It must be borne in mind that all this time we have a Sperm Whale's
prodigious head hanging to the Pequod's side. But we must let it
continue hanging there a while till we can get a chance to attend to it.
For the present other matters press, and the best we can do now for the
head, is to pray heaven the tackles may hold.
Now, during the
past night and forenoon, the Pequod had gradually drifted into a sea,
which, by its occasional patches of yellow brit, gave unusual tokens of
the vicinity of Right Whales, a species of the Leviathan that but few
supposed to be at this particular time lurking anywhere near. And though
all hands commonly disdained the capture of those inferior creatures;
and though the Pequod was not commissioned to cruise for them at all,
and though she had passed numbers of them near the Crozetts without
lowering a boat; yet now that a Sperm Whale had been brought alongside
and beheaded, to the surprise of all, the announcement was made that a
Right Whale should be captured that day, if opportunity offered.
Nor
was this long wanting. Tall spouts were seen to leeward; and two boats,
Stubb's and Flask's, were detached in pursuit. Pulling further and
further away, they at last became almost invisible to the men at the
masthead. But suddenly in the distance, they saw a great heap of
tumultuous white water, and soon after news came from aloft that one or
both the boats must be fast. An interval passed and the boats were in
plain sight, in the act of being dragged right towards the ship by the
towing whale. So close did the monster come to the hull, that at first
it seemed as if he meant it malice; but suddenly going down in a
maelstrom, within three rods of the planks, he wholly disappeared from
view, as if diving under the keel. "Cut, cut!" was the cry from the ship
to the boats, which, for one instant, seemed on the point of being
brought with a deadly dash against the vessel's side. But having plenty
of line yet in the tubs, and the whale not sounding very rapidly, they
paid out abundance of rope, and at the same time pulled with all their
might so as to get ahead of the ship. For a few minutes the struggle was
intensely critical; for while they still slacked out the tightened line
in one direction, and still plied their oars in another, the contending
strain threatened to take them under. But it was only a few feet
advance they sought to gain. And they stuck to it till they did gain it;
when instantly, a swift tremor was felt running like lightning along
the keel, as the strained line, scraping beneath the ship, suddenly rose
to view under her bows, snapping and quivering; and so flinging off its
drippings, that the drops fell like bits of broken glass on the water,
while the whale beyond also rose to sight, and once more the boats were
free to fly. But the fagged whale abated his speed, and blindly altering
his course, went round the stern of the ship towing the two boats after
him, so that they performed a complete circuit.
Meantime, they
hauled more and more upon their lines, till close flanking him on both
sides, Stubb answered Flask with lance for lance; and thus round and
round the Pequod the battle went, while the multitudes of sharks that
had before swum round the Sperm Whale's body, rushed to the fresh blood
that was spilled, thirstily drinking at every new gash, as the eager
Israelites did at the new bursting fountains that poured from the
smitten rock.
At last his spout grew thick, and with a frightful roll and vomit, he turned upon his back a corpse.
While
the two headsmen were engaged in making fast cords to his flukes, and
in other ways getting the mass in readiness for towing, some
conversation ensued between them.
"I wonder what the old man wants
with this lump of foul lard," said Stubb, not without some disgust at
the thought of having to do with so ignoble a leviathan.
"Wants
with it?" said Flask, coiling some spare line in the boat's bow, "did
you never hear that the ship which but once has a Sperm Whale's head
hoisted on her starboard side, and at the same time a Right Whale's on
the larboard; did you never hear, Stubb, that that ship can never
afterwards capsize?"
"Why not?
"I don't know, but I heard
that gamboge ghost of a Fedallah saying so, and he seems to know all
about ships' charms. But I sometimes think he'll charm the ship to no
good at last. I don't half like that chap, Stubb. Did you ever notice
how that tusk of his is a sort of carved into a snake's head, Stubb?"
