The Monkey-Rope

In the tumultuous business of cutting-in and attending to a whale, there is much running backwards and forwards among the crew. Now hands are wanted here, and then again hands are wanted there. There is no staying in any one place; for at one and the same time everything has to be done everywhere. It is much the same with him who endeavors the description of the scene. We must now retrace our way a little. It was mentioned that upon first breaking ground in the whale’s back, the blubber-hook was inserted into the original hole there cut by the spades of the mates. But how did so clumsy and weighty a mass as that same hook get fixed in that hole? It was inserted there by my particular friend Queequeg, whose duty it was, as harpooneer, to descend upon the monster’s back for the special purpose referred to. But in very many cases, circumstances require that the harpooneer shall remain on the whale till the whole flensing or stripping operation is concluded. The whale, be it observed, lies almost entirely submerged, excepting the immediate parts operated upon. So down there, some ten feet below the level of the deck, the poor harpooneer flounders about, half on the whale and half in the water, as the vast mass revolves like a tread-mill beneath him. On the occasion in question, Queequeg figured in the Highland costume—a shirt and socks—in which to my eyes, at least, he appeared to uncommon advantage; and no one had a better chance to observe him, as will presently be seen.

During the chaotic work of cutting in and tending to a whale, the crew runs back and forth constantly. Hands are needed here one moment and there the next. No one can stay in one place, because everything has to be done everywhere at once. The same is true for someone trying to describe the scene. We must now go back a little. As mentioned, when the mates first cut into the whale’s back, the blubber-hook was inserted into the hole their spades made. But how did such a clumsy, heavy hook get into that hole? My particular friend Queequeg put it there. As harpooneer, it was his duty to climb down onto the monster’s back for that very purpose. But in many cases, circumstances require the harpooneer to stay on the whale until all the flensing, or stripping, is finished. It should be noted that the whale lies almost entirely underwater, except for the parts being worked on. So, about ten feet below deck level, the poor harpooneer flounders about, half on the whale and half in the water. Beneath him, the vast body rolls like a treadmill. On this occasion, Queequeg wore the Highland costume of a shirt and socks. To my eyes, at least, he looked unusually fine in it. And no one had a better chance to observe him, as you will soon see.

Being the savage’s bowsman, that is, the person who pulled the bow-oar in his boat (the second one from forward), it was my cheerful duty to attend upon him while taking that hard-scrabble scramble upon the dead whale’s back. You have seen Italian organ-boys holding a dancing-ape by a long cord. Just so, from the ship’s steep side, did I hold Queequeg down there in the sea, by what is technically called in the fishery a monkey-rope, attached to a strong strip of canvas belted round his waist.

I was the savage’s bowsman, the person who rowed the bow-oar in his boat, second from the front. So it was my cheerful duty to attend him as he scrambled with difficulty across the dead whale’s back. You have seen Italian organ-boys holding a dancing ape by a long cord. In the same way, I held Queequeg from the ship’s steep side while he was down in the sea. I held him by what whalers call a monkey-rope, attached to a strong canvas strip belted around his waist.

It was a humorously perilous business for both of us. For, before we proceed further, it must be said that the monkey-rope was fast at both ends; fast to Queequeg’s broad canvas belt, and fast to my narrow leather one. So that for better or for worse, we two, for the time, were wedded; and should poor Queequeg sink to rise no more, then both usage and honor demanded, that instead of cutting the cord, it should drag me down in his wake. So, then, an elongated Siamese ligature united us. Queequeg was my own inseparable twin brother; nor could I any way get rid of the dangerous liabilities which the hempen bond entailed.

It was a comically dangerous business for both of us. Before going further, I should explain that the monkey-rope was secured at both ends. One end was fastened to Queequeg’s broad canvas belt, the other to my narrow leather one. So, for better or worse, we were married for the time being. If poor Queequeg sank and never rose again, both custom and honor demanded that I not cut the rope. Instead, the rope would drag me down after him. So a long cord joined us like Siamese twins. Queequeg was my own inseparable twin brother. I could not escape the dangerous responsibilities that came with our hempen bond.

