“Swim away from me, do ye?” murmured Ahab,
gazing over into the water. There seemed but
little in the words, but the tone conveyed more of
deep helpless sadness than the insane old man had
ever before evinced. But turning to the steersman,
who thus far had been holding the ship in the wind
to diminish her headway, he cried out in his old lion
voice,—“Up helm! Keep her off
round the world!”
Round the world! There is much in that sound
to inspire proud feelings; but whereto does all that
circumnavigation conduct? Only through numberless
perils to the very point whence we started, where
those that we left behind secure, were all the time
before us.
Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward
we could for ever reach new distances, and discover
sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or
Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in
the voyage. But in pursuit of those far mysteries
we dream of, or in tormented chase of that demon phantom
that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts;
while chasing such over this round globe, they either
lead us on in barren mazes or midway leave us whelmed.
The Gam
The ostensible reason why Ahab did not go on board
of the whaler we had spoken was this: the wind
and sea betokened storms. But even had this not
been the case, he would not after all, perhaps, have
boarded her—judging by his subsequent conduct
on similar occasions—if so it had been
that, by the process of hailing, he had obtained a
negative answer to the question he put. For,
as it eventually turned out, he cared not to consort,
even for five minutes, with any stranger captain, except
he could contribute some of that information he so
absorbingly sought. But all this might remain
inadequately estimated, were not something said here
of the peculiar usages of whaling-vessels when meeting
each other in foreign seas, and especially on a common
cruising-ground.
If two strangers crossing the Pine Barrens in New
York State, or the equally desolate Salisbury Plain
in England; if casually encountering each other in
such inhospitable wilds, these twain, for the life
of them, cannot well avoid a mutual salutation; and
stopping for a moment to interchange the news; and,
perhaps, sitting down for a while and resting in concert:
then, how much more natural that upon the illimitable
Pine Barrens and Salisbury Plains of the sea, two
whaling vessels descrying each other at the ends of
the earth—off lone Fanning’s Island,
or the far away King’s Mills; how much more natural,
I say, that under such circumstances these ships should
not only interchange hails, but come into still closer,
more friendly and sociable contact. And especially
would this seem to be a matter of course, in the case
of vessels owned in one seaport, and whose captains,
officers, and not a few of the men are personally
known to each other; and consequently, have all sorts
of dear domestic things to talk about.
