Contents
A BLOCK - PRE CHAPTER TALK
—CH 109 Starbuck vs. Ahab: power, authority, and the leaked oil as practical crisis colliding with obsession. Listen for the metaphor of leaks—Ahab’s spiritual/emotional state mirrored in the ship’s hold. When Ahab describes himself as all aleak, he’s expressing the body/soul tension that drives him: internal spiritual greatness trapped in a failing physical body. The musket moment is Ahab’s violence escalating, but watch how Starbuck meets him—not with fear, but with daring, respectful defiance. Starbuck doesn’t retreat; he understands Ahab better than Ahab understands himself. This is the pivot where Ahab has to choose between murder and command. Starbuck’s final warning—let Ahab beware of Ahab—is profound: Ahab’s greatest enemy is his own nature, his inability to resist what pulls him forward (like Tantalus, forever reaching for the unreachable thing).
—CH 110 Queequeg’s exit from the active narrative—but not from the novel’s conscience. The coffin as both death-marker and uneasy resurrection. Listen for how Queequeg’s tattoos are presented: mysterious hieroglyphic marks encoding a complete theory of the heavens and earth. They’re presented as a text, a book, yet utterly mysterious and unreadable—comparable to the whale’s head, the Sphynx (ch 70), any ultimate mystery. By the end, these same tattoos are transferred to the coffin through Queequeg’s carving, which becomes a repository of mystery itself. Pip’s elegy and what it tells us about Pip’s moral clarity from Ch. 93 onward. British edition textual variants in Pip’s speech (what Melville may have revised). Nantucket burial canoes and cultural memory embedded in the coffin’s design. Queequeg’s acceptance: it will do; it is easy.
CHAPTER 109. Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin.
According to usage they were pumping the ship next morning; and lo! no inconsiderable oil came up with the water; the casks below must have sprung a bad leak. Much concern was shown; and Starbuck went down into the cabin to report this unfavourable affair.1
Now, from the South and West the Pequod was drawing nigh to Formosa2 and the Bashee Isles, between which lies one of the tropical outlets from the China waters into the Pacific. And so Starbuck found Ahab with a general chart of the oriental archipelagoes spread before him; and another separate one representing the long eastern coasts of the Japanese islands—Niphon, Matsmai, and Sikoke. With his snow-white new ivory leg braced against the screwed leg of his table, and with a long pruning-hook of a jack-knife in his hand, the wondrous old man, with his back to the gangway door, was wrinkling his brow, and tracing his old courses again.
“Who’s there?” hearing the footstep at the door, but not turning round to it. “On deck! Begone!”
“Captain Ahab mistakes; it is I. The oil in the hold is leaking, sir. We must up Burtons and break out.”3
“Up Burtons and break out? Now that we are nearing Japan; heave-to here for a week to tinker a parcel of old hoops?”
“Either do that, sir, or waste in one day more oil than we may make good in a year. What we come twenty thousand miles to get is worth saving, sir.”
“So it is, so it is; if we get it.”
“I was speaking of the oil in the hold, sir.”
“And I was not speaking or thinking of that at all. Begone! Let it leak! I’m all aleak myself. Aye! leaks in leaks! not only full of leaky casks, but those leaky casks are in a leaky ship; and that’s a far worse plight than the Pequod’s, man. Yet I don’t stop to plug my leak; for who can find it in the deep-loaded hull; or how hope to plug it, even if found, in this life’s howling gale? Starbuck! I’ll not have the Burtons hoisted.”
“What will the owners say, sir?”
“Let the owners stand on Nantucket beach and outyell the Typhoons. What cares Ahab? Owners, owners? Thou art always prating to me, Starbuck, about those miserly owners, as if the owners were my conscience. But look ye, the only real owner of anything is its commander; and hark ye, my conscience is in this ship’s keel.—On deck!”
“Captain Ahab,” said the reddening mate, moving further into the cabin, with a daring so strangely respectful and cautious that it almost seemed not only every way seeking to avoid the slightest outward manifestation of itself, but within also seemed more than half distrustful of itself; “A better man than I might well pass over in thee what he would quickly enough resent in a younger man; aye, and in a happier, Captain Ahab.”
“Devils! Dost thou then so much as dare to critically think of me?—On deck!”