"Sink
him! I never look at him at all; but if ever I get a chance of a dark
night, and he standing hard by the bulwarks, and no one by; look down
there, Flask"- pointing into the sea with a peculiar motion of both
hands- "Aye, will I! Flask, I take that Fedallah to be the devil in
disguise. Do you believe that cock and bull story about his having been
stowed away on board ship? He's the devil, I say. The reason why you
don't see his tail, is because he tucks it up out of sight; he carries
it coiled away in his pocket, I guess. Blast him! now that I think of
it, he's always wanting oakum to stuff into the toes of his boots."
"He sleeps in his boots, don't he? He hasn't got any hammock; but I've seen him lay of nights in a coil of rigging."
"No doubt, and it's because of his cursed tail; he coils it down, do ye see, in the eye of the rigging."
"What's the old man have so much to do with him for?"
"Striking up a swap or a bargain, I suppose."
"Bargain?- about what?"
"Why,
do ye see, the old man is hard bent after that White Whale, and the
devil there is trying to come round him, and get him to swap away his
silver watch, or his soul, or something of that sort, and then he'll
surrender Moby Dick."
"Pooh! Stubb, you are skylarking; how can Fedallah do that?"
"I
don't know, Flask, but the devil is a curious chap, and a wicked one, I
tell ye. Why, they say as how he went a sauntering into the old
flag-ship once, switching his tail about devilish easy and
gentlemanlike, and inquiring if the old governor was at home. Well, he
was at home, and asked the devil what he wanted. The devil, switching
his hoofs, up and says, 'I want John.' 'What for?' says the old
governor. 'What business is that of yours,' says the devil, getting
mad,- 'I want to use him.' 'Take him,' says the governor- and by the
Lord, Flask, if the devil didn't give John the Asiatic cholera before he
got through with him, I'll eat this whale in one mouthful. But look
sharp- ain't you all ready there? Well, then, pull ahead, and let's get
the whale alongside."
"I think I remember some such story as you
were telling," said Flask, when at last the two boats were slowly
advancing with their burden towards the ship, "but I can't remember
where."
"Three Spaniards? Adventures of those three bloody-minded soladoes? Did ye read it there, Flask? I guess ye did?"
"No:
never saw such a book; heard of it, though. But now, tell me, Stubb, do
you suppose that that devil you was speaking of just now, was the same
you say is now on board the Pequod?"
"Am I the same man that
helped kill this whale? Doesn't the devil live for ever; who ever heard
that the devil was dead? Did you ever see any parson a wearing mourning
for the devil? And if the devil has a latch-key to get into the
admiral's cabin, don't you suppose he can crawl into a porthole? Tell me
that, Mr. Flask?"
"How old do you suppose Fedallah is, Stubb?"
"Do
you see that mainmast there?" pointing to the ship; "well, that's the
figure one; now take all the hoops in the Pequod's hold, and string
along in a row with that mast, for oughts, do you see; well, that
wouldn't begin to be Fedallah's age. Nor all the coopers in creation
couldn't show hoops enough to make oughts enough."
"But see here,
Stubb, I thought you a little boasted just now, that you meant to give
Fedallah a sea-toss, if you got a good chance. Now, if he's so old as
all those hoops of yours come to, and if he is going to live for ever,
what good will it do to pitch him overboard- tell me that?
"Give him a good ducking, anyhow."
"But he'd crawl back."
"Duck him again; and keep ducking him."
"Suppose he should take it into his head to duck you, though- yes, and drown you- what then?"
"I
should like to see him try it; I'd give him such a pair of black eyes
that he wouldn't dare to show his face in the admiral's cabin again for a
long while, let alone down in the orlop there, where he lives, and
hereabouts on the upper decks where he sneaks so much. Damn the devil,
Flask; so you suppose I'm afraid of the devil? Who's afraid of him,
except the old governor who daresn't catch him and put him in
double-darbies, as he deserves, but lets him go about kidnapping people;
aye, and signed a bond with him, that all the people the devil
kidnapped, he'd roast for him? There's a governor!"
"Do you suppose Fedallah wants to kidnap Captain Ahab?"
