Ch. 8: Harpooner O'Ryan

Shortly after Ishmael's chat with the illustrious Mr. Tout, while continuing to jot down his story of the white whale, he heard, "Boy-o, da ya t'ink Mr. Tout's got all the glory on this vessel?"

"Ah...no, Sir, but I'm sure I'm about to be apprised of some glories known to you and those among your associates. How may I address you, since we've not been formally introduced?"

"Call me Patty O'Ryan if ye choose, er Stars, er even O'rion, sicond boat harp'ner but sicond to none in the chase an' kill business!!" responded a burly, freckled red-head who was stripped to the waist to display some interesting tattoos.

"A pleasure to meet you, O'Ryan," Ishmael responded, "and what might be the way you want to be remembered down through the ages of literary history when I compose my next great tale?" As he said this, he picked up a second notebook that was the beginning of his story of the sea since his rescue by the Rachel and its crew.

"Ye see these tattoos, here on me chest? They're tha symbol that I was born to be a great hunter of whales as Orion himself is called the Great Hunter of the sky! I even keep this token of the tale wi' me to show to folks like yerself that we red-headed hunters are more famous than ye t'ink." He indicated several clearly discernible stars that unmistakeably represented the constellation of Orion from his waist to his shoulders. "This card also tells tha story."

"Very well done tattoos, I must say; especially as one who wears my own of various sorts with pride. Perhaps you should have a card made up with a likeness of yourself holding a harpoon instead of the club and a whale instead of a lion?"

"I've thought of that meself, but I'm so busy being the hunter I haven't taken the time to pose and improve upon the card set."

"You mean there are more of these?"

"Aye, I've got the whole set in me bag. On one of me short times on land, I came across 'em in London. They're called Urania's Mirror. I t'ink me Celtic Gram would use them to tell fortunes, but I don't hold wi' all that, if ye know wha' I mean! I figger the good Lor' put muh fam'ly name in the heavens so I shouldn't go messin' about wi' temptin' Him and His workin's."

"Sounds like a wise policy. So give over your tale in brief, if you will," said Ishmael as he licked his pencil, preparing to write.

"Whill, it's really simple ye see...even though Mr. Second Mate Murray and I jine togither in the second boat, we still have landed more spouters and gi'en more oil to tha barrels below than Mr. Tout would care t'admit. So, ye might say, even bein' number two, we're really number one!" His proud grin was winning to all the company except Mr. Tout, who happened to be part of it.

"Oy, Mistur Stars...blow all the spray you want, Mr. Lions and I still say that spouter off'n the Feegees was our'n and ye got the credit. But no matter, when you read the Rachel's register, our portions of the take still beat yours and Tight Fist Murray." Tout's considerably red face got perhaps a shade or two deeper during the exchange, but there was still the underlying good humor of men in competition who would sacrifice their lives for each other when a mutual adversary appeared.

"Well, I for one am glad to meet you both and expect you're the excellent harpooners you claim to be, based on the fact that Rachel's belly is full."

During this exchange, the Rachel continued to make its way to Honolulu for resupply for the next leg of its voyage.

Ch. 7: Disclaimers and other Trivia

I can't think of one instance wherein a story, fictitious or true, was written about boring people. Let's face it...they're BORING, so why bother?! Most people fit into various categories or 'types' or have an interesting admixture of these two that actually makes them individualistic in their behavior, even when they exhibit characteristics handed down through familial lines for generations; which comes both through the collective gene pool and successive training by parents and grandparents.

Story telling has been the way mankind has communicated ever since the Original Gardeners botched their rather simple assignment and fell out not only with their Maker, but with each other as well, no doubt. I wonder if Mother Eve was forever correcting Father Adam when he was regaling Seth and the progeny with tales of The Garden and the like? I'd wager without much fear of losing my principal that all cultures have men who do not, shall we say, stick to the truth while their women folk either publicly amend the tales in their presence or sort them out at a later time in their own feminine way when Pappy has retired to some other place.