“Nay, sir, not yet; I do entreat. And I do dare, sir—to be forbearing! Shall we not understand each other better than hitherto, Captain Ahab?”
Ahab seized a loaded musket from the rack (forming part of most South-Sea-men’s cabin furniture), and pointing it towards Starbuck, exclaimed: “There is one God that is Lord over the earth, and one Captain that is lord over the Pequod.—On deck!”
For an instant in the flashing eyes of the mate, and his fiery cheeks, you would have almost thought that he had really received the blaze of the levelled tube. But, mastering his emotion, he half calmly rose, and as he quitted the cabin, paused for an instant and said: “Thou hast outraged, not insulted me, sir; but for that I ask thee not to beware of Starbuck; thou wouldst but laugh; but let Ahab beware of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man.”
“He waxes brave, but nevertheless obeys; most careful bravery that!” murmured Ahab, as Starbuck disappeared. “What’s that he said—Ahab beware of Ahab—there’s something there!” Then unconsciously using the musket for a staff, with an iron brow he paced to and fro in the little cabin; but presently the thick plaits of his forehead relaxed, and returning the gun to the rack, he went to the deck.
“Thou art but too good a fellow, Starbuck,” he said lowly to the mate; then raising his voice to the crew: “Furl the t’gallant-sails, and close-reef the top-sails, fore and aft; back the main-yard; up Burton, and break out in the main-hold.”
It were perhaps vain to surmise exactly why it was, that as respecting Starbuck, Ahab thus acted. It may have been a flash of honesty in him; or mere prudential policy which, under the circumstance, imperiously forbade the slightest symptom of open disaffection, however transient, in the important chief officer of his ship. However it was, his orders were executed; and the Burtons were hoisted.
CHAPTER 110. Queequeg in His Coffin.
Upon searching, it was found that the casks last struck into the hold were perfectly sound, and that the leak must be further off. So, it being calm weather, they broke out deeper and deeper, disturbing the slumbers of the huge ground-tier butts; and from that black midnight sending those gigantic moles into the daylight above. So deep did they go; and so ancient, and corroded, and weedy the aspect of the lowermost puncheons, that you almost looked next for some mouldy corner-stone cask containing coins of Captain Noah, with copies of the posted placards, vainly warning the infatuated old world from the flood. Tierce after tierce, too, of water, and bread, and beef, and shooks of staves, and iron bundles of hoops, were hoisted out, till at last the piled decks were hard to get about; and the hollow hull echoed under foot, as if you were treading over empty catacombs, and reeled and rolled in the sea like an air-freighted demijohn. Top-heavy was the ship as a dinnerless student with all Aristotle in his head. Well was it that the Typhoons did not visit them then.
Now, at this time it was that my poor pagan companion, and fast bosom-friend, Queequeg, was seized with a fever, which brought him nigh to his endless end.
Be it said, that in this vocation of whaling, sinecures are unknown; dignity and danger go hand in hand; till you get to be Captain, the higher you rise the harder you toil. So with poor Queequeg, who, as harpooneer, must not only face all the rage of the living whale, but—as we have elsewhere seen—mount his dead back in a rolling sea; and finally descend into the gloom of the hold, and bitterly sweating all day in that subterraneous confinement, resolutely manhandle the clumsiest casks and see to their stowage. To be short, among whalemen, the harpooneers are the holders, so called.
Poor Queequeg! when the ship was about half disembowelled, you should have stooped over the hatchway, and peered down upon him there; where, stripped to his woollen drawers, the tattooed savage was crawling about amid that dampness and slime, like a green spotted lizard at the bottom of a well. And a well, or an ice-house, it somehow proved to him, poor pagan; where, strange to say, for all the heat of his sweatings, he caught a terrible chill which lapsed into a fever; and at last, after some days’ suffering, laid him in his hammock, close to the very sill of the door of death. How he wasted and wasted away in those few long-lingering days, till there seemed but little left of him but his frame and tattooing. But as all else in him thinned, and his cheek-bones grew sharper, his eyes, nevertheless, seemed growing fuller and fuller; they became of a strange softness of lustre; and mildly but deeply looked out at you there from his sickness, a wondrous testimony to that immortal health in him which could not die, or be weakened. And like circles on the water, which, as they grow fainter, expand; so his eyes seemed rounding and rounding, like the rings of Eternity. An awe that cannot be named would steal over you as you sat by the side of this waning savage, and saw as strange things in his face, as any beheld who were bystanders when Zoroaster died. For whatever is truly wondrous and fearful in man, never yet was put into words or books. And the drawing near of Death, which alike levels all, alike impresses all with a last revelation, which only an author from the dead could adequately tell. So that—let us say it again—no dying Chaldee or Greek had higher and holier thoughts than those, whose mysterious shades you saw creeping over the face of poor Queequeg, as he quietly lay in his swaying hammock, and the rolling sea seemed gently rocking him to his final rest, and the ocean’s invisible flood-tide lifted him higher and higher towards his destined heaven.
