The Doubloon

11 min

Ere now it has been related how Ahab was wont to pace his quarter-deck, taking regular turns at either limit, the binnacle and mainmast; but in the multiplicity of other things requiring narration it has not been added how that sometimes in these walks, when most plunged in his mood, he was wont to pause in turn at each spot, and stand there strangely eyeing the particular object before him. When he halted before the binnacle, with his glance fastened on the pointed needle in the compass, that glance shot like a javelin with the pointed intensity of his purpose; and when resuming his walk he again paused before the mainmast, then, as the same riveted glance fastened upon the riveted gold coin there, he still wore the same aspect of nailed firmness, only dashed with a certain wild longing, if not hopefulness.

Earlier, we saw how Ahab paced his quarter-deck, turning each time he reached the binnacle or the mainmast. But with so much else to tell, I have not mentioned what sometimes happened during these walks. When he was most deeply lost in his mood, he would pause at each end. There he would stand, gazing strangely at the object before him. When he stopped before the binnacle, he fixed his eyes on the pointed compass needle. His gaze shot like a javelin, as sharp and intense as his purpose. Then he resumed walking and paused again before the mainmast. He fixed the same unyielding gaze on the gold coin nailed there. His expression remained just as firmly set, though now touched by a wild longing, if not hope.

But one morning, turning to pass the doubloon, he seemed to be newly attracted by the strange figures and inscriptions stamped on it, as though now for the first time beginning to interpret for himself in some monomaniac way whatever significance might lurk in them. And some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth, and the round world itself but an empty cipher, except to sell by the cartload, as they do hills about Boston, to fill up some morass in the Milky Way.

But one morning, as he turned to pass the doubloon, its strange stamped figures and inscriptions seemed to catch his attention anew. It was as if he were interpreting their hidden meaning for himself for the first time, in his own obsessively single-minded way. And all things have some hidden meaning. Otherwise, all things are worth little, and the round world itself is just an empty zero. Its only value would be to sell it by the cartload, as people do with hills around Boston, to fill some swamp in the Milky Way.

Now this doubloon was of purest, virgin gold, raked somewhere out of the heart of gorgeous hills, whence, east and west, over golden sands, the head-waters of many a Pactolus flows. And though now nailed amidst all the rustiness of iron bolts and the verdigris of copper spikes, yet, untouchable and immaculate to any foulness, it still preserved its Quito glow. Nor, though placed amongst a ruthless crew and every hour passed by ruthless hands, and through the livelong nights shrouded with thick darkness which might cover any pilfering approach, nevertheless every sunrise found the doubloon where the sunset left it last. For it was set apart and sanctified to one awe-striking end; and however wanton in their sailor ways, one and all, the mariners revered it as the white whale’s talisman. Sometimes they talked it over in the weary watch by night, wondering whose it was to be at last, and whether he would ever live to spend it.

The doubloon was made of the purest virgin gold, dug from the heart of magnificent hills. From those hills, the headwaters of many a Pactolus flow east and west over golden sands. Now the coin was nailed among rusty iron bolts and green-stained copper spikes. Yet no filth could touch it, and it kept its spotless Quito glow. Though the doubloon was placed among a ruthless crew, and ruthless hands passed it every hour, every sunrise found it where the sunset had left it. This was true even after long nights of thick darkness that could have concealed a thief’s approach. For the coin had been set apart and made sacred to one awe-inspiring purpose. However reckless the sailors were in their ways, every one of them revered it as the white whale’s talisman. Sometimes, during the weary night watch, they talked about who would finally claim it. They wondered, too, whether he would ever live to spend it.

Now those noble golden coins of South America are as medals of the sun and tropic token-pieces. Here palms, alpacas, and volcanoes; sun’s disks and stars; ecliptics, horns-of-plenty, and rich banners waving, are in luxuriant profusion stamped; so that the precious gold seems almost to derive an added preciousness and enhancing glories, by passing through those fancy mints, so Spanishly poetic.