In any event, constructing a tale, whether anyone else reads and/or likes it or not, is a challenge in and of itself; the primary motivation behind What Happened to Ishmael? Of course, there's the always inquisitive five year old who is content to end a story but inevitably asks for more. It appears that The Lord of the Rings was exactly that; Tolkien's way to build Elvish as a whole new language as well as his attempt to tell an engaging story...spot on, Mr. T!!

The illustration for this particular chapter was drawn by Theodor Von Holst for the frontispiece of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. It could be seen as the author of any tale running away from his characters once they've gotten out of hand. Or it could have absolutely nothing to do with anything other than it's OK to use it due to its public domain status. So, if illustrations crop up... or are cropped to suit my fancy...that you recognize from other works...like "Kapellmeister Kreisler" in the last chapter to represent Harpooner Tout...accept it graciously and continue on, dear reader...or not, if the spirit so moves you.

Ch. 6: The Curious Harpooner Tout

"Oy, Fluke, are ye goin' to include me in that there tale of yers?" asked Tout, the first harpooner of the Rachel.

"Well, Mr. Tout, considering that this is my story about the crew of the Pequod and Moby Dick, and that you were not part of the adventure, no." Pappy Ishmael looked up from his writing and smiled calmly at the ruddy faced questioner.

"Yer missin' out on a colorful character, you are, if'n ya don't make some mention of me in there."

"It could be that I'll do another story of my journey with the Rachel, Mr. Tout, and I doubt that Tout will be left out!!" A small smirk appeared on Ishmael's face as his eyes twinkled at his rhyme.

"Well, all ye have to do is ask and I'll regale you with my own stories of the best harpooner in the whaling trades!"

"I'm sure you'll rank right up there with Daggoo, Tashtego, and my good friend Queequeg, even if you don't hale from a people as skin-wise colorful as those three."

"Rank with them? Not as colorful, ye say? Why my face looks like the lobsters we gather on the New England coast most times of the year and when my blood is up, by Gor, I look like a blast furnace at its best!! Naw, ye won't be puttin' me down as one of those milky faced landlubbers who mince about drawing rooms, lad! I'll tout my talents and match my name!" As he said this, he cast his hands about to the listeners nearby, who gave their mixed consent to his less than modest spoutings.

"Ah, Mr. Tout, it would appear you have a handle on the English language and its humorous side."

"Aye, and there's a providential reason I were brought into this world of a family so named that I have and no lack of ability to tell folks what I think of 'em! They say my Irish ancestors and the local native girls were joint contributors to my coloration, so they do, but none'll own up to the exactitude of the get together, if'n ya get me drift, lad!" Appropriate winking of his eye and thrusting of his chest brought more undercurrents of laughter from his audience.

"I promise you, Mr. Tout, that just as soon as I finish this particular chapter, I will take some notes to remind me of your particular character...not that you're forgettable by any means short of a dive to Davy Jones!" The flattery obviously met with approval.

"And what chapter is that, lad?"

"Curiously enough, or providentially as you would say, that of my first meeting with Queequeg who I thought would kill me, who became my friend, and finally, provided the means to delay my meeting with Old Davy."

"So you came to know the heathen well, did ye?"

"As a brother. In fact, I came to the conclusion early on that occupying a bed with a sober pagan was more desirable that doing so with a drunken Christian. Hmmm...a good phrase to include, I think...thank you, Mr. Tout for helping me out!"

"I'm a reg'lar Samaritan, I am, so don't ye be forgettin' to make a point of that when ye tell your Tale of the Rachel!"

"Rest assured, you're there in the early chapters."

Ch.5: News from the Quarter Deck

Sailors are naturally superstitious. As a result, Pappy Ishmael received a nickname from some of the wags in the forecastle...Fluke. They all agreed it was a 'fluke' that he had coincidentally been drawn into the vortex surrounding the Pequod that took it and the rest of the crew to Davy Jones' Locker just at the time its strength was abating and at the very time when Queequeg's coffin popped to the surface. Oh, Ishmael had been aboard ship for only several days, but had become the obvious center of attention among the inquisitive crewmen right from the start due to his most recent encounter. He became Fluke, also, because of the obvious whaler's familiarity with the flukes of their prey, the sperm whales; which had not done in their new shipmate. So there it was, just as Jacob ('the deceiver') was renamed Israel ('God contends'), Ishmael ('God listens') was renamed Fluke ('stroke of good luck').

