The chief mate of the Pequod was Starbuck, a native of Nantucket, and a Quaker by descent. He was a long, earnest man, and though born on an icy coast, seemed well adapted to endure hot latitudes, his flesh being hard as twice-baked biscuit. Transported to the Indies, his live blood would not spoil like bottled ale. He must have been born in some time of general drought and famine, or upon one of those fast days for which his state is famous. Only some thirty and summers had he seen; those summers had dried up all his physical superfluousness. But this, his thinness, so to speak, seemed no more the token of wasting anxieties and cares, than it seemed the indication of any bodily blight. It was merely the condensation of the man. He was by no means ill-looking; quite the contrary. His pure tight skin was an excellent fit; and closely wrapped up in it, and embalmed with inner health and strength, like a revivified Egyptian, this Starbuck seemed prepared to endure for long ages to come, and to endure always, as now; for be it Polar snow or torrid sun, like a patent chronometer, his interior vitality was warranted to do well in all climates. Looking into his eyes, you seemed to see there the yet lingering images of those thousand-fold perils he had calmly confronted through life. A staid, steadfast man, whose life for the most part was a telling pantomime of action, and not a tame chapter of sounds. Yet, for all his hardy sobriety and fortitude, there were certain qualities in him which at times affected, and in some cases seemed well nigh to overbalance all the rest. Uncommonly conscientious for a seaman, and endued with a deep natural reverence, the wild watery loneliness of his life did therefore strongly incline him to superstition; but to that sort of superstition, which in some organization seems rather to spring, somehow, from intelligence than from ignorance. Outward portents and inward presentiments were his. And if at times these things bent the welded iron of his soul, much more did his far-away domestic memories of his young Cape wife and child, tend to bend him still more from the original ruggedness of his nature, and open him still further to those latent influences which, in some honest-hearted men, restrain the gush of dare-devil daring, so often evinced by others in the more perilous vicissitudes of the fishery. "I will have no man in my boat," said Starbuck, "who is not afraid of a whale." By this, he seemed to mean, not only that the most reliable and useful courage was that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril, but that an utterly fearless man is a far more dangerous comrade than a coward.
"Aye, aye," said Stubb, the second mate, "Starbuck, there, is as careful a man as you'll find anywhere in this fishery." But we shall ere long see what that word "careful" precisely means when used by a man like Stubb, or almost any other whale hunter.
Starbuck was no crusader after perils; in him courage was not a sentiment; but a thing simply useful to him, and always at hand upon all mortally practical occasions. Besides, he thought, perhaps, that in this business of whaling, courage was one of the great staple outfits of the ship, like her beef and her bread, and not to be foolishly wasted. Wherefore he had no fancy for lowering for whales after sun-down; nor for persisting in fighting a fish that too much persisted in fighting him. For, thought Starbuck, I am here in this critical ocean to kill whales for my living, and not to be killed by them for theirs; and that hundreds of men had been so killed Starbuck well knew. What doom was his own father's? Where, in the bottomless deeps, could he find the torn limbs of his brother?
This passage is the first substantial one that Melville offers about the Pequod's chief mate, Starbuck. By this description, I think Starbuck and I would get along pretty well. Not the whole leathery skin, survivor-of-a-famine/drought thing. It's the cautious bravery, not taking stupid chances thing that I appreciate about his character. Starbuck's not a coward. He's smart, and he prefers to surround himself with careful, smart people.
I'm not a coward, either. I teach college composition. If I were a coward, I'd have been eaten alive years ago. I'm also not a fool. Don't believe in putting myself in dangerous situations for the thrill of adventure. You won't find me skydiving on my 70th birthday. I have no compulsion to cram myself into a submarine to see the wreckage of the Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic. And I certainly won't be buying tickets for a rocket ride into orbit around the planet. Nope.
There are things I do that I think require some courage. Getting up in front of a classroom. Writing a blog about some of the intimate details of my life. Being a poet. Being the father of a teenage girl. Playing the pipe organ for church services. Performing in live radio shows. All of these things take intestinal fortitude. They're not easy.
I'm making these comments because I think some people might look at my life as kind of mundane. Unlike most men who grew up in the Upper Peninsula, I don't like fishing or hunting. I own a Subaru, not a four-wheel-drive pickup. My idea of a good night is reading a fine book or working on a new poem. I'm by no means conservative in my attitudes. Haven't ever voted for a Republican presidential candidate. Think that certain guns should be outlawed.
That's who I am. And I'm trying to raise compassionate, non-judgmental kids who accept people for who they are. When I see someone outside of Walmart, begging for money or food, I will buy them a burger, French fries, and a pop. I want my children to care about the world. Want them to know there's more to life than having the coolest phone or nicest house. I will count myself a successful father if my daughter and son grow up to be loving, caring citizens of this planet.
I was speaking to a friend of mine the other night. He said something that mightily affected me. He said that the Donald Trump presidency and Congress is the last gasp of American apartheid. After this current mess, our kids are going to take over. I really believe that. This week, I think we saw the start of this change. Young kids standing up for what they believe in, despite all of the loudmouths of my generation telling them to sit down and be quiet.
I am a Starbuck trying to raise Starbucks. Smart, brave, compassionate children who will grow into smart, brave, compassionate adults. As Bob Dylan sang, "The times, they are a-changin'."
Saint Marty is thankful for the youth of the United States.
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