MARDI:
AND A VOYAGE THITHER
By Herman Melville
In Two Volumes
Vol. I
1864
DEDICATED
TO
My Brother,
ALLAN MELVILLE.
CONTENTS
PREFACE
MARDI
CHAPTER I — Foot in Stirrup
CHAPTER II — A Calm
CHAPTER III — A King for a Comrade
CHAPTER IV — A Chat in the Clouds
CHAPTER V — Seats secured and Portmanteaus packed
CHAPTER VI — Eight Bells
CHAPTER VII — A Pause
CHAPTER VIII — They push off, Velis et Remis
CHAPTER IX — The Watery World is all before Them
CHAPTER X — They arrange their Canopies And Lounges, and try to Make Things comfortable
CHAPTER XI — Jarl afflicted with the Lockjaw
CHAPTER XII — More about being in an open Boat
CHAPTER XIII — Of the Chondropterygii, and other uncouth Hordes infesting the South Seas
CHAPTER XIV — Jarl’s Misgivings
CHAPTER XV — A Stitch in time saves Nine
CHAPTER XVI — They are Becalmed
CHAPTER XVII — In high Spirits, they push on for the Terra Incognita
CHAPTER XVIII — My Lord Shark and his Pages
CHAPTER XIX — Who goes there?
CHAPTER XX — Noises and Portents
CHAPTER XXI — Man ho!
CHAPTER XXII — What befel the Brigantine at the Pearl Shell Islands
CHAPTER XXIII — Sailing from the Island they pillage the Cabin
CHAPTER XXIV — Dedicated to the College of Physicians and Surgeons
CHAPTER XXV — Peril A Peace-Maker
CHAPTER XXVI — Containing a Pennyweight Of Philosophy
CHAPTER XXVII — In which the past History of the Parki is concluded
CHAPTER XXVIII — Suspicions laid, and something about the Calmuc
CHAPTER XXIX — What they lighted upon in further searching the Craft, and the Resolution they came to
CHAPTER XXX — Hints for a full length of Samoa
CHAPTER XXXI — Rovings Alow and Aloft
CHAPTER XXXII — Xiphius Platypterus
CHAPTER XXXIII — Otard
CHAPTER XXXIV — How they steered on their Way
CHAPTER XXXV — Ah, Annatoo!
CHAPTER XXXVI — The Parki gives up the Ghost
CHAPTER XXXVII — Once more they take to the Chamois
CHAPTER XXXVIII — The Sea on Fire
CHAPTER XXXIX — They fall in with Strangers
CHAPTER XL — Sire and Sons
CHAPTER XLI — A Fray
CHAPTER XLII — Remorse
CHAPTER XLIII — The Tent entered
CHAPTER XLIV — Away!
CHAPTER XLV — Reminiscences
CHAPTER XLVI — The Chamois with a roving Commission
CHAPTER XLVII — Yillah, Jarl, and Samoa
CHAPTER XLVIII — Something under the Surface
CHAPTER XLIX — Yillah
CHAPTER L — Yillah in Ardair
CHAPTER LI — The Dream begins to fade
CHAPTER LII — World ho!
CHAPTER LIII — The Chamois Ashore
CHAPTER LIV — A Gentleman from the Sun
CHAPTER LV — Tiffin in a Temple
CHAPTER LVI — King Media a Host
CHAPTER LVII — Taji takes Counsel with himself
CHAPTER LVIII — Mardi by Night and Yillah by Day
CHAPTER LIX — Their Morning Meal
CHAPTER LX — Belshazzar on the Bench
CHAPTER LXI — An Incognito
CHAPTER LXII — Taji retires from the World
CHAPTER LXIII — Odo and its Lord
CHAPTER LXIV — Yillah a Phantom
CHAPTER LXV — Taji makes three Acquaintances
CHAPTER LXVI — With a fair Wind, at Sunrise they sail
CHAPTER LXVII — Little King Peepi
CHAPTER LXVIII — How Teeth were regarded in Valapee
CHAPTER LXIX — The Company discourse, and Braid-Beard rehearses a Legend
CHAPTER LXX — The Minstrel leads off with a Paddle-Song; and a Message is received from Abroad
CHAPTER LXXI — They land upon the Island of Juam
CHAPTER LXXII — A Book from the Chronicles of Mohi
CHAPTER LXXIII — Something more of the Prince
CHAPTER LXXIV — Advancing deeper into the Vale, they encounter Donjalolo
CHAPTER LXXV — Time and Temples
CHAPTER LXXVI — A pleasant Place for a Lounge
CHAPTER LXXVII — The House of the Afternoon
CHAPTER LXXVIII — Babbalanja solus
CHAPTER LXXIX — The Center of many Circumferences
CHAPTER LXXX — Donjalolo in the Bosom of his Family
CHAPTER LXXXI — Wherein Babbalanja relates the Adventure of one Karkeke in the Land of Shades
CHAPTER LXXXII — How Donjalolo, sent Agents to the Surrounding Isles; with the Result
CHAPTER LXXXIII — They visit the Tributary Islets
CHAPTER LXXXIV — Taji sits down to Dinner with five-And-Twenty Kings, and a royal Time they have
CHAPTER LXXXV — After Dinner