He had already been asked numerous times to retell the tale; which was more than right up his alley, considering he was naturally gregarious when not in a funk brought on by circumstances of his life. Actually, for those of us looking back on Pappy's behavior and his description of his actions from his own mouth through Mr. Melville, it would appear he was perhaps a bit of a manic depressive personality at the time of his experiences with Ahab and his crew. He started out for his whaling adventure in a 'drizzly November' in his soul and once in the Spouter Inn went from being left 'in a brown study' in his attitude by the trick of Peter Coffin to threatening to 'break it for him,' meaning the yet unmet Queequeg's head...somewhat of a sudden shift, wouldn't you say?!!

Ishmael now had his audience on whom he could practice his tale-telling as well as the germ of an idea from his carpenter friend on how he might expand his audience when he finally left the whaling trade in which he was currently engaged on the Rachel. He asked about if there was any spare paper and writing implement on board, and the captain, when presented with the nutshell of Pappy's project, gladly provided a small lined volume of his own and the pencils to use to retell the story that he also found fascinating as a way in which to while away some hours. The news from the quarterdeck this day was surprising to some extent, but perhaps not, given the state of the captain's heart.

"Mr. Lions, assemble all hands. I have something they all will need to hear."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," said First Mate Lions, with characteristic attention to naval etiquette. "ALL HANDS GATHER AFT. COME 'ROUND, LADS, TO HEAR YER CAPTAIN'S WORDS!!"

The men rarely received this sort of attention unless their quarry was in sight, but the Rachel's barrels had been near filled before The Incident, so they gathered quickly, not knowing what might be so important in the Captain's mind.

"Men, it is with personally heavy heart over the loss of my boy and several other men that I have decided to shorten this particular voyage. We have tacked long enough around this portion of the Pacific to realize that my boy and the other men lost in our last encounter with Moby Dick will not be found. We will stop briefly in the islands nearby to refit and gather provisions, then sail straightway for San Francisco instead of taking the longer route around The Horn to get back home. The barrels will only handle oil from perhaps one good size whale, so if we encounter one other than that white devil, we will lower away and fill up the purse of our owners and be sure to cover your portions of the voyage. If we see no spouts, I will personally stand ready to part with whatever portion of my share is necessary to satisfy all parties involved."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n," piped up Second Mate Murray, "what has brought on this decision?"

"As I said, grief over the loss of those taken by Moby Dick has shown me the wisdom of my own retirement. I do not want to jeopardize your lives with my own spleen or other emotions that might infect me with the same vengeance Captain Ahab thought would give him victory over one who will not be defeated by mere mortals. I have spent enough years under sail and still have one son to raise...on land, unless he chooses otherwise."

"Sir, will we all be left in port to fend for ourselves?" This was from Lions.

"No, Mr. Lions, I will endeavor to find a suitable captain to continue the voyage after communicating with the owners my desires so that each of you will have employment back to New Bedford if you choose. All others will be given their wages to that point of the voyage and may do as they see fit. You have been as good a crew as a captain could desire. I will not willingly put you in jeopardy again. You are dismissed."

The men, confronted with the possibility of a quiet rest of the voyage, were more than willing to give voice to all sorts of sailors' conjectures, but the main message was clearly understood and well received.

Ch.4: Mr. Melville

"You've had quite an experience, Ishmael," said Saint Bob as he planed a timber to refit part of the damaged try-works that encase the rendering pots. "I think you should write down your tale and let the folks of the world learn just what it costs to keep light in their parlors!"

"Well, I could write it down, but I have no name to speak of, except for the Biblical reference, of course, so who would publish it or buy it? In fact," he said, as he assisted in the smoothing process, "my name might actually work to turn people from listening."

"You might have a point there, but you could have someone else take up his pen and put your story to paper who already is sympathetic to those of us who ply our trades on the sea."

"Who would that be?" said Ishmael with interest in his eyes.

"There is a New England gentleman, Mr. Herman Melville, who is popular as an author and has published two books already in his career. He's written two accurate stories, Typee and Omoo, about the very trade we practice. They appear to be novels, but I have the feeling that Melville actually encountered the events in his younger days. I have a copy of each in my locker that I got before shipping out this last voyage, if you care to read them."

