Ahab’s Leg

The precipitating manner in which Captain Ahab had quitted the Samuel Enderby of London, had not been unattended with some small violence to his own person. He had lighted with such energy upon a thwart of his boat that his ivory leg had received a half-splintering shock. And when after gaining his own deck, and his own pivot-hole there, he so vehemently wheeled round with an urgent command to the steersman (it was, as ever, something about his not steering inflexibly enough); then, the already shaken ivory received such an additional twist and wrench, that though it still remained entire, and to all appearances lusty, yet Ahab did not deem it entirely trustworthy.

Captain Ahab had left the Samuel Enderby of London so hastily that he had suffered a slight injury himself. He had landed so hard on a seat in his boat that the impact had partly splintered his ivory leg. Then he reached his own deck and planted the leg in its pivot hole. He turned sharply to give the steersman an urgent command. As always, the command had something to do with the steersman not holding a steady enough course. The turn gave the already weakened ivory another twist and wrench. Though the leg was still intact and looked sturdy, Ahab no longer considered it entirely trustworthy.

And, indeed, it seemed small matter for wonder, that for all his pervading, mad recklessness, Ahab did at times give careful heed to the condition of that dead bone upon which he partly stood. For it had not been very long prior to the Pequod’s sailing from Nantucket, that he had been found one night lying prone upon the ground, and insensible; by some unknown, and seemingly inexplicable, unimaginable casualty, his ivory limb having been so violently displaced, that it had stake-wise smitten, and all but pierced his groin; nor was it without extreme difficulty that the agonizing wound was entirely cured.

Indeed, it was hardly surprising that Ahab sometimes paid careful attention to the dead bone that partly supported him. He did so despite his constant, mad recklessness. Not long before the Pequod sailed from Nantucket, he had been found lying unconscious on the ground one night. In some unknown, seemingly inexplicable and unimaginable accident, his ivory limb had been violently dislodged. Like a stake, it had struck and nearly pierced his groin. The agonizing wound had been completely healed only with extreme difficulty.

Nor, at the time, had it failed to enter his monomaniac mind, that all the anguish of that then present suffering was but the direct issue of a former woe; and he too plainly seemed to see, that as the most poisonous reptile of the marsh perpetuates his kind as inevitably as the sweetest songster of the grove; so, equally with every felicity, all miserable events do naturally beget their like. Yea, more than equally, thought Ahab; since both the ancestry and posterity of Grief go further than the ancestry and posterity of Joy. For, not to hint of this: that it is an inference from certain canonic teachings, that while some natural enjoyments here shall have no children born to them for the other world, but, on the contrary, shall be followed by the joy-childlessness of all hell’s despair; whereas, some guilty mortal miseries shall still fertilely beget to themselves an eternally progressive progeny of griefs beyond the grave; not at all to hint of this, there still seems an inequality in the deeper analysis of the thing. For, thought Ahab, while even the highest earthly felicities ever have a certain unsignifying pettiness lurking in them, but, at bottom, all heartwoes, a mystic significance, and, in some men, an archangelic grandeur; so do their diligent tracings-out not belie the obvious deduction. To trail the genealogies of these high mortal miseries, carries us at last among the sourceless primogenitures of the gods; so that, in the face of all the glad, hay-making suns, and soft cymballing, round harvest-moons, we must needs give in to this: that the gods themselves are not for ever glad. The ineffaceable, sad birth-mark in the brow of man, is but the stamp of sorrow in the signers.

At the time, Ahab’s single-minded thoughts had not overlooked the cause of his present suffering. All its anguish came directly from an earlier sorrow. He also seemed to see only too clearly that miserable events naturally give rise to more misery, just as happiness produces more happiness. The most poisonous reptile in the marsh reproduces as surely as the sweetest songbird in the grove. In fact, Ahab thought, grief produces even more of its kind than joy. Both the ancestors and the descendants of Grief extend further than those of Joy. Certain religious teachings imply that some earthly pleasures will have no offspring in the next world. Instead, they will be followed by the despair of hell, where no joy is born. Meanwhile, some sinful human sufferings will continue to produce an ever-growing line of sorrows beyond the grave. But even without considering that, a deeper examination still seems to show an inequality between grief and joy. Ahab thought that even the greatest earthly joys always have a certain meaningless pettiness hidden in them. But at their core, all sorrows of the heart have a mysterious significance. In some men, they have the grandeur of an archangel. Carefully tracing those sorrows confirms what seems to follow from that. When we trace the ancestry of these great human sorrows, we come at last to the first beings among the gods, who have no source themselves. So, despite all the cheerful suns shining on haymaking and the soft music of the round harvest moons, we must accept that the gods themselves are not always happy. The permanent, sad birthmark on humanity’s brow is only the mark of sorrow left by those who placed it there.

