on the wrinkled charts,some invisible pencil was also tracing lines and courses uponthe deeply marked chart of his forehead.But it was not this night in particular that, in the solitudeof his cabin, Ahab thus pondered over his charts.Almost every night they were brought out; almost every nightsome pencil marks were effaced, and others were substituted.Forwiththe charts of all four oceansbeforehim, Ahab wasthreading a maze of currents and eddies,witha view to the morecertain accomplishment of that monomaniac thought of his soul.Now, to any one not fully acquaintedwiththe ways of the leviathans,it might seem an absurdly hopeless task thus toseekout onesolitary creature in the unhooped oceans of this planet.But not so did it seem to Ahab, who knew the sets of alltides and currents; and thereby calculating the driftings ofthe sperm whale's food; and, also calling to mind the regular,ascertained seasonsforhunting him in particular latitudes;could arrive at reasonable surmises, almost approaching
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Queequeg and I were mildly employed weaving what is called a sword-mat,foran additional lashing toourboat. So still and subdued and yetsomehow preluding was all the scene, and such an incantation of revelrylurked in the air, thateachsilent sailor seemed resolved into hisown invisible self.I was the attendant or page of Queequeg,whilebusy at the mat.As I kept passing and repassing the filling or woof of marlinebetween the long yarns of the warp, usingmyown handforthe shuttle,and as Queequeg, standing sideways, ever and anon slid his heavyoaken sword between the threads, and idly looking off uponthe water, carelessly and unthinkingly drove home every yarn;Isayso strange a dreaminess did there then reign all overthe ship and all over the sea, only broken by the intermittingdull sound of the sword, that it seemed asifthis werethe Loom of Time, and I myself were a shuttle mechanicallyweaving and weaving away at the Fates. There lay the fixedthreads of the warp subject to but one single, ever returning,unchanging vibration, and that vibration merely enough to admitof the crosswise interblending of other threadswithits own.This warp seemed necessity; and here, thought I,withmyownhand I plymyown shuttle and weavemyown destiny intothese 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 acorresponding contrast in the final aspect of the completed fabric;this savage's sword, thought I, which thusfinallyshapes and fashionsboth warp and woof; this easy, indifferent sword must be chance--aye, chance, free will, and necessity--nowise incompatible--all interweavingly working together. The straight warpof 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 betweengiventhreads;and chance, though restrained in its play within the right linesof necessity, and sideways in its motions directed by free will,though thus prescribed to by both, chance by turns rules either,andhasthelastfeaturing blow at events.Thus we were weaving and weaving awaywhenI started at a soundso strange, long drawn, and musically wild and unearthly,that the ball of free will dropped frommyhand, and I stoodgazing up at the clouds whence that voice dropped like a wing.
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of the Town-Ho himself. It was the private property of threeconfederate white seamen of that ship, one of whom, it seems,communicated it to TashtegowithRomish injunctions of secrecy,but the following night Tashtego rambled in hissleep, and revealedso much of it in that way, thatwhenhe was wakened he could notwell withhold the rest. Nevertheless, so potent an influence didthis thing have on those seamen in the Pequod who came to the fullknowledge of it, and by such a strange delicacy, to call it so,were they governed in this matter, that they kept the secret amongthemselves so that it never transpired abaft the Pequod's main-mast.Interweaving in its proper place this darker threadwiththe storyas publicly narrated on the ship, the whole of this strange affairI now proceed to put on lasting record.*Theancient whale-cry upon first sighting a whale from the mast-head,still used by whalemen in hunting the famous Gallipagos terrapin.Formyhumor's sake, I shall preserve the style in which I once narratedit at Lima, to a lounging circle ofmySpanish friends, one saint's eve,
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hasestimated it at the weight of twenty line-of-battle ships,withall 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 groanor cry of anysort, nay, not so much as a ripple or a bubblecame up from its depths; what landsman would have thought,that beneath all that silence and placidity, the utmostmonster 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 greatLeviathan was suspended like the big weight to an eight day clock.Suspended? and to what? To three bits of board. Is thisthe creature of whom it was once so triumphantly said--"Canst thoufill his skinwithbarbed irons? or his headwithfish-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.Forwiththe strength of a thousand thighs in his tail,
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Nor did such soothing scenes, however temporary, fail of at leastas temporary an effect on Ahab. Butifthese secret goldenkeysdid seem toopenin 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 earthly life,--in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in new morning clover;andforsome few fleeting moments, feel the cool dew of the lifeimmortal on them. Would to God these blessed calms wouldlast.But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warpand woof: calms crossed by storms, a stormforevery calm.There isnosteady unretracing progress in this life; wedonotadvance through fixed gradations, and at thelastone pause:--through infancy's unconscious spell, boyhood's thoughtlessfaith, adolescence' doubt (the common doom), then scepticism,then disbelief, resting atlastin manhood's pondering reposeof 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 unmoornomore?In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest
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With a blow from the top-maul Ahab knocked off the steel head ofthe lance, and then handing to the mate the long iron rod remaining,bade him hold it upright, without its touching the deck.Then,withthe maul,afterrepeatedly smiting the upper end of thisiron rod, he placed the blunted needle endwise on the top of it,and less strongly hammered that, severaltimes, the mate still holdingthe rod asbefore. Then going through some small strange motionswithit--whether indispensable to the magnetizing of the steel,or merely intended toaugmentthe awe of the crew, is uncertain--he calledforlinen thread; and moving to the binnacle, slipped outthe two reversed needles there, and horizontally suspended thesail-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 atlastit settled to its place,whenAhab, who had been intentlywatchingforthis result, stepped frankly back from the binnacle,and pointing his stretched arm towards it, exclaimed,--"Look ye,foryourselves,ifAhab be not the lord of the level loadstone!The sun is East, and that compass swears it!"Oneafteranother they peered in,fornothing but their own eyes
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afterher missing children, only found another orphan.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,witha queer handkerchief, mockingly embellishedwithall the gayflags of all the known nations of the world. He loved to dusthis old grammars; it somehow mildly reminded him of his mortality."While you take in hand to school others, and to teach them bywhat name a whale-fish is to be called inourtongue leaving out,through ignorance, the letter H, which almost alone maketh thesignification of the word, you deliver that which is not true."--HACKLUYT
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