Merry Christmas

At length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship’s riggers, and after the Pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the ever-thoughtful Charity had come off in a whale-boat, with her last gift—a night-cap for Stubb, the second mate, her brother-in-law, and a spare Bible for the steward—after all this, the two Captains, Peleg and Bildad, issued from the cabin, and turning to the chief mate, Peleg said:

At last, around noon, the ship’s riggers were dismissed and the Pequod was hauled away from the wharf. The ever-thoughtful Charity came out in a whale-boat with her last gifts. She brought a nightcap for Stubb, the second mate and her brother-in-law, and a spare Bible for the steward. After all this, the two Captains, Peleg and Bildad, came out of the cabin. Peleg turned to the chief mate and said:

“Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is right? Captain Ahab is all ready—just spoke to him—nothing more to be got from shore, eh? Well, call all hands, then. Muster ’em aft here—blast ’em!”

“Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is ready? Captain Ahab is all ready. I just spoke to him. There’s nothing more to get from shore, right? Well, call the whole crew, then. Gather them back here. Damn them!”

“No need of profane words, however great the hurry, Peleg,” said Bildad, “but away with thee, friend Starbuck, and do our bidding.”

“There’s no need to swear, Peleg, no matter how much of a hurry you’re in,” said Bildad. “But go on, friend Starbuck, and do as we ask.”

How now! Here upon the very point of starting for the voyage, Captain Peleg and Captain Bildad were going it with a high hand on the quarter-deck, just as if they were to be joint-commanders at sea, as well as to all appearances in port. And, as for Captain Ahab, no sign of him was yet to be seen; only, they said he was in the cabin. But then, the idea was, that his presence was by no means necessary in getting the ship under weigh, and steering her well out to sea. Indeed, as that was not at all his proper business, but the pilot’s; and as he was not yet completely recovered—so they said—therefore, Captain Ahab stayed below. And all this seemed natural enough; especially as in the merchant service many captains never show themselves on deck for a considerable time after heaving up the anchor, but remain over the cabin table, having a farewell merry-making with their shore friends, before they quit the ship for good with the pilot.

Well now! Just as the voyage was about to begin, Captain Peleg and Captain Bildad were taking charge on the quarterdeck. They acted as if they would command the ship together at sea, just as they seemed to do in port. As for Captain Ahab, there was still no sign of him. They only said he was in the cabin. But the understanding was that he did not need to be there to get the ship under way and out to sea. In fact, that was not his job at all, but the pilot’s. And, so they said, he had not yet fully recovered. So Captain Ahab stayed below. All this seemed natural enough. In the merchant service, many captains stay off deck for quite some time after the anchor is raised. Instead, they remain at the cabin table, enjoying a farewell celebration with their friends from shore. Then the friends leave the ship for good, along with the pilot.

But there was not much chance to think over the matter, for Captain Peleg was now all alive. He seemed to do most of the talking and commanding, and not Bildad.

But there was little chance to think about the matter, because Captain Peleg was now full of energy. He seemed to do most of the talking and giving orders, not Bildad.

“Aft here, ye sons of bachelors,” he cried, as the sailors lingered at the main-mast. “Mr. Starbuck, drive ’em aft.”

“Come aft, you sons of bachelors,” he cried, as the sailors lingered by the mainmast. “Mr. Starbuck, drive them aft.”

“Strike the tent there!”—was the next order. As I hinted before, this whalebone marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the Pequod, for thirty years, the order to strike the tent was well known to be the next thing to heaving up the anchor.

“Take down the tent!” was the next order. As I mentioned before, this whalebone tent was only set up in port. For thirty years aboard the Pequod, the order to take it down had always been followed by raising the anchor.

“Man the capstan! Blood and thunder!—jump!”—was the next command, and the crew sprang for the handspikes.

“Man the capstan! Blood and thunder! Move!” came the next command, and the crew rushed for the capstan bars.

Now in getting under weigh, the station generally occupied by the pilot is the forward part of the ship. And here Bildad, who, with Peleg, be it known, in addition to his other officers, was one of the licensed pilots of the port—he being suspected to have got himself made a pilot in order to save the Nantucket pilot-fee to all the ships he was concerned in, for he never piloted any other craft—Bildad, I say, might now be seen actively engaged in looking over the bows for the approaching anchor, and at intervals singing what seemed a dismal stave of psalmody, to cheer the hands at the windlass, who roared forth some sort of a chorus about the girls in Booble Alley, with hearty good will. Nevertheless, not three days previous, Bildad had told them that no profane songs would be allowed on board the Pequod, particularly in getting under weigh; and Charity, his sister, had placed a small choice copy of Watts in each seaman’s berth.

