The Candles

Warmest climes but nurse the cruellest fangs: the tiger of Bengal crouches in spiced groves of ceaseless verdure. Skies the most effulgent but basket the deadliest thunders: gorgeous Cuba knows tornadoes that never swept tame northern lands. So, too, it is, that in these resplendent Japanese seas the mariner encounters the direst of all storms, the Typhoon. It will sometimes burst from out that cloudless sky, like an exploding bomb upon a dazed and sleepy town.

The warmest climates breed the cruelest fangs. The tiger of Bengal crouches in fragrant groves of endless greenery. The brightest skies hold the deadliest thunder. Beautiful Cuba knows tornadoes that have never swept the mild northern lands. So, too, in these glorious Japanese seas, sailors encounter the most terrible storm of all, the Typhoon. It sometimes bursts from a cloudless sky like a bomb exploding over a dazed and sleepy town.

Towards evening of that day, the Pequod was torn of her canvas, and bare-poled was left to fight a Typhoon which had struck her directly ahead. When darkness came on, sky and sea roared and split with the thunder, and blazed with the lightning, that showed the disabled masts fluttering here and there with the rags which the first fury of the tempest had left for its after sport.

Toward evening that day, a typhoon struck the Pequod head-on and tore away her sails. Left with bare masts, she fought the storm. When darkness fell, thunder roared and cracked across the sky and sea, and lightning lit them up. The flashes showed the damaged masts, with rags of sail fluttering here and there. The storm’s first fury had left those rags for the tempest to play with later.

Holding by a shroud, Starbuck was standing on the quarter-deck; at every flash of the lightning glancing aloft, to see what additional disaster might have befallen the intricate hamper there; while Stubb and Flask were directing the men in the higher hoisting and firmer lashing of the boats. But all their pains seemed naught. Though lifted to the very top of the cranes, the windward quarter boat (Ahab’s) did not escape. A great rolling sea, dashing high up against the reeling ship’s high teetering side, stove in the boat’s bottom at the stern, and left it again, all dripping through like a sieve.

Holding on to a shroud, Starbuck stood on the quarterdeck. With every flash of lightning, he looked up to see what further damage the tangled rigging might have suffered. Meanwhile, Stubb and Flask directed the men as they hoisted the boats higher and lashed them down more firmly. But all their efforts seemed useless. Though Ahab’s boat on the windward quarter was raised to the very top of the cranes, it did not escape. A great rolling wave crashed high against the towering, swaying side of the reeling ship. It smashed in the bottom of the boat at the stern, then fell away, leaving water dripping through the boat like a sieve.

“Bad work, bad work! Mr. Starbuck,” said Stubb, regarding the wreck, “but the sea will have its way. Stubb, for one, can’t fight it. You see, Mr. Starbuck, a wave has such a great long start before it leaps, all round the world it runs, and then comes the spring! But as for me, all the start I have to meet it, is just across the deck here. But never mind; it’s all in fun: so the old song says;”—(sings.)

“Bad business, bad business, Mr. Starbuck,” said Stubb, looking at the wreck. “But the sea will have its way. Stubb, for one, can’t fight it. You see, Mr. Starbuck, a wave gets a huge running start before it leaps. It runs all the way around the world, and then comes the leap! But all the running start I have to meet it is just across this deck. But never mind. It’s all in fun, as the old song says.” (sings.)

“Avast Stubb,” cried Starbuck, “let the Typhoon sing, and strike his harp here in our rigging; but if thou art a brave man thou wilt hold thy peace.”

“Stop, Stubb,” cried Starbuck. “Let the Typhoon sing and play his harp in our rigging. But if you are a brave man, you will keep quiet.”

“But I am not a brave man; never said I was a brave man; I am a coward; and I sing to keep up my spirits. And I tell you what it is, Mr. Starbuck, there’s no way to stop my singing in this world but to cut my throat. And when that’s done, ten to one I sing ye the doxology for a wind-up.”