Not a man of the crew but gave him up; and, as for Queequeg himself, what he thought of his case was forcibly shown by a curious favour he asked. He called one to him in the grey morning watch, when the day was just breaking, and taking his hand, said that while in Nantucket he had chanced to see certain little canoes of dark wood, like the rich war-wood of his native isle; and upon inquiry, he had learned that all whalemen who died in Nantucket, were laid in those same dark canoes, and that the fancy of being so laid had much pleased him; for it was not unlike the custom of his own race, who, after embalming a dead warrior, stretched him out in his canoe, and so left him to be floated away to the starry archipelagoes; for not only do they believe that the stars are isles, but that far beyond all visible horizons, their own mild, uncontinented seas, interflow with the blue heavens; and so form the white breakers of the milky way. He added, that he shuddered at the thought of being buried in his hammock, according to the usual sea-custom, tossed like something vile to the death-devouring sharks. No: he desired a canoe like those of Nantucket, all the more congenial to him, being a whaleman, that like a whale-boat these coffin-canoes were without a keel; though that involved but uncertain steering, and much lee-way adown the dim ages.
Now, when this strange circumstance was made known aft, the carpenter was at once commanded to do Queequeg’s bidding, whatever it might include. There was some heathenish, coffin-coloured old lumber aboard, which, upon a long previous voyage, had been cut from the aboriginal groves of the Lackaday islands, and from these dark planks the coffin was recommended to be made. No sooner was the carpenter apprised of the order, than taking his rule, he forthwith with all the indifferent promptitude of his character, proceeded into the forecastle and took Queequeg’s measure with great accuracy, regularly chalking Queequeg’s person as he shifted the rule.
“Ah! poor fellow! he’ll have to die now,” ejaculated the Long Island sailor.
Going to his vice-bench, the carpenter for convenience sake and general reference, now transferringly measured on it the exact length the coffin was to be, and then made the transfer permanent by cutting two notches at its extremities. This done, he marshalled the planks and his tools, and to work.
When the last nail was driven, and the lid duly planed and fitted, he lightly shouldered the coffin and went forward with it, inquiring whether they were ready for it yet in that direction.
Overhearing the indignant but half-humorous cries with which the people on deck began to drive the coffin away, Queequeg, to every one’s consternation, commanded that the thing should be instantly brought to him, nor was there any denying him; seeing that, of all mortals, some dying men are the most tyrannical; and certainly, since they will shortly trouble us so little for evermore, the poor fellows ought to be indulged.
Leaning over in his hammock, Queequeg long regarded the coffin with an attentive eye. He then called for his harpoon, had the wooden stock drawn from it, and then had the iron part placed in the coffin along with one of the paddles of his boat. All by his own request, also, biscuits were then ranged round the sides within: a flask of fresh water was placed at the head, and a small bag of woody earth scraped up in the hold at the foot; and a piece of sail-cloth being rolled up for a pillow, Queequeg now entreated to be lifted into his final bed, that he might make trial of its comforts, if any it had. He lay without moving a few minutes, then told one to go to his bag and bring out his little god, Yojo. Then crossing his arms on his breast with Yojo between, he called for the coffin lid (hatch he called it) to be placed over him. The head part turned over with a leather hinge, and there lay Queequeg in his coffin with little but his composed countenance in view. “Rarmai” (it will do; it is easy), he murmured at last, and signed to be replaced in his hammock.
But ere this was done, Pip, who had been slily hovering near by all this while, drew nigh to him where he lay, and with soft sobbings, took him by the hand; in the other, holding his tambourine.
