THE WHITE WHALE 35 
of wood, so that at every step there was a joint. At my first glimpse 
of the pulpit, it had not escaped me that however convenient for a ship, 
these joints in the present instance seemed unnecessary. For I was 
not prepared to see Father Mapple after gaining the height, slowly 
turn round, and stooping over the pulpit, deliberately drag up the 
ladder step by step, till the whole was deposited within, leaving him 
impregnable in his little Quebec. 
I pondered some time without fully comprehending the reason for 
this. Father Mapple enjoyed such a wide reputation for sincerity and 
sanctity, that I could not suspect him of courting notoriety by any 
mere tricks of the stage. No, thought I, there must be some sober 
reason for this thing; furthermore, it must symbolise something un- 
seen. Can it be, then, that by that act of physical isolation, he signifies 
his spiritual withdrawal for the time, from all outward worldly ties 
and connections? Yes, for replenished with the meat and wine of 
the world, to the faithful man of God, this pulpit, I see, is a self- 
containing stronghold — a lofty Ehrenbreitstein, with a perennial well 
of water within the walls. 
But the side ladder was not the only strange feature of the place, 
borrowed from the chaplain’s former seafarings. Between the marble 
cenotaphs on either hand of the pulpit, the wall which formed its back 
was adorned with a large painting representing a gallant ship beating 
against a terrible storm off a lee coast of black rocks and snowy 
breakers. But high above the flying scud and dark-rolling clouds, there 
floated a little isle of sunlight, from which beamed forth an angel’s 
face; and this bright face shed a distinct spot of radiance upon the 
ship’s tossed deck, something like that silver plate now inserted into 
the Victory's plank where Nelson fell. “Ah, noble ship,” the angel 
seemed to say, “beat on, beat on, thou noble ship, and bear a hardy 
helm, for lo ! the sun is breaking through ; the clouds are rolling off — 
serenest azure is at hand.” 
Nor was the pulpit itself without a trace of the same sea taste that 
had achieved the ladder and the picture. Its panelled front was in 
the likeness of a ship’s bluff bows, and the Holy Bible rested on a pro- 
jecting piece of scroll work, fashioned after a ship’s fiddle-headed 
beak. 
What could be more full of meaning? — for the pulpit is ever this 