"Do
I suppose it? You'll know it before long, Flask. But I am going now to
keep a sharp look-out on him; and if I see anything very suspicious
going on, I'll just take him by the nape of his neck, and say- Look
here, Beelzebub, you don't do it; and if he makes any fuss, by the Lord
I'll make a grab into his pocket for his tail, take it to the capstan,
and give him such a wrenching and heaving, that his tail will come short
off at the stump- do you see; and then, I rather guess when he finds
himself docked in that queer fashion, he'll sneak off without the poor
satisfaction of feeling his tail between his legs."
"And what will you do with the tail, Stubb?"
"Do with it? Sell it for an ox whip when we get home;- what else?"
"Now, do you mean what you say, and have been saying all along, Stubb?"
"Mean or not mean, here we are at the ship."
The
boats were here halled, to tow the whale on the larboard side, where
fluke chains and other necessaries were already prepared for securing
him.
"Didn't I tell you so?" said Flask; "yes, you'll soon see this right whale's head hoisted up opposite that parmacety's."
In
good time, Flask's saying proved true. As before, the Pequod steeply
leaned over towards the sperm whale's head, now, by the counterpoise of
both heads, she regained her even keel; though sorely strained, you may
well believe. So, when on one side you hoist in Locke's head, you go
over that way; but now, on the other side, hoist in Kant's and you come
back again; but in very poor plight. Thus, some minds for ever keep
trimming boat. Oh, ye foolish! throw all these thunder-heads overboard,
and then you will float light and right.
In disposing of the body
of a right whale, when brought alongside the ship, the same preliminary
proceedings commonly take place as in the case of a sperm whale; only,
in the latter instance, the head is cut off whole, but in the former the
lips and tongue are separately removed and hoisted on deck, with all
the well known black bone attached to what is called the crown-piece.
But nothing like this, in the present case, had been done. The carcases
of both whales had dropped astern; and the head-laden ship not a little
resembled a mule carrying a pair of overburdening panniers.
Meantime,
Fedallah was calmly eyeing the right whale's head, and ever and anon
glancing from the deep wrinkles there to the lines in his own hand. And
Ahab chanced so to stand, that the Parsee occupied his shadow; while, if
the Parsee's shadow was there at all it seemed only to blend with, and
lengthen Ahab's. As the crew toiled on, Laplandish speculations were
bandied among them, concerning all these passing things.
Superstition is a powerful thing. That's what this chapter is all about, mixed with a little racism. Stubb seems hell bent on proving that Fedallah (who is Asian) is actually the devil. So, Queequeg is a savage, and Fedallah is a "yellow devil," tail and all. And that's how things like genocide and slavery begin--with people making small comments, telling tall tales, that steal away humanity.
I know, I know. I'm not going to get all political tonight. I promise. After all, we are on the eve of the celebration of Independence Day in the United States. Tomorrow, we celebrate the founding of the country, which a bunch of white European IMMIGRANTS took from the Native Americans. And those immigrants proceeded to use words and phrases like "savage" and "red devil" to justify their actions. And then they proceeded to herd these people onto reservations, where they would be able to police and control them.
I am not criticizing all of the parades and fireworks that are going to be occurring tomorrow. No. I, myself, will be going to two parades, and, in the evening, my family will be camped out on a grassy hill, listening to a local band play Bob Seger tunes, eating kettle corn, waiting for the rockets to start flying at dusk. However, I believe that it's necessary to remember that this country's history isn't all about us fighting bad guys. Sometimes, WE were (and still are) the bad guys.
So, when the watermelon is sliced, bratwurst is barbecued, and sparklers are sparking, I'm going to be thinking about ALL of the people who make up this country. Documented. Undocumented. White-skinned. Dark-skinned. People who still struggle because of the superstition that the United States was somehow "better" in the old days.
That's the danger of being nostalgic. It puts a rosy patina on some pretty ugly episodes from the past. I'm not a superstitious person. I question. Reason. Question again. I know that, since the Declaration of Independence was signed about 240 years ago, Americans have done some pretty terrible things to a lot of people. However, I'm also a hopeful person. I believe we can be better than what we have been and are at the moment.
