Ahab Enters, Followed by Stubb

Some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling through the bright Quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the eternal August of the Tropic. The warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped up—flaked up, with rose-water snow. The starred and stately nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely pride, the memory of their absent conquering Earls, the golden helmeted suns! For sleeping man, ’twas hard to choose between such winsome days and such seducing nights. But all the witcheries of that unwaning weather did not merely lend new spells and potencies to the outward world. Inward they turned upon the soul, especially when the still mild hours of eve came on; then, memory shot her crystals as the clear ice most forms of noiseless twilights. And all these subtle agencies, more and more they wrought on Ahab’s texture.

Some days passed, and the ice and icebergs were all behind the Pequod. The ship now rolled through the bright Quito spring. At sea, this spring reigns almost constantly on the threshold of the Tropic’s eternal August. The days were warmly cool, clear, ringing, fragrant, overflowing, and abundant. They were like crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped high with flakes of rosewater snow. The starry, majestic nights seemed like proud ladies dressed in jeweled velvet. At home, in lonely pride, they cherished memories of their absent, conquering Earls, the suns in their golden helmets! For a person who needed sleep, it was hard to choose between such charming days and such seductive nights. But the magic of that unchanging weather did more than cast new spells and powers over the world outside. The magic also turned inward upon the soul, especially during the still, mild hours of evening. Then memory formed crystals, just as clear ice forms most readily in the silent twilight. And all these subtle forces worked more and more upon Ahab’s nature.

Old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death. Among sea-commanders, the old greybeards will oftenest leave their berths to visit the night-cloaked deck. It was so with Ahab; only that now, of late, he seemed so much to live in the open air, that truly speaking, his visits were more to the cabin, than from the cabin to the planks. “It feels like going down into one’s tomb,”—he would mutter to himself—“for an old captain like me to be descending this narrow scuttle, to go to my grave-dug berth.”

Old age is always wakeful. It is as if the longer a person lives, the less they have to do with anything that resembles death. Among sea captains, the old greybeards are most likely to leave their berths and visit the deck at night. It was the same with Ahab. Lately, though, he seemed to spend so much time in the open air that he visited the cabin more often than he left it for the deck. “For an old captain like me, going down this narrow hatch to my grave-like berth feels like entering my own tomb,” he would mutter to himself.

So, almost every twenty-four hours, when the watches of the night were set, and the band on deck sentinelled the slumbers of the band below; and when if a rope was to be hauled upon the forecastle, the sailors flung it not rudely down, as by day, but with some cautiousness dropt it to its place for fear of disturbing their slumbering shipmates; when this sort of steady quietude would begin to prevail, habitually, the silent steersman would watch the cabin-scuttle; and ere long the old man would emerge, gripping at the iron banister, to help his crippled way. Some considering touch of humanity was in him; for at times like these, he usually abstained from patrolling the quarter-deck; because to his wearied mates, seeking repose within six inches of his ivory heel, such would have been the reverberating crack and din of that bony step, that their dreams would have been on the crunching teeth of sharks. But once, the mood was on him too deep for common regardings; and as with heavy, lumber-like pace he was measuring the ship from taffrail to mainmast, Stubb, the old second mate, came up from below, with a certain unassured, deprecating humorousness, hinted that if Captain Ahab was pleased to walk the planks, then, no one could say nay; but there might be some way of muffling the noise; hinting something indistinctly and hesitatingly about a globe of tow, and the insertion into it, of the ivory heel. Ah! Stubb, thou didst not know Ahab then.

So, almost every twenty-four hours, the night watches were set. The men on deck kept watch while the men below slept. If a rope had to be hauled on the forecastle, the sailors did not throw it down roughly, as they did by day. They lowered it carefully into place, for fear of disturbing their sleeping shipmates. As this steady quiet settled in, the silent helmsman would watch the cabin hatch. Before long, the old man would emerge, gripping the iron railing to help himself along on his crippled leg. He had some considerate human feeling in him. At such times, he usually refrained from pacing the quarterdeck. His weary mates were trying to rest within six inches of his ivory heel. The echoing crack and din of his bony step would have filled their dreams with the crunching teeth of sharks. But once, his mood was too deep for ordinary consideration. He was pacing the ship from the stern rail to the mainmast, with heavy, lumbering steps. Stubb, the old second mate, came up from below. With a mix of uncertainty, apology, and humor, he hinted that no one could object if Captain Ahab chose to walk the deck. But perhaps there was some way to muffle the noise. He hinted vaguely and hesitantly about a ball of tow, and putting the ivory heel into it. Ah, Stubb, you did not know Ahab then.

“Am I a cannon-ball, Stubb,” said Ahab, “that thou wouldst wad me that fashion? But go thy ways; I had forgot. Below to thy nightly grave; where such as ye sleep between shrouds, to use ye to the filling one at last.—Down, dog, and kennel!”

“Am I a cannonball, Stubb,” said Ahab, “that you would wrap me up like that? But go on. I had forgotten. Go below to your nightly grave, where men like you sleep between shrouds. That gets you used to filling one at last. Down, dog, and into your kennel!”

Starting at the unforseen concluding exclamation of the so suddenly scornful old man, Stubb was speechless a moment; then said excitedly, “I am not used to be spoken to that way, sir; I do but less than half like it, sir.”

The old man had suddenly turned scornful, and his final exclamation caught Stubb by surprise. Stubb was speechless for a moment. Then he said excitedly, “I’m not used to being spoken to that way, sir. I don’t much like it, sir.”

