Chapter 29 Enter Ahab; To Him, Stubb
Abridged
Text, followed by Abridger Notes, followed by multimedia, followed by Original
Text with deletions.
Chapter 29 Enter Ahab; To Him, Stubb
Some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling through the bright Quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the eternal August of the Tropic. But all the witcheries of that unwaning weather did not merely lend new spells and potencies to the outward world. Inward they turned upon the soul, especially when the still mild hours of eve came on. These subtle agencies, more and more they wrought on Ahab’s texture.
Of late, he seemed so much to live in the open air, that truly speaking, his visits were more to the cabin, than from the cabin to the planks. “It feels like going down into one’s tomb,”—he would mutter to himself,—“for an old captain like me to be descending this narrow scuttle, to go to my grave-dug berth.”
So, almost every twenty-four hours, when the watches of the night were set, the old man would emerge, griping at the iron banister, to help his crippled way. Some considerating touch of humanity was in him; for at times like these, he usually abstained from patrolling the quarter-deck; because to his wearied mates, such would have been the reverberating crack and din of that bony step, that their dreams would have been of the crunching teeth of sharks. But once, the mood was on him too deep for common regardings; and as with heavy, lumber-like pace he was measuring the ship from taffrail to mainmast, Stubb, the second mate, came up from below, and hinted that if Captain Ahab was pleased to walk the planks, then, no one could say nay; but there might be some way of muffling the noise. Ah! Stubb, thou did’st not know Ahab then.
“Am I a cannon-ball, Stubb,” said Ahab, “that thou wouldst wad me that fashion? But go thy ways; I had forgot. Below to thy nightly grave—Down, dog, and kennel!"
Starting at the unforeseen concluding exclamation of the so suddenly scornful old man, Stubb was speechless a moment; then said excitedly, “I am not used to be spoken to that way, sir; I do but less than half like it, sir.”
“Avast!” gritted Ahab between his set teeth, and violently moving away, as if to avoid some passionate temptation.
“No, sir; not yet,” said Stubb, emboldened, “I will not tamely be called a dog, sir.”
“Then be called ten times a donkey, and a mule, and an ass, and begone, or I’ll clear the world of thee!”
As he said this, Ahab advanced upon him with such overbearing terrors in his aspect, that Stubb involuntarily retreated.
“I
was never served so before without giving a hard blow for it,” muttered Stubb,
as he found himself descending the cabin-scuttle. “It’s very queer. I don’t know
whether to go back and strike him, or—what’s that?—down here on my knees and
pray for him? Yes, that was the thought coming up in me; but it would be the
first time I ever did pray. It’s queer; very queer; and he’s queer too; aye, he’s
about the queerest old man Stubb ever sailed with. I wonder what he goes into
the after hold for, every night, as Dough-Boy tells me he suspects; what’s that
for, I should like to know? Who’s made appointments with him in the hold? Ain’t
that queer, now? Damn me, but all things are queer, come to think of
’em. But that’s against my principles. Think not, is my eleventh commandment;
and sleep when you can, is my twelfth—So here goes again.”
Link to Chapter 30 The Pipe.
Abridger Notes
This was edited for leanness, and little more – I too get up at 2am or so, and rather than walk the deck, I read and sip coffee until sleepy once again. I have only been called out a few times over the years for having the radio a bit too loud, if and when I listen to it.
Multimedia 29 Enter Ahab; To Him, Stubb
https://biblioklept.org/2018/08/13/captain-ahab-rockwell-kent/
Original Chapter 29 Enter
Ahab; To Him, Stubb with Deletions
Some days elapsed, and
ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling through the bright Quito
spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the
eternal August of the Tropic. The warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed,
overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped
up—flaked up, with rose-water snow. The starred and stately nights seemed
haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely pride, the memory
of their absent conquering Earls, the golden helmeted suns! For sleeping man,
’twas hard to choose between such winsome days and such seducing nights.
But all the witcheries of that unwaning weather did not merely lend new spells
and potencies to the outward world. Inward they turned upon the soul,
especially when the still mild hours of eve came on; then, memory shot her
crystals as the clear ice most forms of noiseless twilights. And all
these subtle agencies, more and more they wrought on Ahab’s texture.
Old age is always
wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught
that looks like death. Among sea-commanders, the old greybeards will oftenest
leave their berths to visit the night-cloaked deck. It was so with Ahab; only
that now, of late, he seemed so much to live in the open air,
that truly speaking, his visits were more to the cabin, than from the cabin to
the planks. “It feels like going down into one’s tomb,”—he would mutter to
himself,—“for an old captain like me to be descending this narrow scuttle, to
go to my grave-dug berth.”