When a ship gets underway, the pilot generally takes his place at the bow. Bildad, like Peleg, was one of the port’s licensed pilots, besides being one of the ship’s other officers. He was suspected of becoming a pilot to save the Nantucket pilot fee for all the ships he had a stake in. He never piloted any other vessel. Bildad could now be seen at the bow, watching for the anchor as it came up. From time to time, he sang what sounded like a gloomy hymn to encourage the men at the windlass. The men, in turn, heartily roared out some sort of chorus about the girls in Booble Alley. Yet less than three days earlier, Bildad had told them that no profane songs would be allowed aboard the Pequod, especially while getting underway. His sister Charity had placed a small, choice copy of Watts in each sailor’s berth.

Meantime, overseeing the other part of the ship, Captain Peleg ripped and swore astern in the most frightful manner. I almost thought he would sink the ship before the anchor could be got up; involuntarily I paused on my handspike, and told Queequeg to do the same, thinking of the perils we both ran, in starting on the voyage with such a devil for a pilot. I was comforting myself, however, with the thought that in pious Bildad might be found some salvation, spite of his seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay; when I felt a sudden sharp poke in my rear, and turning round, was horrified at the apparition of Captain Peleg in the act of withdrawing his leg from my immediate vicinity. That was my first kick.

Meanwhile, Captain Peleg was overseeing another part of the ship, cursing and swearing terribly at the stern. I almost thought he would sink the ship before the anchor could be raised. Without thinking, I stopped working my handspike and told Queequeg to stop too. I was thinking of the dangers we both faced in setting out with such a devil as our pilot. Still, I comforted myself with the thought that pious Bildad might offer some salvation, despite his seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay. Then I felt a sudden, sharp jab in my backside. I turned around and was horrified to see Captain Peleg pulling his leg back from where I stood. That was my first kick.

“Is that the way they heave in the marchant service?” he roared. “Spring, thou sheep-head; spring, and break thy backbone! Why don’t ye spring, I say, all of ye—spring! Quohog! spring, thou chap with the red whiskers; spring there, Scotch-cap; spring, thou green pants. Spring, I say, all of ye, and spring your eyes out!” And so saying, he moved along the windlass, here and there using his leg very freely, while imperturbable Bildad kept leading off with his psalmody. Thinks I, Captain Peleg must have been drinking something to-day.

“Is that how they haul in the merchant service?” he roared. “Get moving, you sheep-head. Move, and break your backbone! Why don’t you move, I say, all of you? Move! Quohog! Move, you fellow with the red whiskers. Move, you in the Scotch cap. Move, you in the green pants. Move, I say, all of you, and move your eyes out!” As he spoke, he moved along the windlass, kicking freely here and there. Meanwhile, the unshakable Bildad kept leading the psalm singing. I thought Captain Peleg must have been drinking something today.

At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor. The long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from the bows.

At last, the anchor was raised, the sails were set, and we glided away. Christmas was short and cold. As the short northern day turned to night, we found ourselves almost out on the open winter ocean. Its freezing spray coated us in ice, like polished armor. The long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight. Huge, curved icicles hung from the bows like the white ivory tusks of a great elephant.

Lank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were heard,—

Lanky Bildad, serving as pilot, led the first watch. Now and then, his steady singing could be heard. The old ship plunged deep into the green seas, and frost spread shivering all over her. The winds howled and the ropes rang:

Never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. They were full of hope and fruition. Spite of this frigid winter night in the boisterous Atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.

Those sweet words had never sounded sweeter to me than they did then. They were full of hope and fulfillment. Despite the freezing winter night on the stormy Atlantic, my wet feet, and my even wetter jacket, I felt hopeful. It seemed to me that many pleasant harbors still lay ahead. There were also meadows and clearings where it was always spring. The grass that sprang up in spring remained untouched and unwithered at midsummer.

At last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no longer. The stout sail-boat that had accompanied us began ranging alongside.

At last, we had sailed far enough from shore that we no longer needed the two pilots. The sturdy sailboat that had accompanied us began to pull alongside.

It was curious and not unpleasing, how Peleg and Bildad were affected at this juncture, especially Captain Bildad. For loath to depart, yet; very loath to leave, for good, a ship bound on so long and perilous a voyage—beyond both stormy Capes; a ship in which some thousands of his hard earned dollars were invested; a ship, in which an old shipmate sailed as captain; a man almost as old as he, once more starting to encounter all the terrors of the pitiless jaw; loath to say good-bye to a thing so every way brimful of every interest to him,—poor old Bildad lingered long; paced the deck with anxious strides; ran down into the cabin to speak another farewell word there; again came on deck, and looked to windward; looked towards the wide and endless waters, only bounded by the far-off unseen Eastern Continents; looked towards the land; looked aloft; looked right and left; looked everywhere and nowhere; and at last, mechanically coiling a rope upon its pin, convulsively grasped stout Peleg by the hand, and holding up a lantern, for a moment stood gazing heroically in his face, as much as to say, “Nevertheless, friend Peleg, I can stand it; yes, I can.”

