Ahab and the Carpenter

(Carpenter standing before his vice-bench, and by the light of two lanterns busily filing the ivory joist for the leg, which joist is firmly fixed in the vice. Slabs of ivory, leather straps, pads, screws, and various tools of all sorts lying about the bench. Forward, the red flame of the forge is seen, where the blacksmith is at work.)

(The carpenter stands at his workbench, filing the ivory piece for the leg by the light of two lanterns. The piece is firmly fixed in the vise. Slabs of ivory, leather straps, pads, screws, and all sorts of tools lie around the bench. Farther forward, the red flame of the forge can be seen, where the blacksmith is at work.)

Drat the file, and drat the bone! That is hard which should be soft, and that is soft which should be hard. So we go, who file old jaws and shinbones. Let’s try another. Aye, now, this works better (sneezes). Halloa, this bone dust is (sneezes)—why it’s (sneezes)—yes it’s (sneezes)—bless my soul, it won’t let me speak! This is what an old fellow gets now for working in dead lumber. Saw a live tree, and you don’t get this dust; amputate a live bone, and you don’t get it (sneezes). Come, come, you old Smut, there, bear a hand, and let’s have that ferule and buckle-screw; I’ll be ready for them presently. Lucky now (sneezes) there’s no knee-joint to make; that might puzzle a little; but a mere shinbone—why it’s easy as making hop-poles; only I should like to put a good finish on. Time, time; if I but only had the time, I could turn him out as neat a leg now as ever (sneezes) scraped to a lady in a parlor. Those buckskin legs and calves of legs I’ve seen in shop windows wouldn’t compare at all. They soak water, they do; and of course get rheumatic, and have to be doctored (sneezes) with washes and lotions, just like live legs. There; before I saw it off, now, I must call his old Mogulship, and see whether the length will be all right; too short, if anything, I guess. Ha! that’s the heel; we are in luck; here he comes, or it’s somebody else, that’s certain.

Damn the file, and damn the bone! What should be soft is hard, and what should be hard is soft. That’s how it goes for us who file old jaws and shinbones. Let’s try another. Yes, this works better (sneezes). Hey, this bone dust is (sneezes)... why, it’s (sneezes)... yes, it’s (sneezes)... bless my soul, it won’t let me speak! This is what an old fellow gets these days for working with dead lumber. Saw a live tree, and you don’t get this dust. Cut off a live bone, and you don’t get it (sneezes). Come on, old Smut, give me a hand. Let’s have that ferrule and buckle-screw. I’ll be ready for them soon. Luckily (sneezes), there’s no knee joint to make. That might be a little tricky. But a simple shinbone is as easy as making poles for hops to grow on. Still, I’d like to give it a good finish. Time, time. If only I had the time, I could make him a leg as neat as any that ever (sneezes) bowed to a lady in a parlor. Those buckskin legs and calves I’ve seen in shop windows wouldn’t compare at all. They soak up water, they do. Of course, they get rheumatic and have to be treated (sneezes) with washes and lotions, just like live legs. There. Before I saw it off, I must call his old Mogulship and see whether the length is right. If anything, I suppose it’s too short. Ha! That’s his step. We’re in luck. Here he comes, or it’s somebody else, that’s certain.

AHAB (advancing). (During the ensuing scene, the carpenter continues sneezing at times.)

AHAB (stepping forward). (Throughout the following scene, the carpenter sneezes from time to time.)

Well, manmaker!

Well, manmaker!

Just in time, sir. If the captain pleases, I will now mark the length. Let me measure, sir.

Just in time, sir. If the captain agrees, I’ll mark the length now. Let me measure, sir.

Measured for a leg! good. Well, it’s not the first time. About it! There; keep thy finger on it. This is a cogent vice thou hast here, carpenter; let me feel its grip once. So, so; it does pinch some.

Measured for a leg! Good. Well, it’s not the first time. Get on with it! There, keep your finger on it. That’s a powerful vise you have here, carpenter. Let me feel its grip. There, there. It does pinch some.