CHAPTER LXXXVI — Of those Scamps the Plujii
CHAPTER LXXXVII — Nora-Bamma
CHAPTER LXXXVIII — In a Calm, Hautia’s Heralds approach
CHAPTER LXXXIX — Braid-Beard rehearses the Origin of the Isle of Rogues
CHAPTER XC — Rare Sport at Ohonoo
CHAPTER XCI — Of King Uhia and his Subjects
CHAPTER XCII — The God Keevi and the Precipice of Mondo
CHAPTER XCIII — Babbalanja steps in between Mohi and Yoomy; and Yoomy relates a Legend
CHAPTER XCIV — Of that jolly old Lord, Borabolla; and that jolly Island of his, Mondoldo; and of the Fish-Ponds, and the Hereafters of Fish
CHAPTER XCV — That jolly old Lord Borabolla laughs on both Sides of his Face
CHAPTER XCVI — Samoa a Surgeon
CHAPTER XCVII — Faith and Knowledge
CHAPTER XCVIII — The Tale of a Traveler
CHAPTER XCIX — “Marnee Ora, Ora Marnee”
CHAPTER C — The Pursuer himself is pursued
CHAPTER CI — The Iris
CHAPTER CII — They depart from Mondoldo
CHAPTER CIII — As they sail
CHAPTER CIV — Wherein Babbalanja broaches a diabolical Theory, and in his Own Person proves it
PREFACE
Not long ago, having published two narratives of voyages in the
Pacific, which, in many quarters, were received with incredulity, the
thought occurred to me, of indeed writing a romance of Polynesian
adventure, and publishing it as such; to see whether, the fiction might
not, possibly, be received for a verity: in some degree the reverse of
my previous experience.
This thought was the germ of others, which have resulted in Mardi. New
York, January, 1849.
MARDI
CHAPTER I.
Foot In Stirrup
We are off! The courses and topsails are set: the coral-hung anchor
swings from the bow: and together, the three royals are given to the
breeze, that follows us out to sea like the baying of a hound. Out
spreads the canvas—alow, aloft-boom-stretched, on both sides, with many
a stun’ sail; till like a hawk, with pinions poised, we shadow the sea
with our sails, and reelingly cleave the brine.
But whence, and whither wend ye, mariners?
We sail from Ravavai, an isle in the sea, not very far northward from
the tropic of Capricorn, nor very far westward from Pitcairn’s island,
where the mutineers of the Bounty settled. At Ravavai I had stepped
ashore some few months previous; and now was embarked on a cruise for
the whale, whose brain enlightens the world.
And from Ravavai we sail for the Gallipagos, otherwise called the
Enchanted Islands, by reason of the many wild currents and eddies there
met.
Now, round about those isles, which Dampier once trod, where the
Spanish bucaniers once hived their gold moidores, the Cachalot, or
sperm whale, at certain seasons abounds.
But thither, from Ravavai, your craft may not fly, as flies the
sea-gull, straight to her nest. For, owing to the prevalence of the
trade winds, ships bound to the northeast from the vicinity of Ravavai
are fain to take something of a circuit; a few thousand miles or so.
First, in pursuit of the variable winds, they make all haste to the
south; and there, at length picking up a stray breeze, they stand for
the main: then, making their easting, up helm, and away down the coast,
toward the Line.
This round-about way did the Arcturion take; and in all conscience a
weary one it was. Never before had the ocean appeared so monotonous;
thank fate, never since.
But bravo! in two weeks’ time, an event. Out of the gray of the
morning, and right ahead, as we sailed along, a dark object rose out of
the sea; standing dimly before us, mists wreathing and curling aloft,
and creamy breakers frothing round its base.—We turned aside, and, at
length, when day dawned, passed Massafuero. With a glass, we spied two
or three hermit goats winding down to the sea, in a ravine; and
presently, a signal: a tattered flag upon a summit beyond. Well
knowing, however, that there was nobody on the island but two or three
noose-fulls of runaway convicts from Chili, our captain had no mind to
comply with their invitation to land. Though, haply, he may have erred
in not sending a boat off with his card.
