Yawp! Company Vs. the Whale*

Call us the Yawp! Company. Some weeks ago--never mind how long precisely--having nothing on our schedles and little or nothing to interest us in Colorado, we thought we might shuttle about a little in a van and see the sandstoney part of the world. It is a way we have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever we find ourselves growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in our souls; whenever we find ourselves involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and passing more hours in front of teevees than miles on a bicycles, we account it high time to get to Moab as soon as we can.

Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all our curiosity. 

We always go to sea as sailors because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. 

Thus to and fro pacing, beneath his slouched hat, at every turn he passed his own wrecked boat, which had been dropped upon the quarter-deck.

The next day was exceedingly still and sultry, and with nothing special to engage them, the Pequod's crew could hardly resist the spell of sleep induced by such a vacant sea. 

It was my turn to stand at the foremast-head; and with my shoulders leaning against the slackened royal shrouds, to and fro I idly swayed in what seemed an enchanted air. 

The whale now lay at a little distance, vertically thrusting his head up and down in the billows as he leaned to the push--the now rising swells with all their confluent waves.

If to Starbuck the apparition of the Squid was a thing of portents, to Queequeg it was quite a different object.

"No bones broken, sir, I do hope," came Stubb's honest remark.

"Breech!"

Rising with his utmost velocity from the furthest depths, the Whale thus booms his entire bulk into the pure element of air, and piling up a mountain of dazzling foam, shows his place to the distance of seven miles and more. In those moments, the torn, enraged waves he shakes off, seem his mane; in some cases, this breaching is his act of defiance.

But ere this was done, Pip, who had been slily hovering near by all the while, drew nigh to him where he lay and took him by the hand; in the other, holding his tambourine. 

The helmsman who steered that tiller in a tempest, felt like the Tartar, when he holds back his fiery steed by clutching its jaw.

He was one of that crew, his shouts had gone up with the rest, his oath had been welded with theirs; and stronger he shouted and more did he hammer and clench his oath.

*All of this text is either stollen directly from Melville or stollen and then mutilated. Why? Because one of the trails we rode is called Captain Ahab, and I don't believe a gag can go on too long.