Herman
Melville was the author of an account of what we'd now consider an illegal activity,
the commercial hunting of whales for oil and meat.
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CHAPTER 10. A Bosom Friend
Returning to the Spouter-Inn from the Chapel, I found Queequeg there quite alone; he having left the Chapel before the benediction some time. He was sitting on a bench before the fire, with his feet on the stove hearth, and in one hand was holding close up to his face that little negro idol of his; peering hard into its face, and with a jack-knife gently whittling away at its nose, meanwhile humming to himself in his heathenish way.
But being now interrupted, he put up the image; and pretty soon, going to the table, took up a large book there, and placing it on his lap began counting the pages with deliberate regularity; at every fiftieth page—as I fancied—stopping a moment, looking vacantly around him, and giving utterance to a long-drawn gurgling whistle of astonishment. He would then begin again at the next fifty; seeming to commence at number one each time, as though he could not count more than fifty, and it was only by such a large number of fifties being found together, that his astonishment at the multitude of pages was excited.
With much interest I sat watching him. Savage though he was, and hideously marred about the face—at least to my taste—his countenance yet had a something in it which was by no means disagreeable. You cannot hide the soul. Through all his unearthly tattooings, I thought I saw the traces of a simple honest heart; and in his large, deep eyes, fiery black and bold, there seemed tokens of a spirit that would dare a thousand devils. And besides all this, there was a certain lofty bearing about the Pagan, which even his uncouthness could not altogether maim. He looked like a man who had never cringed and never had had a creditor. Whether it was, too, that his head being shaved, his forehead was drawn out in freer and brighter relief, and looked more expansive than it otherwise would, this I will not venture to decide; but certain it was his head was phrenologically an excellent one. It may seem ridiculous, but it reminded me of General Washington's head, as seen in the popular busts of him. It had the same long regularly graded retreating slope from above the brows, which were likewise very projecting, like two long promontories thickly wooded on top. Queequeg was George Washington cannibalistically developed.
Whilst I was thus closely scanning him, half-pretending meanwhile to be looking out at the storm from the casement, he never heeded my presence, never troubled himself with so much as a single glance; but appeared wholly occupied with counting the pages of the marvellous book. Considering how sociably we had been sleeping together the night previous, and especially considering the affectionate arm I had found thrown over me upon waking in the morning, I thought this indifference of his very strange. But savages are strange beings; at times you do not know exactly how to take them. At first they are overawing; their calm self-collectedness of simplicity seems a Socratic wisdom. I had noticed also that Queequeg never consorted at all, or but very little, with the other seamen in the inn. He made no advances whatever; appeared to have no desire to enlarge the circle of his acquaintances. All this struck me as mighty singular; yet, upon second thoughts, there was something almost sublime in it. Here was a man some twenty thousand miles from home, by the way of Cape Horn, that is—which was the only way he could get there—thrown among people as strange to him as though he were in the planet Jupiter; and yet he seemed entirely at his ease; preserving the utmost serenity; content with his own companionship; always equal to himself. Surely this was a touch of fine philosophy; though no doubt he had never heard there was such a thing as that. But, perhaps, to be true philosophers, we mortals should not be conscious of so living or so striving. So soon as I hear that such or such a man gives himself out for a philosopher, I conclude that, like the dyspeptic old woman, he must have "broken his digester."
As I sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in that mild stage when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it then only glows to be looked at; the evening shades and phantoms gathering round the casements, and peering in upon us silent, solitary twain; the storm booming without in solemn swells; I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world. This soothing savage had redeemed it. There he sat, his very indifference speaking a nature in which there lurked no civilized hypocrisies and bland deceits. Wild he was; a very sight of sights to see; yet I began to feel myself mysteriously drawn towards him. And those same things that would have repelled most others, they were the very magnets that thus drew me. I'll try a pagan friend, thought I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy. I drew my bench near him, and made some friendly signs and hints, doing my best to talk with him meanwhile. At first he little noticed these advances; but presently, upon my referring to his last night's hospitalities, he made out to ask me whether we were again to be bedfellows. I told him yes; whereat I thought he looked pleased, perhaps a little complimented.
We then turned over the book together, and I endeavored to explain to him the purpose of the printing, and the meaning of the few pictures that were in it. Thus I soon engaged his interest; and from that we went to jabbering the best we could about the various outer sights to be seen in this famous town. Soon I proposed a social smoke; and, producing his pouch and tomahawk, he quietly offered me a puff. And then we sat exchanging puffs from that wild pipe of his, and keeping it regularly passing between us.
