Now when I looked about the quarter-deck, for some one having authority, in order to propose myself as a candidate for the voyage, at first I saw nobody; but I could not well overlook a strange sort of tent, or rather wigwam, pitched a little behind the main-mast. It seemed only a temporary erection used in port. It was of a conical shape, some ten feet high; consisting of the long, huge slabs of limber black bone taken from the middle and highest part of the jaws of the right-whale. Planted with their broad ends on the deck, a circle of these slabs laced together, mutually sloped towards each other, and at the apex united in a tufted point, where the loose hairy fibres waved to and fro like the top-knot on some old Pottowottamie Sachem's head. A triangular opening faced towards the bows of the ship, so that the insider commanded a complete view forward.
And half concealed in this queer tenement, I at length found one who by his aspect seemed to have authority; and who, it being noon, and the ship's work suspended, was now enjoying respite from the burden of command. He was seated on an old-fashioned oaken chair, wriggling all over with curious carving; and the bottom of which was formed of a stout interlacing of the same elastic stuff of which the wigwam was constructed.
There was nothing so very particular, perhaps, about the appearance of the elderly man I saw; he was brown and brawny, like most old seamen, and heavily rolled up in blue pilot-cloth, cut in the Quaker style; only there was a fine and almost microscopic net-work of the minutest wrinkles interlacing round eyes, which must have arisen from his continual sailings in many hard gales, and always looking to windward;- for this causes the muscles about the eyes to become pursed together. Such eye-wrinkles are very effectual in a scowl.
"Is this the Captain of the Pequod?" said I, advancing to the door of the tent.
"Supposing it be the captain of the Pequod, what dost thou want of him?" he demanded.
"I was thinking of shipping."
"Thou wast, wast thou? I see thou art no Nantucketer- ever been in a stove boat?"
"No, Sir, I never have."
"Dost know nothing at all about whaling, I dare say- eh?
"Nothing, Sir; but I have no doubt I shall soon learn. I've been several voyages in the merchant service, and I think that-"
"Merchant service be damned. Talk not that lingo to me. Dost see that leg?- I'll take that leg away from thy stern, if ever thou talkest of the merchant service to me again. Marchant service indeed! I suppose now ye feel considerable proud of having served in those marchant ships. But flukes! man, what makes thee want to go a whaling, eh?- it looks a little suspicious, don't it, eh?- Hast not been a pirate, hast thou?- Didst not rob thy last Captain, didst thou?- Dost not think of murdering the officers when thou gettest to sea?"
I protested my innocence of these things. I saw that under the mask of these half humorous innuendoes, this old seaman, as an insulated Quakerish Nantucketer, was full of his insular prejudices, and rather distrustful of all aliens, unless they hailed from Cape Cod or the Vineyard.
"But what takes thee a-whaling? I want to know that before I think of shipping ye."
"Well, sir, I want to see what whaling is. I want to see the world."
"Want to see what whaling is, eh? Have ye clapped eye on Captain Ahab?"
"Who is Captain Ahab, sir?"
"Aye, aye, I thought so. Captain Ahab is the Captain of this ship."
"I am mistaken then. I thought I was speaking to the Captain himself."
"Thou art speaking to Captain Peleg- that's who ye are speaking to, young man. It belongs to me and Captain Bildad to see the Pequod fitted out for the voyage, and supplied with all her needs, including crew. We are part owners and agents. But as I was going to say, if thou wantest to know what whaling is, as thou tellest ye do, I can put ye in a way of finding it out before ye bind yourself to it, past backing out. Clap eye on Captain Ahab, young man, and thou wilt find that he has only one leg."
"What do you mean, sir? Was the other one lost by a whale?"
"Lost by a whale! Young man, come nearer to me: it was devoured, chewed up, crunched by the monstrousest parmacetty that ever chipped a boat!- ah, ah!"
I was a little alarmed by his energy, perhaps also a little touched at the hearty grief in his concluding exclamation, but said as calmly as I could, "What you say is no doubt true enough, sir; but how could I know there was any peculiar ferocity in that particular whale, though indeed I might have inferred as much from the simple fact of the accident."
"Look ye now, young man, thy lungs are a sort of soft, d'ye see; thou dost not talk shark a bit. Sure, ye've been to sea before now; sure of that?"
"Sir," said I, "I thought I told you that I had been four voyages in the merchant-"
"Hard down out of that! Mind what I said about the marchant service- don't aggravate me- I won't have it. But let us understand each other. I have given thee a hint about what whaling is! do ye yet feel inclined for it?"
"I do, sir."
Ishmael doesn't really know what he's doing. He has never served on a whaling ship before. Doesn't know if this old salt of a captain is trying to scare the sea out of him or simply testing his waters, to see if he has the makings of a whaler. Of course, Ishmael sticks to his guns (harpoon?). He's determined to see the world and hunt whales. Of course, Ishmael hasn't met Ahab yet. He has no idea what obsession can do to a man.I am home again today, at least until early afternoon. I will be teaching this evening. Just finished up my lesson plans. Each time I step foot in a classroom, I feel like a novice, even though I've been doing this gig for going on a quarter century. I read and reread my lecture notes. Make new notations. Discover new insights. I'm obsessed with trying to be the best instructor I can be.
I do this with most things in my life. Music. Poetry. Art. Parenting. Husbanding. Son-ing. Sibling-ing. Perhaps obsession isn't quite the right word here. How about I say that I aspire to do my best every day of my life, in everything I do? I often fail miserably. That's okay. I learn from my failures, as well.
This past weekend, I did my best to honor my father's memory with the poem I wrote for his funeral. With the music I chose, the readings, the chicken at the funeral lunch. I don't know if I succeeded. Friends told me that the poem was moving. One person in the church said that they didn't want the service to end because it was so beautiful. That comment made me think of books that I love--that I never want to reach the last page of.
It is Lent right now. I have created a project for myself for these next 40-plus days. It's something that I've been thinking about for a while. And it's something my dad would have loved to see. Of course, since my dad died a week ago, I really haven't had a chance to even think about this project. Now, as I slide back into normal life (whatever that is), I need to get to work.
Starting a new project is sort of like Ishmael looking for a whaling ship to serve on. It's exhilarating and panic-inducing at the same time. However, I need to chase this whale for a while. See where it leads me. I may end up at the bottom of the ocean, or I may sail home with a really big, white prize.
Saint Marty is thankful this morning for obsessions and projects.
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