he soliloquized at last, withdrawing the tube, “this smoking no longer soothes.

Oh, my pipe! hard must it go with me if thy charm be gone! Here have I been unconsciously toiling, not pleasuring,—aye, and ignorantly smoking to windward all the while; to windward, and with such nervous whiffs, as if, like the dying whale, my final jets were the strongest and fullest of trouble. What business have I with this pipe? is thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild white vapors among mild white hairs, not among torn iron-grey locks like mine. I’ll smoke no more—”

He tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea. e fire hissed in the waves; the same instant the ship shot by the bubble the sinking pipe made. With slouched hat, Ahab lurchingly paced the planks.



CHAPTER XXIX.

QUEEN MAB

Next morning Stubb accosted Flask.

“Such a queer dream, King-Post, I never had. You know the old man’s ivory leg, well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to kick back, upon my soul, my little man, I kicked my leg right off! And then, presto! Ahab seemed a pyramid, and I, like a blazing fool, kept kicking at it. But what was still more curious, Flask—you know how curious all dreams are— through all this rage that I was in, I somehow seemed to be thinking to myself, that after all, it was not much of an insult, that kick from Ahab. “Why,” thinks I, “what’s the row? It’s not a real leg, only a false leg.” And there’s a mighty difference between a living thump and a dead thump. at’s what makes a blow from the hand, Flask, fifty times more savage to bear than a blow from a cane. e living member—that makes the living insult, my little man. And thinks I to myself all the while, mind, while I was stubbing my silly toes against that cursed pyramid—so confoundedly contradiory was it all, all the while, I say, I was thinking to myself, “what’s his leg now, but a cane—a whalebone cane. Yes,” thinks I, ”it was only a playful cudgelling—in fa, only a whaleboning that he gave me—not a base kick. Besides,” thinks I, “look at it once; why, the end of it—the foot part—what a small sort of end it is; whereas, if a broad footed farmer kicked me, there’s a devilish broad insult. But this insult is whittled down to a point only.” But now comes the greatest joke of the dream, Flask. While I was battering away at the pyramid, a sort of badger-haired old merman, with a hump on his back, takes me by the shoulders, and slews me round. ”What are you ’bout?” says he. Slid! man, but I was frightened. Such a phiz! But, somehow, next moment I was over the fright.

“What am I about?” says I at last. “And what business is that of yours, I should like to know, Mr. Humpback? Do you want a kick?” By the lord, Flask, I had no sooner said that, than he turned round his stern to me, bent over, and dragging up a lot of seaweed he had for a clout—“what do you think, I saw?—why thunder



alive, man, his stern was stuck full of marlinspikes, with the points out. Says I, on second thoughts, oqq. I guess I won’t kick you, old fellow.” “Wise Stubb,” said he,

“wise Stubb;” and kept muttering it all the time, a sort of eating of his own gums like a chimney hag. Seeing he wasn’t going to stop saying over his “wise Stubb, wise Stubb,” I thought I might as well fall to kicking the pyramid again. But I had only just lifted my foot for it, when he roared out, “Stop that kicking!” “Halloa,”

says I, “what’s the matter now, old fellow?” “Look ye here,” says he; “let’s argue the insult. Captain Ahab kicked ye, didn’t he?” “Yes, he did,” says I—“right here it was.” “Very good,” says he—“he used his ivory leg, didn’t he?” “Yes, he did,”

says I. “Well then,” says he, “wise Stubb, what have you to complain of? Didn’t he kick with right good will? It wasn’t a common pitch pine leg he kicked with, was it? No, you were kicked by a great man, and with a beautiful ivory leg, Stubb. It’s an honor; I consider it an honor. Listen, wise Stubb. In old England the greatest lords think it great glory to be slapped by a queen, and made garter-knights of; but, be your boast, Stubb, that ye were kicked by old Ahab, and made a wise man of. Remember what I say; be kicked by him; account his kicks honors; and on no account kick back; for you can’t help yourself, wise Stubb. Don’t you see that pyramid?” With that, he all of a sudden seemed somehow, in some queer fashion, to swim off into the air. I snored; rolled over; and there I was in my hammock!