If there yet lurked any ice of indifference towards me in the Pagan's breast, this pleasant, genial smoke we had, soon thawed it out, and left us cronies. He seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country's phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be. In a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would have seemed far too premature, a thing to be much distrusted; but in this simple savage those old rules would not apply.
After supper, and another social chat and smoke, we went to our room together. He made me a present of his embalmed head; took out his enormous tobacco wallet, and groping under the tobacco, drew out some thirty dollars in silver; then spreading them on the table, and mechanically dividing them into two equal portions, pushed one of them towards me, and said it was mine. I was going to remonstrate; but he silenced me by pouring them into my trowsers' pockets. I let them stay. He then went about his evening prayers, took out his idol, and removed the paper fireboard. By certain signs and symptoms, I thought he seemed anxious for me to join him; but well knowing what was to follow, I deliberated a moment whether, in case he invited me, I would comply or otherwise.
I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible Presbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolator in worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thought I. Do you suppose now,
Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—pagans and all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? Impossible! But what is worship?—to do the will of God—THAT is worship. And what is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do to me—THAT is the will of God. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolator. So I kindled the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little idol; offered him burnt biscuit with Queequeg; salamed before him twice or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. But we did not go to sleep without some little chat.
How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg—a cosy, loving pair.
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BOOK
CHAPTERS
CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
CHAPTER
2. The Carpet-Bag.
CHAPTER
3. The Spouter-Inn.
CHAPTER
4. The Counterpane.
CHAPTER
5. Breakfast.
CHAPTER
6. The Street.
CHAPTER
7. The Chapel.
CHAPTER
8. The Pulpit.
CHAPTER
9. The Sermon.
CHAPTER
10. A Bosom Friend.
CHAPTER
11. Nightgown.
CHAPTER
12. Biographical.
CHAPTER
13. Wheelbarrow.
CHAPTER
14. Nantucket.
CHAPTER
15. Chowder.
CHAPTER
16. The Ship.
CHAPTER
17. The Ramadan.
CHAPTER
18. His Mark.
CHAPTER
19. The Prophet.
CHAPTER
20. All Astir.
CHAPTER
21. Going Aboard.
CHAPTER
22. Merry Christmas.
CHAPTER
23. The Lee Shore.
CHAPTER
24. The Advocate.
CHAPTER
25. Postscript.
CHAPTER
26. Knights and Squires.
CHAPTER
27. Knights and Squires.
CHAPTER
28. Ahab, Captain.
CHAPTER
29. Enter Ahab; to Him, Stubb.
CHAPTER
30. The Pipe.
CHAPTER
31. Queen Mab.
CHAPTER
32. Cetology.
CHAPTER
33. The Specksnyder.
CHAPTER
34. The Cabin-Table.
CHAPTER
35. The Mast-Head.
CHAPTER
36. The Quarter-Deck.
CHAPTER
37. Sunset.
CHAPTER
38. Dusk.
CHAPTER
39. First Night Watch.
CHAPTER
40. Midnight, Forecastle.
CHAPTER
41. Moby Dick.
CHAPTER
42. The Whiteness of The Whale.
CHAPTER
43. Hark!
CHAPTER
44. The Chart.
CHAPTER
45. The Affidavit.
CHAPTER
46. Surmises.
CHAPTER
47. The Mat-Maker.
CHAPTER
48. The First Lowering.
CHAPTER
49. The Hyena.
CHAPTER
50. Ahab's Boat and Crew. Fedallah.
CHAPTER
51. The Spirit-Spout.
CHAPTER
52. The Albatross.
CHAPTER
53. The Gam.
CHAPTER
54. The Town-Ho's Story.
CHAPTER
55. Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales.