"I think that might be a pleasant way to wile away some of the hours we have. Oh, is this the way you want the timber shaped? What makes you think he was a whaler?"

"Quite right, keep at it...Have you ever noticed when a story is told by someone who actually experienced the events it's much more 'real' than one that is made up?"

"Yes, of course...we both know how sailors can embellish a story into a whale of a tale!" With this they both chuckled at the inside joke.

"My point is, Ishmael, that you could write down your adventure with the Pequod, approach Melville with the story, and perhaps he would consent to touch it up a bit and lend his name to it so it could get before the public. And if it turns out people think it's just another novel, what's the harm? The story would still be told! Frankly, I know many folks who think the stories...like that of Jonah, for instance...in the Old Book are just that, fictions that are pleasantries or moral tales but not really true. Now, let's see if this timber is close to the fit before we cut out the old..."

As they hefted the plank, Ishmael gave a sideways glance to Saint Bob and said, "So you think that really happened?"

"There certainly would be room inside, as you well know. Why couldn't God simply stop the 'big fish' from harming Jonah the way He did with Daniel and the lions...assuming that was true and not merely fiction? There certainly are plenty of miracles throughout the Book to make one consider it, if you'll pardon the pun, gospel."

"That reasoning assumes any of them are true..."

"Aye, it does, but do you have any proof they're not?"

"Can't say as I do, but we seem to be at loggerheads on this subject..."

"Agreed...for now...give my suggestion a thought. Now, bring the mallet, chisel, and that particular saw and we'll see what can be done about shaping up this part of the try-works."

Ch. 3: Saint Bob

Robert Saint was the Rachel's carpenter and, like John Little in Robin Hood, had his names reversed, in his case, in a doubly ironic way. John Little became 'Little John' simply because of his large size and the waggish humor of his mates. Robert Saint became Saint Bob because the men of the Rachel who all had 'mouths like sailors'...not surprisingly!...mocked his mild mannered way of speaking that reflected the fact that he was, to put it simply, a Christian who did not shy away from acknowledging his beliefs but did not find it necessary to be spiritually pugilistic with his fellow travelers. The double irony was that he really was 'a saint' based on his beliefs, not in the Catholic sense of the phrase, but in the same way as those addressed by Paul in his letters.

Now, if Saint Bob had wanted to get physically pugilistic, he certainly had the equipment with which to hold his own. Years of working with hand tools under the rigorous conditions aboard ship had made his hands not only scarred from numerous run-ins with sharp tools and splinters, but enlarged and hardened so it seemed he might drive nails without the use of a hammer if it were necessary. He had eyes that indicated that he was not to be taken lightly when it came to things he considered of a serious nature, yet when jollity was in his spirit, he could bring anything from a smile to a guffaw to his audience. His build was slightly above that nondescript category 'medium,' being of average height for a time when those who worked 'tween decks were to be 5'7" or less.

He had patched together ships and made things of wood for the better part of 30 years from the time he apprenticed as carpenter's mate in the Age of Andrew Jackson up until the present War with Mexico in which whalers took no part, obviously, which became the training ground for many men who would live to be Civil War generals. The American fleet was never one in which he sought to work his trade, being almost non-existent in those days, but merchant marine and whaling ships had been his home for many years. There was almost nothing he could not do with wood, from whittling toys for children when he was ashore between voyages to replacing the main mast on the Rachel when necessary.

This was the man Ishmael met on a warmish day in the Pacific after a few days rest from his more than traumatic adventure with the white whale and the men of the Pequod. Captain Gardiner, who ran his ship a bit more informally and with more of a fatherly demeanor than autocratic Ahab ruled the Pequod, took Ishmael to meet Saint Bob, indicating to both that he would be Bob's apprentice. When they shook hands, Ishmael was impressed not only with the power he felt, but the genuine warmth of greeting from a fellow with whom he would not only become a friend, but later on, a brother.

