The exaltation of the whaling career and the wondrous exploits of the peculiar, yet noble art of the whaleman is a common theme throughout the book, and especially this section. “But look at the godly, honest, unostentatious, hospitable, social, free-and-easy whaler!(237)”, Ishmael exclaims as he refers to a friendly meeting of whalemen, compared to the irreparably flawed greetings of other varieties of seafarers. Dreamy evenings aboard a gentle Pequod surrounded by an ocean of brit, the majesty of whales and the thrill of the whale hunt, the skillful management of the “magical, sometimes horrible (273)” whale-line, and the bodily and spiritual isolation of the “savage” whaler–this kind of life frightens, and also undoubtedly allures the readers. Ishmael is even quick to condemn prominent artists for not accurately portraying the anatomy of whales, and at times, he does appear inflated with the notion that he is superior to petty landsmen, but disguises it well with his familiar, good-natured writing (or rather, the character’s voice within Melville’s writing) . And when the reader becomes accustomed to Ishmael’s way of viewing the world, it still becomes nothing short of impressive when, out of sheer passion and awe, he is able to make out the image of a whale in the starry heavens (268), or ponder at the dreadful power of the Deity from none other than a whale’s brow (334). Even the brutish Stubb is portrayed with admiration as he nimbly captures the sperm whale (279-281).
And yet, however compelling the nature of Ishmael’s arguments, the allure of the whaling life is instantly shambled when we are exposed to the true cruelty of a whale’s murder. It is a wonder that Ishmael can possess such an unbounded reverence for the great “leviathan”, with no perceivable ounce of horror as he describes the “spasmodically dilating and contracting his spout-hole, with sharp, cracking, agonized respirations”, and the “gush after gush of clotted red gore”, like the “purple lees of red wine”, shooting out into the air (281). However, Ishmael is of the opinion that we are not the least bit civilized either, and is quick to point out our hypocrisy: “But no doubt the first man that ever murdered an ox was regarded as a murderer (…) Look at your knife-handle, there, my civilized and enlightened gourmand dining off that roast beef, what is that handle made of? (293)”.
To us landsmen, the whaling life is still not convincing enough, for even that justification does not explain the sheer insanity of falling into a dismembered whale head, as the unfortunate Tashtego does in “Cistern and Buckets”. When Queequeg dives to the rescue, I was afraid he would reach the “final dive” that Ishmael only briefly referred to at the beginning of the book. Thankfully, both Queequeg and Tashtego survive, at least for now. More unsettling still is the “devil-worship (287)” of the sharks, which follow the Pequod’s traverse like a larger, and infinitely more sinister group of maggots. Although Fleece and Stubb attempt to converse with the sharks in an odd display of humor and stupidity, the author could be trying to tell us something much deeper through this interaction. Fleece’s resolution to the “Christian” method of reasoning with the sharks proves just as ineffective as his previous cursing at them, perhaps signifying that aboard the Pequod, the powers of Christendom amount to a foreign and useless notion; it is a world of savagery as Ishmael stated before. It is also ironic that the religious professions of Stubb greatly contrast his frightening, aggressive demeanor towards Fleece. Melville’s reflections on tolerance from the very beginning of the friendship between Christian Ishmael and pagan Queequeg echo back to us in all of its subtle criticisms. On a slightly lighter note, I also wondered whether the monkey-rope tying Queequeg and Ishmael together during the dangerous descent of the blubber-hook (309) somehow symbolized the nature of their inseparable friendship; their lives were at that moment physically tied together, just as they are bound by fate throughout the story.
But that is not the only time we ponder at the hidden meaning within Melville’s writing. “The Town-Ho’s Story” certainly left me wondering if Radney’s death by the white whale was the only element of foreshadowing layered through the tale, or whether the division and violence of the crew were indeed pointing to a future conflict within the Pequod. Melville has a repetitive way of applying an unobserved, wondrous feat of nature to a quick, philosophical reflection about our own lives: “consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself?…(270)” We are told to imagine the two whale heads hanging upon the sides of the boat are indeed the heads of Locke and Kant, and are then that we should throw them overboard (318); we can only speculate and wonder at the cause for such a statement. The ghost-like apparition of the great Squid (272) seemed like yet another omen of dread for the crew, and Ishmael admits to the existence of superstitions concerning the unusual sight. We are even left pondering about meaning behind the Italian line engravings–or are they Indian hieroglyphics?–upon the blubber of the sperm whale (298). The further comparison of a whale to the famous dome of St. Peter’s (300) is particularly interesting–the whale is just as beautiful, ethereal, inconceivably massive, and overflows with symbols of heaven and feelings of splendor. Ahab’s Shakespearean monologue towards the whale head (302) only worsens his maddening impression upon Ishmael and the readers, and the delirium of Gabriel on the neighboring Jeroboam crew also makes us frightened with the notion that Pequod itself may eventually reach such sinister levels of disorder.