Oh, sir, it will break bones—beware, beware!

Oh, sir, it will break bones. Be careful, be careful!

No fear; I like a good grip; I like to feel something in this slippery world that can hold, man. What’s Prometheus about there?—the blacksmith, I mean—what’s he about?

Don’t worry, I like a good grip. In this slippery world, I like to feel something that can hold on, man. What’s Prometheus doing over there? I mean the blacksmith. What’s he doing?

He must be forging the buckle-screw, sir, now.

He must be forging the buckle-screw now, sir.

Right. It’s a partnership; he supplies the muscle part. He makes a fierce red flame there!

Right. It’s a partnership. He supplies the muscle. He makes a fierce red flame there!

Aye, sir; he must have the white heat for this kind of fine work.

Yes, sir. He needs white heat for this kind of fine work.

Um-m. So he must. I do deem it now a most meaning thing, that that old Greek, Prometheus, who made men, they say, should have been a blacksmith, and animated them with fire; for what’s made in fire must properly belong to fire; and so hell’s probable. How the soot flies! This must be the remainder the Greek made the Africans of. Carpenter, when he’s through with that buckle, tell him to forge a pair of steel shoulder-blades; there’s a pedlar aboard with a crushing pack.

Hmm. So he must. I think it’s very significant that the old Greek Prometheus was a blacksmith. They say he made humans and brought them to life with fire. For what’s made in fire must rightly belong to fire, so hell probably exists. How the soot flies! This must be the leftover soot the Greek made Africans from. Carpenter, when he’s finished with that buckle, tell him to forge a pair of steel shoulder blades. There’s a peddler aboard with a crushing pack.

Sir?

Sir?

Hold; while Prometheus is about it, I’ll order a complete man after a desirable pattern. Imprimis, fifty feet high in his socks; then, chest modelled after the Thames Tunnel; then, legs with roots to ’em, to stay in one place; then, arms three feet through the wrist; no heart at all, brass forehead, and about a quarter of an acre of fine brains; and let me see—shall I order eyes to see outwards? No, but put a sky-light on top of his head to illuminate inwards. There, take the order, and away.

Wait. While Prometheus is at it, I’ll order a complete man to my own specifications. First, he should be fifty feet tall in his socks. His chest should be modeled on the Thames Tunnel. His legs should have roots to keep him in one place. His wrists should be three feet thick. He should have no heart at all, a brass forehead, and about a quarter acre of fine brains. Now, let me see. Should I order eyes that look outward? No, put a skylight on top of his head to illuminate the inside. There, take the order and be off.

Now, what’s he speaking about, and who’s he speaking to, I should like to know? Shall I keep standing here? (aside).

Now, what’s he talking about, and who’s he talking to? I’d like to know. Should I keep standing here? (aside).

’Tis but indifferent architecture to make a blind dome; here’s one. No, no, no; I must have a lantern.

A dome without a window is only mediocre architecture. Here’s one. No, no, no. I must have a lantern.

Ho, ho! That’s it, hey? Here are two, sir; one will serve my turn.

Ho, ho! So that’s it, huh? Here are two, sir. One will do for me.

What art thou thrusting that thief-catcher into my face for, man? Thrusted light is worse than presented pistols.

Why are you thrusting that thief-catcher in my face, man? A light thrust in your face is worse than pistols pointed at you.

I thought, sir, that you spoke to carpenter.

I thought you were speaking to the carpenter, sir.

Carpenter? why that’s—but no;—a very tidy, and, I may say, an extremely gentlemanlike sort of business thou art in here, carpenter;—or would’st thou rather work in clay?

Carpenter? Why, that’s... but no. You have a very neat trade here, carpenter, and, I might say, an extremely gentlemanly one. Or would you rather work in clay?

Sir?—Clay? clay, sir? That’s mud; we leave clay to ditchers, sir.