“Now, what do you think of that dream, Flask?”

“I don’t know; it seems a sort of foolish to me, tho’.”

“May be, may be. But it’s made a wise man of me, Flask. D’ye see Ahab standing there, sideways looking over the stern? Well, the best thing you can do, Flask, is to let that old man alone; never speak to him, whatever he says. Halloa!

what’s that he shouts? Hark!”

“Mast-head, there! Look sharp, all of ye! ere are whales hereabouts! If ye see a white one, split your lungs for him!”

“What d’ye think of that now, Flask? ain’t there a small drop of something queer about that, eh? a white whale—did ye mark that, man? Look ye—there’s something special in the wind. Stand by for it, Flask. Ahab has that that’s bloody on his mind. But, mum; he comes this way.”



CHAPTER XXX.

CETOLOGY

Already we are boldly launched upon the deep; but soon we shall be lost in its unshored, harborless immensities. Ere that come to pass; ere the Pequod’s weedy hull rolls side by side with the barnacled hulls of the Leviathan; at the outset it is but well to attend to a matter almost indispensable to a thorough appreciative understanding of the more special leviathanic revelations and allusions of all sorts which are to follow.

It is some systematized exhibition of the whale in his broad genera, that I would now fain put before you. Yet is it no easy task. e classification of the constituents of a chaos, nothing less is here essayed. Listen to what the best and latest authorities have laid down.

“No branch of Zoology is so much involved as that which is entitled Cetology,”

says Captain Scoresby, A. D. .

“It is not my intention, were it in my power, to enter into the inquiry as to the true method of dividing the cetacea into groups and families. * * * Utter confusion exists among the historians of this animal” (Sperm Whale), says Surgeon Beale, A.

D. .

“Unfitness to pursue our research in the unfathomable waters.” “Impenetrable veil covering our knowledge of the cetacea.” “A field strewn with thorns.” “All these incomplete indications but serve to torture us naturalists.”

us speak of the whale, the great Cuvier, and John Hunter, and Lesson, those lights of zoology and anatomy. Nevertheless, though of real knowledge there be little, yet of books there are a plenty; and so in some small degree, with cetology, or the science of whales. many are the men, small and great, old and new, landsmen and seamen, who have at large or in little, written of the whale. Run over a few:—e Authors of the Bible; Aristotle; Pliny; Aldrovandi; Sir omas Browne; Gesner; Ray; Linnaeus; Rondeletius; Willoughby; Green; Artedi; Sibbald; Bris-son; Marten; Lacepede; Bonneterre; Desmarest; Baron Cuvier; Frederick Cuvier;



John Hunter; Owen; Scoresby; Beale; Bennett; J. Ross Browne; the Author of Miriam Coffin; Olmstead; and the Rev. T. Cheever. But to what ultimate gener-alizing purpose all these have written, the above cited extras will show.

Of the names in this list of whale authors, only those following Owen ever saw living whales; and but one of them was a real professional harpooneer and whaleman. I mean Captain Scoresby. On the separate subje of the Greenland or Right-Whale, he is the best existing authority. But Scoresby knew nothing and says nothing of the great Sperm Whale, compared with which the Greenland Whale is almost unworthy mentioning. And here be it said, that the Greenland Whale is an usurper upon the throne of the seas. He is not even by any means the largest of the whales. Yet, owing to the long priority of his claims, and the profound ignorance which, till some seventy years back, invested the then fabulous and utterly unknown Sperm-Whale, and which ignorance to this present day still reigns in all but some few scientific retreats and whale-ports; this usurpation has been every way complete. Reference to nearly all the leviathanic allusions in the great poets of past days, will satisfy you that the Greenland Whale, without one rival, was to them the monarch of the seas. But the time has at last come for a new proclamation. is is Charing Cross; hear ye! good people all,—the Greenland Whale is deposed,—the great Sperm Whale now reigneth!

ere are only two books in being which at all pretend to put the living Sperm Whale before you, and at the same time, in the remotest degree succeed in the attempt. ose books are Beale’s and Bennett’s; both in their time surgeons to English South-Sea whale-ships, and both exa and reliable men. e original matter touching the Sperm Whale to be found in their volumes is necessarily small; but so far as it goes, it is of excellent quality, though mostly confined to scientific description. As yet, however, the Sperm Whale, scientific or poetic, lives not complete in any literature. Far above all other hunted whales, his is an unwritten life.