“But I’m not a brave man. I never said I was. I’m a coward, and I sing to keep my spirits up. And I’ll tell you, Mr. Starbuck, there’s only one way to stop me singing in this world: cut my throat. And once you’ve done that, I’ll probably sing you the doxology to finish things off.”

“Madman! look through my eyes if thou hast none of thine own.”

“Madman! Look through my eyes if you have none of your own.”

“What! how can you see better of a dark night than anybody else, never mind how foolish?”

“What! How can you see better on a dark night than anyone else, no matter how foolish they are?”

“Here!” cried Starbuck, seizing Stubb by the shoulder, and pointing his hand towards the weather bow, “markest thou not that the gale comes from the eastward, the very course Ahab is to run for Moby Dick? the very course he swung to this day noon? now mark his boat there; where is that stove? In the stern-sheets, man; where he is wont to stand—his stand-point is stove, man! Now jump overboard, and sing away, if thou must!

“Here!” cried Starbuck, grabbing Stubb by the shoulder and pointing toward the weather bow. “Don’t you see that the gale is coming from the east? That’s the very course Ahab must follow to find Moby Dick, the course he turned to at noon today. Now look at his boat. Where is it smashed? In the stern, man, where he usually stands. His standing place is smashed, man! Now jump overboard and sing away, if you must!

“I don’t half understand ye: what’s in the wind?”

“I don’t really understand you. What’s going on?”

“Yes, yes, round the Cape of Good Hope is the shortest way to Nantucket,” soliloquized Starbuck suddenly, heedless of Stubb’s question. “The gale that now hammers at us to stave us, we can turn it into a fair wind that will drive us towards home. Yonder, to windward, all is blackness of doom; but to leeward, homeward—I see it lightens up there; but not with the lightning.”

“Yes, yes, around the Cape of Good Hope is the shortest way to Nantucket,” Starbuck suddenly said to himself, ignoring Stubb’s question. “The gale is now pounding us, threatening to break the ship apart. But we can turn it into a favorable wind that will drive us home. Over there, against the wind, all is black with doom. But downwind, toward home, I see the sky growing lighter. And it is not from lightning.”

At that moment in one of the intervals of profound darkness, following the flashes, a voice was heard at his side; and almost at the same instant a volley of thunder peals rolled overhead.

At that moment, during one of the spells of deep darkness between flashes, a voice spoke at his side. Almost at the same instant, a series of thunderclaps rolled overhead.

“Who’s there?”

“Who’s there?”

“Old Thunder!” said Ahab, groping his way along the bulwarks to his pivot-hole; but suddenly finding his path made plain to him by elbowed lances of fire.

“Old Thunder!” said Ahab, feeling his way along the bulwarks toward his pivot-hole. But suddenly, jagged lances of fire lit his path.

Now, as the lightning rod to a spire on shore is intended to carry off the perilous fluid into the soil; so the kindred rod which at sea some ships carry to each mast, is intended to conduct it into the water. But as this conductor must descend to considerable depth, that its end may avoid all contact with the hull; and as moreover, if kept constantly towing there, it would be liable to many mishaps, besides interfering not a little with some of the rigging, and more or less impeding the vessel’s way in the water; because of all this, the lower parts of a ship’s lightning-rods are not always overboard; but are generally made in long slender links, so as to be the more readily hauled up into the chains outside, or thrown down into the sea, as occasion may require.

A lightning rod on a spire on land is meant to carry the dangerous electricity into the ground. Similarly, some ships at sea have a lightning rod on each mast to carry electricity into the water. But the conductor must reach deep enough to keep its end from touching the hull. If it were kept trailing there constantly, it would be liable to many mishaps. It would also interfere considerably with some of the rigging and slow the ship through the water to some extent. For all these reasons, the lower parts of a ship’s lightning rods are not always overboard. They are usually made of long, slender links, so they can be more easily hauled up into the chains outside the ship or lowered into the sea as needed.

