Zomby Dick, or the Undead Whale

by Jd Livingstone

  “You mean the ship Pequod, I suppose,” said I, trying to gain a little more time for an uninterrupted look at him.

  “Aye, the Pequod—that ship there,” he said, drawing back his good arm, and then rapidly shoving it straight out from him, with the fixed bayonet of his prodigious pointed finger darted full at the object.

  “Yes,” said I, “we have just signed the articles.”

  “Anything down there about your souls?”

  “About what?”

  “Oh, perhaps you hav’n’t got any,” he said quickly. “No matter though, I know many chaps that hav’n’t got any,—good luck to ‘em; and they are all the better off for it. A soul’s a sort of a fifth wheel to a wagon.”

  “What are you jabbering about, shipmate?” said I.

  “He’s got enough, though, to make up for all deficiencies of that sort in other chaps,” abruptly said the stranger, placing a nervous emphasis upon the word He.

  “Queequeg,” said I, “let’s go; this fellow has broken loose from somewhere; he’s talking about something and somebody we don’t know.”

  “Stop!” cried the stranger. “Ye said true—ye hav’n’t seen Old Thunder yet, have ye?”

  “Who’s Old Thunder?” said I, again riveted with the insane earnestness of his manner.

  “Captain Ahab.”

  “What! the captain of our ship, the Pequod?”

  “Aye, among some of us old sailor chaps, he goes by that name. Ye hav’n’t seen him yet, have ye?”

  “No, we hav’n’t. He’s sick they say, but is getting better, and will be all right again before long.”

  “All right again before long!” laughed the stranger, with a solemnly derisive sort of laugh. “Look ye; when Captain Ahab is all right, then this left arm of mine will be all right; not before.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “What did they tell you about him? Say that!”

  “They didn’t tell much of anything about him; only I’ve heard that he’s a good whale-hunter, and a good captain to his crew.”

  “That’s true, that’s true—yes, both true enough. But you must jump when he gives an order. Step and growl; growl and go—that’s the word with Captain Ahab. But ye heard nothing about the silver calabash, nor his taking a lightning bolt off Cape Horn, when he lay like dead for three days and nights; nothing about that deadly scrimmage with the Spaniard afore the altar in Santa Croce as a young man?—heard nothing about that, eh? Nothing about the golden coin? And nothing about the truth of his lost his leg last voyage, according to the prophecy; nor nothing on the missing cabin boy, I’ll wager.

  “Didn’t ye hear a word about them matters and something more, eh? No, I don’t think ye did; how could ye? Who knows it? Not all Nantucket, I guess. But mayhap ye’ve heard tell about the leg, and how he lost it; aye, ye have heard of that, I dare say. Oh yes, that every one knows a’most—I mean they know he’s only one leg; and that a parmacetti took the other off; they know not the rest. None do, I tell ye. Well now, that ain’t entirely true I s’pose. That Parsee, he knows it.”

  “My friend,” said I, “what all this gibberish of yours is about, I don’t know, and I don’t much care; for it seems to me that you must be a little damaged in the head. But if you are speaking of Captain Ahab, of that ship there, the Pequod, then let me tell you, that I know all about the loss of his leg.”

  “All about it, eh—sure you do?—all ? ”

  “Pretty sure.”

  With finger pointed and eye levelled at the Pequod, the beggar-like stranger stood a moment, as if in a troubled reverie; then starting a little, turned and said,“Ye’ve shipped, have ye? Names down on the papers? Well, well, what’s signed, is signed; and what’s to be, will be; and then again, perhaps it won’t be, after all. Anyhow, it’s all fixed and arranged a’ready; and some sailors or other must go with him, I suppose; as well these as any other men, God pity ‘em! Morning to ye, shipmates, morning; the ineffable heavens bless ye; I’m sorry I stopped ye.”

  “Look here, friend,” said I, “if you have anything important to tell us, out with it; but if you are only trying to bamboozle us, you are mistaken in your game; that’s all I have to say.”

  “And it’s said very well, and I like to hear a chap talk up that way; you are just the man for him—the likes of ye. Morning to ye, shipmates, morning! Oh! when ye get there, tell ‘em I’ve concluded to keep mum on it.”