That's what Independence Day means. Safety. Freedom. Hope. For everyone.
Saint Marty hopes his neighbors don't stay up too late, lighting off bottle rockets tonight.
Poet...Musician...Thinker...Blogger...Teacher...Husband...Father...I'm not perfect, but I try!
Tuesday, July 3, 2018
July 3: Shirley Geok-Lin Lim, "Learning to love America," Just Sayin'
Learning to love America
by: Shirley Geok-Lin Lim
by: Shirley Geok-Lin Lim
because it has no pure products
because the Pacific Ocean sweeps along the coastline
because the water of the ocean is cold
and because land is better than ocean
because I say we rather than they
because I live in California
I have eaten fresh artichokes
and jacaranda bloom in April and May
because my senses have caught up with my body
my breath with the air it swallows
my hunger with my mouth
because I walk barefoot in my house
because I have nursed my son at my breast
because he is a strong American boy
because I have seen his eyes redden when he is asked who he is
because he answers I don’t know
because to have a son is to have a country
because my son will bury me here
because countries are in our blood and we bleed them
because it is late and too late to change my mind
because it is time.
________________________
Everyone needs to read this poem this July 4.
Saint Marty is just sayin'.
Monday, July 2, 2018
July 2: Given to the Waves, Independence Day Week, Hard Lemonade
In the tumultuous business of cutting-in and attending to a whale,
there is much running backwards and forwards among the crew. Now hands
are wanted here, and then again hands are wanted there. There is no
staying in any one place; for at one and the same time everything has to
be done everywhere. It is much the same with him who endeavors the
description of the scene. We must now retrace our way a little. It was
mentioned that upon first breaking ground in the whale's back, the
blubber-hook was inserted into the original hole there cut by the spades
of the mates. But how did so clumsy and weighty a mass as that same
hook get fixed in that hole? It was inserted there by my particular
friend Queequeg, whose duty it was, as harpooneer, to descend upon the
monster's back for the special purpose referred to. But in very many
cases, circumstances require that the harpooneer shall remain on the
whale till the whole tensing or stripping operation is concluded. The
whale, be it observed, lies almost entirely submerged, excepting the
immediate parts operated upon. So down there, some ten feet below the
level of the deck, the poor harpooneer flounders about, half on the
whale and half in the water, as the vast mass revolves like a tread-mill
beneath him. On the occasion in question, Queequeg figured in the
Highland costume- a shirt and socks- in which to my eyes, at least, he
appeared to uncommon advantage; and no one had a better chance to
observe him, as will presently be seen.
Being the savage's bowsman, that is, the person who pulled the bow-oar in his boat (the second one from forward), it was my cheerful duty to attend upon him while taking that hard-scrabble scramble upon the dead whale's back. You have seen Italian organ-boys holding a dancing-ape by a long cord. Just so, from the ship's steep side, did I hold Queequeg down there in the sea, by what is technically called in the fishery a monkey-rope, attached to a strong strip of canvas belted round his waist.
It was a humorously perilous business for both of us. For, before we proceed further, it must be said that the monkey-rope was fast at both ends; fast to Queequeg's broad canvas belt, and fast to my narrow leather one. So that for better or for worse, we two, for the time, were wedded; and should poor Queequeg sink to rise no more, then both usage and honor demanded, that instead of cutting the cord, it should drag me down in his wake. So, then, an elongated Siamese ligature united us. Queequeg was my own inseparable twin brother; nor could I any way get rid of the dangerous liabilities which the hempen bond entailed.