“The rods! the rods!” cried Starbuck to the crew, suddenly admonished to vigilance by the vivid lightning that had just been darting flambeaux, to light Ahab to his post. “Are they overboard? drop them over, fore and aft. Quick!”

“The rods! The rods!” Starbuck cried to the crew. The vivid lightning that had just flashed like torches to light Ahab’s way to his post had put Starbuck on alert. “Are they overboard? Drop them over the side, at the bow and stern. Quick!”

“Avast!” cried Ahab; “let’s have fair play here, though we be the weaker side. Yet I’ll contribute to raise rods on the Himmalehs and Andes, that all the world may be secured; but out on privileges! Let them be, sir.”

“Hold on!” cried Ahab. “Let’s play fair here, even though we are the weaker side. Still, I’ll contribute to raising rods on the Himmalehs and Andes, so that all the world may be protected. But to hell with privileges! Leave them alone, sir.”

“Look aloft!” cried Starbuck. “The corpusants! the corpusants!”

“Look up!” cried Starbuck. “St. Elmo’s fire! St. Elmo’s fire!”

All the yard-arms were tipped with a pallid fire; and touched at each tri-pointed lightning-rod-end with three tapering white flames, each of the three tall masts was silently burning in that sulphurous air, like three gigantic wax tapers before an altar.

The ends of all the yardarms glowed with pale fire. Three tapering white flames touched the three points of each lightning rod. In the sulfurous air, the three tall masts burned silently, like three giant candles before an altar.

“Blast the boat! let it go!” cried Stubb at this instant, as a swashing sea heaved up under his own little craft, so that its gunwale violently jammed his hand, as he was passing a lashing. “Blast it!”—but slipping backward on the deck, his uplifted eyes caught the flames; and immediately shifting his tone he cried—“The corpusants have mercy on us all!”

“Damn the boat! Let it go!” Stubb cried just then, as a surging wave lifted his own little boat. Its gunwale slammed against his hand as he was passing a lashing. “Damn it!” But as he slipped backward onto the deck, he looked up and saw the flames. His tone changed at once, and he cried, “May the corpusants have mercy on us all!”

To sailors, oaths are household words; they will swear in the trance of the calm, and in the teeth of the tempest; they will imprecate curses from the topsail-yard-arms, when most they teeter over to a seething sea; but in all my voyagings, seldom have I heard a common oath when God’s burning finger has been laid on the ship; when His “Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin” has been woven into the shrouds and the cordage.

For sailors, swearing is part of everyday speech. They swear in the stillness of a calm and in the face of a storm. They shout curses from the ends of the topsail yards, even as they sway far out over a churning sea. But in all my voyages, I have seldom heard an ordinary oath when God’s burning finger has touched the ship. I have seldom heard one when his “Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin” has been woven into the rigging and ropes.

While this pallidness was burning aloft, few words were heard from the enchanted crew; who in one thick cluster stood on the forecastle, all their eyes gleaming in that pale phosphorescence, like a far away constellation of stars. Relieved against the ghostly light, the gigantic jet negro, Daggoo, loomed up to thrice his real stature, and seemed the black cloud from which the thunder had come. The parted mouth of Tashtego revealed his shark-white teeth, which strangely gleamed as if they too had been tipped by corpusants; while lit up by the preternatural light, Queequeg’s tattooing burned like Satanic blue flames on his body.

As the pale light burned overhead, the spellbound crew said little. They stood tightly clustered on the forecastle, all their eyes gleaming in the pale phosphorescence like a distant constellation of stars. Against the ghostly light, the gigantic Black man Daggoo loomed three times his actual height. He seemed like the black cloud from which the thunder had come. Tashtego’s open mouth revealed his shark-white teeth. They gleamed strangely, as if they too had been tipped with corpusants. In the supernatural light, Queequeg’s tattoos burned on his body like satanic blue flames.

