The Cabin Table

It is noon; and Dough-Boy, the steward, thrusting his pale loaf-of-bread face from the cabin-scuttle, announces dinner to his lord and master; who, sitting in the lee quarter-boat, has just been taking an observation of the sun; and is now mutely reckoning the latitude on the smooth, medallion-shaped tablet, reserved for that daily purpose on the upper part of his ivory leg. From his complete inattention to the tidings, you would think that moody Ahab had not heard his menial. But presently, catching hold of the mizen shrouds, he swings himself to the deck, and in an even, unexhilarated voice, saying, “Dinner, Mr. Starbuck,” disappears into the cabin.

It is noon. Dough-Boy, the steward, pokes his pale, loaf-shaped face out of the cabin hatch and announces dinner to his lord and master. Ahab sits in the lee quarter-boat, having just taken a reading of the sun. He is silently calculating the latitude on the smooth, medallion-shaped tablet on the upper part of his ivory leg. He keeps the tablet there for this daily task. Moody Ahab pays so little attention to the news that you would think he had not heard his servant. But soon he grabs the mizzen shrouds and swings himself onto the deck. “Dinner, Mr. Starbuck,” he says in an even, joyless voice, then disappears into the cabin.

When the last echo of his sultan’s step has died away, and Starbuck, the first Emir, has every reason to suppose that he is seated, then Starbuck rouses from his quietude, takes a few turns along the planks, and, after a grave peep into the binnacle, says, with some touch of pleasantness, “Dinner, Mr. Stubb,” and descends the scuttle. The second Emir lounges about the rigging awhile, and then slightly shaking the main brace, to see whether it will be all right with that important rope, he likewise takes up the old burden, and with a rapid “Dinner, Mr. Flask,” follows after his predecessors.

When the last echo of his sultan’s footsteps has faded, Starbuck, the first Emir, has every reason to suppose he is seated. Starbuck then stirs from his stillness and walks a few paces along the deck. After a solemn glance at the binnacle, he says, with a touch of pleasantness, “Dinner, Mr. Stubb,” and goes down the hatch. The second Emir lounges around the rigging for a while. Then he gives the main brace a slight shake to see if that important rope will be all right. He too takes up the familiar call and, with a quick “Dinner, Mr. Flask,” follows those who went before him.

But the third Emir, now seeing himself all alone on the quarter-deck, seems to feel relieved from some curious restraint; for, tipping all sorts of knowing winks in all sorts of directions, and kicking off his shoes, he strikes into a sharp but noiseless squall of a hornpipe right over the Grand Turk’s head; and then, by a dexterous sleight, pitching his cap up into the mizentop for a shelf, he goes down rollicking so far at least as he remains visible from the deck, reversing all other processions, by bringing up the rear with music. But ere stepping into the cabin doorway below, he pauses, ships a new face altogether, and, then, independent, hilarious little Flask enters King Ahab’s presence, in the character of Abjectus, or the Slave.

But the third Emir now sees that he is alone on the quarter-deck. He seems relieved of some curious restraint. He gives knowing winks in all directions, kicks off his shoes, and bursts into a quick but silent hornpipe right over the Grand Turk’s head. Then, with a clever flick, he tosses his cap up into the mizentop, using it as a shelf. He goes down in high spirits, at least as far as he can be seen from the deck. Reversing the order of all other processions, he brings up the rear with music. But before stepping through the cabin doorway below, he pauses and puts on a completely different face. Then independent, merry little Flask enters King Ahab’s presence as Abjectus, or the Slave.

It is not the least among the strange things bred by the intense artificialness of sea-usages, that while in the open air of the deck some officers will, upon provocation, bear themselves boldly and defyingly enough towards their commander; yet, ten to one, let those very officers the next moment go down to their customary dinner in that same commander’s cabin, and straightway their inoffensive, not to say deprecatory and humble air towards him, as he sits at the head of the table; this is marvellous, sometimes most comical. Wherefore this difference? A problem? Perhaps not. To have been Belshazzar, King of Babylon; and to have been Belshazzar, not haughtily but courteously, therein certainly must have been some touch of mundane grandeur. But he who in the rightly regal and intelligent spirit presides over his own private dinner-table of invited guests, that man’s unchallenged power and dominion of individual influence for the time; that man’s royalty of state transcends Belshazzar’s, for Belshazzar was not the greatest. Who has but once dined his friends, has tasted what it is to be Cæsar. It is a witchery of social czarship which there is no withstanding. Now, if to this consideration you superadd the official supremacy of a ship-master, then, by inference, you will derive the cause of that peculiarity of sea-life just mentioned.

