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Melville, Herman, 1819-1891

"Moby Dick: or, the White Whale"


These temporary apprehensions, so vague but so awful, derived a
wondrous potency from the contrasting serenity of the weather,
in which, beneath all its blue blandness, some thought there
lurked a devilish charm, as for days and days we voyaged along,
through seas so wearily, lonesomely mild, that all space,
in repugnance to our vengeful errand, seemed vacating itself
of life before our urn-like prow.
But, at last, when turning to the eastward, the Cape winds
began howling around us, and we rose and fell upon the long,
troubled seas that are there; when the ivory-tusked Pequod sharply
bowed to the blast, and gored the dark waves in her madness, till,
like showers of silver chips, the foamflakes flew over her bulwarks;
then all this desolate vacuity of life went away, but gave place
to sights more dismal than before.
Close to our bows, strange forms in the water darted hither and thither
before us; while thick in our rear flew the inscrutable sea-ravens. And
every morning, perched on our stays, rows of these birds were seen;
and spite of our hootings, for a long time obstinately clung to the hemp,
as though they deemed our ship some drifting, uninhabited craft;
a thing appointed to desolation, and therefore fit roosting-place
for their homeless selves.


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