At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor. The long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from the bows.
Lank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were heard,-
"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green. So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between."
Never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. They were full of hope and fruition. Spite of this frigid winter night in the boisterous Atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.
At last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no longer. The stout sail-boat that had accompanied us began ranging alongside.
It was curious and not unpleasing, how Peleg and Bildad were affected at this juncture, especially Captain Bildad. For loath to depart, yet; very loath to leave, for good, a ship bound on so long and perilous a voyage- beyond both stormy Capes; a ship in which some thousands of his hardearned dollars were invested; a ship, in which an old shipmate sailed as captain; a man almost as old as he, once more starting to encounter all the terrors of the pitiless jaw; loath to say good-bye to a thing so every way brimful of every interest to him,- poor old Bildad lingered long; paced the deck with anxious strides; ran down into the cabin to speak another farewell word there; again came on deck, and looked to windward; looked towards the wide and endless waters, only bound by the far-off unseen Eastern Continents; looked towards the land; looked aloft; looked right and left; looked everywhere and nowhere; and at last, mechanically coiling a rope upon its pin, convulsively grasped stout Peleg by the hand, and holding up a lantern, for a moment stood gazing heroically in his face, as much as to say, "Nevertheless, friend Peleg, I can stand it; yes, I can."
As for Peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all his philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern came too near. And he, too, did not a little run from the cabin to deck- now a word below, and now a word with Starbuck, the chief mate.
But, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about him,- "Captain Bildad- come, old shipmate, we must go. Back the mainyard there! Boat ahoy! Stand by to come close alongside, now! Careful, careful!- come, Bildad, boy- say your last. Luck to ye, Starbuck- luck to ye, Mr. Stubb- luck to ye, Mr. Flask- good-bye and good luck to ye all- and this day three years I'll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket. Hurrah and away!"
"God bless ye, and have ye in His holy keeping, men," murmured old Bildad, almost incoherently. "I hope ye'll have fine weather now, so that Captain Ahab may soon be moving among ye- a pleasant sun is all he needs, and ye'll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go. Be careful in the hunt, ye mates. Don't stave the boats needlessly, ye harpooneers; good white cedar plank is raised full three per cent within the year. Don't forget your prayers, either. Mr. Starbuck, mind that cooper don't waste the spare staves. Oh! the sail-needles are in the green locker. Don't whale it too much a' Lord's days, men; but don't miss a fair chance either, that's rejecting Heaven's good gifts. Have an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a little leaky, I thought. If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of fornication. Good-bye, good-bye! Don't keep that cheese too long down in the hold, Mr. Starbuck; it'll spoil. Be careful with the butter- twenty cents the pound it was, and mind ye, if--"
"Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering,- away!" and with that, Peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat.
Ship and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a screaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three heavy-hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone Atlantic.
It's a Christmas of parting. The Pequod leaves port and is getting under way. Peleg and Bildad, two of the owners of the ship, have a difficult time letting go of the ship and its crew. Indeed, it seems as if the two men are ready to cast caution to the wind and join the voyage themselves. Yet, they leave on the rowboat, and the Pequod plunges out into the dark ocean on that holy night.
I am currently sitting at home alone. The kids are at school. My wife is at work. I'm waiting to be picked up by a friend for a trip to Calumet, where I'm performing this weekend at the Calumet Theatre. It seems strange to be setting out by myself like this. I don't usually go anywhere without some member of my family. I think that I'm suffering a little bit of what Peleg and Bildad suffer from as they leave the Pequod.
It's going to be a long couple days of rehearsals and performance. It will be fun, but exhausting. Just getting ready to go these last couple days has been a little stressful. I'm not quite sure of the accommodations tonight, so I don't really know how to pack. Should I bring a blanket, towel, wash cloth? Is there going to be internet access? Am I going to have to share a room? All things I don't know.
Don't get me wrong. I will be able to adapt to whatever hand I'm dealt, but I'm the kind of person that pretty much likes to know all the details of my days and nights, right down to menus and the names of the front desk people at the hotel. Tonight and tomorrow, however, are a big question mark to me. So, in that way, I'm sort of like Ishmael, not knowing what in the hell he's signed up for.
I guess I'm everybody in this passage from Moby-Dick this morning: Ishmael, Peleg, and Bildad. There's excitement and anxiety and sadness all mixed together. If I were a person prone to panic attacks, I would be on the floor, hyperventilating right now.
My family will be driving up tomorrow for the performance. I'll be staying at a hotel with them afterward. Until then, however, things are a little bit out of my control. And I'm kind of a control freak. Life experiences with my wife's mental illness and addiction has pushed me in that direction.
But, for today, Saint Marty is thankful for new adventures, even if they come with a healthy dose of cold sweats and pounding pulses.
have a great day
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