The Specksnyder

Concerning the officers of the whale-craft, this seems as good a place as any to set down a little domestic peculiarity on ship-board, arising from the existence of the harpooneer class of officers, a class unknown of course in any other marine than the whale-fleet.

As for the officers of a whaling ship, this seems as good a place as any to mention a small peculiarity of life on board. It arises from the presence of harpooneers, a class of officers found, of course, only in the whaling fleet.

The large importance attached to the harpooneer’s vocation is evinced by the fact, that originally in the old Dutch Fishery, two centuries and more ago, the command of a whale ship was not wholly lodged in the person now called the captain, but was divided between him and an officer called the Specksnyder. Literally this word means Fat-Cutter; usage, however, in time made it equivalent to Chief Harpooneer. In those days, the captain’s authority was restricted to the navigation and general management of the vessel; while over the whale-hunting department and all its concerns, the Specksnyder or Chief Harpooneer reigned supreme. In the British Greenland Fishery, under the corrupted title of Specksioneer, this old Dutch official is still retained, but his former dignity is sadly abridged. At present he ranks simply as senior Harpooneer; and as such, is but one of the captain’s more inferior subalterns. Nevertheless, as upon the good conduct of the harpooneers the success of a whaling voyage largely depends, and since in the American Fishery he is not only an important officer in the boat, but under certain circumstances (night watches on a whaling ground) the command of the ship’s deck is also his; therefore the grand political maxim of the sea demands, that he should nominally live apart from the men before the mast, and be in some way distinguished as their professional superior; though always, by them, familiarly regarded as their social equal.

The importance of the harpooneer’s work is clear from the old Dutch Fishery, more than two centuries ago. Then, command of a whale ship did not rest entirely with the officer now called the captain. It was divided between him and an officer called the Specksnyder. The word literally means Fat-Cutter, but over time it came to mean Chief Harpooneer. In those days, the captain’s authority was limited to navigation and the general management of the vessel. The Specksnyder, or Chief Harpooneer, ruled over every aspect of whale hunting. The British Greenland Fishery still has this old Dutch officer, under the corrupted title Specksioneer. But his former dignity has sadly diminished. He now ranks simply as senior Harpooneer and is only one of the captain’s lower-ranking officers. Nevertheless, the success of a whaling voyage depends largely on how well the harpooneers perform. In the American Fishery, a harpooneer is not only an important officer in the boat. Under certain circumstances, during night watches on a whaling ground, he also commands the ship’s deck. So the grand political rule of the sea demands that he officially live apart from the men before the mast. He must also be distinguished in some way as their professional superior, though they always treat him as their social equal.

Now, the grand distinction drawn between officer and man at sea, is this—the first lives aft, the last forward. Hence, in whale-ships and merchantmen alike, the mates have their quarters with the captain; and so, too, in most of the American whalers the harpooneers are lodged in the after part of the ship. That is to say, they take their meals in the captain’s cabin, and sleep in a place indirectly communicating with it.

The main distinction between officers and crew at sea is where they live. Officers live aft, at the back of the ship. Crew members live forward, at the front. So, on both whaling ships and merchant ships, the mates have their quarters with the captain. On most American whaling ships, the harpooners are also housed in the back of the ship. They eat in the captain’s cabin and sleep in a place indirectly connected to it.

Though the long period of a Southern whaling voyage (by far the longest of all voyages now or ever made by man), the peculiar perils of it, and the community of interest prevailing among a company, all of whom, high or low, depend for their profits, not upon fixed wages, but upon their common luck, together with their common vigilance, intrepidity, and hard work; though all these things do in some cases tend to beget a less rigorous discipline than in merchantmen generally; yet, never mind how much like an old Mesopotamian family these whalemen may, in some primitive instances, live together; for all that, the punctilious externals, at least, of the quarter-deck are seldom materially relaxed, and in no instance done away. Indeed, many are the Nantucket ships in which you will see the skipper parading his quarter-deck with an elated grandeur not surpassed in any military navy; nay, extorting almost as much outward homage as if he wore the imperial purple, and not the shabbiest of pilot-cloth.

