Chapter 97 The Lamp

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

 

Chapter 97 The Lamp

 

Had you descended from the Pequod’s try-works to the Pequod’s forecastle, where the off duty watch were sleeping, for one single moment you would have almost thought you were standing in some illuminated shrine of canonized kings and counsellors. There they lay in their triangular oaken vaults, each mariner a chiselled muteness; a score of lamps flashing upon his hooded eyes.

 

The whaleman, as he seeks the food of light, so he lives in light. He makes his berth an Aladdin’s lamp, and lays him down in it; so that in the pitchiest night the ship’s black hull still houses an illumination.

 

Link to Chapter 98 Stowing Down and Clearing Up.

 

 

Abridger Notes

 

While the original chapter 96 does not end with an overt reference to “the lamp”, the abridged chapter 96 does, ending with “glad sun, the only true lamp—all others but liars!”, thus perhaps creating a default in readers’ minds that chapter 97 is about the Sun. Not so, but does it also suggest that the lamps of the sleeping quarters, probably too aid traversal of the space to one’s hammock or bunk, and otherwise to illuminate what would otherwise be a creepy, claustrophobic space, thus making it safe(r), as a child might ask for a light to be kept on at bedtime, might that be a liar too – it would seem so given the ending to come.

 

Multimedia Chapter 97 The Lamp

 

Original Chapter 97 The Lamp with Deletions

 

Had you descended from the Pequod’s try-works to the Pequod’s forecastle, where the off duty watch were sleeping, for one single moment you would have almost thought you were standing in some illuminated shrine of canonized kings and counsellors. There they lay in their triangular oaken vaults, each mariner a chiselled muteness; a score of lamps flashing upon his hooded eyes.

 

In merchantmen, oil for the sailor is more scarce than the milk of queens. To dress in the dark, and eat in the dark, and stumble in darkness to his pallet, this is his usual lot. But the whaleman, as he seeks the food of light, so he lives in light. He makes his berth an Aladdin’s lamp, and lays him down in it; so that in the pitchiest night the ship’s black hull still houses an illumination.

 

See with what entire freedom the whaleman takes his handful of lamps—often but old bottles and vials, though—to the copper cooler at the try-works, and replenishes them there, as mugs of ale at a vat. He burns, too, the purest of oil, in its unmanufactured, and, therefore, unvitiated state; a fluid unknown to solar, lunar, or astral contrivances ashore. It is sweet as early grass butter in April. He goes and hunts for his oil, so as to be sure of its freshness and genuineness, even as the traveller on the prairie hunts up his own supper of game.

 


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