The Hat

And now that at the proper time and place, after so long and wide a preliminary cruise, Ahab,—all other whaling waters swept—seemed to have chased his foe into an ocean-fold, to slay him the more securely there; now, that he found himself hard by the very latitude and longitude where his tormenting wound had been inflicted; now that a vessel had been spoken which on the very day preceding had actually encountered Moby Dick;—and now that all his successive meetings with various ships contrastingly concurred to show the demoniac indifference with which the white whale tore his hunters, whether sinning or sinned against; now it was that there lurked a something in the old man’s eyes, which it was hardly sufferable for feeble souls to see. As the unsetting polar star, which through the livelong, arctic, six months’ night sustains its piercing, steady, central gaze; so Ahab’s purpose now fixedly gleamed down upon the constant midnight of the gloomy crew. It domineered above them so, that all their bodings, doubts, misgivings, fears, were fain to hide beneath their souls, and not sprout forth a single spear or leaf.

Now, at the right time and place, after a long, wide-ranging search, Ahab seemed to have trapped his enemy in a fold of the ocean, where he could kill him more surely. He had searched all the other whaling waters and was near the very latitude and longitude where he had suffered his tormenting wound. He had spoken with a ship that had encountered Moby Dick just the day before. And all his meetings with other ships, despite their differences, had shown the same thing. The white whale tore apart his hunters with demonic indifference, whether they were guilty of wrongdoing or had been wronged themselves. Now something lurked in the old man’s eyes that weaker souls could hardly bear to see. Ahab’s purpose shone steadily down upon the unbroken midnight of the gloomy crew. It was like the polar star, which never sets, holding its piercing, steady gaze at the center of the sky throughout the Arctic’s six-month night. His purpose dominated the crew so completely that all their forebodings, doubts, misgivings, and fears had to hide deep within them, unable to send up a single shoot or leaf.

In this foreshadowing interval too, all humor, forced or natural, vanished. Stubb no more strove to raise a smile; Starbuck no more strove to check one. Alike, joy and sorrow, hope and fear, seemed ground to finest dust, and powdered, for the time, in the clamped mortar of Ahab’s iron soul. Like machines, they dumbly moved about the deck, ever conscious that the old man’s despot eye was on them.

During this ominous interval, all humor vanished, whether forced or natural. Stubb no longer tried to make anyone smile. Starbuck no longer tried to suppress a smile. Joy and sorrow, hope and fear alike seemed ground to the finest dust in the clamped mortar of Ahab’s iron soul. For the time being, all were reduced to powder. Like machines, the men moved silently about the deck, always aware that the old man’s tyrannical eye was on them.

But did you deeply scan him in his more secret confidential hours; when he thought no glance but one was on him; then you would have seen that even as Ahab’s eyes so awed the crew’s, the inscrutable Parsee’s glance awed his; or somehow, at least, in some wild way, at times affected it. Such an added, gliding strangeness began to invest the thin Fedallah now; such ceaseless shudderings shook him; that the men looked dubious at him; half uncertain, as it seemed, whether indeed he were a mortal substance, or else a tremulous shadow cast upon the deck by some unseen being’s body. And that shadow was always hovering there. For not by night, even, had Fedallah ever certainly been known to slumber, or go below. He would stand still for hours: but never sat or leaned; his wan but wondrous eyes did plainly say—We two watchmen never rest.

But if you watched him closely during his most private moments, when he thought only one gaze was upon him, you would have seen something else. Just as Ahab’s eyes awed the crew, the mysterious Parsee’s gaze awed Ahab’s. Or somehow, at least, it affected his gaze at times, in some wild way. A new, gliding strangeness now seemed to surround the thin Fedallah. He was shaken by constant shudders, and the men looked at him doubtfully. They seemed half unsure whether he was truly a mortal being, or a trembling shadow cast on the deck by an unseen body. And that shadow was always hovering there. Even at night, Fedallah had never certainly been known to sleep or go below deck. He would stand still for hours, but he never sat or leaned. His pale but wondrous eyes plainly said: We two watchmen never rest.

