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1Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn. When
2on that shivering winter's night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see
3standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just
4landed from a four years' dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The
5land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs;
6this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the
7storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful;
8in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that's kind to our mortalities. But in
9that gale, the port, the land, is that ship's direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though
10it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in
11so doing, fights 'gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea's landlessness
12again; for refuge's sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe! Know ye now, Bulkington?
13Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid
14effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to
15cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore? But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as
16God--so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were
17safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain?
18Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing--straight up,
19leaps thy apotheosis!
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