So strongly and metaphysically did I conceive of my situation then, that while earnestly watching his motions, I seemed distinctly to perceive that my own individuality was now merged in a joint stock company of two; that my free will had received a mortal wound; and that another’s mistake or misfortune might plunge innocent me into unmerited disaster and death. Therefore, I saw that here was a sort of interregnum in Providence; for its even-handed equity never could have so gross an injustice. And yet still further pondering—while I jerked him now and then from between the whale and ship, which would threaten to jam him—still further pondering, I say, I saw that this situation of mine was the precise situation of every mortal that breathes; only, in most cases, he, one way or other, has this Siamese connexion with a plurality of other mortals. If your banker breaks, you snap; if your apothecary by mistake sends you poison in your pills, you die. True, you may say that, by exceeding caution, you may possibly escape these and the multitudinous other evil chances of life. But handle Queequeg’s monkey-rope heedfully as I would, sometimes he jerked it so, that I came very near sliding overboard. Nor could I possibly forget that, do what I would, I only had the management of one end of it.*

I thought about my situation so intensely and deeply that, as I watched his movements, I seemed to see something clearly. My individuality had now merged into a joint-stock company of two. My free will had suffered a mortal wound. Another man's mistake or misfortune could plunge innocent me into undeserved disaster and death. So I saw that Providence was, for the moment, not in charge. Its impartial justice could never have allowed such a gross injustice. Yet I thought further. Now and then, I jerked Queequeg away from between the whale and the ship, where he threatened to be crushed. As I thought further, I saw that my situation was exactly the same as that of every living person. In most cases, though, each person has this Siamese connection, in one way or another, with many other people. If your banker goes broke, you are ruined. If your apothecary mistakenly puts poison in your pills, you die. True, you may say that extreme caution might let you escape these and life's many other dangers. But however carefully I handled Queequeg's monkey-rope, he sometimes jerked it so hard that I nearly slid overboard. Nor could I possibly forget that, whatever I did, I controlled only one end of the rope.*

*The monkey-rope is found in all whalers; but it was only in the Pequod that the monkey and his holder were ever tied together. This improvement upon the original usage was introduced by no less a man than Stubb, in order to afford the imperilled harpooneer the strongest possible guarantee for the faithfulness and vigilance of his monkey-rope holder.

*The monkey-rope is used on all whalers. But only on the Pequod were the monkey and his rope holder ever tied together. No less a man than Stubb introduced this improvement to the original practice. He did so to give the endangered harpooneer the strongest possible guarantee that his monkey-rope holder would be faithful and watchful.

I have hinted that I would often jerk poor Queequeg from between the whale and the ship—where he would occasionally fall, from the incessant rolling and swaying of both. But this was not the only jamming jeopardy he was exposed to. Unappalled by the massacre made upon them during the night, the sharks now freshly and more keenly allured by the before pent blood which began to flow from the carcass—the rabid creatures swarmed round it like bees in a beehive.

I have mentioned that I often had to pull poor Queequeg out from between the whale and the ship. He sometimes fell there because both were constantly rolling and swaying. But that was not the only danger of being crushed he faced. The sharks were undeterred by the slaughter among them during the night. Now, the blood that had been trapped inside the carcass began to flow, drawing the sharks back with even greater force. The frenzied creatures swarmed around the carcass like bees in a beehive.

And right in among those sharks was Queequeg; who often pushed them aside with his floundering feet. A thing altogether incredible were it not that attracted by such prey as a dead whale, the otherwise miscellaneously carnivorous shark will seldom touch a man.

Queequeg was right among those sharks, often pushing them aside with his flailing feet. That would be unbelievable if sharks did not seldom touch a man when drawn to prey like a dead whale. Otherwise, sharks eat all kinds of meat.