A few days more and we “took the trades.” Like favors snappishly
conferred, they came to us, as is often the case, in a very sharp
squall; the shock of which carried away one of our spars; also our fat
old cook off his legs; depositing him plump in the scuppers to leeward.
In good time making the desired longitude upon the equator, a few
leagues west of the Gallipagos, we spent several weeks chassezing
across the Line, to and fro, in unavailing search for our prey. For
some of their hunters believe, that whales, like the silver ore in
Peru, run in veins through the ocean. So, day after day, daily; and
week after week, weekly, we traversed the self-same longitudinal
intersection of the self-same Line; till we were almost ready to swear
that we felt the ship strike every time her keel crossed that imaginary
locality.
At length, dead before the equatorial breeze, we threaded our way
straight along the very Line itself. Westward sailing; peering right,
and peering left, but seeing naught.
It was during this weary time, that I experienced the first symptoms of
that bitter impatience of our monotonous craft, which ultimately led to
the adventures herein recounted.
But hold you! Not a word against that rare old ship, nor its crew. The
sailors were good fellows all, the half, score of pagans we had shipped
at the islands included. Nevertheless, they were not precisely to my
mind. There was no soul a magnet to mine; none with whom to mingle
sympathies; save in deploring the calms with which we were now and then
overtaken; or in hailing the breeze when it came. Under other and
livelier auspices the tarry knaves might have developed qualities more
attractive. Had we sprung a leak, been “stove” by a whale, or been
blessed with some despot of a captain against whom to stir up some
spirited revolt, these shipmates of mine might have proved limber lads,
and men of mettle. But as it was, there was naught to strike fire from
their steel.
There were other things, also, tending to make my lot on ship-board
very hard to be borne. True, the skipper himself was a trump; stood
upon no quarter-deck dignity; and had a tongue for a sailor. Let me do
him justice, furthermore: he took a sort of fancy for me in particular;
was sociable, nay, loquacious, when I happened to stand at the helm.
But what of that? Could he talk sentiment or philosophy? Not a bit. His
library was eight inches by four: Bowditch, and Hamilton Moore.
And what to me, thus pining for some one who could page me a quotation
from Burton on Blue Devils; what to me, indeed, were flat repetitions
of long-drawn yarns, and the everlasting stanzas of Black-eyed Susan
sung by our full forecastle choir? Staler than stale ale.
Ay, ay, Arcturion! I say it in no malice, but thou wast exceedingly
dull. Not only at sailing: hard though it was, that I could have borne;
but in every other respect. The days went slowly round and round,
endless and uneventful as cycles in space. Time, and time- pieces; How
many centuries did my hammock tell, as pendulum-like it swung to the
ship’s dull roll, and ticked the hours and ages. Sacred forever be the
Arcturion’s fore-hatch—alas! sea-moss is over it now—and rusty forever
the bolts that held together that old sea hearth-stone, about which we
so often lounged. Nevertheless, ye lost and leaden hours, I will rail
at ye while life lasts.
Well: weeks, chronologically speaking, went by. Bill Marvel’s stories
were told over and over again, till the beginning and end dovetailed
into each other, and were united for aye. Ned Ballad’s songs were sung
till the echoes lurked in the very tops, and nested in the bunts of the
sails. My poor patience was clean gone.
But, at last after some time sailing due westward we quitted the Line
in high disgust; having seen there, no sign of a whale.
But whither now? To the broiling coast of Papua? That region of
sun-strokes, typhoons, and bitter pulls after whales unattainable. Far
worse. We were going, it seemed, to illustrate the Whistonian theory
concerning the damned and the comets;—hurried from equinoctial heats to
arctic frosts. To be short, with the true fickleness of his tribe, our
skipper had abandoned all thought of the Cachalot. In desperation, he
was bent upon bobbing for the Right whale on the Nor’-West Coast and in
the Bay of Kamschatska.
To the uninitiated in the business of whaling, my feelings at this
juncture may perhaps be hard to understand. But this much let me say:
that Right whaling on the Nor’-West Coast, in chill and dismal fogs,
the sullen inert monsters rafting the sea all round like Hartz forest
logs on the Rhine, and submitting to the harpoon like half-stunned
bullocks to the knife; this horrid and indecent Right whaling, I say,
compared to a spirited hunt for the gentlemanly Cachalot in southern
and more genial seas, is as the butchery of white bears upon blank
Greenland icebergs to zebra hunting in Caffraria, where the lively
quarry bounds before you through leafy glades.