Nor, at any time, by night or day could the mariners now step upon the deck, unless Ahab was before them; either standing in his pivot-hole, or exactly pacing the planks between two undeviating limits,—the main-mast and the mizen; or else they saw him standing in the cabin-scuttle,—his living foot advanced upon the deck, as if to step; his hat slouched heavily over his eyes; so that however motionless he stood, however the days and nights were added on, that he had not swung in his hammock; yet hidden beneath that slouching hat, they could never tell unerringly whether, for all this, his eyes were really closed at times; or whether he was still intently scanning them; no matter, though he stood so in the scuttle for a whole hour on the stretch, and the unheeded night-damp gathered in beads of dew upon that stone-carved coat and hat. The clothes that the night had wet, the next day’s sunshine dried upon him; and so, day after day, and night after night; he went no more beneath the planks; whatever he wanted from the cabin that thing he sent for.

Now, whenever the sailors stepped onto the deck, by night or day, Ahab was already there. He stood in his pivot-hole or paced the same stretch of planks between the mainmast and the mizzenmast. Or they saw him standing in the cabin hatch, his living foot extended onto the deck as if to step out. His hat hung low over his eyes. However motionless he stood, and however many days and nights passed without his sleeping in his hammock, they could never be certain about his eyes. Hidden beneath his hat, they might sometimes be closed, or he might still be watching the sailors intently. They could not tell even when he stood in the hatch for a full hour. The night damp gathered unnoticed in beads of dew on his coat and hat, as if they were carved from stone. The next day’s sunshine dried his clothes while he wore them. So, day after day and night after night, he no longer went below deck. Whatever he wanted from the cabin, he sent for.

He ate in the same open air; that is, his two only meals,—breakfast and dinner: supper he never touched; nor reaped his beard; which darkly grew all gnarled, as unearthed roots of trees blown over, which still grow idly on at naked base, though perished in the upper verdure. But though his whole life was now become one watch on deck; and though the Parsee’s mystic watch was without intermission as his own; yet these two never seemed to speak—one man to the other—unless at long intervals some passing unmomentous matter made it necessary. Though such a potent spell seemed secretly to join the twain; openly, and to the awe-struck crew, they seemed pole-like asunder. If by day they chanced to speak one word; by night, dumb men were both, so far as concerned the slightest verbal interchange. At times, for longest hours, without a single hail, they stood far parted in the starlight; Ahab in his scuttle, the Parsee by the mainmast; but still fixedly gazing upon each other; as if in the Parsee Ahab saw his forethrown shadow, in Ahab the Parsee his abandoned substance.

He ate his only two meals, breakfast and dinner, in the open air. He never touched supper. Nor did he trim his beard. It grew dark and gnarled, like the exposed roots of fallen trees, which keep growing pointlessly at the bare base though the leaves above have died. His whole life had now become one watch on deck. The Parsee’s mysterious watch was as continuous as his own. Yet the two men never seemed to speak to each other, except at long intervals when some passing, unimportant matter made it necessary. Though a powerful spell seemed to join them in secret, they appeared as far apart as the poles to the awestruck crew. If they happened to exchange a word by day, they were both silent at night, never exchanging the slightest word. At times, they stood far apart in the starlight for hours on end, without a single call. Ahab stood in his scuttle, the Parsee by the mainmast. Yet they gazed steadily at each other. It was as if Ahab saw his shadow cast ahead of him in the Parsee, and the Parsee saw his abandoned body in Ahab.

And yet, somehow, did Ahab—in his own proper self, as daily, hourly, and every instant, commandingly revealed to his subordinates,—Ahab seemed an independent lord; the Parsee but his slave. Still again both seemed yoked together, and an unseen tyrant driving them; the lean shade siding the solid rib. For be this Parsee what he may, all rib and keel was solid Ahab.

