Whales in Paint, Teeth, Wood, Sheet Iron, Stone, Mountains, and Stars

On Tower-hill, as you go down to the London docks, you may have seen a crippled beggar (or kedger, as the sailors say) holding a painted board before him, representing the tragic scene in which he lost his leg. There are three whales and three boats; and one of the boats (presumed to contain the missing leg in all its original integrity) is being crunched by the jaws of the foremost whale. Any time these ten years, they tell me, has that man held up that picture, and exhibited that stump to an incredulous world. But the time of his justification has now come. His three whales are as good whales as were ever published in Wapping, at any rate; and his stump as unquestionable a stump as any you will find in the western clearings. But, though for ever mounted on that stump, never a stump-speech does the poor whaleman make; but, with downcast eyes, stands ruefully contemplating his own amputation.

On Tower-hill, as you walk down to the London docks, you may have seen a disabled beggar holding a painted board. Sailors call such a beggar a kedger. The board shows the tragic scene in which he lost his leg. There are three whales and three boats. The foremost whale is crushing one of the boats in its jaws. Presumably, the missing leg is still inside the boat, perfectly intact. They tell me that for ten years now, the man has held up that picture and shown his stump to a disbelieving world. But the time has come to prove him right. His three whales are as good as any whales ever published in Wapping, at any rate. And his stump is as unmistakable as any stump you will find in the western clearings. But though the poor whaleman stands on that stump all the time, he never makes a stump speech. Instead, he stands with downcast eyes, sadly contemplating his own amputation.

Throughout the Pacific, and also in Nantucket, and New Bedford, and Sag Harbor, you will come across lively sketches of whales and whaling-scenes, graven by the fishermen themselves on Sperm Whale-teeth, or ladies’ busks wrought out of the Right Whale-bone, and other like skrimshander articles, as the whalemen call the numerous little ingenious contrivances they elaborately carve out of the rough material, in their hours of ocean leisure. Some of them have little boxes of dentistical-looking implements, specially intended for the skrimshandering business. But, in general, they toil with their jack-knives alone; and, with that almost omnipotent tool of the sailor, they will turn you out anything you please, in the way of a mariner’s fancy.

Throughout the Pacific, and in Nantucket, New Bedford, and Sag Harbor, you will find lively sketches of whales and whaling scenes. The fishermen themselves engrave them on Sperm Whale teeth or on ladies’ busks made from Right Whale bone. You will also find other such skrimshander articles. That is what whalemen call the many ingenious little objects they carve with great care from rough materials during their leisure hours at sea. Some have small boxes of tools that look like dentists’ instruments, made especially for skrimshandering. But most work with their jackknives alone. With that almost all-powerful sailor’s tool, they can make you anything you please that suits a mariner’s fancy.

Long exile from Christendom and civilization inevitably restores a man to that condition in which God placed him, i.e. what is called savagery. Your true whale-hunter is as much a savage as an Iroquois. I myself am a savage, owning no allegiance but to the King of the Cannibals; and ready at any moment to rebel against him.

Long exile from Christendom and civilization inevitably returns a man to the state in which God placed him, that is, what is called savagery. A true whale-hunter is as much a savage as an Iroquois. I am a savage myself. I owe allegiance to no one but the King of the Cannibals, and I am ready to rebel against him at any moment.

Now, one of the peculiar characteristics of the savage in his domestic hours, is his wonderful patience of industry. An ancient Hawaiian war-club or spear-paddle, in its full multiplicity and elaboration of carving, is as great a trophy of human perseverance as a Latin lexicon. For, with but a bit of broken sea-shell or a shark’s tooth, that miraculous intricacy of wooden net-work has been achieved; and it has cost steady years of steady application.

One remarkable trait of the savage at home is his extraordinary patience in his work. An ancient Hawaiian war-club or spear-paddle, with all its elaborate carving, is as great a testament to human perseverance as a Latin dictionary. For that miraculous wooden latticework was made with nothing more than a piece of broken seashell or a shark’s tooth. It took years of steady work.

As with the Hawaiian savage, so with the white sailor-savage. With the same marvellous patience, and with the same single shark’s tooth, of his one poor jack-knife, he will carve you a bit of bone sculpture, not quite as workmanlike, but as close packed in its maziness of design, as the Greek savage, Achilles’s shield; and full of barbaric spirit and suggestiveness, as the prints of that fine old Dutch savage, Albert Durer.

