Swerve me?
The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my
soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled
hearts of mountains, under torrents' beds, unerringly I rush!
Naught's an obstacle, naught's an angle to the iron way!
CHAPTER 38
Dusk
By the Mainmast; Starbuck leaning against it.
My soul is more than matched; she's over-manned; and by a madman!
Insufferable sting, that sanity should ground arms on such a field!
But he drilled deep down, and blasted all my reason out of me!
I think I see his impious end; but feel that I must help him to it.
Will I, nill I, the ineffable thing has tied me to him; tows me with
a cable I have no knife to cut. Horrible old man! Who's over him,
he cries;--aye, he would be a democrat to all above; look, how he lords
it over all below! Oh! I plainly see my miserable office,--
to obey, rebelling; and worse yet, to hate with touch of pity!
For in his eyes I read some lurid woe would shrivel me up, had I it.
Yet is there hope. Time and tide flow wide. The hated whale has
the round watery world to swim in, as the small gold-fish has its
glassy globe. His heaven-insulting purpose, God may wedge aside.
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