  “Ah, my dear fellow, you can’t fool us that way—you can’t fool us. It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him.”

  “Morning to ye, shipmates, morning.”

  “Morning it is,” said I. “Come along, Queequeg, let’s leave this crazy man. But stop, tell me your name, will you?”

  “Elijah.”

  Elijah! thought I, and we walked away, both commenting, after each other’s fashion, upon this ragged old sailor; and agreed that he was nothing but a humbug, trying to be a bugbear. But we had not gone perhaps above a hundred yards, when chancing to turn a corner, and looking back as I did so, who should be seen but Elijah following us, though at a distance. Somehow, the sight of him struck me so, that I said nothing to Queequeg of his being behind, but passed on with my comrade, anxious to see whether the stranger would turn the same corner that we did. He did; and then it seemed to me that he was dogging us, but with what intent I could not for the life of me imagine. This circumstance, coupled with his ambiguous, half-hinting, half-revealing, shrouded sort of talk, now begat in me all kinds of vague wonderments and half-apprehensions, and all connected with the Pequod; and Captain Ahab; and the leg he had lost and how; and Santa Cruz; and the Cape Horn fit; and what Captain Peleg had said of him, when I left the ship the day previous; and the prediction of the squaw Tistig; and the voyage we had bound ourselves to sail; and a hundred other shadowy things.

  I was resolved to satisfy myself whether this ragged Elijah was really dogging us or not, and with that intent crossed the way with Queequeg, and on that side of it retraced our steps. But Elijah passed on, without seeming to notice us. This relieved me; and once more, and finally as it seemed to me, I pronounced him in my heart, a humbug.

  Chapter

  Going Aboard

  A day or two passed, and there was great activity aboard the Pequod. Not only were the old sails being mended, but new sails were coming on board, and bolts of canvas, and coils of rigging; in short, everything betokened that the ship’s preparations were hurrying to a close. Captain Peleg seldom or never went ashore, but sat in his wigwam keeping a sharp look-out upon the hands: Bildad did all the purchasing and providing at the stores; and the men employed in the hold and on the rigging were working till long after night-fall.

  Whaling necessitates a three-years’ housekeeping upon the wide ocean, far from all grocers, costermongers, doctors, bakers, bankers, and—most important to me—all bellowing shamble-men. And though this also holds true of merchant vessels, yet not by any means to the same extent as with whalemen. For besides the great length of the whaling voyage, the numerous articles peculiar to the prosecution of the fishery, and the impossibility of replacing them at the remote harbors usually frequented, it must be remembered, that of all ships, whaling vessels are the most exposed to accidents of all kinds, and especially to the destruction and loss of the very things upon which the success of the voyage most depends. Hence, the spare boats, spare spars, and spare lines and harpoons, and spare everythings, almost, but a spare Captain and duplicate ship.

  Chief among those who did this fetching and carrying was Captain Bildad’s sister, a lean old lady of a most determined and indefatigable spirit, but withal very kindhearted, who seemed resolved that, if she could help it, nothing should be found wanting in the Pequod, after once fairly getting to sea. At one time she would come on board with a jar of pi
ckles for the steward’s pantry; another time with a bunch of quills for the captain’s desk, where he kept his log; a third time with a roll of flannel for the small of some one’s rheumatic back. Never did any woman better deserve her name, which was Charity—Aunt Charity, as everybody called her. And like a sister of charity did this charitable Aunt Charity bustle about hither and thither, ready to turn her hand and heart to anything that promised to yield safety, comfort, and consolation to all on board a ship in which her beloved brother Bildad was concerned, and in which she herself owned a score or two of well-saved dollars.

  During these days of preparation, Queequeg and I often visited the craft, and as often I asked about Captain Ahab, and how he was, and when he was going to come on board his ship. To these questions they would answer, that he was getting better and better, and was expected aboard every day; meantime, the two captains, Peleg and Bildad, could attend to everything necessary to fit the vessel for the voyage. If I had been downright honest with myself, I would have seen very plainly in my heart that I did but half fancy being committed this way to so long a voyage, without once laying my eyes on the man who was to be the absolute dictator of it, so soon as the ship sailed out upon the open sea. But when a man suspects any wrong, it sometimes happens that if he be already involved in the matter, he insensibly strives to cover up his suspicions even from himself. And much this way it was with me. I said nothing, and tried to think nothing.

