Abridged Text, followed by Abridger Notes, followed by multimedia, followed by Original Text with deletions.

 

Chapter 23 The Lee Shore

 

Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, new-landed mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn.

 

When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in midwinter just landed from a four years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship’s direst jeopardy; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through.

 

Know ye, now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?

 

In landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God—better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!

 

Link to Chapter 24 The Advocate.

 

Abridger Notes

 

There is very little deleted from this chapter, perhaps because of my own fascination with Bulkington, but in no small part a fascination gained from reading commentaries, as well as Melville. Bulkington leaves the narrative of the book after this chapter. The MEL annotator suggests that this inclusion of Bulkington’s departure may have been the result of an editorial decision by Melville:

 

“Know ye, now, Bulkington?: In Ch. 3, Melville introduces Bulkington in such detail that the character seems destined to play an important role in the narrative, but here, Bulkington is abruptly, though gloriously, dismissed by means of “apotheosis.” That is, he is transformed from a character into a god-like example of human independence. Bulkington may have been part of an early conception of the narrative, eventually abandoned in the course of writing. If so, Melville might have noticed the vestigial Bulkington perhaps while proofreading his early chapters later on in his compositional process. In this line of thinking, Melville’s solution to the problem of what then to do with Bulkington was to insert Ch. 23 as a retrospective erasure of him. While for some critics, this farewell chapter poses problems regarding traditional novel structure, it also provides Ishmael a chance to reflect on identity and independence. Whatever compositional events may have transpired, Melville’s address to his reader—“Know ye, now, Bulkington?”—initiates a pattern of rhetorical questioning, particularly evident in the concluding line of one of Moby-Dick’s deepest philosophical chapters, “The Whiteness of the Whale” (Ch. 42): “Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?”

 

But commentary by Charles Olson, reprinted as a chapter in Bloom, suggests that Bulkington may have been an important early figure in Melville’s conception of Moby Dick (p. 26 of Bloom), and that Bulkington represents “right reason” (p. 29) – “the ‘seeker,’ rough-hewn and brawny, of large, warm heart and powerful intellect” (p. 25) – where right reason is the alternative to ‘madness,’  as embodied in Pip (p. 29), as ways to reach God, and because right reason has nothing to do with what follows in the story, starting in the very next chapter, Bulkington is excluded by Melville thereafter, but still goes down with the ship of course (p. 37). Olson’s commentary is compelling, and caused me to revisit my few previous edits, and make them sparser still.

 

Talking to ChatGPT 4o also helped me better appreciate passages in the chapter – to really appreciate the beauty in the sentiment.

 

Doug: What do you think is meant by this particular passage from Chapter 23 of Moby Dick? "Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. "

 

ChatGPT 4o: This passage from Chapter 23: The Lee Shore is a poignant and philosophical reflection on the fleeting and often unrecognized nature of certain lives and experiences. Here’s a breakdown of what Melville is conveying:

 

1. "Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable"

 

This suggests that the most profound, extraordinary things in life are often beyond words or defy easy explanation. It implies that there are mysteries—whether in the human spirit, the natural world, or fate—that resist being fully captured or articulated.

 

2. "Deep memories yield no epitaphs"

 

This line expands on the idea that significant events and individuals often leave no formal record or memorial. While someone may leave a deep impression on those who knew them, history itself may not mark their passing. It emphasizes the contrast between personal memory and public recognition.

 

3. "This six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington"

 

The brevity of the chapter itself becomes a metaphor for Bulkington’s fate. Unlike other characters who receive detailed backstories, Bulkington—a promising but ultimately doomed sailor—is mentioned only briefly before disappearing from the narrative. The phrase "stoneless grave" implies that he will not be remembered in any grand or lasting way, just as an unmarked grave lacks an epitaph.

 

Overall Meaning

 

Melville is reflecting on the anonymity of certain lives, especially those of sailors and adventurers who risk everything for freedom but often meet their end unnoticed and unrecorded. Bulkington represents this tragic, unsung heroism. His brief presence in the novel mirrors the fleeting nature of human existence, particularly for those who live on the edges of society.

 

This passage is also a meditation on the limits of language and storytelling—some things, no matter how profound, remain unspeakable and unremembered except in the hearts of those who witnessed them.

 

I continued the conversation with ChatGPT 4o asking about "For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain?" with ChatGPT 4o summarizing its response with:

 

“This passage is a philosophical challenge to the idea of retreating from danger. Melville suggests that those who shrink from risk (who "craven crawl to land") choose a life of insignificance. In contrast, those like Bulkington—who embrace the dangers of the open sea—live boldly, even if it means perishing in the attempt. The final question—whether all this agony is in vain—reflects existential uncertainty: is the struggle for greatness, adventure, or freedom ultimately meaningful, or is it all for nothing?”

 

 

Multimedia Chapter 23 The Lee Shore

 

Bulkington on Wikipedia.  

AI on Bulkington.

 

Original Chapter 23 The Lee Shore with Deletions

 

Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, new-landed mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn.

 

When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in midwinter just landed from a four years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship’s direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights ’gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea’s landlessness again; for refuge’s sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe!

 

Know ye, now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?

 

 

But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!