LXXIII. STUBB AND FLASK KILL A RIGHT LXXX. THE NUT LXXVI. THE BATTERING-RAM LXXVII. THE GREAT HEIDELBURGH TỤN LXXVIII. CISTERN AND BUCKETS LXXIX. THE PRAIRIE LXXXI. THE PEQUOD MEETS THE VIRGIN LXXXII. THE HONOR AND GLORY OF WHALING 341 LXXXIII. JONAH HISTORICALLY REGARDED LXXXIV. PITCHPOLING LXXXV. THE FOUNTAIN LXXXVI. THE TAIL LXXXVII. THE GRAND ARMADA LXXXVIII. SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS XCVI. THE TRY-WORKS XCVII. THE LAMP XCVIII. STOWING DOWN AND CLEARING UP XCIX. THE DOUBLOON C. LEG AND ARM CI. THE DECANTER CII. A BOWER IN THE ARSACIDES CIII. MEASUREMENT 410 416 421 OF THE WHALE'S CHAPTER CIV. THE FOSSIL WHALE PAGE 427 CV. DOES THE WHALE'S MAGNITUDE DIMINISH? CXV. THE PEQUOD MEETS THE BACHELOR CXIX. THE CANDLES CXX. THE DECK TOWARDS THE END OF THE FIRST NIGHT WATCH CXXI. MIDNIGHT. — THE FORECASTLe Bul 468 474 CXXXI. THE PEQUOD MEETS THE DELIGHT CXXXII. THE SYMPHONY FIRST DAY CXXXIII. THE CHASE-FIRST DAY 491 494 496 CXXXIV. THE CHASE CXXXV. THE CHASE - - SECOND DAY THIRD DAY 514 522 EPILOGUE ETYMOLOGY EXTRACTS 533 537 538 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "THE THICK MISTS WERE DIMLY PARTED BY A HUGE, "AYE, THE PIQUOD — THAT SHIP THERE BODILY INTO THE AIR PAGE Frontispiece 91 . 299 510 "BOTH JAWS, LIKE ENORMOUS SHEARS, BIT THE CRAFT MOBY DICK. CHAPTER I. LOOMINGS. Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. This There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme down-town is the Battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there. Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like |