Moby Dick; Or, The Whale

CHAPTER 83. Jonah Historically Regarded.

Some Nantucketers rather distrust this historical story of Jonah and the whale. One old Sag-Harbor whaleman had a quaint old-fashioned Bible, embellished with curious, unscientific plates; one of which represented Jonah’s whale with two spouts in his head—a peculiarity only true with respect to the Right Whale. Bishop Jebb’s answer is ready: it is not necessary that we consider Jonah as tombed in the whale’s belly, but as temporarily lodged in some part of his mouth. Another reason Sag-Harbor urged for his want of faith was something obscurely in reference to the whale’s gastric juices. But a German exegetist supposes that Jonah must have taken refuge in the floating body of a dead whale. There have been wanting learned exegetists who have opined that the whale mentioned in the book of Jonah merely meant a life-preserver—an inflated bag of wind. But Sag-Harbor had still another reason: Jonah was swallowed by the whale in the Mediterranean Sea, and after three days he was vomited up somewhere within three days’ journey of Nineveh. How is that? He might have carried him round by the way of the Cape of Good Hope, but that would wrest the honor of the discovery of that great headland from Bartholomew Diaz. These foolish arguments of old Sag-Harbor only evinced his foolish pride of reason. I say it only shows his foolish, impious pride, and abominable, devilish rebellion against the reverend clergy. Besides, to this day, the highly enlightened Turks devoutly believe in the historical story of Jonah, and some three centuries ago an English traveller speaks of a Turkish Mosque built in honor of Jonah, in which was a miraculous lamp that burnt without any oil.

CHAPTER 84. Pitchpoling.

To make them run easily and swiftly, the axles of carriages are anointed; and for much the same purpose, some whalers perform an analogous operation upon their boat; they grease the bottom. Queequeg believed strongly in anointing his boat, and one morning took more than customary pains in that occupation; crawling under its bottom, where it hung over the side, and rubbing in the unctuousness as though diligently seeking to insure a crop of hair from the craft’s bald keel. Towards noon whales were raised; but so soon as the ship sailed down to them, they turned and fled with swift precipitancy. Stubb’s was foremost. By great exertion, Tashtego at last succeeded in planting one iron; but the stricken whale, without at all sounding, still continued his horizontal flight, with added fleetness. Of all the wondrous devices and dexterities to which the veteran whaleman is so often forced, none exceed that fine manoeuvre with the lance called pitchpoling. It is only indispensable with an inveterate running whale; its grand fact and feature is the wonderful distance to which the long lance is accurately darted from a violently rocking, jerking boat, under extreme headway. Look now at Stubb; a man who from his humorous, deliberate coolness was specially qualified to excel in pitchpoling. He stands upright in the tossed bow of the flying boat; wrapt in fleecy foam, the towing whale is forty feet ahead. Handling the long lance lightly, glancing twice or thrice along its length to see if it be exactly straight, Stubb whistlingly gathers up the coil of the warp in one hand. Then holding the lance full before his waistband’s middle, he levels it at the whale; covering him with it, he steadily depresses the butt-end in his hand, thereby elevating the point till the weapon stands fairly balanced upon his palm, fifteen feet in the air. Next moment with a rapid, nameless impulse, in a superb lofty arch the bright steel spans the foaming distance, and quivers in the life spot of the whale. “That drove the spigot out of him!” cried Stubb. “’Tis July’s immortal Fourth; all fountains must run wine today!” Again and again to such gamesome talk, the dexterous dart is repeated, the spear returning to its master like a greyhound held in skilful leash.