Now those noble gold coins of South America are like medals of the sun and tokens of the tropics. They are richly stamped with palms, alpacas, and volcanoes, sun disks and stars, ecliptics, horns of plenty, and waving banners. The precious gold seems to gain even more value and glory by passing through those imaginative, so distinctly Spanish and poetic mints.

It so chanced that the doubloon of the Pequod was a most wealthy example of these things. On its round border it bore the letters, REPUBLICA DEL ECUADOR: QUITO. So this bright coin came from a country planted in the middle of the world, and beneath the great equator, and named after it; and it had been cast midway up the Andes, in the unwaning clime that knows no autumn. Zoned by those letters you saw the likeness of three Andes’ summits; from one a flame; a tower on another; on the third a crowing cock; while arching over all was a segment of the partitioned zodiac, the signs all marked with their usual cabalistics, and the keystone sun entering the equinoctial point at Libra.

As it happened, the Pequod’s doubloon was a richly detailed example of such coins. Around its edge were the words, REPUBLICA DEL ECUADOR: QUITO. So this bright coin came from a country named for the equator, which runs through the middle of the world. It had been minted halfway up the Andes, in a land of endless seasons that knows no autumn. Inside the ring of letters were images of three Andes peaks. A flame rose from one, a tower stood on another, and a rooster crowed on the third. Above them all arched part of the divided zodiac, with every sign marked by its usual mystical symbols. At the top of the arch, the sun was entering Libra, the sign of the equinox.

Before this equatorial coin, Ahab, not unobserved by others, was now pausing.

Ahab now paused in front of the equatorial coin. Others noticed him there.

“There’s something ever egotistical in mountain-tops and towers, and all other grand and lofty things; look here,—three peaks as proud as Lucifer. The firm tower, that is Ahab; the volcano, that is Ahab; the courageous, the undaunted, and victorious fowl, that, too, is Ahab; all are Ahab; and this round gold is but the image of the rounder globe, which, like a magician’s glass, to each and every man in turn but mirrors back his own mysterious self. Great pains, small gains for those who ask the world to solve them; it cannot solve itself. Methinks now this coined sun wears a ruddy face; but see! aye, he enters the sign of storms, the equinox! and but six months before he wheeled out of a former equinox at Aries! From storm to storm! So be it, then. Born in throes, ’tis fit that man should live in pains and die in pangs! So be it, then! Here’s stout stuff for woe to work on. So be it, then.”

“There is always something self-centered about mountain peaks, towers, and all other grand, lofty things. Look here, three peaks as proud as Lucifer. The solid tower is Ahab. The volcano is Ahab. The brave, fearless, victorious bird is Ahab too. All are Ahab. And this round gold coin is only an image of the rounder globe. Like a magician’s mirror, the globe reflects each person’s own mysterious self back to them. Those who ask the world to explain them take great pains for little reward. The world cannot explain itself. Now this sun on the coin seems to have a red face. But look! Yes, he enters the sign of storms, the equinox! And only six months ago he came out of the previous equinox in Aries! From storm to storm! So be it, then. Born in agony, it is fitting that man should live in pain and die in anguish! So be it, then! Here is sturdy material for misery to work on. So be it, then.”

“No fairy fingers can have pressed the gold, but devil’s claws must have left their mouldings there since yesterday,” murmured Starbuck to himself, leaning against the bulwarks. “The old man seems to read Belshazzar’s awful writing. I have never marked the coin inspectingly. He goes below; let me read. A dark valley between three mighty, heaven-abiding peaks, that almost seem the Trinity, in some faint earthly symbol. So in this vale of Death, God girds us round; and over all our gloom, the sun of Righteousness still shines a beacon and a hope. If we bend down our eyes, the dark vale shows her mouldy soil; but if we lift them, the bright sun meets our glance half way, to cheer. Yet, oh, the great sun is no fixture; and if, at midnight, we would fain snatch some sweet solace from him, we gaze for him in vain! This coin speaks wisely, mildly, truly, but still sadly to me. I will quit it, lest Truth shake me falsely.”