The highly artificial customs of life at sea produce many strange things. One of the strangest is this: on the open deck, some officers will, if provoked, act boldly and defiantly toward their captain. Yet, ten to one, those same officers will go down the next moment to their usual dinner in his cabin. There, as he sits at the head of the table, their manner toward him becomes harmless, if not apologetic and humble. The change is marvelous, and sometimes very funny. Why the difference? Is it a puzzle? Perhaps not. To have been Belshazzar, King of Babylon, and to have been courteous rather than haughty, must have had some touch of earthly grandeur. But consider a man who presides over invited guests at his own private dinner table with a truly regal and intelligent spirit. For that time, his unchallenged power and personal influence, his royal state, surpass Belshazzar’s, for Belshazzar was not the greatest. Anyone who has dined with friends as their host has tasted what it means to be Cæsar. There is no resisting the magic of such social rule. Now add a ship captain’s official authority, and you can see what causes the peculiar feature of sea life just described.

Over his ivory-inlaid table, Ahab presided like a mute, maned sea-lion on the white coral beach, surrounded by his warlike but still deferential cubs. In his own proper turn, each officer waited to be served. They were as little children before Ahab; and yet, in Ahab, there seemed not to lurk the smallest social arrogance. With one mind, their intent eyes all fastened upon the old man’s knife, as he carved the chief dish before him. I do not suppose that for the world they would have profaned that moment with the slightest observation, even upon so neutral a topic as the weather. No! And when reaching out his knife and fork, between which the slice of beef was locked, Ahab thereby motioned Starbuck’s plate towards him, the mate received his meat as though receiving alms; and cut it tenderly; and a little started if, perchance, the knife grazed against the plate; and chewed it noiselessly; and swallowed it, not without circumspection. For, like the Coronation banquet at Frankfort, where the German Emperor profoundly dines with the seven Imperial Electors, so these cabin meals were somehow solemn meals, eaten in awful silence; and yet at table old Ahab forbade not conversation; only he himself was dumb. What a relief it was to choking Stubb, when a rat made a sudden racket in the hold below. And poor little Flask, he was the youngest son, and little boy of this weary family party. His were the shinbones of the saline beef; his would have been the drumsticks. For Flask to have presumed to help himself, this must have seemed to him tantamount to larceny in the first degree. Had he helped himself at that table, doubtless, never more would he have been able to hold his head up in this honest world; nevertheless, strange to say, Ahab never forbade him. And had Flask helped himself, the chances were Ahab had never so much as noticed it. Least of all, did Flask presume to help himself to butter. Whether he thought the owners of the ship denied it to him, on account of its clotting his clear, sunny complexion; or whether he deemed that, on so long a voyage in such marketless waters, butter was at a premium, and therefore was not for him, a subaltern; however it was, Flask, alas! was a butterless man!

Ahab presided over his ivory-inlaid table like a silent, maned sea lion on a white coral beach. Around him sat his warlike but still respectful cubs. Each officer waited his turn to be served. They were like little children before Ahab. Yet Ahab himself seemed to have no trace of social arrogance. As one, the officers fixed their intent eyes on the old man’s knife as he carved the main dish. I do not suppose they would have disturbed that moment for anything in the world. They would not have made even the slightest remark, not even about so harmless a subject as the weather. No! When Ahab reached out his knife and fork, gripping a slice of beef between them, he signaled for Starbuck’s plate. The mate received his meat as though accepting charity. He cut it gently and started a little if his knife happened to scrape the plate. He chewed without a sound and swallowed carefully. Like the Coronation banquet at Frankfort, where the German Emperor dines solemnly with the seven Imperial Electors, these cabin meals were somehow solemn occasions, eaten in dreadful silence. Yet old Ahab did not forbid conversation at the table. He alone was silent. What a relief it was to the choking Stubb when a rat suddenly made a racket in the hold below. And poor little Flask was the youngest son, the little boy of this weary family gathering. He got the shinbones of the salt beef. He would have gotten the drumsticks, too. For Flask to dare help himself must have seemed to him like the worst kind of theft. If he had helped himself at that table, he surely could never again have held his head up in this honest world. Yet, strangely enough, Ahab never forbade him. And if Flask had helped himself, chances are Ahab would not even have noticed. Least of all did Flask dare help himself to butter. Perhaps he thought the ship’s owners denied it to him because it would spoil his clear, sunny complexion. Or perhaps he thought butter was scarce on such a long voyage through waters with no markets. If so, he thought it was not for him, a junior officer. Whatever the reason, Flask, alas, was a man without butter!