“Poor rover! will ye never have done with all this weary roving? where go ye now? But if the currents carry ye to those sweet Antilles where the beaches are only beat with water-lilies, will ye do one little errand for me? Seek out one Pip, who’s now been missing long: I think he’s in those far Antilles. If ye find him, then comfort him; for he must be very sad; for look! he’s left his tambourine behind;—I found it. Rig-a-dig, dig, dig! Now, Queequeg, die; and I’ll beat ye your dying march.”
“I have heard,” murmured Starbuck, gazing down the scuttle, “that in violent fevers, men, all ignorance, have talked in ancient tongues; and that when the mystery is probed, it turns out always that in their wholly forgotten childhood those ancient tongues had been really spoken in their hearing by some lofty scholars. So, to my fond faith, poor Pip, in this strange sweetness of his lunacy, brings heavenly vouchers of all our heavenly homes. Where learned he that, but there?—Hark! he speaks again: but more wildly now.”
“Form two and two! Let’s make a General of him! Ho, where’s his harpoon? Lay it across here.—Rig-a-dig, dig, dig! huzza! Oh for a game cock now to sit upon his head and crow! Queequeg dies game!—mind ye that; Queequeg dies game!—take ye good heed of that; Queequeg dies game! I say; game, game, game! but base little Pip, he died a coward; died all a’shiver;—out upon Pip! Hark ye; if ye find Pip, tell all the Antilles he’s a runaway; a coward, a coward, a coward! Tell them he jumped from a whale-boat! I’d never beat my tambourine over base Pip, and hail him General, if he were once more dying here. No, no! shame upon all cowards—shame upon them! Let ‘em go drown like Pip, that jumped from a whale-boat. Shame! shame!”
During all this, Queequeg lay with closed eyes, as if in a dream. Pip was led away, and the sick man was replaced in his hammock.
But now that he had apparently made every preparation for death; now that his coffin was proved a good fit, Queequeg suddenly rallied; soon there seemed no need of the carpenter’s box: and thereupon, when some expressed their delighted surprise, he, in substance, said, that the cause of his sudden convalescence was this;—at a critical moment, he had just recalled a little duty ashore, which he was leaving undone; and therefore had changed his mind about dying: he could not die yet, he averred. They asked him, then, whether to live or die was a matter of his own sovereign will and pleasure. He answered, certainly. In a word, it was Queequeg’s conceit, that if a man made up his mind to live, mere sickness could not kill him: nothing but a whale, or a gale, or some violent, ungovernable, unintelligent destroyer of that sort.
Now, there is this noteworthy difference between savage and civilized; that while a sick, civilized man may be six months convalescing, generally speaking, a sick savage is almost half-well again in a day. So, in good time my Queequeg gained strength; and at length after sitting on the windlass for a few indolent days (but eating with a vigorous appetite) he suddenly leaped to his feet, threw out his arms and legs, gave himself a good stretching, yawned a little bit, and then springing into the head of his hoisted boat, and poising a harpoon, pronounced himself fit for a fight.
With a wild whimsiness, he now used his coffin for a sea-chest; and emptying into it his canvas bag of clothes, set them in order there. Many spare hours he spent, in carving the lid with all manner of grotesque figures and drawings; and it seemed that hereby he was striving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the twisted tattooing on his body. And this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last. And this thought it must have been which suggested to Ahab that wild exclamation of his, when one morning turning away from surveying poor Queequeg—“Oh, devilish tantalization of the gods!”
B BLOCK - POST-CHAPTER TALK
—Ch. 109: The Body/Soul Tension. Ahab explicitly resents his body—its frailty, its age, its weakness. He is obsessed with the disconnect between his interior spiritual greatness and his failing physical form. The core of his rage is this: his body betrays his mind, his age betrays his will. Starbuck’s warning—that Ahab should beware of Ahab himself—taps into this self-knowledge: Ahab’s greatest enemy is his own nature, his own pull toward destruction. It’s a meditation on aging and how the flesh betrays the spirit.
—Ch. 109: The Tantalus Motif. Ahab’s obsession with the White Whale mirrors the ancient punishment: he reaches for something that recedes perpetually from grasp. He acknowledges the whale’s pull as magnetic, irresistible. This is the first moment Ahab admits he’s not entirely in control, that something outside himself is drawing him forward. It’s a crack in his facade of mastery—he cannot resist, though he knows resistance would be wiser.