Sir? Clay? Clay, sir? That’s mud. We leave clay to ditch diggers, sir.

The fellow’s impious! What art thou sneezing about?

The fellow is disrespectful! What are you sneezing about?

Bone is rather dusty, sir.

Bone is fairly dusty, sir.

Take the hint, then; and when thou art dead, never bury thyself under living people’s noses.

Take the hint, then. When you're dead, never bury yourself under living people's noses.

Sir?—oh! ah!—I guess so;—yes—oh, dear!

Sir? Oh! Ah! I guess so. Yes. Oh, dear!

Look ye, carpenter, I dare say thou callest thyself a right good workmanlike workman, eh? Well, then, will it speak thoroughly well for thy work, if, when I come to mount this leg thou makest, I shall nevertheless feel another leg in the same identical place with it; that is, carpenter, my old lost leg; the flesh and blood one, I mean. Canst thou not drive that old Adam away?

Look here, carpenter, I suppose you call yourself a really good, skilled workman, eh? Well, then, will your work reflect well on you if I put on the leg you’re making and still feel another leg in the very same place? I mean my old lost leg, carpenter, the one made of flesh and blood. Can’t you drive that old Adam away?

Truly, sir, I begin to understand somewhat now. Yes, I have heard something curious on that score, sir; how that a dismasted man never entirely loses the feeling of his old spar, but it will be still pricking him at times. May I humbly ask if it be really so, sir?

Honestly, sir, I’m beginning to understand a little now. Yes, I’ve heard something curious about that, sir. A man who has lost a leg never entirely loses the feeling of it. His old leg still pricks him at times. May I ask if that is really true, sir?

It is, man. Look, put thy live leg here in the place where mine once was; so, now, here is only one distinct leg to the eye, yet two to the soul. Where thou feelest tingling life; there, exactly there, there to a hair, do I. Is’t a riddle?

It is, man. Look, put your living leg here, where mine once was. Now the eye sees only one leg, but the soul sees two. Exactly where you feel life tingling, down to a hair, I feel it too. Is that a riddle?

I should humbly call it a poser, sir.

I'd humbly call it a puzzling question, sir.

Hist, then. How dost thou know that some entire, living, thinking thing may not be invisibly and uninterpenetratingly standing precisely where thou now standest; aye, and standing there in thy spite? In thy most solitary hours, then, dost thou not fear eavesdroppers? Hold, don’t speak! And if I still feel the smart of my crushed leg, though it be now so long dissolved; then, why mayst not thou, carpenter, feel the fiery pains of hell for ever, and without a body? Hah!

Listen, then. How do you know a whole, living, thinking being isn't standing exactly where you are now? It could be there invisibly, without passing through you, and standing there in spite of you. So, even in your loneliest hours, aren't you afraid someone might be listening? Wait, don't speak! And if I still feel the pain of my crushed leg, though it dissolved so long ago, why couldn't you, carpenter, feel the fiery pains of hell forever, without a body? Hah!

Good Lord! Truly, sir, if it comes to that, I must calculate over again; I think I didn’t carry a small figure, sir.

Good Lord! Honestly, sir, if it comes to that, I’ll have to calculate it again. I think I forgot to carry a digit, sir.

Look ye, pudding-heads should never grant premises.—How long before the leg is done?

Look here, pudding-heads should never agree to a premise. How long before the leg is ready?

Perhaps an hour, sir.

Perhaps an hour, sir.

Bungle away at it then, and bring it to me (turns to go). Oh, Life! Here I am, proud as Greek god, and yet standing debtor to this blockhead for a bone to stand on! Cursed be that mortal inter-indebtedness which will not do away with ledgers. I would be free as air; and I’m down in the whole world’s books. I am so rich, I could have given bid for bid with the wealthiest Prætorians at the auction of the Roman empire (which was the world’s); and yet I owe for the flesh in the tongue I brag with. By heavens! I’ll get a crucible, and into it, and dissolve myself down to one small, compendious vertebra. So.