So strongly and metaphysically did I conceive of my situation then, that while earnestly watching his motions, I seemed distinctly to perceive that my own individuality was now merged in a joint stock company of two; that my free will had received a mortal wound; and that another's mistake or misfortune might plunge innocent me into unmerited disaster and death. Therefore, I saw that here was a sort of interregnum in Providence; for its even-handed equity never could have so gross an injustice. And yet still further pondering- while I jerked him now and then from between the whale and ship, which would threaten to jam him- still further pondering, I say, I saw that this situation of mine was the precise situation of every mortal that breathes; only, in most cases, he, one way or other, has this Siamese connexion with a plurality of other mortals. If your banker breaks, you snap; if your apothecary by mistake sends you poison in your pills, you die. True, you may say that, by exceeding caution, you may possibly escape these and the multitudinous other evil chances of life. But handle Queequeg's monkey-rope heedfully as I would, sometimes he jerked it so, that I came very near sliding overboard. Nor could I possibly forget that, do what I would, I only had the management of one end of it.*
*The monkey-rope is found in all whalers; but it was only in the Pequod that the monkey and his holder were ever tied together. This improvement upon the original usage was introduced by no less a man than Stubb, in order to afford to the imperilled harpooneer the strongest possible guarantee for the faithfulness and vigilance of his monkey-rope holder.
I have hinted that I would often jerk poor Queequeg from between the whale and the ship- where he would occasionally fall, from the incessant rolling and swaying of both. But this was not the only jamming jeopardy he was exposed to. Unappalled by the massacre made upon them during the night, the sharks now freshly and more keenly allured by the before pent blood which began to flow from the carcass- the rabid creatures swarmed round it like bees in a beehive.
And right in among those sharks was Queequeg; who often pushed them aside with his floundering feet. A thing altogether incredible were it not that attracted by such prey as a dead whale, the otherwise miscellaneously carnivorous shark will seldom touch a man.
Nevertheless, it may well be believed that since they have such a ravenous finger in the pie, it is deemed but wise to look sharp to them. Accordingly, besides the monkey-rope, with which I now and then jerked the poor fellow from too close a vicinity to the maw of what seemed a peculiarly ferocious shark- he was provided with still another protection. Suspended over the side in one of the stages, Tashtego and Daggoo continually flourished over his head a couple of keen whale-spades, wherewith they slaughtered as many sharks as they could reach. This procedure of theirs, to be sure, was very disinterested and benevolent of them. They meant Queequeg's best happiness, I admit; but in their hasty zeal to befriend him, and from the circumstance that both he and the sharks were at times half hidden by the blood-muddled water, those indiscreet spades of theirs would come nearer amputating a leg than a tall. But poor Queequeg, I suppose, straining and gasping there with that great iron hook- poor Queequeg, I suppose, only prayed to his Yojo, and gave up his life into the hands of his gods.
Well, well, my dear comrade and twin-brother, thought I, as I drew in and then slacked off the rope to every swell of the sea- what matters it, after all? Are you not the precious image of each and all of us men in this whaling world? That unsounded ocean you gasp in, is Life; those sharks, your foes; those spades, your friends; and what between sharks and spades you are in a sad pickle and peril, poor lad.
But courage! there is good cheer in store for you, Queequeg. For now, as with blue lips and blood-shot eyes the exhausted savage at last climbs up the chains and stands all dripping and involuntarily trembling over the side; the steward advances, and with a benevolent, consolatory glance hands him- what? Some hot Cognac? No! hands him, ye gods! hands him a cup of tepid ginger and water!
"Ginger? Do I smell ginger?" suspiciously asked Stubb, coming near. "Yes, this must be ginger," peering into the as yet untasted cup. Then standing as if incredulous for a while, he calmly walked towards the astonished steward slowly saying, "Ginger? ginger? and will you have the goodness to tell me, Mr. Dough-Boy, where lies the virtue of ginger? Ginger! is ginger the sort of fuel you use, Dough-boy, to kindle a fire in this shivering cannibal? Ginger!- what the devil is ginger?- sea-coal? firewood?- lucifer matches?- tinder?- gunpowder?- what the devil is ginger, I say, that you offer this cup to our poor Queequeg here."
"There is some sneaking Temperance Society movement about this business," he suddenly added, now approaching Starbuck, who had just come from forward. "Will you look at that kannakin, sir; smell of it, if you please." Then watching the mate's countenance, he added, "The steward, Mr. Starbuck, had the face to offer that calomel and jalap to Queequeg, there, this instant off the whale. Is the steward an apothecary, sir? and may I ask whether this is the sort of bitters by which he blows back the life into a half-drowned man?"