The tableau all waned at last with the pallidness aloft; and once more the Pequod and every soul on her decks were wrapped in a pall. A moment or two passed, when Starbuck, going forward, pushed against some one. It was Stubb. “What thinkest thou now, man; I heard thy cry; it was not the same in the song.”

At last, the whole scene faded along with the pale light overhead. Once more, the Pequod and everyone on her decks were wrapped in darkness. A moment or two passed. Then Starbuck went forward and bumped into someone. It was Stubb. “What do you think now, man? I heard your cry. It wasn’t the same as in the song.”

“No, no, it wasn’t; I said the corpusants have mercy on us all; and I hope they will, still. But do they only have mercy on long faces?—have they no bowels for a laugh? And look ye, Mr. Starbuck—but it’s too dark to look. Hear me, then: I take that mast-head flame we saw for a sign of good luck; for those masts are rooted in a hold that is going to be chock a’ block with sperm-oil, d’ye see; and so, all that sperm will work up into the masts, like sap in a tree. Yes, our three masts will yet be as three spermaceti candles—that’s the good promise we saw.”

“No, no, it wasn’t. I said may the corpusants have mercy on us all, and I still hope they will. But do they only have mercy on gloomy faces? Have they no compassion for a laugh? And look here, Mr. Starbuck. But it’s too dark to look. Listen to me, then. I take that flame we saw at the masthead as a sign of good luck. Those masts are rooted in a hold that’s going to be packed full of sperm oil, you see. So all that oil will work its way up into the masts, like sap in a tree. Yes, our three masts will yet be like three spermaceti candles. That’s the good promise we saw.”

At that moment Starbuck caught sight of Stubb’s face slowly beginning to glimmer into sight. Glancing upwards, he cried: “See! see!” and once more the high tapering flames were beheld with what seemed redoubled supernaturalness in their pallor.

At that moment, Starbuck saw Stubb’s face slowly begin to emerge in the faint light. He looked up and cried, “Look! Look!” Once more, they saw the tall, tapering flames. Their pale light seemed twice as supernatural as before.

“The corpusants have mercy on us all,” cried Stubb, again.

“May the corpusants have mercy on us all,” Stubb cried again.

At the base of the mainmast, full beneath the doubloon and the flame, the Parsee was kneeling in Ahab’s front, but with his head bowed away from him; while near by, from the arched and overhanging rigging, where they had just been engaged securing a spar, a number of the seamen, arrested by the glare, now cohered together, and hung pendulous, like a knot of numbed wasps from a drooping, orchard twig. In various enchanted attitudes, like the standing, or stepping, or running skeletons in Herculaneum, others remained rooted to the deck; but all their eyes upcast.

At the base of the mainmast, directly beneath the doubloon and the flame, the Parsee knelt before Ahab. But his head was bowed away from him. Nearby, several sailors had just been securing a spar in the arched, overhanging rigging. Stopped by the glare, they now clung together and hung there like a cluster of numbed wasps on a drooping orchard twig. Others stood rooted to the deck in various spellbound poses, like the standing, stepping, or running skeletons in Herculaneum. But all had their eyes raised.

“Aye, aye, men!” cried Ahab. “Look up at it; mark it well; the white flame but lights the way to the White Whale! Hand me those mainmast links there; I would fain feel this pulse, and let mine beat against it; blood against fire! So.”

“Yes, yes, men!” cried Ahab. “Look up at it. Look closely. The white flame only lights the way to the White Whale! Hand me those mainmast links. I want to feel this pulse and let mine beat against it, blood against fire! There.”

Then turning—the last link held fast in his left hand, he put his foot upon the Parsee; and with fixed upward eye, and high-flung right arm, he stood erect before the lofty tri-pointed trinity of flames.

Then he turned, holding the last link tightly in his left hand, and put his foot on the Parsee. He stood upright before the towering, three-pointed trinity of flames, staring upward with his right arm raised high.

