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BY
HIS
WIDOW
.
Shaking
off
the
sleet
from
my
ice-glazed
hat
and
jacket
,
I
seated
myself
near
the
door
,
and
turning
sideways
was
surprised
to
see
Queequeg
near
me
.
Affected
by
the
solemnity
of
the
scene
,
there
was
a
wondering
gaze
of
incredulous
curiosity
in
his
countenance
.
This
savage
was
the
only
person
present
who
seemed
to
notice
my
entrance
;
because
he
was
the
only
one
who
could
not
read
,
and
,
therefore
,
was
not
reading
those
frigid
inscriptions
on
the
wall
.
Whether
any
of
the
relatives
of
the
seamen
whose
names
appeared
there
were
now
among
the
congregation
,
I
knew
not
;
but
so
many
are
the
unrecorded
accidents
in
the
fishery
,
and
so
plainly
did
several
women
present
wear
the
countenance
if
not
the
trappings
of
some
unceasing
grief
,
that
I
feel
sure
that
here
before
me
were
assembled
those
,
in
whose
unhealing
hearts
the
sight
of
those
bleak
tablets
sympathetically
caused
the
old
wounds
to
bleed
afresh
.
Oh
!
ye
whose
dead
lie
buried
beneath
the
green
grass
;
who
standing
among
flowers
can
say
--
here
,
here
lies
my
beloved
;
ye
know
not
the
desolation
that
broods
in
bosoms
like
these
.
What
bitter
blanks
in
those
black-bordered
marbles
which
cover
no
ashes
!
What
despair
in
those
immovable
inscriptions
!
What
deadly
voids
and
unbidden
infidelities
in
the
lines
that
seem
to
gnaw
upon
all
Faith
,
and
refuse
resurrections
to
the
beings
who
have
placelessly
perished
without
a
grave
.
As
well
might
those
tablets
stand
in
the
cave
of
Elephanta
as
here
.
In
what
census
of
living
creatures
,
the
dead
of
mankind
are
included
;
why
it
is
that
a
universal
proverb
says
of
them
,
that
they
tell
no
tales
,
though
containing
more
secrets
than
the
Goodwin
Sands
!
how
it
is
that
to
his
name
who
yesterday
departed
for
the
other
world
,
we
prefix
so
significant
and
infidel
a
word
,
and
yet
do
not
thus
entitle
him
,
if
he
but
embarks
for
the
remotest
Indies
of
this
living
earth
;
why
the
Life
Insurance
Companies
pay
death-forfeitures
upon
immortals
;
in
what
eternal
,
unstirring
paralysis
,
and
deadly
,
hopeless
trance
,
yet
lies
antique
Adam
who
died
sixty
round
centuries
ago
;
how
it
is
that
we
still
refuse
to
be
comforted
for
those
who
we
nevertheless
maintain
are
dwelling
in
unspeakable
bliss
;
why
all
the
living
so
strive
to
hush
all
the
dead
;
wherefore
but
the
rumor
of
a
knocking
in
a
tomb
will
terrify
a
whole
city
.
All
these
things
are
not
without
their
meanings
.
But
Faith
,
like
a
jackal
,
feeds
among
the
tombs
,
and
even
from
these
dead
doubts
she
gathers
her
most
vital
hope
.
It
needs
scarcely
to
be
told
,
with
what
feelings
,
on
the
eve
of
a
Nantucket
voyage
,
I
regarded
those
marble
tablets
,
and
by
the
murky
light
of
that
darkened
,
doleful
day
read
the
fate
of
the
whalemen
who
had
gone
before
me
.
Yes
,
Ishmael
,
the
same
fate
may
be
thine
.
But
somehow
I
grew
merry
again
.
Delightful
inducements
to
embark
,
fine
chance
for
promotion
,
it
seems
--
aye
,
a
stove
boat
will
make
me
an
immortal
by
brevet
.
Yes
,
there
is
death
in
this
business
of
whaling
--
a
speechlessly
quick
chaotic
bundling
of
a
man
into
Eternity
.
But
what
then
?
Methinks
we
have
hugely
mistaken
this
matter
of
Life
and
Death
.
Methinks
that
what
they
call
my
shadow
here
on
earth
is
my
true
substance
.
Methinks
that
in
looking
at
things
spiritual
,
we
are
too
much
like
oysters
observing
the
sun
through
the
water
,
and
thinking
that
thick
water
the
thinnest
of
air
.
Methinks
my
body
is
but
the
lees
of
my
better
being
.
In
fact
take
my
body
who
will
,
take
it
I
say
,
it
is
not
me
.
And
therefore
three
cheers
for
Nantucket
;
and
come
a
stove
boat
and
stove
body
when
they
will
,
for
stave
my
soul
,
Jove
himself
can
not
.
I
had
not
been
seated
very
long
ere
a
man
of
a
certain
venerable
robustness
entered
;
immediately
as
the
storm-pelted
door
flew
back
upon
admitting
him
,
a
quick
regardful
eyeing
of
him
by
all
the
congregation
,
sufficiently
attested
that
this
fine
old
man
was
the
chaplain
.
Yes
,
it
was
the
famous
Father
Mapple
,
so
called
by
the
whalemen
,
among
whom
he
was
a
very
great
favorite
.
He
had
been
a
sailor
and
a
harpooneer
in
his
youth
,
but
for
many
years
past
had
dedicated
his
life
to
the
ministry
.
At
the
time
I
now
write
of
,
Father
Mapple
was
in
the
hardy
winter
of
a
healthy
old
age
;
that
sort
of
old
age
which
seems
merging
into
a
second
flowering
youth
,
for
among
all
the
fissures
of
his
wrinkles
,
there
shone
certain
mild
gleams
of
a
newly
developing
bloom
--
the
spring
verdure
peeping
forth
even
beneath
February
's
snow
.
No
one
having
previously
heard
his
history
,
could
for
the
first
time
behold
Father
Mapple
without
the
utmost
interest
,
because
there
were
certain
engrafted
clerical
peculiarities
about
him
,
imputable
to
that
adventurous
maritime
life
he
had
led
.
When
he
entered
I
observed
that
he
carried
no
umbrella
,
and
certainly
had
not
come
in
his
carriage
,
for
his
tarpaulin
hat
ran
down
with
melting
sleet
,
and
his
great
pilot
cloth
jacket
seemed
almost
to
drag
him
to
the
floor
with
the
weight
of
the
water
it
had
absorbed
.
However
,
hat
and
coat
and
overshoes
were
one
by
one
removed
,
and
hung
up
in
a
little
space
in
an
adjacent
corner
;
when
,
arrayed
in
a
decent
suit
,
he
quietly
approached
the
pulpit
.
Like
most
old
fashioned
pulpits
,
it
was
a
very
lofty
one
,
and
since
a
regular
stairs
to
such
a
height
would
,
by
its
long
angle
with
the
floor
,
seriously
contract
the
already
small
area
of
the
chapel
,
the
architect
,
it
seemed
,
had
acted
upon
the
hint
of
Father
Mapple
,
and
finished
the
pulpit
without
a
stairs
,
substituting
a
perpendicular
side
ladder
,
like
those
used
in
mounting
a
ship
from
a
boat
at
sea
.