—Ch. 109: Ahab’s Moment of Honesty (or Pragmatism?). The text itself is ambiguous about why Ahab backs down after the musket scene. Melville suggests two interpretations: either a flash of genuine honesty, or mere prudential calculation that he needs Starbuck’s authority as chief officer. Is Ahab recognizing Starbuck’s moral worth? Or simply calculating necessity? This ambiguity—whether Ahab is capable of genuine connection or only strategic restraint—runs through the whole novel. Starbuck’s warning that Ahab should beware of Ahab himself suggests Starbuck perceives something in Ahab that Ahab cannot see.
—Ch. 110: Queequeg as Text. The tattoos covering Queequeg’s body encode a complete theory of the heavens and earth—written by a departed prophet-seer as hieroglyphic marks. They’re indecipherable—mysterious like the Sphinx, the whale’s head, any ultimate symbol. When Ahab observes Queequeg’s tattoos at the end of the chapter, he exclaims about the devilish tantalization of the gods—recognizing answers right in front of him, but locked in mystery forever. The coffin, when Queequeg carves it with figures copying his own tattoos, becomes another sphinx. This motif recurs: Ishmael, Ahab, and the reader are all trying to read mysteries we cannot decipher.
—Ch. 110: Queequeg’s Agency. When Queequeg decides not to die, he exercises a kind of mastery over fate that even Ahab hasn’t found. He recalls a duty ashore and simply refuses death through will alone. Then he recovers, as if determination itself could override illness. This is crucial: Queequeg controls his own narrative in a way Ahab cannot. He uses the coffin (which should be his death) as a sea-chest, converting death into life. (Note: The text romanticizes Queequeg’s resilience as somehow superior to civilized weakness—this is a form of exoticization that needs critical attention when recording.)
—Ch. 110: Orientalism and Exoticization. Ishmael’s portrait of Queequeg contains problematic romanticization of the “primitive”—the idea that Queequeg is wiser, hardier, more spiritually connected than civilized men because he is “savage.” This echoes Thoreau and Emerson’s critiques of civilization but reproduces racist assumptions about non-European peoples. Queequeg is admirable on Melville’s terms, but as an exotic Other, not as a full human character. Consider how this plays in your reading, and whether you want to flag the text’s limitations here.
—Ch. 110: Starbuck as Witness to Transcendence. When Pip speaks his wild prophecies, Starbuck recognizes something divine in his madness—moments where Pip seems to access heavenly truth. Starbuck’s faith that Pip’s lunacy is actually a form of wisdom sits alongside Queequeg’s spiritual clarity. These are the two moments where ordinary crew members glimpse something beyond the material hunt.
—Ch. 110: The Tattoo as Doubled Text. Queequeg’s tattoos are hieroglyphic marks written by a prophet-seer, encoding complete cosmological knowledge. When Queequeg recovers, he carves the coffin with grotesque figures, copying parts of the twisted tattooing on his own body. The coffin becomes a second text, a doubling of the indecipherable. But here is Melville’s crucial observation: these mysteries are destined to moulder away with the living parchment—the body—whereon they are inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last. Meaning written on flesh dies with the flesh. This haunts Ahab: he sees Queequeg as a text that can never be fully read, knowledge embodied but eternally sealed. That recognition provokes his exclamation about the gods’ devilish tantalization.
FOOTNOTES
Footnotes
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In Sperm-whalemen with any considerable quantity of oil on board, it is a regular semiweekly duty to conduct a hose into the hold, and drench the casks with sea-water; which afterwards, at varying intervals, is removed by the ship’s pumps. Hereby the casks are sought to be kept damply tight; while by the changed character of the withdrawn water, the mariners readily detect any serious leakage in the precious cargo. ↩
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Formosa — The historical name for Taiwan. The Bashee Isles (now Babuyan Islands) lie north of the Philippines. Melville is steering the Pequod toward the feeding grounds in the western Pacific where the largest sperm whales were known to congregate. ↩
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“up Burtons and break out” — Nautical terms: “Burtons” are tackle blocks used for hoisting. “Break out” means to remove cargo from the hold. Starbuck is using technical language to press a practical crisis; Ahab responds by dismissing both the crisis and the language. ↩