  At last it was given out that some time next day the ship would certainly sail. So next morning, Queequeg and I took a very early start, venturing out in the thick and chilly morning mist.

  It was nearly six o’clock, but only grey imperfect foggy dawn when we drew nigh the wharf. In the swirling mist ahead was vague, shambling movement that instantly startled the dregs of sleep from me, for it seemed to be that lurching gait I knew too well. I reached back instinctively for the haft of Big Blackie to bring it to bear, but found only empty air; I had left it with Mrs. Hussey for safekeeping while I went a-whaling, for I supposed I would not need it aboard the Pequod. Too late now, Ishmael, thought I; pray Little Blackie will suffice and get on with it. I unclasped its sheath to draw it forth. However, the figures had moved on, and my fear left as quickly as it came and I judged it a phantom self-created,—and not the first of its ilk—for the mind long besieged has been known to see phantoms where none exist.

  “Avast!” cried a voice, whose owner at the same time coming close behind us, laid a hand upon both our shoulders, and then insinuating himself between us, stood stooping forward a little, in the uncertain dawn light, strangely peering from Queequeg to me. It was Elijah.

  “Going aboard?”

  “Hands off, will you,” said I.

  “Lookee here,” said Queequeg, shaking himself, “go ‘way!”

  “Ain’t going aboard, then?”

  “Yes, we are,” said I, “but what business is that of yours? Do you know, Mr. Elijah, that I consider you a little impertinent?”

  “No, no, no; I wasn’t aware of that,” said Elijah, slowly and wonderingly looking from me to Queequeg, with the most unaccountable glances.

  “Elijah,” said I, “you will oblige my friend and me by withdrawing. We are going to the Indian and Pacific Oceans, and would prefer not to be detained.”

  “Ye be, be ye? Coming back afore breakfast?”

  “He’s cracked, Queequeg,” said I, “come on.”

  “Holloa!” cried stationary Elijah, hailing us when we had removed a few paces.

  “Never mind him,” said I, “Queequeg, come on.”

  But he stole up to us again, and suddenly clapping his hand on my shoulder, said—“Did ye see anything looking like men going towards that ship a while ago?”

  Struck by this plain matter-of-fact question, I answered, saying, “Yes, I thought I did see four or five figures; but it was too dim to be sure.”

  “Very dim, very dim,” said Elijah. “Morning to ye.”

  Once more we quitted him; but once more he came softly after us; and touching my shoulder again, said, “See if you can find ‘em now, will ye?

  “Find who?”

  “Morning to ye! morning to ye!” he rejoined, again moving off. “Oh! I was going to warn ye against—but never mind, never mind—it’s all one, all in the family;—sharp frost this morning, ain’t it? Good-bye to ye. Shan’t see ye again very soon, I guess; unless it’s before the Grand Jury.” And with these cracked words he finally departed, leaving me, for the moment, in no small wonderment at his frantic impudence.

  At last, stepping on board the Pequod, we found everything in profound quiet, not a soul moving. The cabin entrance was locked within; the hatches were all on, and lumbered with coils of rigging. Going forward to the forecastle, we found the slide of the scuttle open. Seeing a light, we went down, and found only an old rigger there, wrapped in a tattered pea-jacket. He was thrown at whole length upon two chests, his face downwards and inclosed in his folded arms. The profoundest slumber slept upon him.

  “Those sailors we saw, Queequeg, where can they have gone to?” said I, looking dubiously at the sleeper. But it seemed that, when on the wharf, Queequeg had not at all noticed what I now alluded to; hence I would have thought myself to have been optically deceived in that matter, were it not for Elijah’s otherwise inexplicable question. But I beat the thing down; and again marking the sleeper, jocularly hinted to Queequeg that perhaps we had best sit up with the body; telling him to establish himself accordingly. He put his hand upon the sleeper’s rear, as though feeling if it was soft enough; and then, without more ado, sat quietly down there.