Unwittingly here a secret has been divulged, which perhaps might more properly, in set way, have been disclosed before. With many other particulars concerning Ahab, always had it remained a mystery to some, why it was, that for a certain period, both before and after the sailing of the Pequod, he had hidden himself away with such Grand-Lama-like exclusiveness; and, for that one interval, sought speechless refuge, as it were, among the marble senate of the dead. Captain Peleg’s bruited reason for this thing appeared by no means adequate; though, indeed, as touching all Ahab’s deeper part, every revelation partook more of significant darkness than of explanatory light. But, in the end, it all came out; this one matter did, at least. That direful mishap was at the bottom of his temporary recluseness. And not only this, but to that ever-contracting, dropping circle ashore, who, for any reason, possessed the privilege of a less banned approach to him; to that timid circle the above hinted casualty—remaining, as it did, moodily unaccounted for by Ahab—invested itself with terrors, not entirely underived from the land of spirits and of wails. So that, through their zeal for him, they had all conspired, so far as in them lay, to muffle up the knowledge of this thing from others; and hence it was, that not till a considerable interval had elapsed, did it transpire upon the Pequod’s decks.

A secret has slipped out here by accident, though perhaps it should have been revealed properly before now. Like many other things about Ahab, his seclusion had remained a mystery to some. For a time, both before and after the Pequod sailed, he had hidden himself away as exclusively as the Grand Lama. During that interval, he seemed to seek silent refuge among the marble assembly of the dead. Captain Peleg’s widely circulated explanation for the seclusion seemed quite inadequate. Yet every revelation about Ahab’s deeper nature brought more meaningful darkness than explanatory light. In the end, though, it all came out, or at least this one matter did. The dreadful accident was the reason for his temporary seclusion. Ashore, a small circle of people had been allowed, for one reason or another, to approach him with less restriction. That circle kept shrinking as people fell away. Ahab had kept a gloomy silence about the accident. To those timid people, it took on terrors that seemed to come partly from a world of spirits and wailing. So, out of devotion to him, they had all conspired to keep others from learning about it, as far as they could. That was why the news did not reach the decks of the Pequod until much later.

But be all this as it may; let the unseen, ambiguous synod in the air, or the vindictive princes and potentates of fire, have to do or not with earthly Ahab, yet, in this present matter of his leg, he took plain practical procedures;—he called the carpenter.

But whatever the truth of all this may be, Ahab took a practical approach to his leg. He did so whether or not the unseen, mysterious council in the air, or the vengeful princes and rulers of fire, had anything to do with the earthly Ahab. He called the carpenter.

And when that functionary appeared before him, he bade him without delay set about making a new leg, and directed the mates to see him supplied with all the studs and joists of jaw-ivory (Sperm Whale) which had thus far been accumulated on the voyage, in order that a careful selection of the stoutest, clearest-grained stuff might be secured. This done, the carpenter received orders to have the leg completed that night; and to provide all the fittings for it, independent of those pertaining to the distrusted one in use. Moreover, the ship’s forge was ordered to be hoisted out of its temporary idleness in the hold; and, to accelerate the affair, the blacksmith was commanded to proceed at once to the forging of whatever iron contrivances might be needed.

When the carpenter appeared before him, he ordered him to start making a new leg at once. He told the mates to supply the carpenter with all the sperm whale jaw ivory gathered so far on the voyage. That way, the carpenter could carefully select the strongest pieces with the clearest grain. He ordered the carpenter to finish the leg that night and provide all its fittings, without using any from the leg he no longer trusted. He also ordered the ship’s forge brought up from the hold, where it had been sitting idle. To speed things along, he commanded the blacksmith to begin forging whatever iron fittings might be needed.