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 us. 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 the 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.
There is not much that is pleasant in this little chapter. The Pequod pulls abreast of the Albatross, and the Pequod crew observes the sailors of the other ship. The Albatross is wild and rusting, barnacled and pounded by its long voyage. Its crew is in pretty much the same state--more ghosts than men, bound for their distant home. It's as if the Flying Dutchman is gliding by in warning. To bring in another writer's words: Abandon hope all ye who enter here! Of course, Melville is doing a lot of stage setting, Building up the sense of dread and doom for Ishmael and his companions. It's all foreshadowing of what is to come.
It is Friday night, the beginning of Memorial Day weekend. The school year is almost over. Summer is upon the Upper Peninsula, finally. Seventy-five degrees today. The lilacs aren't is full bloom yet, but they are starting to bud. In another week or so, weather permitting, my house will be surrounded by the scent of lilac. Ever since I was small, that smell always signaled the beginning of the long days and short nights of June, July, and August.
Since this chapter from Moby-Dick is all about the future, in a way, I will make a few predictions for what is to come for me this weekend. Tomorrow, breakfast at McDonald's with my family, as usual. Church tomorrow night. Sunday morning, I am filling in for the organist at my wife's church. Therefore, I have to practice some music tomorrow afternoon in preparation. Sunday morning, church again. Then, getting ready for my book club meeting in the evening. Monday morning, sleeping in a little. Then, a parade and cemetery service. In the afternoon, a barbecue at my mother's house. Somewhere in those days, I hope to squeeze in the new Star Wars movie.
That's right, I have my whole weekend already planned out. I like it that way. Of course, things won't go as planned, The crew members of the Pequod, when they boarded in Nantucket, certainly didn't anticipate chasing a white whale around the world. Nor did they bargain for a half-crazed commander. Yet, that is where the crew seems to be headed. They are on a direct collision course with Moby Dick.
Most of you know that I am a creature of habit. Don't like surprises. Never have. I know that there are good kinds of surprises, although, for the life of me, I can't think of any at the moment. I suppose a nice surprise would be a hundred dollar bill arriving in my mailbox. Or a literary agent discovering my blog and contacting me. Or Donald Trump resigning tomorrow morning. All of those would be wonderful surprises this weekend.
Unfortunately, the surprises that I'm accustomed to involve major car problems, illness, and death. Sometimes all three at the same time. Hence, my aversion to surprise. That's why I have my entire weekend already planned out. While I can't completely eradicate surprises from my life, I can certainly steer my Pequod in the direction I want it to go and hope for empty seas. No ghostly whale spouts or ships.
Tonight, I will be going out for dinner with my family. I already know what I'm going to get to drink and for dinner. That is a perfect way to start the holiday weekend. No Flying Dutchman on the horizon.
Saint Marty is thankful tonight for the luxury of a quiet, uneventful night.
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