Chapter 36.00: CHAPTER 34. The Cabin-Table.

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CHAPTER 34. The Cabin-Table.
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It is noon; and Dough-Boy, the steward, thrusting his pale loaf-of-bread
face from the cabin-scuttle, announces dinner to his lord and master; who,
sitting in the lee quarter-boat, has just been taking an observation of
the sun; and is now mutely reckoning the latitude on the smooth,
medallion-shaped tablet, reserved for that daily purpose on the upper part
of his ivory leg. From his complete inattention to the tidings, you would
think that moody Ahab had not heard his menial. But presently, catching
hold of the mizen shrouds, he swings himself to the deck, and in an even,
unexhilarated voice, saying, “Dinner, Mr. Starbuck,” disappears into the
cabin.

When the last echo of his sultan’s step has died away, and Starbuck, the
first Emir, has every reason to suppose that he is seated, then Starbuck
rouses from his quietude, takes a few turns along the planks, and, after a
grave peep into the binnacle, says, with some touch of pleasantness,
“Dinner, Mr. Stubb,” and descends the scuttle. The second Emir lounges
about the rigging awhile, and then slightly shaking the main brace, to see
whether it will be all right with that important rope, he likewise takes
up the old burden, and with a rapid “Dinner, Mr. Flask,” follows after his
predecessors.

But the third Emir, now seeing himself all alone on the quarter-deck,
seems to feel relieved from some curious restraint; for, tipping all sorts
of knowing winks in all sorts of directions, and kicking off his shoes, he
strikes into a sharp but noiseless squall of a hornpipe right over the
Grand Turk’s head; and then, by a dexterous sleight, pitching his cap up
into the mizentop for a shelf, he goes down rollicking so far at least as
he remains visible from the deck, reversing all other processions, by
bringing up the rear with music. But ere stepping into the cabin doorway
below, he pauses, ships a new face altogether, and, then, independent,
hilarious little Flask enters King Ahab’s presence, in the character of
Abjectus, or the Slave.

It is not the least among the strange things bred by the intense
artificialness of sea-usages, that while in the open air of the deck some
officers will, upon provocation, bear themselves boldly and defyingly
enough towards their commander; yet, ten to one, let those very officers
the next moment go down to their customary dinner in that same commander’s
cabin, and straightway their inoffensive, not to say deprecatory and
humble air towards him, as he sits at the head of the table; this is
marvellous, sometimes most comical. Wherefore this difference? A problem?
Perhaps not. To have been Belshazzar, King of Babylon; and to have been
Belshazzar, not haughtily but courteously, therein certainly must have
been some touch of mundane grandeur. But he who in the rightly regal and
intelligent spirit presides over his own private dinner-table of invited
guests, that man’s unchallenged power and dominion of individual influence
for the time; that man’s royalty of state transcends Belshazzar’s, for
Belshazzar was not the greatest. Who has but once dined his friends, has
tasted what it is to be Cæsar. It is a witchery of social czarship which
there is no withstanding. Now, if to this consideration you superadd the
official supremacy of a ship-master, then, by inference, you will derive
the cause of that peculiarity of sea-life just mentioned.

Over his ivory-inlaid table, Ahab presided like a mute, maned sea-lion on
the white coral beach, surrounded by his warlike but still deferential
cubs. In his own proper turn, each officer waited to be served. They were
as little children before Ahab; and yet, in Ahab, there seemed not to lurk
the smallest social arrogance. With one mind, their intent eyes all
fastened upon the old man’s knife, as he carved the chief dish before him.
I do not suppose that for the world they would have profaned that moment
with the slightest observation, even upon so neutral a topic as the
weather. No! And when reaching out his knife and fork, between which the
slice of beef was locked, Ahab thereby motioned Starbuck’s plate towards
him, the mate received his meat as though receiving alms; and cut it
tenderly; and a little started if, perchance, the knife grazed against the
plate; and chewed it noiselessly; and swallowed it, not without
circumspection. For, like the Coronation banquet at Frankfort, where the
German Emperor profoundly dines with the seven Imperial Electors, so these
cabin meals were somehow solemn meals, eaten in awful silence; and yet at
table old Ahab forbade not conversation; only he himself was dumb. What a
relief it was to choking Stubb, when a rat made a sudden racket in the
hold below. And poor little Flask, he was the youngest son, and little boy
of this weary family party. His were the shinbones of the saline beef; his
would have been the drumsticks. For Flask to have presumed to help
himself, this must have seemed to him tantamount to larceny in the first
degree. Had he helped himself at that table, doubtless, never more would
he have been able to hold his head up in this honest world; nevertheless,
strange to say, Ahab never forbade him. And had Flask helped himself, the
chances were Ahab had never so much as noticed it. Least of all, did Flask
presume to help himself to butter. Whether he thought the owners of the
ship denied it to him, on account of its clotting his clear, sunny
complexion; or whether he deemed that, on so long a voyage in such
marketless waters, butter was at a premium, and therefore was not for him,
a subaltern; however it was, Flask, alas! Was a butterless man!