So, almost every
twenty-four hours, when the watches of the night were set, and the band on
deck sentinelled the slumbers of the band below; and when if a rope was to be
hauled upon the forecastle, the sailors flung it not rudely down, as by day,
but with some cautiousness dropt it to its place, for fear of disturbing their
slumbering shipmates; when this sort of steady quietude would begin to prevail,
habitually, the silent steersman would watch the cabin-scuttle; and ere long
the old man would emerge, griping at the iron banister, to help his crippled
way. Some considerating touch of humanity was in him; for at times like these,
he usually abstained from patrolling the quarter-deck; because to his wearied
mates, seeking repose within six inches of his ivory heel, such would
have been the reverberating crack and din of that bony step, that their dreams
would have been of the crunching teeth of sharks. But once, the mood was on him
too deep for common regardings; and as with heavy, lumber-like pace he was
measuring the ship from taffrail to mainmast, Stubb, the odd second mate, came
up from below, and with a certain unassured, deprecating humorousness,
hinted that if Captain Ahab was pleased to walk the planks, then, no one could
say nay; but there might be some way of muffling the noise; hinting
something indistinctly and hesitatingly about a globe of tow, and the insertion
into it, of the ivory heel. Ah! Stubb, thou did’st not know Ahab then.
“Am I a cannon-ball,
Stubb,” said Ahab, “that thou wouldst wad me that fashion? But go thy ways; I
had forgot. Below to thy nightly grave; where such as ye sleep between
shrouds, to use ye to the filling one at last.—Down, dog, and kennel!"
Starting at the unforeseen concluding exclamation of the so suddenly scornful old man, Stubb was speechless a moment; then said excitedly, “I am not used to be spoken to that way, sir; I do but less than half like it, sir.”
“Avast!” gritted Ahab between his set teeth, and violently moving away, as if to avoid some passionate temptation.
“No, sir; not yet,” said Stubb, emboldened, “I will not tamely be called a dog, sir.”
“Then be called ten times a donkey, and a mule, and an ass, and begone, or I’ll clear the world of thee!”
As he said this, Ahab advanced upon him with such overbearing terrors in his aspect, that Stubb involuntarily retreated.
“I was never served so
before without giving a hard blow for it,” muttered Stubb, as he found himself
descending the cabin-scuttle. “It’s very queer. Stop, Stubb; somehow, now,
I don’t well know whether to go back and strike him, or—what’s that?—down
here on my knees and pray for him? Yes, that was the thought coming up in me;
but it would be the first time I ever did pray. It’s queer; very queer; and
he’s queer too; aye, take him fore and aft, he’s about the queerest old
man Stubb ever sailed with. How he flashed at me!—his eyes like powder-pans!
is he mad? Anyway there’s something on his mind, as sure as there must be
something on a deck when it cracks. He aint in his bed now, either, more than
three hours out of the twenty-four; and he don’t sleep then. Didn’t that
Dough-Boy, the steward, tell me that of a morning he always finds the old man’s
hammock clothes all rumpled and tumbled, and the sheets down at the foot, and
the coverlid almost tied into knots, and the pillow a sort of frightful hot, as
though a baked brick had been on it? A hot old man! I guess he’s got what some
folks ashore call a conscience; it’s a kind of Tic-Dolly-row they say—worse nor
a toothache. Well, well; I don’t know what it is, but the Lord keep me from
catching it. He’s full of riddles; I wonder what he goes into the after
hold for, every night, as Dough-Boy tells me he suspects; what’s that for, I
should like to know? Who’s made appointments with him in the hold? Ain’t that
queer, now? But there’s no telling, it’s the old game—Here goes for a
snooze. Damn me, it’s worth a fellow’s while to be born into the world, if only
to fall right asleep. And now that I think of it, that’s about the first thing
babies do, and that’s a sort of queer, too. Damn me, but all things are queer,
come to think of ’em. But that’s against my principles. Think not, is my
eleventh commandment; and sleep when you can, is my twelfth—So here goes again.
But how’s that? didn’t he call me a dog? blazes! he called me ten times a
donkey, and piled a lot of jackasses on top of that! He might as well have
kicked me, and done with it. Maybe he did kick me, and I didn’t observe it, I
was so taken all aback with his brow, somehow. It flashed like a bleached bone.
What the devil’s the matter with me? I don’t stand right on my legs. Coming
afoul of that old man has a sort of turned me wrong side out. By the Lord, I
must have been dreaming, though—How? how? how?—but the only way’s to stash it;
so here goes to hammock again; and in the morning, I’ll see how this plaguey
juggling thinks over by daylight.”
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