"I trust not," said Starbuck, "it is poor stuff enough."
"Aye, aye, steward," cried Stubb, "we'll teach you to drug it harpooneer; none of your apothecary's medicine here; you want to poison us, do ye? You have got out insurances on our lives and want to murder us all, and pocket the proceeds, do ye?"
"It was not me," cried Dough-Boy, "it was Aunt Charity that brought the ginger on board; and bade me never give the harpooneers any spirits, but only this ginger-jub- so she called it."
"Ginger-jub! you gingerly rascal! take that! and run along with ye to the lockers, and get something better. I hope I do no wrong, Mr. Starbuck. It is the captain's orders- grog for the harpooneer on a whale."
"Enough," replied Starbuck, "only don't hit him again, but-"
"Oh, I never hurt when I hit, except when I hit a whale or something of that sort; and this fellow's a weazel. What were you about saying, sir?"
"Only this: go down with him, and get what thou wantest thyself."
When Stubb reappeared, he came with a dark flask in one hand, and a sort of tea-caddy in the other. The first contained strong spirits, and was handed to Queequeg; the second was Aunt Charity's gift, and that was freely given to the waves.
In the United States, this week is one of celebration. Independence Day is celebrated on Wednesday. In my little area of this country, many people take the entire week off from work and spend the next seven days barbecuing and drinking. Oh, and also going to parades and setting off fireworks. So, this chapter on the virtues of spirits (and I'm not talking about the kind that show up for seances) is pretty apropos.
So, tonight, I will kick off Independence Day week by drinking some hard lemonade. Just one. I have to work tomorrow morning. And I do come from a family who has a penchant for substance abuse, so I always consume alcohol in moderation. I know that I have a high tolerance for it.
Of course, the stereotype for poets is that they write and drink and carouse. Think Dylan Thomas, who, aside from being a fantastic poet, was legendary for his bouts of drunken debauchery. Truth be told, most of the poets I know never drink heavily. For most, it's just a beer or two after a poetry reading. That's it. An occasional celebratory glass of wine or champagne on special occasions. I, myself, when I win the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, plan to down some Bailey's Irish Cream, on the rocks.
If you haven't guessed by now, this post is not going to delve very deeply into metaphysical questions this evening. I'm too tired to wallow in the blood and boil, like Queequeg. Nope. After I'm done typing this post, I plan on getting into my pajamas, turning on the television to some mindless entertainment, and drinking a little.
Of course, my neighbors celebrate this week by setting off fireworks all night long. I wouldn't be surprised if alcohol is also a part of their week-long firecracker fest. That's what we Americans do: we get drunk and blow things up.
Sing with Saint Marty (and try not to think about who's running the country at the moment): "I'm proud to be an Americaaaaaannnnn!!!"
(DISCLAIMER: Please read this post in the spirit in which it was written--with a great deal of tongue-in-cheekness.)
Being the savage's bowsman, that is, the person who pulled the bow-oar in his boat (the second one from forward), it was my cheerful duty to attend upon him while taking that hard-scrabble scramble upon the dead whale's back. You have seen Italian organ-boys holding a dancing-ape by a long cord. Just so, from the ship's steep side, did I hold Queequeg down there in the sea, by what is technically called in the fishery a monkey-rope, attached to a strong strip of canvas belted round his waist.
It was a humorously perilous business for both of us. For, before we proceed further, it must be said that the monkey-rope was fast at both ends; fast to Queequeg's broad canvas belt, and fast to my narrow leather one. So that for better or for worse, we two, for the time, were wedded; and should poor Queequeg sink to rise no more, then both usage and honor demanded, that instead of cutting the cord, it should drag me down in his wake. So, then, an elongated Siamese ligature united us. Queequeg was my own inseparable twin brother; nor could I any way get rid of the dangerous liabilities which the hempen bond entailed.