Now the various species of whales need some sort of popular comprehensive classification, if only an easy outline one for the present, hereafter to be filled in all its departments by subsequent laborers. As no better man advances to take this matter in hand, I hereupon offer my own poor endeavors. I promise nothing complete; because any human thing supposed to be complete, must for that very reason infallibly be faulty. I shall not pretend to a minute anatomical description of the various species, or—in this place at least—to much of any description. My obje here is simply to proje the draught of a systematization of cetology. I am the archite, not the builder.

But it is a ponderous task; no ordinary letter-sorter in the Post- office is equal to it. To grope down into the bottom of the sea after them; to have one’s hands among the unspeakable foundations, ribs, and very pelvis of the world; this is a fearful thing. What am I that I should essay to hook the nose of this Leviathan!

e awful tauntings in Job might well appal me. “Will he (the Leviathan) make



a covenant with thee? Behold the hope of him is vain!” But I have swam through libraries and sailed through oceans; I have had to do with whales with these visible hands; I am in earnest; and I will try. ere are some preliminaries to settle.

First: e uncertain, unsettled condition of this science of Cetology is in the very vestibule attested by the fa, that in some quarters it still remains a moot point whether a whale be a fish. In his System of Nature, A. D. , Linnaeus declares, “I hereby separate the whales from the fish.” But of my own knowledge, I know that down to the year , sharks and shad, alewives and herring, against Linnaeus’s express edi, were still found dividing the possession of the same seas with the Leviathan.

e grounds upon which Linnaeus would fain have banished the whales from the waters, he states as follows: “On account of their warm bilocular heart, their lungs, their movable eyelids, their hollow ears, penem intrantem feminam mam-mis laantem,” and finally, “ex lege naturae jure meritoque.” I submitted all this to my friends Simeon Macey and Charley Coffin, of Nantucket, both messmates of mine in a certain voyage, and they united in the opinion that the reasons set forth were altogether insufficient. Charley profanely hinted they were humbug.

Be it known that, waiving all argument, I take the good old fashioned ground that the whale is a fish, and call upon holy Jonah to back me. is fundamental thing settled, the next point is, in what internal respe does the whale differ from other fish. Above, Linnaeus has given you those items. But in brief, they are these: lungs and warm blood; whereas, all other fish are lungless and cold blooded.

Next: how shall we define the whale, by his obvious externals, so as conspicuously to label him for all time to come? To be short, then, a whale is a spouting fish with a horizontal tail. ere you have him. However contraed, that definition is the result of expanded meditation. A walrus spouts much like a whale, but the walrus is not a fish, because he is amphibious. but the last term of the definition is still more cogent, as coupled with the first. Almost any one must have noticed that all the fish familiar to landsmen have not a flat, but a vertical, or up-and-down tail. Whereas, among spouting fish the tail, though it may be similarly shaped, invariably assumes a horizontal position.

By the above definition of what a whale is, I do by no means exclude from the leviathanic brotherhood any sea creature hitherto identified with the whale by the best informed Nantucketers; nor, on the other hand, link with it any fish hitherto authoritatively regarded as alien. Hence, all the smaller, spouting, and horizontal tailed fish must be included in this ground-plan of Cetology. Now, then, come the grand divisions of the entire whale host.

First: According to magnitude I divide the whales into three primary B

(subdivisible into Chapters), and these shall comprehend them all, both small and large.

I, e F ; II. the O ; III. the D .



As the type of the F I present the Sperm Whale; of the O, the Grampus; of the D, the Porpoise.