Nevertheless, it may well be believed that since they have such a ravenous finger in the pie, it is deemed but wise to look sharp to them. Accordingly, besides the monkey-rope, with which I now and then jerked the poor fellow from too close a vicinity to the maw of what seemed a peculiarly ferocious shark—he was provided with still another protection. Suspended over the side in one of the stages, Tashtego and Daggoo continually flourished over his head a couple of keen whale-spades, wherewith they slaughtered as many sharks as they could reach. This procedure of theirs, to be sure, was very disinterested and benevolent of them. They meant Queequeg’s best happiness, I admit; but in their hasty zeal to befriend him, and from the circumstance that both he and the sharks were at times half hidden by the blood-muddled water, those indiscreet spades of theirs would come nearer amputating a leg than a tail. But poor Queequeg, I suppose, straining and gasping there with that great iron hook—poor Queequeg, I suppose, only prayed to his Yojo, and gave up his life into the hands of his gods.

Still, since the sharks had such a ravenous finger in the pie, it was surely wise to watch them closely. So Queequeg had another protection besides the monkey-rope. Now and then, I used the rope to jerk the poor fellow away from the jaws of a particularly ferocious-looking shark. Tashtego and Daggoo were suspended over the side on a platform, continually waving two sharp whale-spades over his head. With these, they killed as many sharks as they could reach. Of course, their efforts were very selfless and kind. I admit they wanted what was best for Queequeg. But in their haste to help him, they sometimes brought their reckless spades closer to cutting off a leg than a tail. At times, both Queequeg and the sharks were half hidden by the blood-clouded water. But poor Queequeg, straining and gasping there with that great iron hook, only prayed to his Yojo, I suppose. Poor Queequeg, I suppose, placed his life in the hands of his gods.

Well, well, my dear comrade and twin-brother, thought I, as I drew in and then slacked off the rope to every swell of the sea—what matters it, after all? Are you not the precious image of each and all of us men in this whaling world? That unsounded ocean you gasp in, is Life; those sharks, your foes; those spades, your friends; and what between sharks and spades you are in a sad pickle and peril, poor lad.

Well, well, my dear comrade and twin brother, I thought, as I pulled in and loosened the rope with each swell. What does it matter, after all? Aren't you the precious image of each and every one of us men in this whaling world? The bottomless ocean you gasp in is Life. Those sharks are your enemies, and those spades are your friends. Between the sharks and the spades, you're in a sad predicament and in danger, poor lad.

But courage! there is good cheer in store for you, Queequeg. For now, as with blue lips and blood-shot eyes the exhausted savage at last climbs up the chains and stands all dripping and involuntarily trembling over the side; the steward advances, and with a benevolent, consolatory glance hands him—what? Some hot Cognac? No! hands him, ye gods! hands him a cup of tepid ginger and water!

But take heart, Queequeg! Something comforting is in store for you. At last, the exhausted savage climbs up the chains and over the side. His lips are blue, and his eyes are bloodshot. He stands there dripping wet and trembling uncontrollably. The steward approaches and gives him a kind, comforting look. And what does he hand him? Some hot Cognac? No! Ye gods, he hands him a cup of lukewarm ginger and water!

“Ginger? Do I smell ginger?” suspiciously asked Stubb, coming near. “Yes, this must be ginger,” peering into the as yet untasted cup. Then standing as if incredulous for a while, he calmly walked towards the astonished steward slowly saying, “Ginger? ginger? and will you have the goodness to tell me, Mr. Dough-Boy, where lies the virtue of ginger? Ginger! is ginger the sort of fuel you use, Dough-boy, to kindle a fire in this shivering cannibal? Ginger!—what the devil is ginger? Sea-coal? firewood?—lucifer matches?—tinder?—gunpowder?—what the devil is ginger, I say, that you offer this cup to our poor Queequeg here.”