“No fairy fingers could have pressed the gold. Devil’s claws must have left their marks there since yesterday,” Starbuck murmured to himself, leaning against the bulwarks. “The old man seems to be reading Belshazzar’s dreadful writing. I have never examined the coin closely. He’s going below. Let me read it. A dark valley lies between three mighty peaks that reach up to heaven. They almost seem like a faint earthly symbol of the Trinity. So, in this valley of Death, God surrounds us. And above all our darkness, the sun of Righteousness still shines as a beacon and a hope. If we look down, the dark valley shows us its moldy soil. But if we look up, the bright sun meets our gaze halfway and cheers us. Yet, oh, the great sun does not stay in one place. If we want to draw some sweet comfort from it at midnight, we look for it in vain! This coin speaks wisely, gently, and truly to me, but still sadly. I will leave it, lest Truth mislead me by shaking my faith.”

“There now’s the old Mogul,” soliloquized Stubb by the try-works, “he’s been twigging it; and there goes Starbuck from the same, and both with faces which I should say might be somewhere within nine fathoms long. And all from looking at a piece of gold, which did I have it now on Negro Hill or in Corlaer’s Hook, I’d not look at it very long ere spending it. Humph! in my poor, insignificant opinion, I regard this as queer. I have seen doubloons before now in my voyagings; your doubloons of old Spain, your doubloons of Peru, your doubloons of Chili, your doubloons of Bolivia, your doubloons of Popayan; with plenty of gold moidores and pistoles, and joes, and half joes, and quarter joes. What then should there be in this doubloon of the Equator that is so killing wonderful? By Golconda! let me read it once. Halloa! here’s signs and wonders truly! That, now, is what old Bowditch in his Epitome calls the zodiac, and what my almanac below calls ditto. I’ll get the almanac and as I have heard devils can be raised with Daboll’s arithmetic, I’ll try my hand at raising a meaning out of these queer curvicues here with the Massachusetts calendar. Here’s the book. Let’s see now. Signs and wonders; and the sun, he’s always among ’em. Hem, hem, hem; here they are—here they go—all alive:—Aries, or the Ram; Taurus, or the Bull and Jimimi! here’s Gemini himself, or the Twins. Well; the sun he wheels among ’em. Aye, here on the coin he’s just crossing the threshold between two of twelve sitting-rooms all in a ring. Book! you lie there; the fact is, you books must know your places. You’ll do to give us the bare words and facts, but we come in to supply the thoughts. That’s my small experience, so far as the Massachusetts calendar, and Bowditch’s navigator, and Daboll’s arithmetic go. Signs and wonders, eh? Pity if there is nothing wonderful in signs, and significant in wonders! There’s a clue somewhere; wait a bit; hist—hark! By Jove, I have it! Look you, Doubloon, your zodiac here is the life of man in one round chapter; and now I’ll read it off, straight out of the book. Come, Almanack! To begin: there’s Aries, or the Ram—lecherous dog, he begets us; then, Taurus, or the Bull—he bumps us the first thing; then Gemini, or the Twins—that is, Virtue and Vice; we try to reach Virtue, when lo! comes Cancer the Crab, and drags us back; and here, going from Virtue, Leo, a roaring Lion, lies in the path—he gives a few fierce bites and surly dabs with his paw; we escape, and hail Virgo, the Virgin! that’s our first love; we marry and think to be happy for aye, when pop comes Libra, or the Scales—happiness weighed and found wanting; and while we are very sad about that, Lord! how we suddenly jump, as Scorpio, or the Scorpion, stings us in the rear; we are curing the wound, when whang come the arrows all round; Sagittarius, or the Archer, is amusing himself. As we pluck out the shafts, stand aside! here’s the battering-ram, Capricornus, or the Goat; full tilt, he comes rushing, and headlong we are tossed; when Aquarius, or the Water-bearer, pours out his whole deluge and drowns us; and to wind up with Pisces, or the Fishes, we sleep. There’s a sermon now, writ in high heaven, and the sun goes through it every year, and yet comes out of it all alive and hearty. Jollily he, aloft there, wheels through toil and trouble; and so, alow here, does jolly Stubb. Oh, jolly’s the word for aye! Adieu, Doubloon! But stop; here comes little King-Post; dodge round the try-works, now, and let’s hear what he’ll have to say. There; he’s before it; he’ll out with something presently. So, so; he’s beginning.”