So strongly and metaphysically did I conceive of my situation then, that while earnestly watching his motions, I seemed distinctly to perceive that my own individuality was now merged in a joint stock company of two; that my free will had received a mortal wound; and that another's mistake or misfortune might plunge innocent me into unmerited disaster and death. Therefore, I saw that here was a sort of interregnum in Providence; for its even-handed equity never could have so gross an injustice. And yet still further pondering- while I jerked him now and then from between the whale and ship, which would threaten to jam him- still further pondering, I say, I saw that this situation of mine was the precise situation of every mortal that breathes; only, in most cases, he, one way or other, has this Siamese connexion with a plurality of other mortals. If your banker breaks, you snap; if your apothecary by mistake sends you poison in your pills, you die. True, you may say that, by exceeding caution, you may possibly escape these and the multitudinous other evil chances of life. But handle Queequeg's monkey-rope heedfully as I would, sometimes he jerked it so, that I came very near sliding overboard. Nor could I possibly forget that, do what I would, I only had the management of one end of it.*
*The monkey-rope is found in all whalers; but it was only in the Pequod that the monkey and his holder were ever tied together. This improvement upon the original usage was introduced by no less a man than Stubb, in order to afford to the imperilled harpooneer the strongest possible guarantee for the faithfulness and vigilance of his monkey-rope holder.
I have hinted that I would often jerk poor Queequeg from between the whale and the ship- where he would occasionally fall, from the incessant rolling and swaying of both. But this was not the only jamming jeopardy he was exposed to. Unappalled by the massacre made upon them during the night, the sharks now freshly and more keenly allured by the before pent blood which began to flow from the carcass- the rabid creatures swarmed round it like bees in a beehive.
And right in among those sharks was Queequeg; who often pushed them aside with his floundering feet. A thing altogether incredible were it not that attracted by such prey as a dead whale, the otherwise miscellaneously carnivorous shark will seldom touch a man.
Nevertheless, it may well be believed that since they have such a ravenous finger in the pie, it is deemed but wise to look sharp to them. Accordingly, besides the monkey-rope, with which I now and then jerked the poor fellow from too close a vicinity to the maw of what seemed a peculiarly ferocious shark- he was provided with still another protection. Suspended over the side in one of the stages, Tashtego and Daggoo continually flourished over his head a couple of keen whale-spades, wherewith they slaughtered as many sharks as they could reach. This procedure of theirs, to be sure, was very disinterested and benevolent of them. They meant Queequeg's best happiness, I admit; but in their hasty zeal to befriend him, and from the circumstance that both he and the sharks were at times half hidden by the blood-muddled water, those indiscreet spades of theirs would come nearer amputating a leg than a tall. But poor Queequeg, I suppose, straining and gasping there with that great iron hook- poor Queequeg, I suppose, only prayed to his Yojo, and gave up his life into the hands of his gods.
Well, well, my dear comrade and twin-brother, thought I, as I drew in and then slacked off the rope to every swell of the sea- what matters it, after all? Are you not the precious image of each and all of us men in this whaling world? That unsounded ocean you gasp in, is Life; those sharks, your foes; those spades, your friends; and what between sharks and spades you are in a sad pickle and peril, poor lad.
But courage! there is good cheer in store for you, Queequeg. For now, as with blue lips and blood-shot eyes the exhausted savage at last climbs up the chains and stands all dripping and involuntarily trembling over the side; the steward advances, and with a benevolent, consolatory glance hands him- what? Some hot Cognac? No! hands him, ye gods! hands him a cup of tepid ginger and water!
"Ginger? Do I smell ginger?" suspiciously asked Stubb, coming near. "Yes, this must be ginger," peering into the as yet untasted cup. Then standing as if incredulous for a while, he calmly walked towards the astonished steward slowly saying, "Ginger? ginger? and will you have the goodness to tell me, Mr. Dough-Boy, where lies the virtue of ginger? Ginger! is ginger the sort of fuel you use, Dough-boy, to kindle a fire in this shivering cannibal? Ginger!- what the devil is ginger?- sea-coal? firewood?- lucifer matches?- tinder?- gunpowder?- what the devil is ginger, I say, that you offer this cup to our poor Queequeg here."