Another thing. Flask was the last person down at the dinner, and Flask is the first man up. Consider! For hereby Flask’s dinner was badly jammed in point of time. Starbuck and Stubb both had the start of him; and yet they also have the privilege of lounging in the rear. If Stubb even, who is but a peg higher than Flask, happens to have but a small appetite, and soon shows symptoms of concluding his repast, then Flask must bestir himself, he will not get more than three mouthfuls that day; for it is against holy usage for Stubb to precede Flask to the deck. Therefore it was that Flask once admitted in private, that ever since he had arisen to the dignity of an officer, from that moment he had never known what it was to be otherwise than hungry, more or less. For what he ate did not so much relieve his hunger, as keep it immortal in him. Peace and satisfaction, thought Flask, have for ever departed from my stomach. I am an officer; but, how I wish I could fish a bit of old-fashioned beef in the forecastle, as I used to when I was before the mast. There’s the fruits of promotion now; there’s the vanity of glory: there’s the insanity of life! Besides, if it were so that any mere sailor of the Pequod had a grudge against Flask in Flask’s official capacity, all that sailor had to do, in order to obtain ample vengeance, was to go aft at dinner-time, and get a peep at Flask through the cabin sky-light, sitting silly and dumfoundered before awful Ahab.

Another thing. Flask was the last person to come down to dinner, and he was the first man to get up. Think about that! Flask had very little time to eat. Starbuck and Stubb both started before him, yet they also had the privilege of lingering afterward. Stubb was only one rank above Flask. But if Stubb had a small appetite and soon showed signs of finishing his meal, Flask had to hurry. Otherwise, Flask would get no more than three mouthfuls that day. For sacred custom forbade Stubb to go up on deck before Flask. That was why Flask once admitted in private that he had been more or less hungry ever since becoming an officer. What he ate did not so much relieve his hunger as keep it alive forever. Peace and satisfaction, thought Flask, have left my stomach forever. I am an officer, but how I wish I could get a bit of old-fashioned beef in the forecastle. That was what I used to do when I was an ordinary sailor. Those are the fruits of promotion. That is the emptiness of glory. That is the madness of life! Besides, if any ordinary sailor on the Pequod had a grudge against Flask as an officer, he could get ample revenge. All the sailor had to do was go aft at dinner time and peek at Flask through the cabin skylight. There he would see Flask sitting foolish and dumbfounded before the fearsome Ahab.

Now, Ahab and his three mates formed what may be called the first table in the Pequod’s cabin. After their departure, taking place in inverted order to their arrival, the canvas cloth was cleared, or rather was restored to some hurried order by the pallid steward. And then the three harpooneers were bidden to the feast, they being its residuary legatees. They made a sort of temporary servants’ hall of the high and mighty cabin.

Ahab and his three mates made up what might be called the first group to dine in the Pequod’s cabin. They left in the reverse order from the one in which they had arrived. Afterward, the pale steward cleared the canvas tablecloth, or rather hurriedly put it back into some kind of order. Then the three harpooneers were invited to the feast, as the ones entitled to what remained. They turned the grand and lofty cabin into a kind of temporary servants’ dining hall.