“There goes the old Mogul,” Stubb said to himself by the try-works. “He’s been looking at it. And there goes Starbuck from the same place. Both their faces look nearly nine fathoms long. And all because they’ve been looking at a piece of gold. If I had that gold on Negro Hill or in Corlaer’s Hook, I wouldn’t look at it long before spending it. Humph! In my poor, insignificant opinion, that’s queer. I’ve seen doubloons before on my voyages. Doubloons from old Spain, Peru, Chili, Bolivia, and Popayan. And plenty of gold moidores and pistoles, and joes, and half joes, and quarter joes. So what’s so amazingly wonderful about this doubloon from the Equator? By Golconda! Let me take a look. “Hello! Here are signs and wonders indeed! That’s what old Bowditch calls the zodiac in his Epitome, and my almanac below calls it the same. I’ll get the almanac. I’ve heard that devils can be raised with Daboll’s arithmetic. So I’ll try to raise a meaning from these queer curls with the Massachusetts calendar. Here’s the book. Let’s see now. Signs and wonders, and the sun is always among them. Hem, hem, hem. Here they are, here they go, all alive: Aries, or the Ram. Taurus, or the Bull. And Jimimi! Here’s Gemini himself, or the Twins. Well, the sun moves around among them. Aye, here on the coin he’s just crossing the threshold between two of twelve rooms arranged in a ring. “Book! You lie there. The fact is, you books must know your place. You’ll do for giving us the bare words and facts, but we have to supply the thoughts. That’s my limited experience, anyway, with the Massachusetts calendar, Bowditch’s navigator, and Daboll’s arithmetic. Signs and wonders, eh? It would be a pity if there were nothing wonderful in signs and nothing significant in wonders! There’s a clue somewhere. Wait a bit. Hush, listen! By Jove, I have it! Look here, Doubloon, your zodiac is the whole life of man in one chapter. And now I’ll read it straight out of the book. Come, Almanack! “To begin, there’s Aries, or the Ram. The lecherous dog fathers us. Then Taurus, or the Bull. The first thing he does is bump us. Then Gemini, or the Twins. That means Virtue and Vice. We try to reach Virtue, when suddenly Cancer the Crab comes and drags us back. And as we move away from Virtue, Leo, a roaring Lion, lies in the path. He gives us a few fierce bites and bad-tempered swipes with his paw. We escape and greet Virgo, the Virgin! That’s our first love. We marry and think we’ll be happy forever, when pop comes Libra, or the Scales. Happiness is weighed and found wanting. And while we’re very sad about that, Lord! How we suddenly jump when Scorpio, or the Scorpion, stings us in the rear. We’re treating the wound when, whang, arrows come flying all around. Sagittarius, or the Archer, is amusing himself. As we pull out the arrows, stand aside! Here’s the battering ram, Capricornus, or the Goat. He comes rushing at full speed and tosses us headlong. Then Aquarius, or the Water-bearer, pours out his whole flood and drowns us. And to finish with Pisces, or the Fishes, we sleep. “There’s a sermon written in the heavens. The sun goes through it every year, and still comes out alive and hearty. Up there, he moves merrily through toil and trouble. And down here, so does merry Stubb. Oh, merry is the word forever! Goodbye, Doubloon! But wait, here comes little King-Post. I’ll dodge around the try-works and hear what he has to say. There, he’s in front of it. He’ll say something soon. There, there, he’s beginning.”

“I see nothing here, but a round thing made of gold, and whoever raises a certain whale, this round thing belongs to him. So, what’s all this staring been about? It is worth sixteen dollars, that’s true; and at two cents the cigar, that’s nine hundred and sixty cigars. I won’t smoke dirty pipes like Stubb, but I like cigars, and here’s nine hundred and sixty of them; so here goes Flask aloft to spy ’em out.”