And yet, somehow, Ahab seemed a lord in his own right, and the Parsee merely his slave. Ahab’s commanding presence revealed itself to his subordinates daily, hourly, at every instant. Then again, both seemed yoked together, driven by an unseen tyrant, the lean shadow beside the solid rib. For whatever the Parsee might be, Ahab was solid through every rib and keel.

At the first faintest glimmering of the dawn, his iron voice was heard from aft,—“Man the mast-heads!”—and all through the day, till after sunset and after twilight, the same voice every hour, at the striking of the helmsman’s bell, was heard—“What d’ye see?—sharp! sharp!”

At the first faint glimmer of dawn, his iron voice rang out from the stern: “Man the mastheads!” All day, until after sunset and twilight, the same voice called out every hour when the helmsman’s bell struck: “What do you see? Look sharp, look sharp!”

But when three or four days had slided by, after meeting the children-seeking Rachel; and no spout had yet been seen; the monomaniac old man seemed distrustful of his crew’s fidelity; at least, of nearly all except the Pagan harpooneers; he seemed to doubt, even, whether Stubb and Flask might not willingly overlook the sight he sought. But if these suspicions were really his, he sagaciously refrained from verbally expressing them, however his actions might seem to hint them.

But three or four days passed after they met the Rachel, which was searching for her children. No whale spout had yet been seen. The obsessed old man seemed to distrust his crew’s loyalty, or at least that of nearly all except the Pagan harpooneers. He even seemed to suspect that Stubb and Flask might deliberately ignore the sight he sought. But if he really had these suspicions, he wisely kept them to himself, though his actions may have hinted at them.

“I will have the first sight of the whale myself,”—he said. “Aye! Ahab must have the doubloon!” and with his own hands he rigged a nest of basketed bowlines; and sending a hand aloft, with a single sheaved block, to secure to the main-mast head, he received the two ends of the downward-reeved rope; and attaching one to his basket prepared a pin for the other end, in order to fasten it at the rail. This done, with that end yet in his hand and standing beside the pin, he looked round upon his crew, sweeping from one to the other; pausing his glance long upon Daggoo, Queequeg, Tashtego; but shunning Fedallah; and then settling his firm relying eye upon the chief mate, said,—“Take the rope, sir—I give it into thy hands, Starbuck.” Then arranging his person in the basket, he gave the word for them to hoist him to his perch, Starbuck being the one who secured the rope at last; and afterwards stood near it. And thus, with one hand clinging round the royal mast, Ahab gazed abroad upon the sea for miles and miles,—ahead, astern, this side, and that,—within the wide expanded circle commanded at so great a height.

“I’ll be the first to sight the whale myself,” he said. “Aye! Ahab must have the doubloon!” With his own hands, he made a basket-like nest of bowlines. He sent a sailor aloft to secure a single-sheave pulley block to the top of the mainmast. Ahab took the two ends of the rope that ran down through the block. He attached one end to his basket and prepared a pin at the rail to secure the other. When he had finished, he stood beside the pin, still holding the rope. He looked from one crew member to another. His gaze lingered on Daggoo, Queequeg, and Tashtego, but he avoided looking at Fedallah. At last he fixed a steady, trusting gaze on the chief mate. “Take the rope, sir. I’m placing it in your hands, Starbuck.” Then Ahab settled himself in the basket and gave the order to hoist him to his perch. Starbuck secured the rope at last and stood near it. With one hand gripping the royal mast, Ahab gazed out over the sea for miles in every direction. He looked ahead and astern, to either side, across the wide circle visible from that great height.

When in working with his hands at some lofty almost isolated place in the rigging, which chances to afford no foothold, the sailor at sea is hoisted up to that spot, and sustained there by the rope; under these circumstances, its fastened end on deck is always given in strict charge to some one man who has the special watch of it. Because in such a wilderness of running rigging, whose various different relations aloft cannot always be infallibly discerned by what is seen of them at the deck; and when the deck-ends of these ropes are being every few minutes cast down from the fastenings, it would be but a natural fatality, if, unprovided with a constant watchman, the hoisted sailor should by some carelessness of the crew be cast adrift and fall all swooping to the sea. So Ahab’s proceedings in this matter were not unusual; the only strange thing about them seemed to be, that Starbuck, almost the one only man who had ever ventured to oppose him with anything in the slightest degree approaching to decision—one of those too, whose faithfulness on the look-out he had seemed to doubt somewhat;—it was strange, that this was the very man he should select for his watchman; freely giving his whole life into such an otherwise distrusted person’s hands.