In strange contrast to the hardly tolerable constraint and nameless invisible domineerings of the captain’s table, was the entire care-free license and ease, the almost frantic democracy of those inferior fellows the harpooneers. While their masters, the mates, seemed afraid of the sound of the hinges of their own jaws, the harpooneers chewed their food with such a relish that there was a report to it. They dined like lords; they filled their bellies like Indian ships all day loading with spices. Such portentous appetites had Queequeg and Tashtego, that to fill out the vacancies made by the previous repast, often the pale Dough-Boy was fain to bring on a great baron of salt-junk, seemingly quarried out of the solid ox. And if he were not lively about it, if he did not go with a nimble hop-skip-and-jump, then Tashtego had an ungentlemanly way of accelerating him by darting a fork at his back, harpoon-wise. And once Daggoo, seized with a sudden humor, assisted Dough-Boy’s memory by snatching him up bodily, and thrusting his head into a great empty wooden trencher, while Tashtego, knife in hand, began laying out the circle preliminary to scalping him. He was naturally a very nervous, shuddering sort of little fellow, this bread-faced steward; the progeny of a bankrupt baker and a hospital nurse. And what with the standing spectacle of the black terrific Ahab, and the periodical tumultuous visitations of these three savages, Dough-Boy’s whole life was one continual lip-quiver. Commonly, after seeing the harpooneers furnished with all things they demanded, he would escape from their clutches into his little pantry adjoining, and fearfully peep out at them through the blinds of its door, till all was over.

The captain’s table was ruled by almost unbearable restraint and unnamed, invisible powers. In strange contrast, the lower-ranking harpooneers enjoyed complete freedom and ease, an almost frantic democracy. Their masters, the mates, seemed afraid even to open their mouths. But the harpooneers chewed with such relish that their eating made a loud noise. They dined like lords. They filled their bellies like Indian ships being loaded with spices all day. Queequeg and Tashtego had such enormous appetites that pale Dough-Boy often had to bring in a huge joint of salt beef. The meat looked as if it had been quarried from a solid ox. It was needed to make up for what the previous meal had taken out of the supply. If Dough-Boy was not quick about it, if he did not hurry with a hop, skip, and jump, Tashtego had an ungentlemanly way of speeding him up. He would throw a fork at Dough-Boy’s back as if it were a harpoon. Once, Daggoo was seized by a sudden impulse to remind Dough-Boy of his duties. He picked him up bodily and pushed his head into a large, empty wooden serving dish. Meanwhile, Tashtego, knife in hand, began marking out a circle as if preparing to scalp him. This bread-faced steward was naturally a very nervous little fellow, always trembling. He was the son of a bankrupt baker and a hospital nurse. Between the constant sight of the dark, terrifying Ahab and the regular, tumultuous visits of these three savages, Dough-Boy’s lips trembled through his entire life. Usually, once he had given the harpooneers everything they demanded, he escaped their clutches and fled to his little pantry next door. There he fearfully peeped at them through the slats in its door until it was all over.

It was a sight to see Queequeg seated over against Tashtego, opposing his filed teeth to the Indian’s: crosswise to them, Daggoo seated on the floor, for a bench would have brought his hearse-plumed head to the low carlines; at every motion of his colossal limbs, making the low cabin framework to shake, as when an African elephant goes passenger in a ship. But for all this, the great negro was wonderfully abstemious, not to say dainty. It seemed hardly possible that by such comparatively small mouthfuls he could keep up the vitality diffused through so broad, baronial, and superb a person. But, doubtless, this noble savage fed strong and drank deep of the abounding element of air; and through his dilated nostrils snuffed in the sublime life of the worlds. Not by beef or by bread, are giants made or nourished. But Queequeg, he had a mortal, barbaric smack of the lip in eating—an ugly sound enough—so much so, that the trembling Dough-Boy almost looked to see whether any marks of teeth lurked in his own lean arms. And when he would hear Tashtego singing out for him to produce himself, that his bones might be picked, the simple-witted steward all but shattered the crockery hanging round him in the pantry, by his sudden fits of the palsy. Nor did the whetstone which the harpooneers carried in their pockets, for their lances and other weapons; and with which whetstones, at dinner, they would ostentatiously sharpen their knives; that grating sound did not at all tend to tranquillize poor Dough-Boy. How could he forget that in his Island days, Queequeg, for one, must certainly have been guilty of some murderous, convivial indiscretions. Alas! Dough-Boy! hard fares the white waiter who waits upon cannibals. Not a napkin should he carry on his arm, but a buckler. In good time, though, to his great delight, the three salt-sea warriors would rise and depart; to his credulous, fable-mongering ears, all their martial bones jingling in them at every step, like Moorish scimetars in scabbards.