Ch.2: On Board the Rachel

Ishmael was picked up by the Rachel in the Pacific in the vicinity of Australia. By this time Captain Gardiner had resolved himself to the death of his 12 year old boy and was preparing to sail east to the western Hemisphere once again. He had filled his barrels with oil but his heart was fuller still with that loss.

"And what sad tale do you have to tell, Son, that here you bob on this coffin?" were the first words Gardiner spoke to Ishmael.

"Sir, a tale full as heavy for all but me of those who sailed the Pequod with Ahab. Moby Dick not only had Ahab lashed to his side with a harpooner's noose, taking him to the depths, but turned and stove in the Pequod, too. I fear, as Job's messengers said, I alone am left to tell."

"Well, lad...your name?"

"Ishmael, Sir."

"Perhaps you have some tribes yet to bear with a dear Nantucket girl. You're welcome aboard and, once recovered, may serve aboard the Rachel as you did the Pequod... as carpenter's mate, if you choose."

"Aye, Sir, although I've been before the mast my sailing days, I'll try my hand at a trade that will do me once ashore as much or more than my schoolmaster days did."

And that was how he met Saint Bob...

Ch.1: Names

Great, great grandmother must have had a premonition about her youngest child even while he was still floating around in the amniotic fluid of his first nine-month habitation. Our family Bible which has come down to me indicates that she was a staunch Calvinist who chose to attend a Presbyterian congregation her entire life after she had 'seen the light' as a young girl, as she was wont to say, according to the stories handed down through the years. She was also a prolific writer...which might explain from whence my proclivities come...and had carefully written comments and notes throughout the large volume she apparently read daily for more than 60 years.

There were all sorts of dates throughout the Old Book that indicate that she was in the habit of reading it from Genesis to Revelation about every 18 months or so; which is significant when we realize that Pappy Ishmael was born on the very day she read the story of Hagar's departure with her son of the same name. As I said, she believed her youngest was going to be a wild one even as she carried him, as many mothers down through the ages have anticipated behavior, both good and bad, of their yet unborn offspring. None of the relatives on either side of our clans had had the name of Ishmael and there were no financial supporters to flatter, so her choice of 'Ishmael' can only be explained by providence, fate, or perhaps the fact that she screamed the name repeatedly while pushing the baby out and prior to one of those incantations the doctor asked, "What will the child be named?"

In any event, Ishmael it was. Fortunately for him, he was born in an age when Biblical names were popular, so his 'brand' was not as heinous as that of Cain's. From what we can piece together, however, he would have adequately defended himself had the local New Yawkers of similar age chided him for his mother's choice of names under somewhat stressful circumstances. The question arises, of course, as to why great, great grandfather did not alter the naming process; turns out he was thinking of the same name before the birth event and was delighted to hear his wife not only acquiesce, but advocate the name.

As William Cowper, whose works also adorned great, great grandmother's shelves, so adequately wrote long before the blessed event, 'God moves in a mysterious way'...children to be born.

Introduction: Pappy

Queequeg's coffin had kept great grandfather Ishmael afloat. As he put it when he retold the tale to Mr. Melville, "the unharming sharks...glided by as if with padlocks on their mouths..." implying they were without appetite in the same fashion as the lions in Daniel's story told in the Old Book. He even had a bit of one-upmanship in his detail, adding that 'the savage sea-hawks sailed with sheathed beaks." Family tradition has it that great grandfather's flair for language only got more pronounced as he waxed eloquent about his adventures...frequently accompanied by hearty doses of grog or some other palatable liquid!

Well, you've possibly read that the Rachel picked great grandfather up as yet another orphan of the sea with the mostly satisfying 'Finis' as the last word of the story. It was not the last word, let me tell you. Mr. Melville recounted Ishmael's story in 1851 Anno Domini when great grandfather was still a young man in his prime, with the inevitable 'Novembers of the soul' following in the cycle of the spiritual year that all mankind encounters. Not surprisingly, given the Providence of his rescue from a Hell-bound voyage, Pappy, as he came to be known later in life, encountered many more adventures and actually lived to a ripe old age.

But more of that later...

Source for all Moby Dick references: Herman Melville: Redburn, White-Jacket, Moby Dick. Library of America, 11th printing edition (April 15, 1983), Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., New York, N.Y.