As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has of late been gradually monopolizing the business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original- the Tyre of this Carthage;- the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones- so goes the story- to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?
Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me in New Bedford, ere could embark for my destined port, it became a matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold and cheerless. I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels I had sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver,- So, wherever you go, Ishmael, said I to myself, as I stood in the middle of a dreary street shouldering my bag, and comparing the darkness towards the north with the darkness towards the south- wherever in your wisdom you may conclude to lodge for the night, my dear Ishmael, be sure to inquire the price, and don't be too particular.
Ishmael misses the ship he was hoping to sail on. He is very particular about how he wants to go to sea, doesn't want to whale from a New Bedford ship. Nantucket whaling is what he has set his mind to. So, he must wait. Find somewhere to lodge until he finds a suitable Nantucket ship to crew on.
Like Ishmael, I am a little late to the game this morning. Had a few too many errands to run. That's why I am blogging at almost noon today. It's strange how, even on a vacation, I tend to set up routines for myself. Breakfast. Kids to school. Wife to work. Blogging. That's the way my mornings have been running.
However, this routine will be very shortlived. Unless I win the Mega Millions lottery this evening--or the Powerball tomorrow night--I will have to settle back into my "normal" life on Monday. That's rather depressing. My only hope is for the one in 258.9 million possibility that I could become a multimillionaire either today or tomorrow.
Of course, Ishmael holds no fanciful ideas about life on board a whaling ship. He knows it will be punishing work, will yield little real reward, aside from the salt air and the adventure of chasing a Leviathon through the ocean. That's enough for him, though. He's satisfied with that reality.
I have never found much solace in the day-to-day details of my jobs. That's my own fault. I have always had a spirit that is constantly trying to make things better, for myself and the people I love. That's who I am.
I certainly won't find any solace on the Friday before the weekend before the Monday on which I return to my job. But, I know that what I do is important to the patients I register, to the students I teach. I am their element, their smiling face. That's significant.
There's not much I can change about a person's medical problems or university education. Both are going to be costly to the point of backbreaking, like shipping off on a whaling boat. However, I can be a friendly face, a helpful guide and mentor.
But not until Monday. I have three more days to be selfish.
Saint Marty is thankful this afternoon for the opportunity to be an introvert for a little while longer.
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