Moby Dick; Or, The Whale

by Herman Melville

  CHAPTER 72

  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 sametime everything has to be done everywhere. It is muchthe same with him who endeavors the description of the scene.We must now retrace our way a little. It was mentioned that uponfirst breaking ground in the whale's back, the blubber-hook wasinserted 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 getfixed in that hole? It was inserted there by my particularfriend Queequeg, whose duty it was, as harpooneer, to descendupon the monster's back for the special purpose referred to.But in very many cases, circumstances require that the harpooneershall remain on the whale till the whole tensing or strippingoperation is concluded. The whale, be it observed, lies almostentirely submerged, excepting the immediate parts operated upon.So down there, some ten feet below the level of the deck, the poorharpooneer 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 touncommon advantage; and no one had a better chance to observe him,as will presently be seen.

  Being the savage's bowsman, that is, the person who pulledthe bow-oar in his boat (the second one from forward),it was my cheerful duty to attend upon him while takingthat 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 downthere in the sea, by what is technically called in the fisherya monkey-rope, attached to a strong strip of canvas beltedround his waist.

  It was a humorously perilous business for both of us. For, before weproceed further, it must be said that the monkey-rope was fast atboth ends; fast to Queequeg's broad canvas belt, and fast to my narrowleather 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 bothusage and honor demanded, that instead of cutting the cord, it should dragme down in his wake. So, then, an elongated Siamese ligature united us.Queequeg was my own inseparable twin brother; nor could I any way getrid of the dangerous liabilities which the hempen bond entailed.

  So strongly and metaphysically did I conceive of my situation then,that while earnestly watching his motions, I seemed distinctlyto perceive that my own individuality was now merged in ajoint stock company of two; that my free will had receiveda mortal wound; and that another's mistake or misfortunemight 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 andthen from between the whale and ship, which would threatento jam him--still further pondering, I say, I saw that thissituation of mine was the precise situation of every mortalthat 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 mistakesends you poison in your pills, you die. True, you maysay that, by exceeding caution, you may possibly escapethese 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 hadthe management of one end of it.*

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

  I have hinted that I would often jerk poor Queequeg from betweenthe 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 pentblood which began to flow from the carcass--the rabid creaturesswarmed round it like bees in a beehive.

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

  Nevertheless, it may well be believed that since they havesuch a ravenous finger in the pie, it is deemed but wiseto look sharp to them. Accordingly, besides the monkey-rope,with which I now and then jerked the poor fellow from tooclose a vicinity to the maw of what seemed a peculiarlyferocious shark--he was provided with still another protection.Suspended over the side in one of the stages, Tashtego and Daggoocontinually 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 disinterestedand benevolent of them. They meant Queequeg's best happiness,I admit; but in their hasty zeal to befriend him, and fromthe circumstance that both he and the sharks were at times halfhidden by the blood-muddled water, those indiscreet spadesof theirs would come nearer amputating a leg than a tall.But poor Queequeg, I suppose, straining and gasping therewith that great iron hook--poor Queequeg, I suppose, only prayedto his Yojo, and gave up his life into the hands of his gods.

  Well, well, my dear comrade and twin-brother, thought I, as Idrew in and then slacked off the rope to every swell of the sea--what matters it, after all? Are you not the preciousimage 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 spadesyou are in a sad pickle and peril, 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 lastclimbs up the chains and stands all dripping and involuntarilytrembling 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!

  "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 towardsthe astonished steward slowly saying, "Ginger? ginger? and will you havethe 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 firein this shivering cannibal? Ginger!--what the devil is ginger?--sea-coal? firewood?--lucifer matches?--tinder?--gunpowder?--what the devilis ginger, I say, 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 comefrom 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 calomeland jalap to Queequeg, there, this instant off the whale.Is the steward an apothecary, sir? and may I ask whether thisis the sort of bitters by which he blows back the life intoa half-drowned man?"

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

  "Aye, aye, steward," cried Stubb, "we'll teach you to drug it 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 give way withtheir oars, and pocket the proceeds, do ye?"

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

  "Ginger-jub! you gingerly rascal! take that! and runalong 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."

  "Enough," replied Starbuck, "only don't hit him again, but-"

  "Oh, I never hurt when I hit, except when I hit a whaleor something of that sort; and this fellow's a weazel.What were you about saying, sir?"

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

  When Stubb reappeared, he came with a dark flask in one hand, and asort 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.

  CHAPTER 73

  Stubb and Flask Kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk Over Him