"There is some sneaking Temperance Society movement about this business," he suddenly added, now approaching Starbuck, who had just come from forward. "Will you look at that kannakin, sir; smell of it, if you please." Then watching the mate's countenance, he added, "The steward, Mr. Starbuck, had the face to offer that calomel and jalap to Queequeg, there, this instant off the whale. Is the steward an apothecary, sir? and may I ask whether this is the sort of bitters by which he blows back the life into a half-drowned man?"
"I trust not," said Starbuck, "it is poor stuff enough."
"Aye, aye, steward," cried Stubb, "we'll teach you to drug it harpooneer; none of your apothecary's medicine here; you want to poison us, do ye? You have got out insurances on our lives and want to murder us all, and pocket the proceeds, do ye?"
"It was not me," cried Dough-Boy, "it was Aunt Charity that brought the ginger on board; and bade me never give the harpooneers any spirits, but only this ginger-jub- so she called it."
"Ginger-jub! you gingerly rascal! take that! and run along with ye to the lockers, and get something better. I hope I do no wrong, Mr. Starbuck. It is the captain's orders- grog for the harpooneer on a whale."
"Enough," replied Starbuck, "only don't hit him again, but-"
"Oh, I never hurt when I hit, except when I hit a whale or something of that sort; and this fellow's a weazel. What were you about saying, sir?"
"Only this: go down with him, and get what thou wantest thyself."
When Stubb reappeared, he came with a dark flask in one hand, and a sort of tea-caddy in the other. The first contained strong spirits, and was handed to Queequeg; the second was Aunt Charity's gift, and that was freely given to the waves.
In the United States, this week is one of celebration. Independence Day is celebrated on Wednesday. In my little area of this country, many people take the entire week off from work and spend the next seven days barbecuing and drinking. Oh, and also going to parades and setting off fireworks. So, this chapter on the virtues of spirits (and I'm not talking about the kind that show up for seances) is pretty apropos.
So, tonight, I will kick off Independence Day week by drinking some hard lemonade. Just one. I have to work tomorrow morning. And I do come from a family who has a penchant for substance abuse, so I always consume alcohol in moderation. I know that I have a high tolerance for it.
Of course, the stereotype for poets is that they write and drink and carouse. Think Dylan Thomas, who, aside from being a fantastic poet, was legendary for his bouts of drunken debauchery. Truth be told, most of the poets I know never drink heavily. For most, it's just a beer or two after a poetry reading. That's it. An occasional celebratory glass of wine or champagne on special occasions. I, myself, when I win the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, plan to down some Bailey's Irish Cream, on the rocks.
If you haven't guessed by now, this post is not going to delve very deeply into metaphysical questions this evening. I'm too tired to wallow in the blood and boil, like Queequeg. Nope. After I'm done typing this post, I plan on getting into my pajamas, turning on the television to some mindless entertainment, and drinking a little.
Of course, my neighbors celebrate this week by setting off fireworks all night long. I wouldn't be surprised if alcohol is also a part of their week-long firecracker fest. That's what we Americans do: we get drunk and blow things up.
Sing with Saint Marty (and try not to think about who's running the country at the moment): "I'm proud to be an Americaaaaaannnnn!!!"
(DISCLAIMER: Please read this post in the spirit in which it was written--with a great deal of tongue-in-cheekness.)
July 2: Walt Whitman, "I Hear America Singing," When America Was Great
I Hear America Singing
by: Walt Whitman
by: Walt Whitman
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
_________________________
In honor of the America that I know and am proud of (which, it so happens, is the same America Walt
Whitman knew and was proud of), I am singing America with Uncle Walt tonight.
Saint Marty remembers when America was great, which was about a year-and-a-half ago.
Whitman knew and was proud of), I am singing America with Uncle Walt tonight.
Saint Marty remembers when America was great, which was about a year-and-a-half ago.
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