Go on and bungle it, then bring it to me (turns to leave). Oh, Life! Here I am, as proud as a Greek god, yet I owe this fool for a bone to stand on! Curse the way we mortals owe one another, so that we can never do away with account books. I want to be free as air, yet I’m in debt to the whole world. I’m so rich that I could have matched every bid from the wealthiest Prætorians at the auction of the Roman empire. That empire was the world’s. Yet I owe for the flesh in the tongue I boast with. By heaven! I’ll get a crucible, climb into it, and melt myself down to a single, compact vertebra. There.

CARPENTER (resuming his work).

CARPENTER (returning to work).

Well, well, well! Stubb knows him best of all, and Stubb always says he’s queer; says nothing but that one sufficient little word queer; he’s queer, says Stubb; he’s queer—queer, queer; and keeps dinning it into Mr. Starbuck all the time—queer—sir—queer, queer, very queer. And here’s his leg! Yes, now that I think of it, here’s his bedfellow! has a stick of whale’s jaw-bone for a wife! And this is his leg; he’ll stand on this. What was that now about one leg standing in three places, and all three places standing in one hell—how was that? Oh! I don’t wonder he looked so scornful at me! I’m a sort of strange-thoughted sometimes, they say; but that’s only haphazard-like. Then, a short, little old body like me, should never undertake to wade out into deep waters with tall, heron-built captains; the water chucks you under the chin pretty quick, and there’s a great cry for life-boats. And here’s the heron’s leg! long and slim, sure enough! Now, for most folks one pair of legs lasts a lifetime, and that must be because they use them mercifully, as a tender-hearted old lady uses her roly-poly old coach-horses. But Ahab; oh he’s a hard driver. Look, driven one leg to death, and spavined the other for life, and now wears out bone legs by the cord. Halloa, there, you Smut! bear a hand there with those screws, and let’s finish it before the resurrection fellow comes a-calling with his horn for all legs, true or false, as brewery-men go round collecting old beer barrels, to fill ’em up again. What a leg this is! It looks like a real live leg, filed down to nothing but the core; he’ll be standing on this to-morrow; he’ll be taking altitudes on it. Halloa! I almost forgot the little oval slate, smoothed ivory, where he figures up the latitude. So, so; chisel, file, and sand-paper, now!

Well, well, well! Stubb knows him best of all, and Stubb always says he’s strange. He says nothing but that one little word, strange, and that’s enough. He’s strange, says Stubb. He’s strange, strange, strange. And he keeps repeating it to Mr. Starbuck all the time. Strange, sir, strange, strange, very strange. And here’s his leg! Yes, now that I think of it, here’s his bedfellow! He has a stick of whale jawbone for a wife! And this is his leg. He’ll stand on it. What was that about one leg standing in three places, and all three places standing in one hell? How did that go? Oh, no wonder he looked at me with such scorn! They say I have strange thoughts sometimes, but mine are just random. Besides, a short little old man like me should never try to wade into deep water with tall, heron-shaped captains. The water comes up under your chin pretty quickly, and everyone starts shouting for lifeboats. And here’s the heron’s leg! Long and slim, sure enough! Now, for most people, one pair of legs lasts a lifetime. That must be because they treat them gently, like a kind old lady treating her plump old carriage horses. But Ahab, oh, he drives them hard. Look, he’s driven one leg to death and crippled the other for life. And now he wears out bone legs by the cord. Hey there, Smut! Give me a hand with those screws. Let’s finish before the resurrection fellow comes calling with his horn for all legs, real or false. He’ll be like the brewery men who go around collecting old beer barrels to fill them up again. What a leg this is! It looks like a real live leg, filed down to nothing but the core. He’ll be standing on it tomorrow. He’ll be taking altitudes on it. Hey! I almost forgot the little oval slate, the smooth piece of ivory where he calculates the latitude. There, there. Now for the chisel, file, and sandpaper!