“Avast! gritted Ahab between his set teeth, and violently moving away, as if to avoid some passionate temptation.

“Stop!” Ahab said through clenched teeth. He moved away sharply, as if trying to avoid some passionate temptation.

“No, sir; not yet,” said Stubb, emboldened, “I will not tamely be called a dog, sir.”

“No, sir, not yet,” said Stubb, growing bolder. “I won't quietly accept being called a dog, sir.”

“Then be called ten times a donkey, and a mule, and an ass, and begone, or I’ll clear the world of thee!”

“Then be called a donkey, a mule, and an ass ten times over. Now get out, or I’ll kill you!”

As he said this, Ahab advanced upon him with such overbearing terrors in his aspect, that Stubb involuntarily retreated.

As he said this, Ahab advanced on Stubb with such a terrifying look that Stubb instinctively stepped back.

“I was never served so before without giving a hard blow for it,” muttered Stubb, as he found himself descending the cabin-scuttle. “It’s very queer. Stop, Stubb; somehow, now, I don’t well know whether to go back and strike him, or—what’s that?—down here on my knees and pray for him? Yes, that was the thought coming up in me; but it would be the first time I ever did pray. It’s queer; very queer; and he’s queer too; aye, take him fore and aft, he’s about the queerest old man Stubb ever sailed with. How he flashed at me!—his eyes like powder-pans! is he mad? Anyway there’s something on his mind, as sure as there must be something on a deck when it cracks. He aint in his bed now, either, more than three hours out of the twenty-four; and he don’t sleep then. Didn’t that Dough-Boy, the steward, tell me that of a morning he always finds the old man’s hammock clothes all rumpled and tumbled, and the sheets down at the foot, and the coverlid almost tied into knots, and the pillow a sort of frightful hot, as though a baked brick had been on it? A hot old man! I guess he’s got what some folks ashore call a conscience; it’s a kind of Tic-Dolly-row they say—worse nor a toothache. Well, well; I don’t know what it is, but the Lord keep me from catching it. He’s full of riddles; I wonder what he goes into the after hold for, every night, as Dough-Boy tells me he suspects; what’s that for, I should like to know? Who’s made appointments with him in the hold? Ain’t that queer, now? But there’s no telling, it’s the old game—Here goes for a snooze. Damn me, it’s worth a fellow’s while to be born into the world, if only to fall right asleep. And now that I think of it, that’s about the first thing babies do, and that’s a sort of queer, too. Damn me, but all things are queer, come to think of ’em. But that’s against my principles. Think not, is my eleventh commandment; and sleep when you can, is my twelfth—So here goes again. But how’s that? didn’t he call me a dog? blazes! he called me ten times a donkey, and piled a lot of jackasses on top of that! He might as well have kicked me, and done with it. Maybe he did kick me, and I didn’t observe it, I was so taken all aback with his brow, somehow. It flashed like a bleached bone. What the devil’s the matter with me? I don’t stand right on my legs. Coming afoul of that old man has a sort of turned me wrong side out. By the Lord, I must have been dreaming, though—How? how? how?—but the only way’s to stash it; so here goes to hammock again; and in the morning, I’ll see how this plaguey juggling thinks over by daylight.”

“I’ve never been treated like that before without hitting back hard,” muttered Stubb as he climbed down the cabin hatch. “It’s very strange. Hold on, Stubb. Somehow, I don’t know whether to go back and hit him or, what’s that? Get down here on my knees and pray for him? Yes, that was the thought coming into my head. But it would be the first time I ever did pray. It’s strange, very strange, and he’s strange too. Yes, from head to toe, he’s about the strangest old man Stubb ever sailed with. How he glared at me! His eyes were like powder-pans flashing! Is he mad? Anyway, something’s on his mind. That’s as sure as there must be something on a deck when it cracks. “He’s in bed no more than three hours out of twenty-four now, either. And he doesn’t sleep even then. Didn’t Dough-Boy, the steward, tell me what he always finds in the morning? The old man’s hammock bedding is all rumpled and tangled, the sheets are down at the foot, and the coverlet is almost knotted up. And the pillow is frighteningly hot, as if a baked brick had been lying on it. A hot old man! I guess he’s got what some people ashore call a conscience. They say it’s a kind of Tic-Dolly-row, worse than a toothache. Well, well, I don’t know what it is, but may the Lord keep me from catching it. “He’s full of riddles. Dough-Boy tells me he suspects the old man goes into the after hold every night. I wonder what he goes there for. Who’s arranged to meet him in the hold? Isn’t that strange? But there’s no telling. It’s the old game. Here goes for a nap. Damn me, it’s worth being born into the world, if only to fall right asleep. And now that I think of it, that’s about the first thing babies do. That’s strange too, in a way. Damn me, everything is strange, when you think about it. But that’s against my principles. ‘Don’t think’ is my eleventh commandment, and ‘sleep when you can’ is my twelfth. So here goes again. “But how’s that? Didn’t he call me a dog? Blazes! He called me a donkey ten times, and piled a lot of jackasses on top of that! He might as well have kicked me and been done with it. Maybe he did kick me, and I didn’t notice. Somehow, his brow took me so completely by surprise. It flashed like a bleached bone. What the devil’s the matter with me? I can’t stand straight on my legs. Coming up against that old man has somehow turned me inside out. By the Lord, I must have been dreaming, though. How? How? How? But the only thing to do is put it aside. So back to my hammock again. In the morning, I’ll see what I think of this confounded jumble in daylight.”