A Southern whaling voyage lasts longer than any other voyage people make or have ever made. It also has its own peculiar dangers. And everyone aboard, high or low, shares the same interests. Their profits depend not on fixed wages, but on their shared luck, vigilance, courage, and hard work. Together, these things sometimes lead to less strict discipline than is usual on merchant ships. Yet even when whalemen live together like an old Mesopotamian family, as they do in some more primitive cases, the formalities of the quarter-deck are seldom greatly relaxed and never abandoned altogether. Indeed, on many Nantucket ships, you can see the captain pacing his quarter-deck with a proud grandeur unmatched in any military navy. He demands almost as much outward respect as if he wore imperial purple instead of the shabbiest pilot-cloth.

And though of all men the moody captain of the Pequod was the least given to that sort of shallowest assumption; and though the only homage he ever exacted, was implicit, instantaneous obedience; though he required no man to remove the shoes from his feet ere stepping upon the quarter-deck; and though there were times when, owing to peculiar circumstances connected with events hereafter to be detailed, he addressed them in unusual terms, whether of condescension or in terrorem, or otherwise; yet even Captain Ahab was by no means unobservant of the paramount forms and usages of the sea.

Of all men, the moody captain of the Pequod was the least inclined to such shallow pretensions. The only respect he ever demanded was unquestioning, immediate obedience. He did not require anyone to remove his shoes before stepping onto the quarter-deck. At times, because of unusual circumstances connected with events to be described later, he spoke to the men in unusual ways. He might speak condescendingly, or to intimidate, or in some other manner. Yet even Captain Ahab was far from indifferent to the most important customs and practices of the sea.

Nor, perhaps, will it fail to be eventually perceived, that behind those forms and usages, as it were, he sometimes masked himself; incidentally making use of them for other and more private ends than they were legitimately intended to subserve. That certain sultanism of his brain, which had otherwise in a good degree remained unmanifested; through those forms that same sultanism became incarnate in an irresistible dictatorship. For be a man’s intellectual superiority what it will, it can never assume the practical, available supremacy over other men, without the aid of some sort of external arts and entrenchments, always, in themselves, more or less paltry and base. This it is, that for ever keeps God’s true princes of the Empire from the world’s hustings; and leaves the highest honors that this air can give, to those men who become famous more through their infinite inferiority to the choice hidden handful of the Divine Inert, than through their undoubted superiority over the dead level of the mass. Such large virtue lurks in these small things when extreme political superstitions invest them, that in some royal instances even to idiot imbecility they have imparted potency. But when, as in the case of Nicholas the Czar, the ringed crown of geographical empire encircles an imperial brain; then, the plebeian herds crouch abased before the tremendous centralization. Nor, will the tragic dramatist who would depict mortal indomitableness in its fullest sweep and direct swing, ever forget a hint, incidentally so important in his art, as the one now alluded to.

Perhaps people will eventually see that he sometimes hid behind those forms and customs. He used them for other, more private purposes than those they were properly meant to serve. His mind had a certain sultanism that might otherwise have remained largely hidden. Through those forms, that same sultanism took shape as an irresistible dictatorship. For no matter how intellectually superior a man may be, he can never exercise practical supremacy over others without external devices and defenses. These are always, in themselves, more or less petty and base. This is what forever keeps God’s true princes of the Empire out of the world’s political contests. It leaves the highest honors the world can offer to other men. These men become famous less through their undeniable superiority over the undistinguished masses than through their vast inferiority to the select, hidden handful of the Divine Inert. Such small things hold great power when extreme political superstitions surround them. In some royal cases, they have even given power to utter idiocy and imbecility. But when a crown ruling a vast territory encircles an imperial mind, as with Nicholas the Czar, the common herds crouch in humiliation before such tremendous centralized power. Nor will the tragic dramatist who wishes to portray mortal indomitableness in its fullest sweep and direct force ever forget this point. It is incidentally important to his art.

But Ahab, my Captain, still moves before me in all his Nantucket grimness and shagginess; and in this episode touching Emperors and Kings, I must not conceal that I have only to do with a poor old whale-hunter like him; and, therefore, all outward majestical trappings and housings are denied me. Oh, Ahab! what shall be grand in thee, it must needs be plucked at from the skies, and dived for in the deep, and featured in the unbodied air!

But Ahab, my captain, still stands before me in all his grim, shaggy Nantucket character. And in this episode about Emperors and Kings, I must admit that my subject is only a poor old whale hunter like him. So I cannot dress him in any outward signs of majesty. Oh, Ahab! Whatever grandeur you have must be plucked from the skies, sought in the depths, and given form in the unseen air!