  “Gracious! Queequeg, don’t sit there,” said I.

  “Oh! perry good seat,” said Queequeg, “my country way; won’t hurt him face.”

  “Face!” said I, “call that his face? very benevolent countenance then; but how hard he breathes, he’s heaving himself; get off, Queequeg, you are heavy, it’s grinding the face of the poor. Get off, Queequeg! Look, he’ll twitch you off soon. I wonder he don’t wake.”

  Queequeg removed himself to just beyond the head of the sleeper, and lighted his tomahawk pipe. I sat at the feet. We kept the pipe passing over the sleeper, from one to the other. Meanwhile, upon questioning him in his broken fashion, Queequeg gave me to understand that, in his land, owing to the absence of settees and sofas of all sorts, the Queen, chiefs, and great people generally, were in the custom of fattening some of the lower orders for ottomans; and to furnish a house comfortably in that respect, you had only to buy up eight or ten lazy fellows, and lay them round in the piers and alcoves. Besides, it was very convenient on an excursion; much better than those garden-chairs which are convertible into walking-sticks; upon occasion, a chief calling his attendant, and desiring him to make a settee of himself under a spreading tree, perhaps in some damp marshy place.

  While narrating these things, every time Queequeg received the tomahawk from me, he flourished the hatchet-side of it over the sleeper’s head.

  “What’s that for, Queequeg?”

  “Perry easy, kill-e; oh! perry easy!”

  He was going on with some wild reminiscences about his tomahawk-pipe, which, it seemed, had in its two uses both brained his foes, and yet soothed his soul, when we were directly attracted to the sleeping rigger. The strong hempen vapour now completely filling the contracted hole, it began to tell upon him. He breathed with a sort of muffledness; then seemed troubled in the nose; then revolved over once or twice; then sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  “Holloa!” he breathed at last, “who be ye smokers?”

  “Shipped men,” answered I, “when does she sail?”

  “Aye, aye, ye are going in her, be ye? She sails to-day. The Captain came aboard last night.”

  “What Captain?—Ahab?”

  “Who but him indeed?”

  I was going
to ask him some further questions concerning Ahab, when we heard a noise on deck.

  “Holloa! Starbuck’s astir,” said the rigger. “He’s a lively chief mate, that; good man, and a pious; but all alive now, I must turn to.” And so saying he went on deck, and we followed.

  It was now clear sunrise. Soon the crew came on board in twos and threes; the riggers bestirred themselves; the mates were actively engaged; and several of the shore people were busy in bringing various last things on board. Meanwhile Captain Ahab remained invisibly enshrined within his cabin.

  Chapter

  Merry Christmas

  At length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship’s riggers, and after the Pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the ever-thoughtful Charity had come off in a whale-boat, with her last gift—a night-cap for Stubb, the second mate, her brother-in-law, and a spare Bible for the steward—after all this, the two Captains, Peleg and Bildad, issued from the cabin, and turning to the chief mate, Peleg said:

  “Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is right? Captain Ahab is all ready—just spoke to him—nothing more to be got from shore, eh? Well, call all hands, then. Muster ‘em aft here—blast ‘em!”

  “No need of profane words, however great the hurry, Peleg,” said Bildad, “but away with thee, friend Starbuck, and do our bidding.”

  How now! Here upon the very point of starting for the voyage, Captain Peleg and Captain Bildad were going it with a high hand on the quarter-deck, just as if they were to be joint-commanders at sea, as well as in port. And, as for Captain Ahab, no sign of him was yet to be seen; only, they said he was in the cabin. But the idea was that his presence was by no means necessary in getting the ship under weigh, and steering her well out to sea. Indeed, as that was not at all his proper business, but the pilot’s; and as he was not yet completely recovered—so they said—therefore, Captain Ahab stayed below. And all this seemed natural enough; especially as in the merchant service many captains never show themselves on deck for a considerable time after heaving up the anchor, but remain over the cabin table, having a farewell merry-making with their shore friends, before they quit the ship for good with the pilot.