I don’t like this cobbling sort of business—I don’t like it at all; it’s undignified; it’s not my place. Let tinkers’ brats do tinkerings; we are their betters. I like to take in hand none but clean, virgin, fair-and-square mathematical jobs, something that regularly begins at the beginning, and is at the middle when midway, and comes to an end at the conclusion; not a cobbler’s job, that’s at an end in the middle, and at the beginning at the end. It’s the old woman’s tricks to be giving cobbling jobs.
Lord! what an affeion all old women have for tinkers. I know an old woman of sixty-five who ran away with a bald-headed young tinker once. And that’s the reason I never would work for lonely widow old women ashore, when I kept my job-shop in the Vineyard; they might have taken it into their lonely old heads to run off with me. But heigh-ho! there are no caps at sea but snow-caps. Let me see. Nail down the lid; caulk the seams; pay over the same with pitch; batten them down tight, and hang it with the snap-spring over the ship’s stern. Were ever such things done before with a coffin? Some superstitious old carpenters, now, would be tied up in the rigging, ere they would do the job. But I’m made of knotty Aroostook hemlock; I don’t budge. Cruppered with a coffin! Sailing about with a grave-yard tray! But never mind. We workers in woods make bridal-bedsteads and card-tables, as well as coffins and hearses. We work by the month, or by the job, or by the profit; not for us to ask the why and wherefore of our work, unless it be too confounded cobbling, and then we stash it if we can. hem! i’ll do the job, now, tenderly. I’ll have me —let’s see—how many in the ship’s company, all told?
But I’ve forgotten. Any way, I’ll have me thirty separate, Turk’s- headed life-lines, each three feet long hanging all round to the coffin. en, if the hull go down, there’ll be thirty lively fellows all fighting for one coffin, a sight not seen very often beneath the sun! Come hammer, calking-iron, pitch-pot, and marling-spike! Let’s to it”.
CHAPTER CXVII.
THE DECK
e coffin laid upon two line-tubs, between the vice-bench and the open hatchway; the Carpenter calking its seams; the string of twisted oakum slowly unwinding from a large roll of it placed in the bosom of his frock.—Ahab comes slowly from the cabin- gangway, and hears Pip following him.
“Back, lad; I will be with ye again presently. He goes! Not this hand complies with my humor more genially than that boy.—Middle aisle of a church! What’s here?”
“Life buoy, Sir. Mr. Starbuck’s orders. Oh, look, Sir! Beware the hatchway!”
“ank ye, man. y coffin lies handy to the vault.”
“Sir? e hatchway? oh! So it does, Sir, so it does.”
“Art not thou the leg-maker? Look, did not this stump come from thy shop?”
“I believe it did, Sir; does the ferrule stand, Sir?”
“Well enough. But art thou not also the undertaker?”
“Aye, Sir; I patched up this thing here as a coffin for Queequeg; but they’ve set me now to turning it into something else.”
“en tell me; art thou not an arrant, all-grasping, inter-meddling, monopolizing, heathenish old scamp, to be one day making legs, and the next day coffins to clap them in, and yet again life-buoys out of those same coffins? ou art as unprincipled as the gods, and as much of a jack-of-all- trades.”
“But I do not mean anything, Sir. I do as I do.”
“e gods again. hark ye, dost thou not ever sing working about a coffin? e Titans, they say, hummed snatches when chipping out the craters for volcanoes; and the grave-digger in the play sings, spade in hand. Dost thou never?”
“Sing, Sir? Do I sing? Oh, I’m indifferent enough, Sir, for that; but the reason why the grave- digger made music must have been because there was none in his spade, Sir. But the calking mallet is full of it. Hark to it.”
“Aye, and that’s because the lid there’s a sounding- board; and what in all things
makes the sounding-board is this —there’s naught beneath. And yet, a coffin with a body in it rings pretty much the same, Carpenter. Hast thou ever helped carry a bier, and heard the coffin knock against the churchyard gate, going in?”
“Faith, Sir, I’ve—”
“Faith? What’s that?”
“Why, faith, Sir, it’s only a sort of exclamation-like —that’s all, Sir.”
“Um, um; go on.”
“I was about to say, Sir, that—”
“Art thou a silk-worm? Dost thou spin thy own shroud out of thyself? Look at thy bosom! Despatch! and get these traps out of sight.”
“He goes aft. at was sudden, now; but squalls come sudden in hot latitudes.
I’ve heard that the Isle of Albemarle, one of the Gallipagos, is cut by the Equator right in the middle. Seems to me some sort of Equator cuts yon old man, too, right in his middle. He’s always under the Line—fiery hot, I tell ye! He’s looking this way—come, oakum; quick. Here we go again. is wooden mallet is the cork, and I’m the professor of musical glasses—tap, tap!”
Ahab to himself.
“ere’s a sight! ere’s sound! e greyheaded woodpecker tapping the hollow tree! Blind and dumb might well be envied now. See! that thing rests on two line-tubs, full of tow- lines. A most malicious wag, that fellow. Rat-tat! So man’s seconds tick! Oh! how immaterial are all materials! What things real are there, but imponderable thoughts? Here now’s the very dreaded symbol of grim death, by a mere hap, made the expressive sign of the help and hope of most endangered life.
A life-buoy of a coffin! Does it go further? Can it be that in some spiritual sense the coffin is, after all, but an immortality-preserver! I’ll think of that. But no. So far gone am I in the dark side of earth, that its other side, the theoretic bright one, seems but uncertain twilight to me. Will ye never have done, Carpenter, with that accursed sound? I go below; let me not see that thing here when I return again.
Now, then, Pip, we’ll talk this over; I do suck most wondrous philosophies from thee! Some unknown conduits from the unknown worlds must empty into thee!”
CHAPTER CXVIII.
THE PEQUOD MEETS THE
RACHEL
Next day, a large ship, the Rachel, was descried, bearing direly down upon the Pequod, all her spars thickly clustering with men. At the time the Pequod was making good speed through the water; but as the broad-winged windward stranger shot nigh to her, the boastful sails all fell together as blank bladders that are burst, and all life fled from the smitten hull.
“Bad news; she brings bad news,” muttered the old Manxman. But ere her commander, who, with trumpet to mouth, stood up in his boat; ere he could hopefully hail, Ahab’s voice was heard.
