Moby Dick; Or, The Whale

Ahab’s Fixed Pivot-Hole Posture and Commanding Demeanor

The narrator is struck by Ahab’s singular posture. On each side of the Pequod’s quarter deck, near the mizzen shrouds, auger holes are bored into the planks. Ahab steadies his bone leg in one of these holes, one arm elevated and holding by a shroud, standing erect and looking straight out beyond the ship’s ever-pitching prow. An infinity of firmest fortitude, a determinate unsurrenderable wilfulness, emanates from the fixed and fearless forward dedication of his gaze. He speaks no word; his officers say nothing to him, yet through their minutest gestures and expressions, they plainly show the uneasy consciousness of being under a troubled master-eye. The narrator perceives in Ahab’s face something of the crucifixion—some mighty woe expressed in nameless regal overbearing dignity.

Ahab’s Gradual Increase in Deck Visibility

After his first morning appearance, Ahab withdraws into his cabin, but every subsequent day he becomes visible to the crew. He is seen either standing in his pivot-hole, seated upon an ivory stool, or heavily walking the deck. As the sky grows less gloomy, Ahab becomes less and less a recluse, as if the dead wintry bleakness of the sea had initially kept him so secluded. Eventually he is almost continually in the air, on deck—yet for all his silence and lack of perceptible action, he seems as unnecessary there as another mast. The narrator observes that since the Pequod is merely making a passage rather than cruising, and since the mates are fully competent to handle whaling preparations, there is little to employ or excite Ahab, allowing the clouds that layer upon layer are piled upon his brow to remain undisturbed.