“Ginger? Do I smell ginger?” Stubb asked suspiciously as he came closer. “Yes, this must be ginger,” he said, peering into the cup, which had not yet been tasted. He stood there for a while, seemingly unable to believe it. Then he calmly walked toward the astonished steward, saying slowly, “Ginger? Ginger? Would you be good enough to tell me, Mr. Dough-Boy, what good is ginger? Ginger! Is ginger the kind of fuel you use, Dough-Boy, to light a fire in this shivering cannibal? Ginger! What the devil is ginger? Coal? Firewood? Matches? Tinder? Gunpowder? What the devil is ginger, I ask, that you offer this cup to our poor Queequeg here?”

“There is some sneaking Temperance Society movement about this business,” he suddenly added, now approaching Starbuck, who had just come from forward. “Will you look at that kannakin, sir: smell of it, if you please.” Then watching the mate’s countenance, he added, “The steward, Mr. Starbuck, had the face to offer that calomel and jalap to Queequeg, there, this instant off the whale. Is the steward an apothecary, sir? and may I ask whether this is the sort of bitters by which he blows back the life into a half-drowned man?”

“There’s some sneaky Temperance Society scheme behind this,” he suddenly added, approaching Starbuck, who had just come from the front of the ship. “Will you look at that little can, sir? Smell it, if you please.” Watching the mate’s face, he added, “Mr. Starbuck, the steward had the nerve to offer that calomel and jalap to Queequeg, who has just come off the whale. Is the steward a pharmacist, sir? And may I ask if these are the bitters he uses to bring a half-drowned man back to life?”

“I trust not,” said Starbuck, “it is poor stuff enough.”

“I hope not,” said Starbuck. “It’s poor enough stuff as it is.”

“Aye, aye, steward,” cried Stubb, “we’ll teach you to drug a harpooneer; none of your apothecary’s medicine here; you want to poison us, do ye? You have got out insurances on our lives and want to murder us all, and pocket the proceeds, do ye?”

“Yes, yes, steward,” cried Stubb. “We’ll teach you not to drug a harpooneer. None of your pharmacy medicine here. You want to poison us, do you? You’ve taken out insurance on our lives and want to murder us all and pocket the money, do you?”

“It was not me,” cried Dough-Boy, “it was Aunt Charity that brought the ginger on board; and bade me never give the harpooneers any spirits, but only this ginger-jub—so she called it.”

“It wasn’t me,” cried Dough-Boy. “Aunt Charity brought the ginger on board. She told me never to give the harpooneers any liquor, only this ginger-jub, as she called it.”

“Ginger-jub! you gingerly rascal! take that! and run along with ye to the lockers, and get something better. I hope I do no wrong, Mr. Starbuck. It is the captain’s orders—grog for the harpooneer on a whale.”

“Ginger-jub! You timid rascal! Take that! Now run along to the lockers and get something better. I hope I’m not doing anything wrong, Mr. Starbuck. It’s the captain’s orders: grog for the harpooner on a whale.”

“Enough,” replied Starbuck, “only don’t hit him again, but—”

“Enough,” said Starbuck. “Just don’t hit him again, but…”

“Oh, I never hurt when I hit, except when I hit a whale or something of that sort; and this fellow’s a weazel. What were you about saying, sir?”

“Oh, I never hurt when I hit, unless I hit a whale or something like that. And this fellow is a weasel. What were you saying, sir?”

“Only this: go down with him, and get what thou wantest thyself.”

“Just this: go down with him and get what you want yourself.”

When Stubb reappeared, he came with a dark flask in one hand, and a sort of tea-caddy in the other. The first contained strong spirits, and was handed to Queequeg; the second was Aunt Charity’s gift, and that was freely given to the waves.

When Stubb returned, he carried a dark flask in one hand and something like a tea caddy in the other. The flask held strong liquor, and he handed it to Queequeg. The tea caddy was Aunt Charity’s gift, and he freely gave it to the waves.