“I see nothing here but a round piece of gold. It belongs to whoever spots a certain whale. So what’s all this staring about? It’s worth sixteen dollars, that’s true. And at two cents a cigar, that’s nine hundred and sixty cigars. I won’t smoke dirty pipes like Stubb, but I like cigars. And here are nine hundred and sixty of them. So up Flask goes to look for them.”

“Shall I call that wise or foolish, now; if it be really wise it has a foolish look to it; yet, if it be really foolish, then has it a sort of wiseish look to it. But, avast; here comes our old Manxman—the old hearse-driver, he must have been, that is, before he took to the sea. He luffs up before the doubloon; halloa, and goes round on the other side of the mast; why, there’s a horse-shoe nailed on that side; and now he’s back again; what does that mean? Hark! he’s muttering—voice like an old worn-out coffee-mill. Prick ears, and listen!”

“Should I call that wise or foolish? If it’s really wise, it looks foolish. But if it’s really foolish, it looks a little wise. But hold on, here comes our old Manxman. He must have been a hearse driver before he went to sea. He stops in front of the doubloon. Hello, now he’s going around to the other side of the mast. Why, there’s a horseshoe nailed on that side. And now he’s back again. What does that mean? Listen! He’s muttering, and his voice sounds like an old, worn-out coffee grinder. Prick up your ears and listen!”

“If the White Whale be raised, it must be in a month and a day, when the sun stands in some one of these signs. I’ve studied signs, and know their marks; they were taught me two score years ago, by the old witch in Copenhagen. Now, in what sign will the sun then be? The horse-shoe sign; for there it is, right opposite the gold. And what’s the horse-shoe sign? The lion is the horse-shoe sign—the roaring and devouring lion. Ship, old ship! my old head shakes to think of thee.”

“If the White Whale is sighted, it must be in a month and a day, when the sun is in one of these signs. I’ve studied the signs and know their marks. The old witch in Copenhagen taught them to me forty years ago. Now, what sign will the sun be in then? The horseshoe sign, because there it is, right opposite the gold. And what is the horseshoe sign? The lion is the horseshoe sign, the roaring and devouring lion. Ship, old ship! My old head shakes when I think of you.”

“There’s another rendering now; but still one text. All sorts of men in one kind of world, you see. Dodge again! here comes Queequeg—all tattooing—looks like the signs of the Zodiac himself. What says the Cannibal? As I live he’s comparing notes; looking at his thigh bone; thinks the sun is in the thigh, or in the calf, or in the bowels, I suppose, as the old women talk Surgeon’s Astronomy in the back country. And by Jove, he’s found something there in the vicinity of his thigh—I guess it’s Sagittarius, or the Archer. No: he don’t know what to make of the doubloon; he takes it for an old button off some king’s trowsers. But, aside again! here comes that ghost-devil, Fedallah; tail coiled out of sight as usual, oakum in the toes of his pumps as usual. What does he say, with that look of his? Ah, only makes a sign to the sign and bows himself; there is a sun on the coin—fire worshipper, depend upon it. Ho! more and more. This way comes Pip—poor boy! would he had died, or I; he’s half horrible to me. He too has been watching all of these interpreters—myself included—and look now, he comes to read, with that unearthly idiot face. Stand away again and hear him. Hark!”

“There’s another interpretation, but still the same text. All sorts of men in one kind of world, you see. Hide again! Here comes Queequeg, covered in tattoos. He looks like the signs of the Zodiac himself. What does the Cannibal say? As I live, he’s comparing notes, looking at his thigh bone. I suppose he thinks the sun is in the thigh, or the calf, or the bowels. That’s how old women talk about Surgeon’s Astronomy in the back country. And by Jove, he’s found something near his thigh. I guess it’s Sagittarius, the Archer. No, he doesn’t know what to make of the doubloon. He takes it for an old button from some king’s trousers. But step aside again! Here comes that ghost-devil, Fedallah. His tail is coiled out of sight, as usual, and there’s oakum in the toes of his pumps, as usual. What does he say, with that look of his? Ah, he only makes a sign to the sign and bows to it. There’s a sun on the coin. He’s a fire worshipper, you can depend on it. Ho! More and more. Here comes Pip, poor boy! I wish he had died, or I had. He’s half horrible to me. He’s been watching all these interpreters too, myself included. And look now, he’s coming to read the coin, with that unearthly idiot face. Stand aside again and listen to him. Hark!”