CHAPTER
56. Of the Less Erroneous Pictures of Whales, and the True
CHAPTER
57. Of Whales in Paint; in Teeth; in Wood; in Sheet-Iron; in
CHAPTER
58. Brit.
CHAPTER
59. Squid.
CHAPTER
60. The Line.
CHAPTER
61. Stubb Kills a Whale.
CHAPTER
62. The Dart.
CHAPTER
63. The Crotch.
CHAPTER
64. Stubb's Supper.
CHAPTER
65. The Whale as a Dish.
CHAPTER
66. The Shark Massacre.
CHAPTER
67. Cutting In
CHAPTER
69. The Funeral.
CHAPTER
70. The Sphynx.
CHAPTER
71. The Jeroboam's Story.
CHAPTER
72. The Monkey-Rope.
CHAPTER
73. Stubb and Flask Kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk
CHAPTER
74. The Sperm Whale's Head—Contrasted View.
CHAPTER
75. The Right Whale's Head—Contrasted View.
CHAPTER
76. The Battering-Ram.
CHAPTER
77. The Great Heidelburgh Tun.
CHAPTER
78. Cistern and Buckets.
CHAPTER
79. The Prairie.
CHAPTER
80. The Nut.
CHAPTER
81. The Pequod Meets The Virgin.
CHAPTER
82. The Honour and Glory of Whaling.
CHAPTER
83. Jonah Historically Regarded.
CHAPTER
84. Pitchpoling.
CHAPTER
85. The Fountain.
CHAPTER
86. The Tail.
CHAPTER
87. The Grand Armada.
CHAPTER
88. Schools and Schoolmasters.
CHAPTER
89. Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish.
CHAPTER
90. Heads or Tails.
CHAPTER
91. The Pequod Meets The Rose-Bud.
CHAPTER
92. Ambergris.
CHAPTER
93. The Castaway.
CHAPTER
94. A Squeeze of the Hand.
CHAPTER
95. The Cassock.
CHAPTER
96. The Try-Works.
CHAPTER
97. The Lamp.
CHAPTER
98. Stowing Down and Clearing Up.
CHAPTER
99. The Doubloon.
CHAPTER
100. Leg and Arm.
CHAPTER
101. The Decanter.
CHAPTER
102. A Bower in the Arsacides.
CHAPTER
103. Measurement of The Whale's Skeleton.
CHAPTER
104. The Fossil Whale.
CHAPTER
105. Does the Whale's Magnitude Diminish?—Will He Perish?
CHAPTER
106. Ahab's Leg.
CHAPTER
107. The Carpenter.
CHAPTER
108. Ahab and the Carpenter.
CHAPTER
109. Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin.
CHAPTER
110. Queequeg in His Coffin.
CHAPTER
111. The Pacific.
CHAPTER
112. The Blacksmith.
CHAPTER
113. The Forge.
CHAPTER
114. The Gilder.
CHAPTER
115. The Pequod Meets The Bachelor.
CHAPTER
116. The Dying Whale.
CHAPTER
117. The Whale Watch.
CHAPTER
118. The Quadrant.
CHAPTER
119. The Candles.
CHAPTER
120. The Deck Towards the End of the First Night Watch.
CHAPTER
121. Midnight.—The Forecastle Bulwarks.
CHAPTER
122. Midnight Aloft.—Thunder and Lightning.
CHAPTER
123. The Musket.
CHAPTER
124. The Needle.
CHAPTER
125. The Log and Line.
CHAPTER
126. The Life-Buoy.
CHAPTER
127. The Deck.
CHAPTER
128. The Pequod Meets The Rachel.
CHAPTER
129. The Cabin.
CHAPTER
130. The Hat.
CHAPTER
131. The Pequod Meets The Delight.
CHAPTER
132. The Symphony.
CHAPTER
133. The Chase—First Day.
CHAPTER
134. The Chase—Second Day.
CHAPTER
135. The Chase.—Third Day.
Epilogue
Moby
Dick is the antogonist in this story of a great white 'bull' sperm whale that fought back at
whalers who tried to harpoon him.
The idea came to Herman Melville after
he spent time on a commercial whaler, where stories abounded of the
sinking of the Essex in 1821 and Mocha
Dick, a giant sperm whale that sank around 20 ships, before being
harpooned in 1838.
Herman
realised how fixated the sailors became, and he also became with the
thought that there was a whale that nobody could catch, that represented
a real risk to the whalers hunting whales, in that it was more sport
than commercial operations.
Without
any doubt this is one of the greatest novels coming out of America at
this time and way off the beaten track, making it so interesting,
reflecting the state of whaling and the economic importance in the
developing the nation - giving the general public a taste of something
adventurous that most people never think about.
Many
films and graphic novel adaptations have been inspired by the writings
of Herman Melville, from Marvel
and Disney
comics with good cause.
One
such production in 2020 is a graphic novel about a giant humpback whale
called Kulo
Luna, that sinks a modern whaling boat, much as depicted in Herman
Melville's Moby
Dick, except that is this day and age whales have explosive harpoons
to contend with, and sonar, from which there is no escape.
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