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 exea 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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