Another thing. Flask was the last person down at the dinner, and Flask is
the first man up. Consider! For hereby Flask’s dinner was badly jammed in
point of time. Starbuck and Stubb both had the start of him; and yet they
also have the privilege of lounging in the rear. If Stubb even, who is but
a peg higher than Flask, happens to have but a small appetite, and soon
shows symptoms of concluding his repast, then Flask must bestir himself,
he will not get more than three mouthfuls that day; for it is against holy
usage for Stubb to precede Flask to the deck. Therefore it was that Flask
once admitted in private, that ever since he had arisen to the dignity of
an officer, from that moment he had never known what it was to be
otherwise than hungry, more or less. For what he ate did not so much
relieve his hunger, as keep it immortal in him. Peace and satisfaction,
thought Flask, have for ever departed from my stomach. I am an officer;
but, how I wish I could fish a bit of old-fashioned beef in the
forecastle, as I used to when I was before the mast. There’s the fruits of
promotion now; there’s the vanity of glory: there’s the insanity of life!
Besides, if it were so that any mere sailor of the Pequod had a grudge
against Flask in Flask’s official capacity, all that sailor had to do, in
order to obtain ample vengeance, was to go aft at dinner-time, and get a
peep at Flask through the cabin sky-light, sitting silly and dumfoundered
before awful Ahab.

Now, Ahab and his three mates formed what may be called the first table in
the Pequod’s cabin. After their departure, taking place in inverted order
to their arrival, the canvas cloth was cleared, or rather was restored to
some hurried order by the pallid steward. And then the three harpooneers
were bidden to the feast, they being its residuary legatees. They made a
sort of temporary servants’ hall of the high and mighty cabin.

In strange contrast to the hardly tolerable constraint and nameless
invisible domineerings of the captain’s table, was the entire care-free
license and ease, the almost frantic democracy of those inferior fellows
the harpooneers. While their masters, the mates, seemed afraid of the
sound of the hinges of their own jaws, the harpooneers chewed their food
with such a relish that there was a report to it. They dined like lords;
they filled their bellies like Indian ships all day loading with spices.
Such portentous appetites had Queequeg and Tashtego, that to fill out the
vacancies made by the previous repast, often the pale Dough-Boy was fain
to bring on a great baron of salt-junk, seemingly quarried out of the
solid ox. And if he were not lively about it, if he did not go with a
nimble hop-skip-and-jump, then Tashtego had an ungentlemanly way of
accelerating him by darting a fork at his back, harpoon-wise. And once
Daggoo, seized with a sudden humor, assisted Dough-Boy’s memory by
snatching him up bodily, and thrusting his head into a great empty wooden
trencher, while Tashtego, knife in hand, began laying out the circle
preliminary to scalping him. He was naturally a very nervous, shuddering
sort of little fellow, this bread-faced steward; the progeny of a bankrupt
baker and a hospital nurse. And what with the standing spectacle of the
black terrific Ahab, and the periodical tumultuous visitations of these
three savages, Dough-Boy’s whole life was one continual lip-quiver.
Commonly, after seeing the harpooneers furnished with all things they
demanded, he would escape from their clutches into his little pantry
adjoining, and fearfully peep out at them through the blinds of its door,
till all was over.

It was a sight to see Queequeg seated over against Tashtego, opposing his
filed teeth to the Indian’s: crosswise to them, Daggoo seated on the
floor, for a bench would have brought his hearse-plumed head to the low
carlines; at every motion of his colossal limbs, making the low cabin
framework to shake, as when an African elephant goes passenger in a ship.
But for all this, the great negro was wonderfully abstemious, not to say
dainty. It seemed hardly possible that by such comparatively small
mouthfuls he could keep up the vitality diffused through so broad,
baronial, and superb a person. But, doubtless, this noble savage fed
strong and drank deep of the abounding element of air; and through his
dilated nostrils snuffed in the sublime life of the worlds. Not by beef or
by bread, are giants made or nourished. But Queequeg, he had a mortal,
barbaric smack of the lip in eating—an ugly sound enough—so
much so, that the trembling Dough-Boy almost looked to see whether any
marks of teeth lurked in his own lean arms. And when he would hear
Tashtego singing out for him to produce himself, that his bones might be
picked, the simple-witted steward all but shattered the crockery hanging
round him in the pantry, by his sudden fits of the palsy. Nor did the
whetstone which the harpooneers carried in their pockets, for their lances
and other weapons; and with which whetstones, at dinner, they would
ostentatiously sharpen their knives; that grating sound did not at all
tend to tranquillize poor Dough-Boy. How could he forget that in his
Island days, Queequeg, for one, must certainly have been guilty of some
murderous, convivial indiscretions. Alas! Dough-Boy! Hard fares the white
waiter who waits upon cannibals. Not a napkin should he carry on his arm,
but a buckler. In good time, though, to his great delight, the three
salt-sea warriors would rise and depart; to his credulous, fable-mongering
ears, all their martial bones jingling in them at every step, like Moorish
scimetars in scabbards.

But, though these barbarians dined in the cabin, and nominally lived
there; still, being anything but sedentary in their habits, they were
scarcely ever in it except at mealtimes, and just before sleeping-time,
when they passed through it to their own peculiar quarters.

In this one matter, Ahab seemed no exception to most American whale
captains, who, as a set, rather incline to the opinion that by rights the
ship’s cabin belongs to them; and that it is by courtesy alone that
anybody else is, at any time, permitted there. So that, in real truth, the
mates and harpooneers of the Pequod might more properly be said to have
lived out of the cabin than in it. For when they did enter it, it was
something as a street-door enters a house; turning inwards for a moment,
only to be turned out the next; and, as a permanent thing, residing in the
open air. Nor did they lose much hereby; in the cabin was no
companionship; socially, Ahab was inaccessible. Though nominally included
in the census of Christendom, he was still an alien to it. He lived in the
world, as the last of the Grisly Bears lived in settled Missouri. And as
when Spring and Summer had departed, that wild Logan of the woods, burying
himself in the hollow of a tree, lived out the winter there, sucking his
own paws; so, in his inclement, howling old age, Ahab’s soul, shut up in
the caved trunk of his body, there fed upon the sullen paws of its gloom!