When a sailor must work with his hands in a high, almost isolated spot in the rigging, he may have no foothold. In that case, he is hoisted to the spot and held there by a rope. The fastened end of the rope on deck is always placed in one man’s care. That man’s special duty is to watch it. The rigging is a tangle of moving ropes, and from the deck their different connections above cannot always be identified with certainty. The ends of these ropes on deck are also unfastened every few minutes. So, without a constant watchman, it would be a natural disaster if a careless crew member let the hoisted sailor’s rope loose. The sailor would plunge all the way into the sea. Ahab’s actions in this matter, then, were not unusual. The only strange thing seemed to be his choice of Starbuck as his watchman. Starbuck was almost the only man who had ever dared to oppose Ahab with anything approaching determination. He was also one of the men whose faithfulness on watch Ahab had seemed to doubt somewhat. Yet Ahab chose this very man as his watchman, freely placing his whole life in hands he otherwise distrusted.

Now, the first time Ahab was perched aloft; ere he had been there ten minutes; one of those red-billed savage sea-hawks which so often fly incommodiously close round the manned mast-heads of whalemen in these latitudes; one of these birds came wheeling and screaming round his head in a maze of untrackably swift circlings. Then it darted a thousand feet straight up into the air; then spiralized downwards, and went eddying again round his head.

The first time Ahab was perched high on the mast, a bird appeared within ten minutes. It was one of the fierce, red-billed sea hawks that often fly inconveniently close to whalers stationed at the mastheads in these waters. The bird wheeled and screamed around Ahab’s head, circling too quickly for the eye to follow. Then it darted a thousand feet straight up into the air, spiraled down, and circled his head again.

But with his gaze fixed upon the dim and distant horizon, Ahab seemed not to mark this wild bird; nor, indeed, would any one else have marked it much, it being no uncommon circumstance; only now almost the least heedful eye seemed to see some sort of cunning meaning in almost every sight.

But Ahab stared at the dim, distant horizon and seemed not to notice the wild bird. Nor would anyone else have paid it much attention, since such a sight was not unusual. Yet now even the least observant person seemed to see some hidden, cunning meaning in almost everything.

“Your hat, your hat, sir!” suddenly cried the Sicilian seaman, who being posted at the mizen-mast-head, stood directly behind Ahab, though somewhat lower than his level, and with a deep gulf of air dividing them.

“Your hat, your hat, sir!” the Sicilian sailor suddenly cried. He was stationed at the top of the mizzenmast, directly behind Ahab but somewhat lower, with a great gap of open air between them.

But already the sable wing was before the old man’s eyes; the long hooked bill at his head: with a scream, the black hawk darted away with his prize.

But the black wing was already before the old man’s eyes, and the long, hooked beak was at his head. With a scream, the black hawk darted away with his prize.

An eagle flew thrice round Tarquin’s head, removing his cap to replace it, and thereupon Tanaquil, his wife, declared that Tarquin would be king of Rome. But only by the replacing of the cap was that omen accounted good. Ahab’s hat was never restored; the wild hawk flew on and on with it; far in advance of the prow: and at last disappeared; while from the point of that disappearance, a minute black spot was dimly discerned, falling from that vast height into the sea.

An eagle flew three times around Tarquin’s head, lifting his cap and then putting it back. His wife, Tanaquil, then declared that Tarquin would be king of Rome. But the omen was considered good only because the eagle had put the cap back. Ahab’s hat was never returned. The wild hawk flew on with it, far ahead of the ship’s bow, and finally disappeared. From the point where it disappeared, a tiny black speck could be dimly seen falling into the sea from that great height.