“I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look.”

“I look, you look, he looks; we look, you look, they look.”

“Upon my soul, he’s been studying Murray’s Grammar! Improving his mind, poor fellow! But what’s that he says now—hist!”

“I swear, he’s been studying Murray’s Grammar! Improving his mind, poor fellow! But what’s he saying now? Listen!”

“I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look.”

“I look, you look, he looks; we look, you look, they look.”

“Why, he’s getting it by heart—hist! again.”

“Why, he’s memorizing it. Listen! Again.”

“I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look.”

“I look, you look, he looks; we look, you look, they look.”

“Well, that’s funny.”

“And I, you, and he; and we, ye, and they, are all bats; and I’m a crow, especially when I stand a’top of this pine tree here. Caw! caw! caw! caw! caw! caw! Ain’t I a crow? And where’s the scare-crow? There he stands; two bones stuck into a pair of old trowsers, and two more poked into the sleeves of an old jacket.”

“And I, you, and he, and we, you, and they, are all bats. And I’m a crow, especially when I stand on top of this pine tree. Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Aren’t I a crow? And where’s the scarecrow? There he stands, two bones stuck into a pair of old pants and two more poked into an old jacket’s sleeves.”

“Wonder if he means me?—complimentary!—poor lad!—I could go hang myself. Any way, for the present, I’ll quit Pip’s vicinity. I can stand the rest, for they have plain wits; but he’s too crazy-witty for my sanity. So, so, I leave him muttering.”

“I wonder if he means me? How flattering! Poor lad! I could hang myself. Anyway, for now, I’ll stay away from Pip. I can stand the others because they have ordinary minds. But he’s too crazily clever for my sanity. So, so, I’ll leave him muttering.”

“Here’s the ship’s navel, this doubloon here, and they are all on fire to unscrew it. But, unscrew your navel, and what’s the consequence? Then again, if it stays here, that is ugly, too, for when aught’s nailed to the mast it’s a sign that things grow desperate. Ha, ha! old Ahab! the White Whale; he’ll nail ye! This is a pine tree. My father, in old Tolland county, cut down a pine tree once, and found a silver ring grown over in it; some old darkey’s wedding ring. How did it get there? And so they’ll say in the resurrection, when they come to fish up this old mast, and find a doubloon lodged in it, with bedded oysters for the shaggy bark. Oh, the gold! the precious, precious, gold! the green miser’ll hoard ye soon! Hish! hish! God goes ’mong the worlds blackberrying. Cook! ho, cook! and cook us! Jenny! hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, Jenny, Jenny! and get your hoe-cake done!”

“Here’s the ship’s navel, this doubloon, and they’re all burning to unscrew it. But what happens if you unscrew your navel? Then again, if the doubloon stays here, that’s ugly too. When anything is nailed to the mast, it’s a sign that things are getting desperate. Ha, ha! Old Ahab! The White Whale will nail you! This mast is a pine tree. My father once cut down a pine tree in old Tolland county. He found a silver ring that the tree had grown over, some old Black man’s wedding ring. How did it get there? They’ll say the same thing at the resurrection, when they fish up this old mast. They’ll find a doubloon lodged in it, with oysters clinging to it like shaggy bark. Oh, the gold! The precious, precious gold! The green miser will hoard you soon! Hush! Hush! God goes blackberry picking among the worlds. Cook! Hey, cook! Come cook us! Jenny! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, Jenny, Jenny! Get your hoe-cake done!”