Now, this most unforeseen determination on the part of my captain to
measure the arctic circle was nothing more nor less than a tacit
contravention of the agreement between us. That agreement needs not to
be detailed. And having shipped but for a single cruise, I had embarked
aboard his craft as one might put foot in stirrup for a day’s following
of the hounds. And here, Heaven help me, he was going to carry me off
to the Pole! And on such a vile errand too! For there was something
degrading in it. Your true whaleman glories in keeping his harpoon
unspotted by blood of aught but Cachalot. By my halidome, it touched
the knighthood of a tar. Sperm and spermaceti! It was unendurable.
“Captain,” said I, touching my sombrero to him as I stood at the wheel
one day, “It’s very hard to carry me off this way to purgatory. I
shipped to go elsewhere.”
“Yes, and so did I,” was his reply. “But it can’t be helped. Sperm
whales are not to be had. We’ve been out now three years, and something
or other must be got; for the ship is hungry for oil, and her hold a
gulf to look into. But cheer up my boy; once in the Bay of Kamschatka,
and we’ll be all afloat with what we want, though it be none of the
best.”
Worse and worse! The oleaginous prospect extended into an immensity of
Macassar. “Sir,” said I, “I did not ship for it; put me ashore
somewhere, I beseech.” He stared, but no answer vouchsafed; and for a
moment I thought I had roused the domineering spirit of the
sea-captain, to the prejudice of the more kindly nature of the man.
But not so. Taking three turns on the deck, he placed his hand on the
wheel, and said, “Right or wrong, my lad, go with us you must. Putting
you ashore is now out of the question. I make no port till this ship is
full to the combings of her hatchways. However, you may leave her if
you can.” And so saying he entered his cabin, like Julius Caesar into
his tent.
He may have meant little by it, but that last sentence rung in my ear
like a bravado. It savored of the turnkey’s compliments to the prisoner
in Newgate, when he shoots to the bolt on him.
“Leave the ship if I can!” Leave the ship when neither sail nor shore
was in sight! Ay, my fine captain, stranger things have been done. For
on board that very craft, the old Arcturion, were four tall fellows,
whom two years previous our skipper himself had picked up in an open
boat, far from the farthest shoal. To be sure, they spun a long yarn
about being the only survivors of an Indiaman burnt down to the water’s
edge. But who credited their tale? Like many others, they were keepers
of a secret: had doubtless contracted a disgust for some ugly craft
still afloat and hearty, and stolen away from her, off soundings. Among
seamen in the Pacific such adventures not seldom occur. Nor are they
accounted great wonders. They are but incidents, not events, in the
career of the brethren of the order of South Sea rovers. For what
matters it, though hundreds of miles from land, if a good whale-boat be
under foot, the Trades behind, and mild, warm seas before? And herein
lies the difference between the Atlantic and Pacific:—that once within
the Tropics, the bold sailor who has a mind to quit his ship round Cape
Horn, waits not for port. He regards that ocean as one mighty harbor.
Nevertheless, the enterprise hinted at was no light one; and I resolved
to weigh well the chances. It’s worth noticing, this way we all have of
pondering for ourselves the enterprise, which, for others, we hold a
bagatelle.
My first thoughts were of the boat to be obtained, and the right or
wrong of abstracting it, under the circumstances. But to split no hairs
on this point, let me say, that were I placed in the same situation
again, I would repeat the thing I did then. The captain well knew that
he was going to detain me unlawfully: against our agreement; and it was
he himself who threw out the very hint, which I merely adopted, with
many thanks to him.
In some such willful mood as this, I went aloft one day, to stand my
allotted two hours at the mast-head. It was toward the close of a day,
serene and beautiful. There I stood, high upon the mast, and away,
away, illimitably rolled the ocean beneath. Where we then were was
perhaps the most unfrequented and least known portion of these seas.
Westward, however, lay numerous groups of islands, loosely laid down
upon the charts, and invested with all the charms of dream-land. But
soon these regions would be past; the mild equatorial breeze exchanged
for cold, fierce squalls, and all the horrors of northern voyaging.
I cast my eyes downward to the brown planks of the dull, plodding ship,
silent from stem to stern; then abroad.
In the distance what visions were spread! The entire western horizon
high piled with gold and crimson clouds; airy arches, domes, and
minarets; as if the yellow, Moorish sun were setting behind some vast
Alhambra. Vistas seemed leading to worlds beyond. To and fro, and all
over the towers of this Nineveh in the sky, flew troops of birds.
Watching them long, one crossed my sight, flew through a low arch, and
was lost to view. My spirit must have sailed in with it; for directly,
as in a trance, came upon me the cadence of mild billows laving a beach
of shells, the waving of boughs, and the voices of maidens, and the
lulled beatings of my own dissolved heart, all blended together.
Now, all this, to be plain, was but one of the many visions one has up
aloft. But coming upon me at this time, it wrought upon me so, that
thenceforth my desire to quit the Arcturion became little short of a
frenzy.