What is true of the Hawaiian savage is also true of the white sailor-savage. With the same remarkable patience, he carves a piece of bone using his one poor jackknife as a single shark’s tooth. The carving is not quite as skillfully made as Achilles’s shield, made by the Greek savage. But its design is just as densely packed with intricate patterns. It is also as full of wild spirit and suggestiveness as the prints of that fine old Dutch savage, Albert Durer.

Wooden whales, or whales cut in profile out of the small dark slabs of the noble South Sea war-wood, are frequently met with in the forecastles of American whalers. Some of them are done with much accuracy.

Wooden whales, or whale profiles carved from small, dark slabs of fine South Sea war-wood, are common in American whalers' forecastles. Some are carved very accurately.

At some old gable-roofed country houses you will see brass whales hung by the tail for knockers to the road-side door. When the porter is sleepy, the anvil-headed whale would be best. But these knocking whales are seldom remarkable as faithful essays. On the spires of some old-fashioned churches you will see sheet-iron whales placed there for weather-cocks; but they are so elevated, and besides that are to all intents and purposes so labelled with “Hands off!” you cannot examine them closely enough to decide upon their merit.

At some old country houses with gabled roofs, you can see brass whales hanging by their tails as knockers on the door facing the road. If the porter is sleepy, a whale with an anvil-shaped head would work best. But these whale knockers are rarely faithful likenesses. On the spires of some old-fashioned churches, you can see sheet-iron whales used as weather vanes. But they are so high up and, for all practical purposes, so clearly marked “Hands off!” that you cannot examine them closely enough to judge their quality.

In bony, ribby regions of the earth, where at the base of high broken cliffs masses of rock lie strewn in fantastic groupings upon the plain, you will often discover images as of the petrified forms of the Leviathan partly merged in grass, which of a windy day breaks against them in a surf of green surges.

In the earth’s bony, riblike regions, piles of rock lie scattered across the plains beneath tall, jagged cliffs. Their strange shapes often resemble the petrified forms of Leviathan, partly buried in grass. On windy days, the grass breaks against them like a surf of green waves.

Then, again, in mountainous countries where the traveller is continually girdled by amphitheatrical heights; here and there from some lucky point of view you will catch passing glimpses of the profiles of whales defined along the undulating ridges. But you must be a thorough whaleman, to see these sights; and not only that, but if you wish to return to such a sight again, you must be sure and take the exact intersecting latitude and longitude of your first stand-point, else so chance-like are such observations of the hills, that your precise, previous stand-point would require a laborious re-discovery; like the Soloma Islands, which still remain incognita, though once high-ruffed Mendanna trod them and old Figuera chronicled them.

Then again, in mountainous countries, a traveler is constantly surrounded by heights rising like the walls of an amphitheater. Here and there, from a lucky vantage point, you can catch glimpses of whale profiles along the rolling ridges. But you must be a true whaleman to see these shapes. And if you want to see one again, you must note the exact latitude and longitude of your first position. These views of the hills are so dependent on chance that finding your exact position again would take a laborious search. It would be like finding the Soloma Islands, which are still unknown, though Mendanna, with his high ruff, once walked there and old Figuera recorded them.

Nor when expandingly lifted by your subject, can you fail to trace out great whales in the starry heavens, and boats in pursuit of them; as when long filled with thoughts of war the Eastern nations saw armies locked in battle among the clouds. Thus at the North have I chased Leviathan round and round the Pole with the revolutions of the bright points that first defined him to me. And beneath the effulgent Antarctic skies I have boarded the Argo-Navis, and joined the chase against the starry Cetus far beyond the utmost stretch of Hydrus and the Flying Fish.

And when your subject lifts and expands your imagination, you cannot help seeing great whales in the starry sky, with boats chasing them. In the same way, Eastern nations, long absorbed in thoughts of war, saw armies locked in battle among the clouds. So in the North, I have chased Leviathan around and around the Pole. I followed the circling bright stars that first showed him to me. And beneath the brilliant Antarctic skies, I have boarded the Argo-Navis. I joined the chase after the starry Cetus, far beyond the outermost reaches of Hydrus and the Flying Fish.

With a frigate’s anchors for my bridle-bitts and fasces of harpoons for spurs, would I could mount that whale and leap the topmost skies, to see whether the fabled heavens with all their countless tents really lie encamped beyond my mortal sight!

I wish I could ride that whale, using a warship’s anchors as a bridle and bundles of harpoons as spurs. I would leap into the highest skies to see whether the legendary heavens truly lie beyond my mortal sight. Are all their countless tents really camped there?