It was quite a sight. Queequeg sat across from Tashtego, showing his filed teeth opposite the Indian’s. Daggoo sat on the floor, crosswise to them. A bench would have raised his head, with its hearse-like plumes, against the cabin’s low beams. Each movement of his enormous limbs shook the cabin’s framework, like an African elephant traveling aboard a ship. Despite all this, the great black man ate remarkably little, almost delicately. It hardly seemed possible that such small mouthfuls could sustain the life spread through so broad, noble, and magnificent a body. But surely this noble savage fed heartily and drank deeply of the abundant air. Through his flared nostrils, he breathed in the sublime life of the worlds. Giants are not made or nourished by beef or bread. But Queequeg smacked his lips as he ate, with a deadly, savage relish. It was an ugly enough sound. The trembling Dough-Boy almost looked to see whether teeth marks lay hidden on his own thin arms. Tashtego would call for Dough-Boy to show himself, so his bones could be picked clean. At this, the simple-minded steward nearly shattered the crockery hanging around him in the pantry. He shook so violently from sudden fits of terror. The harpooneers also carried whetstones in their pockets for sharpening their lances and other weapons. At dinner, they would make a show of sharpening their knives on them. That grating sound did nothing to calm poor Dough-Boy. How could he forget that Queequeg, for one, must surely have committed some murderous acts of feasting in his island days? Alas, Dough-Boy! The white waiter who serves cannibals has a hard lot. He should carry a shield on his arm, not a napkin. Eventually, though, the three salt-sea warriors would rise and leave, to Dough-Boy’s great delight. To his trusting ears, so ready to believe tall tales, all their warlike bones jingled with every step. They sounded like Moorish scimitars rattling in their scabbards.

But, though these barbarians dined in the cabin, and nominally lived there; still, being anything but sedentary in their habits, they were scarcely ever in it except at mealtimes, and just before sleeping-time, when they passed through it to their own peculiar quarters.

Though these barbarians ate in the cabin and supposedly lived there, they were anything but sedentary. They were hardly ever in the cabin except at mealtimes. Just before bed, they also passed through it on their way to their own special quarters.

In this one matter, Ahab seemed no exception to most American whale captains, who, as a set, rather incline to the opinion that by rights the ship’s cabin belongs to them; and that it is by courtesy alone that anybody else is, at any time, permitted there. So that, in real truth, the mates and harpooneers of the Pequod might more properly be said to have lived out of the cabin than in it. For when they did enter it, it was something as a street-door enters a house; turning inwards for a moment, only to be turned out the next; and, as a permanent thing, residing in the open air. Nor did they lose much hereby; in the cabin was no companionship; socially, Ahab was inaccessible. Though nominally included in the census of Christendom, he was still an alien to it. He lived in the world, as the last of the Grisly Bears lived in settled Missouri. And as when Spring and Summer had departed, that wild Logan of the woods, burying himself in the hollow of a tree, lived out the winter there, sucking his own paws; so, in his inclement, howling old age, Ahab’s soul, shut up in the caved trunk of his body, there fed upon the sullen paws of its gloom!

In this one respect, Ahab seemed no different from most American whale captains. As a group, they tended to believe that the ship’s cabin rightly belonged to them. They believed that anyone else was allowed in only as a courtesy. So the mates and harpooneers of the Pequod could more accurately be said to live outside the cabin than in it. When they entered, they were like a street door opening into a house. They turned inward for a moment, only to be turned out the next, and remained in the open air. They did not lose much by this. There was no companionship in the cabin, and Ahab was socially inaccessible. Though he was nominally counted among the people of Christendom, he remained a stranger to it. He lived in the world as the last of the Grisly Bears lived in settled Missouri. When spring and summer had passed, that wild Logan of the woods would bury himself in a hollow tree. There he spent the winter sucking his own paws. Likewise, in his harsh, howling old age, Ahab’s soul was shut inside the hollow trunk of his body. There it fed on the sullen paws of its own gloom!