“Oh! thou clear spirit of clear fire, whom on these seas I as Persian once did worship, till in the sacramental act so burned by thee, that to this hour I bear the scar; I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e’en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whencesoe’er I came; wheresoe’er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there’s that in here that still remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.”

“Oh, clear spirit of clear fire, I once worshipped you on these seas as a Persian would. But during that sacred act, you burned me so deeply that I still bear the scar. Now I know you, clear spirit, and I know that the right way to worship you is to defy you. You will be kind to neither love nor reverence. And even for hatred, all you can do is kill, and all are killed. No fearless fool stands before you now. I acknowledge your silent power, which has no place. But to the last breath of my earthquake life, I will challenge its absolute, indivisible mastery over me. Here, in the midst of this impersonal force made personal, stands a person. I am only a point at best, wherever I came from and wherever I go. Yet as long as I live on earth, a queenly self lives in me and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hatred is sorrow. Come in your lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss you. But come at your highest, as nothing but heavenly power, and something in me will remain indifferent. It will remain indifferent even if you launch fleets of fully loaded worlds. Oh, clear spirit, you made me from your fire. And like a true child of fire, I breathe it back at you.”

[Sudden, repeated flashes of lightning; the nine flames leap lengthwise to thrice their previous height; Ahab, with the rest, closes his eyes, his right hand pressed hard upon them.]

[Lightning flashes suddenly and repeatedly. The nine flames leap to three times their previous height. Ahab and the others close their eyes. He presses his right hand hard over his eyes.]

“I own thy speechless, placeless power; said I not so? Nor was it wrung from me; nor do I now drop these links. Thou canst blind; but I can then grope. Thou canst consume; but I can then be ashes. Take the homage of these poor eyes, and shutter-hands. I would not take it. The lightning flashes through my skull; mine eye-balls ache and ache; my whole beaten brain seems as beheaded, and rolling on some stunning ground. Oh, oh! Yet blindfold, yet will I talk to thee. Light though thou be, thou leapest out of darkness; but I am darkness leaping out of light, leaping out of thee! The javelins cease; open eyes; see, or not? There burn the flames! Oh, thou magnanimous! now I do glory in my genealogy. But thou art but my fiery father; my sweet mother, I know not. Oh, cruel! what hast thou done with her? There lies my puzzle; but thine is greater. Thou knowest not how came ye, hence callest thyself unbegotten; certainly knowest not thy beginning, hence callest thyself unbegun. I know that of me, which thou knowest not of thyself, oh, thou omnipotent. There is some unsuffusing thing beyond thee, thou clear spirit, to whom all thy eternity is but time, all thy creativeness mechanical. Through thee, thy flaming self, my scorched eyes do dimly see it. Oh, thou foundling fire, thou hermit immemorial, thou too hast thy incommunicable riddle, thy unparticipated grief. Here again with haughty agony, I read my sire. Leap! leap up, and lick the sky! I leap with thee; I burn with thee; would fain be welded with thee; defyingly I worship thee!”

“I acknowledge your silent, boundless power. Didn’t I say so? No one forced me to say it, and I do not let go of these links now. You can blind me, but I can still feel my way. You can consume me, but I can still be ashes. Accept the homage of these poor eyes and these hands that shield them. I would not accept it. Lightning flashes through my skull. My eyeballs ache and ache. My whole battered brain feels as if it has been cut off and is rolling on some surface that stuns it. Oh, oh! Yet even blindfolded, I will still speak to you. Though you are light, you leap out of darkness. But I am darkness leaping out of light, leaping out of you! The javelins stop. Open my eyes. Can I see or not? There the flames burn! Oh, generous one! Now I glory in my ancestry. But you are only my fiery father. I do not know my sweet mother. Oh, cruel one! What have you done with her? That is my puzzle, but yours is greater. You do not know how you came to be, so you call yourself unbegotten. You certainly do not know your beginning, so you call yourself without beginning. I know something about myself that you do not know about yourself, oh, all-powerful one. Beyond you, clear spirit, there is something that cannot be spread through. To that thing, all your eternity is only time, and all your creation is mechanical. Through you, through your flaming self, my scorched eyes can dimly see it. Oh, abandoned fire, ancient hermit, you too have a riddle you cannot share and a grief no one shares. Once again, with proud agony, I read my father’s nature. Leap! Leap up and lick the sky! I leap with you. I burn with you. I would gladly be welded to you. I worship you defiantly!”