It was curious and not unpleasant to see how Peleg and Bildad were affected at this moment, especially Captain Bildad. He was still reluctant to leave, and very reluctant to say a final goodbye to the ship. She was bound on a long and dangerous voyage beyond both stormy Capes. He had invested some thousands of his hard-earned dollars in her. An old shipmate was sailing as her captain, a man almost as old as Bildad himself. The captain was setting out once more to face all the terrors of the merciless jaws of the whale. Poor old Bildad was reluctant to say goodbye to a ship that meant so much to him in every way. So he lingered, pacing the deck with anxious strides. He ran down to the cabin to say one more farewell, then came back on deck and looked into the wind. He looked toward the wide, endless waters, bounded only by the distant, unseen Eastern Continents. He looked toward the land. He looked up, then right and left. He looked everywhere and nowhere. At last, mechanically coiling a rope around its pin, he gripped stout Peleg’s hand convulsively. Holding up a lantern, he stood for a moment, gazing heroically into Peleg’s face, as if to say, “Nevertheless, friend Peleg, I can stand it; yes, I can.”

As for Peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all his philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern came too near. And he, too, did not a little run from cabin to deck—now a word below, and now a word with Starbuck, the chief mate.

Peleg himself took it more philosophically. But despite all his philosophy, a tear glistened in his eye whenever the lantern came too close. He, too, ran back and forth between the cabin and the deck. He would exchange a few words below, then a few words with Starbuck, the chief mate.

But, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about him,—“Captain Bildad—come, old shipmate, we must go. Back the main-yard there! Boat ahoy! Stand by to come close alongside, now! Careful, careful!—come, Bildad, boy—say your last. Luck to ye, Starbuck—luck to ye, Mr. Stubb—luck to ye, Mr. Flask—good-bye and good luck to ye all—and this day three years I’ll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket. Hurrah and away!”

But at last, he gave one final look around and turned to his comrade. “Captain Bildad, come on, old shipmate, we must go. Back the main-yard there! Boat ahoy! Get ready to come close alongside! Careful, careful! Come on, Bildad, boy, say your last goodbye. Good luck to you, Starbuck. Good luck to you, Mr. Stubb. Good luck to you, Mr. Flask. Goodbye and good luck to you all. Three years from today, I’ll have a hot supper ready for you in old Nantucket. Hurrah, and away!”

“God bless ye, and have ye in His holy keeping, men,” murmured old Bildad, almost incoherently. “I hope ye’ll have fine weather now, so that Captain Ahab may soon be moving among ye—a pleasant sun is all he needs, and ye’ll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go. Be careful in the hunt, ye mates. Don’t stave the boats needlessly, ye harpooneers; good white cedar plank is raised full three per cent. within the year. Don’t forget your prayers, either. Mr. Starbuck, mind that cooper don’t waste the spare staves. Oh! the sail-needles are in the green locker! Don’t whale it too much a’ Lord’s days, men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting Heaven’s good gifts. Have an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a little leaky, I thought. If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of fornication. Good-bye, good-bye! Don’t keep that cheese too long down in the hold, Mr. Starbuck; it’ll spoil. Be careful with the butter—twenty cents the pound it was, and mind ye, if—”

“God bless you and keep you in his holy care, men,” murmured old Bildad, almost incoherently. “I hope you’ll have fine weather now, so Captain Ahab can soon be moving among you. All he needs is some pleasant sunshine, and you’ll have plenty of sunny days on your voyage to the tropics. Be careful during the hunt, mates. Don’t smash the boats needlessly, harpooneers. Good white cedar planking has gone up a full three percent in price this year. Don’t forget your prayers, either. Mr. Starbuck, make sure the cooper doesn’t waste the spare barrel staves. Oh! The sail needles are in the green locker! Don’t do too much whaling on Sundays, men. But don’t pass up a good chance either. That would be rejecting Heaven’s good gifts. Keep an eye on the molasses barrel, Mr. Stubb. I thought it was leaking a little. If you stop at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of fornication. Good-bye, good-bye! Don’t keep that cheese in the hold too long, Mr. Starbuck. It’ll spoil. Be careful with the butter. It cost twenty cents a pound, and mind you, if...”

“Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering,—away!” and with that, Peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat.

“Come on, Captain Bildad. Stop talking. Let's go!” With that, Peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropped into the boat.

Ship and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a screaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three heavy-hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone Atlantic.

The ship and boat moved apart, and the cold, damp night breeze blew between them. A screaming gull flew overhead. Both hulls rolled wildly. We gave three sorrowful cheers and blindly plunged like fate into the lonely Atlantic.