“That would be a premature surrender.”
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“Excuse me, as a persistent man of business. Assuming for a moment, that he was overworked; it would show itself in some renewal of this disorder?”
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.
[Copyright 1894 by George Allen.]]
“Go then (return’d the sire) without delay, Exert thy will: I give the Fates their way.” Swift at the mandate pleased Tritonia flies, And stoops impetuous from the cleaving skies.
He had never seen the instrument that was to terminate his life. How high it was from the ground, how many steps it had, where he would be stood, how he would be touched, whether the touching hands would be dyed red, which way his face would be turned, whether he would be the first, or might be the last: these and many similar questions, in nowise directed by his will, obtruded themselves over and over again, countless times. Neither were they connected with fear: he was conscious of no fear. Rather, they originated in a strange besetting desire to know what to do when the time came; a desire gigantically disproportionate to the few swift moments to which it referred; a wondering that was more like the wondering of some other spirit within his, than his own.
“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.
“My dear Lorry, I doubt if that could easily be. There has been a violent stress in one direction, and it needs a counterweight.”
[183] [ See note [156]. Ulysses’s bed room does not appear to have been upstairs, nor yet quite within the house. Is it possible that it was “the domed room” round the outside of which the erring maids were, for aught we have heard to the contrary, still hanging?]
“Ah! you must suit your frock to his flowers, Gladys.”
“Tenderly flirting”
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!
Then Pallas thus: “Shall he whose vengeance forms The forky bolt, and blackens heaven with storms, Shall he prolong one Trojan’s forfeit breath? A man, a mortal, pre-ordain’d to death! And will no murmurs fill the courts above? No gods indignant blame their partial Jove?”
Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the fifty-two heads were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and hoped that he could meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action began in his waking thoughts, which was very difficult to master.
“I saw him almost that same instant, sir, that Captain Ahab did, and I cried out,” said Tashtego.
She looked at him, smiling. “How long Mr. Gray is!” she said. “Let us go and help him. I have not yet told him the colour of my frock.”
“My dear Manette, if he were overworked now--”
[182] [ The people of Ithaca seem to have been as fond of carping as the Phaeacians were in vi. 273, etc.]
[Illustration:
“Unworthy sight! the man beloved of heaven, Behold, inglorious round yon city driven! My heart partakes the generous Hector’s pain; Hector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain, Whose grateful fumes the gods received with joy, From Ida’s summits, and the towers of Troy: Now see him flying; to his fears resign’d, And fate, and fierce Achilles, close behind. Consult, ye powers! (’tis worthy your debate) Whether to snatch him from impending fate, Or let him bear, by stern Pelides slain, (Good as he is) the lot imposed on man.”