“The boat! the boat!” cried Starbuck, “look at thy boat, old man!”

“The boat! The boat!” cried Starbuck. “Look at your boat, old man!”

Ahab’s harpoon, the one forged at Perth’s fire, remained firmly lashed in its conspicuous crotch, so that it projected beyond his whale-boat’s bow; but the sea that had stove its bottom had caused the loose leather sheath to drop off; and from the keen steel barb there now came a levelled flame of pale, forked fire. As the silent harpoon burned there like a serpent’s tongue, Starbuck grasped Ahab by the arm—“God, God is against thee, old man; forbear! ’tis an ill voyage! ill begun, ill continued; let me square the yards, while we may, old man, and make a fair wind of it homewards, to go on a better voyage than this.”

Ahab’s harpoon had been forged in Perth’s fire. It was still firmly lashed in its prominent forked rest, projecting beyond his whale-boat’s bow. But the sea that had smashed the boat’s bottom had knocked off the loose leather sheath. Now a pale, forked flame stretched out from the sharp steel barb. As the harpoon burned silently there like a serpent’s tongue, Starbuck grasped Ahab by the arm. “God, God is against you, old man. Stop! This is an ill-fated voyage! It began badly and has gone badly ever since. Let me turn the sails while we still can, old man, and catch a favorable wind homeward. Then we can go on a better voyage than this.”

Overhearing Starbuck, the panic-stricken crew instantly ran to the braces—though not a sail was left aloft. For the moment all the aghast mate’s thoughts seemed theirs; they raised a half mutinous cry. But dashing the rattling lightning links to the deck, and snatching the burning harpoon, Ahab waved it like a torch among them; swearing to transfix with it the first sailor that but cast loose a rope’s end. Petrified by his aspect, and still more shrinking from the fiery dart that he held, the men fell back in dismay, and Ahab again spoke:—

When the terrified crew overheard Starbuck, they immediately ran to the braces, though no sails remained aloft. For a moment, all the horrified mate’s thoughts seemed to be theirs. They raised a nearly mutinous cry. But Ahab threw the rattling lightning links onto the deck and seized the burning harpoon. He waved it among them like a torch, swearing to pierce the first sailor who so much as untied a rope. Terrified by his appearance, and even more fearful of the fiery harpoon he held, the men fell back in dismay. Ahab spoke again:

“All your oaths to hunt the White Whale are as binding as mine; and heart, soul, and body, lungs and life, old Ahab is bound. And that ye may know to what tune this heart beats; look ye here; thus I blow out the last fear!” And with one blast of his breath he extinguished the flame.

“All your oaths to hunt the White Whale are as binding as mine. Old Ahab is bound in heart, soul, and body, in lungs and life. And so you may know how this heart beats, look here. This is how I blow out the last fear!” And with one breath he blew out the flame.

As in the hurricane that sweeps the plain, men fly the neighborhood of some lone, gigantic elm, whose very height and strength but render it so much the more unsafe, because so much the more a mark for thunderbolts; so at those last words of Ahab’s many of the mariners did run from him in a terror of dismay.

During a hurricane sweeping across a plain, people flee from a lone, gigantic elm. Its very height and strength make it more dangerous because they make it more likely to be struck by lightning. In the same way, at Ahab’s last words, many of the sailors ran from him in terror and dismay.