CHAPTER 22
Merry Christmas
At length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship’s riggers,
and after the Pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the
ever-thoughtful Charity had come off in a whale-boat, with her last gift— a
nightcap for Stubb, the second mate, her brother-in-law, and a spare Bible
for the steward—after all this, the two Captains, Peleg and Bildad, issued
from the cabin, and turning to the chief mate, Peleg said:
“Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is right?
Captain Ahab is all ready—just spoke to him—nothing more
to be got from shore, eh? Well, call all hands, then.
Muster ’em aft here—blast ’em!”
“No need of profane words, however great the hurry, Peleg,” said Bildad,
“but away with thee, friend Starbuck, and do our bidding.”
How now! Here upon the very point of starting for the voyage, Captain
Peleg and Captain Bildad were going it with a high hand on the quarter-
deck, just as if they were to be joint-commanders at sea, as well as to all
appearances in port. And, as for Captain Ahab, no sign of him was yet to be
seen; Only, they said he was in the cabin. But then, the idea was, that his
presence was by no means necessary in getting the ship under weigh, and
steering her well out to sea. Indeed, as that was not at all his proper
business, but the pilot’s; and as he was not yet completely recovered—so
they said—therefore, Captain Ahab stayed below. And all this seemed
natural enough; especially as in the merchant service many captains never
show themselves on deck for a considerable time after heaving up the
anchor, but remain over the cabin table, having a farewell merry-making
with their shore friends, before they quit the ship for good with the pilot.
But there was not much chance to think over the matter, for Captain
Peleg was now all alive. He seemed to do most of the talking and
commanding, and not Bildad.
“Aft here, ye sons of bachelors,” he cried, as the sailors lingered at the
main-mast. “Mr. Starbuck, drive aft.”
“Strike the tent there!”—was the next order. As I hinted before, this
whalebone marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the
Pequod, for thirty years, the order to strike the tent was well known to be
the next thing to heaving up the anchor.
“Man the capstan! Blood and thunder!—jump!”—was the next
command, and the crew sprang for the handspikes.
Now in getting under weigh, the station generally occupied by the pilot is
the forward part of the ship. And here Bildad, who, with Peleg, be it known,
in addition to his other offices, was one of the licensed pilots of the port—
he being suspected to have got himself made a pilot in order to save the
Nantucket pilot-fee to all the ships he was concerned in, for he never
piloted any other craft—Bildad, I say, might now be seen actively engaged
in looking over the bows for the approaching anchor, and at intervals
singing what seemed a dismal stave of psalmody, to cheer the hands at the
windlass, who roared forth some sort of a chorus about the girls in Booble
Alley, with hearty good will. Nevertheless, not three days previous, Bildad
had told them that no profane songs would be allowed on board the Pequod,
particularly in getting under weigh; and Charity, his sister, had placed a
small choice copy of Watts in each seaman’s berth.
Meantime, overseeing the other part of the ship, Captain Peleg ripped and
swore astern in the most frightful manner. I almost thought he would sink
the ship before the anchor could be got up; involuntarily I paused on my
handspike, and told Queequeg to do the same, thinking of the perils we both
ran, in starting on the voyage with such a devil for a pilot. I was comforting
myself, however, with the thought that in pious Bildad might be found some
salvation, spite of his seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay; when I felt a
sudden sharp poke in my rear, and turning round, was horrified at the
apparition of Captain Peleg in the act of withdrawing his leg from my
immediate vicinity. That was my first kick.
“Is that the way they heave in the marchant service?” he roared. “Spring,
thou sheep-head; spring, and break thy backbone! Why don’t ye spring, I
say, all of ye—spring! Quohog! spring, thou chap with the red whiskers;
spring there, Scotch-cap; spring, thou green pants. Spring, I say, all of ye,
and spring your eyes out!” And so saying, he moved along the windlass,
here and there using his leg very freely, while imperturbable Bildad kept
leading off with his psalmody. Thinks I, Captain Peleg must have been
drinking something to-day.
At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a
short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we
found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray
cased us in ice, as in polished armor. The long rows of teeth on the
bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some
huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from the bows.
Lank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the
old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over
her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were
heard,—
“Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood,
Stand dressed in living green.
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan rolled between.”
Never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. They
were full of hope and fruition. Spite of this frigid winter night in the
boisterous Atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it
then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades
so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden,
unwilted, remains at midsummer.
At last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no
longer. The stout sail-boat that had accompanied us began ranging
alongside.
It was curious and not unpleasing, how Peleg and Bildad were affected at
this juncture, especially Captain Bildad. For loath to depart, yet; very loath
to leave, for good, a ship bound on so long and perilous a voyage—beyond
both stormy Capes; a ship in which some thousands of his hardearned
dollars were invested; a ship, in which an old shipmate sailed as captain; a
man almost as old as he, once more starting to encounter all the terrors of
the pitiless jaw; loath to say good-bye to a thing so every way brimful of
every interest to him,— poor old Bildad lingered long; paced the deck with
anxious strides; ran down into the cabin to speak another farewell word
there; again came on deck, and looked to windward; looked towards the
wide and endless waters, only bounded by the far-off unseen Eastern
Continents; looked towards the land; looked aloft; looked right and left;
looked everywhere and nowhere; and at last, mechanically coiling a rope
upon its pin, convulsively grasped stout Peleg by the hand, and holding up a
lantern, for a moment stood gazing heroically in his face, as much as to say,
“Nevertheless, friend Peleg, I can stand it; yes, I can.”
As for Peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all his
philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern came too
near. And he, too, did not a little run from the cabin to deck—now a word
below, and now a word with Starbuck, the chief mate.
But, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about him,
—”Captain Bildad—come, old shipmate, we must go. Back the mainyard
there! Boat ahoy! Stand by to come close alongside, now! Careful, careful!
—come, Bildad, boy— say your last. Luck to ye, Starbuck—luck to ye, Mr.
Stubb— luck to ye, Mr. Flask—good-bye and good luck to ye all— and this
day three years I’ll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket.
Hurrah and away!”
“God bless ye, and have ye in His holy keeping, men,” murmured old
Bildad, almost incoherently. “I hope ye’ll have fine weather now, so that
Captain Ahab may soon be moving among ye—a pleasant sun is all he
needs, and ye’ll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go. Be careful
in the hunt, ye mates. Don’t stave the boats needlessly, ye harpooneers;
good white cedar plank is raised full three per cent within the year. Don’t
forget your prayers, either. Mr. Starbuck, mind that cooper don’t waste the
spare staves. Oh! the sail-needles are in the green locker. Don’t whale it too
much a’ Lord’s days, men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting
Heaven’s good gifts. Have an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a
little leaky, I thought. If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of
fornication. Good-bye, good-bye! Don’t keep that cheese too long down in
the hold, Mr. Starbuck; it’ll spoil. Be careful with the butter—twenty cents
the pound it was, and mind ye, if—”
“Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering,—away!” and with that,
Peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat.
Ship and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a
screaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three
heavy-hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone Atlantic.
