Nor is it at all prudent for the hunter to be over curious touching
the precise nature of the whale spout. It will not do for him to be
peering into it, and putting his face in it. You cannot go with your
pitcher to this fountain and fill it, and bring it away. For even when
coming into slight contact with the outer, vapoury shreds of the jet,
which will often happen, your skin will feverishly smart, from the
acridness of the thing so touching it. And I know one, who coming into
still closer contact with the spout, whether with some scientific object
in view, or otherwise, I cannot say, the skin peeled off from his cheek
and arm. Wherefore, among whalemen, the spout is deemed poisonous; they
try to evade it. Another thing; I have heard it said, and I do not much
doubt it, that if the jet is fairly spouted into your eyes, it will
blind you. The wisest thing the investigator can do then, it seems to
me, is to let this deadly spout alone.
Still, we can
hypothesize, even if we cannot prove and establish. My hypothesis is
this: that the spout is nothing but mist. And besides other reasons, to
this conclusion I am impelled, by considerations touching the great
inherent dignity and sublimity of the Sperm Whale; I account him no
common, shallow being, inasmuch as it is an undisputed fact that he is
never found on soundings, or near shores; all other whales sometimes
are. He is both ponderous and profound. And I am convinced that from the
heads of all ponderous profound beings, such as Plato, Pyrrho, the
Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a certain
semi-visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts. While
composing a little treatise on Eternity, I had the curiosity to place a
mirror before me; and ere long saw reflected there, a curious involved
worming and undulation in the atmosphere over my head. The invariable
moisture of my hair, while plunged in deep thought, after six cups of
hot tea in my thin shingled attic, of an August noon; this seems an
additional argument for the above supposition.
And
how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold
him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head
overhung by a canopy of vapour, engendered by his incommunicable
contemplations, and that vapour—as you will sometimes see it—glorified
by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts.
For, d'ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate
vapour. And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my
mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a
heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny;
but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of
all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this
combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who
regards them both with equal eye.
Other poets have warbled the
praises of the soft eye of the antelope, and the lovely plumage of the
bird that never alights; less celestial, I celebrate a tail.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit, sed diam nonummy nibh euismod tincidunt ut laoreet dolore magna aliquam erat volutpat. Ut wisi enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exerci tation ullamcorper suscipit lobortis nisl ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.
- Nor is it at all prudent for the hunter to be over curious touching the precise nature of the whale spout
- It will not do for him to be peering into it, and putting his face in it
- You cannot go with your pitcher to this fountain and fill it, and bring it away
- For even when coming into slight contact with the outer, vapoury shreds of the jet, which will often happen, your skin will feverishly smart, from the acridness of the thing so touching it
- And I know one, who coming into still closer contact with the spout, whether with some scientific object in view, or otherwise, I cannot say, the skin peeled off from his cheek and arm
- Wherefore, among whalemen, the spout is deemed poisonous; they try to evade it
- For Tharks they were wildly enthusiastic, and before another half hour had passed twenty mounted messengers were speeding across dead sea bottoms to call the hordes together for the expedition
- In three days we were on the march toward Zodanga, one hundred thousand strong, as Tars Tarkas had been able to enlist the services of three smaller hordes on the promise of the great loot of Zodanga
- At the head of the column I rode beside the great Thark while at the heels of my mount trotted my beloved Woola
- We traveled entirely by night, timing our marches so that we camped during the day at deserted cities where, even to the beasts, we were all kept indoors during the daylight hours
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