Моби Дик

Ahab

           Threebetter,morelikelysea-officersandmen,eachinhisowndifferentway,couldnotreadilybefound,andtheywereeveryoneofthemAmericans;aNantucketer,aVineyarder,aCapeman.Now,itbeingChristmaswhentheshipshotfromoutherharbor,foraspacewehadbitingPolarweather,thoughallthetimerunningawayfromittothesouthward;andbyeverydegreeandminuteoflatitudewhichwesailed,graduallyleavingthatmercilesswinter,andallitsintolerableweatherbehindus.Itwasoneofthoselesslowering,butstillgreyandgloomyenoughmorningsofthetransition,whenwithafairwindtheshipwasrushingthroughthewaterwithavindictivesortofleapingandmelancholyrapidity,thatasImountedtothedeckatthecalloftheforenoonwatch,sosoonasIlevelledmyglancetowardsthetaffrail,forebodingshiversranoverme.Realityoutranapprehension;CaptainAhabstooduponhisquarter-deck.

           Thereseemednosignofcommonbodilyillnessabouthim,noroftherecoveryfromany.Helookedlikeamancutawayfromthestake,whenthefirehasoverrunninglywastedallthelimbswithoutconsumingthem,ortakingawayoneparticlefromtheircompactedagedrobustness.Hiswholehigh,broadform,seemedmadeofsolidbronze,andshapedinanunalterablemould,likeCellini’scastPerseus.Threadingitswayoutfromamonghisgreyhairs,andcontinuingrightdownonesideofhistawnyscorchedfaceandneck,tillitdisappearedinhisclothing,yousawaslenderrod-likemark,lividlywhitish.Itresembledthatperpendicularseamsometimesmadeinthestraight,loftytrunkofagreattree,whentheupperlightningtearinglydartsdownit,andwithoutwrenchingasingletwig,peelsandgroovesoutthebarkfromtoptobottomererunningoffintothesoil,leavingthetreestillgreenlyalive,butbranded.Whetherthatmarkwasbornwithhim,orwhetheritwasthescarleftbysomedesperatewound,noonecouldcertainlysay.

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