THE WHITE WHALE 139 
the future and descry what shoals and what rocks must be 
shunned. 
It may seem unwarrantable to couple in any respect the masthead 
standers of the land with those of the sea ; but that in truth it is not 
so, is plainly evinced by an item for which Obed Macy, the sole 
historian of Nantucket, stands accountable. The worthy Obed tells 
us, that in the early times of the whale fishery, ere ships were 
regularly launched in pursuit of the game, the people of that island 
erected lofty spars along the sea-coast, to which the lookouts ascended 
by means of nailed cleats, something as fowls go upstairs in a hen- 
house. A few years ago this same plan was adopted by the Bay whale- 
men of New Zealand, who, upon descrying the game, gave notice to 
the ready-manned boats nigh the beach. But this custom has now 
become obsolete; turn we then to the one proper masthead, that of a 
whale ship at sea. 
The three masts are kept manned from sunrise to sunset; the sea- 
men taking their regular turns, as at the helm, and relieving each other 
every two hours. In the serene weather of the tropics it is exceedingly 
pleasant — the masthead; nay, to a dreamy meditative man it is de- 
lightful. There you stand, a hundred feet above the silent decks, 
striding along the deep, as if the masts were gigantic stilts, while 
beneath you and between your legs, as it were, swim the hugest monsters 
of the sea, even as ships once sailed between the boots of the famous 
Colossus at old Khodes. There you stand, lost in the Infinite Series of 
the sea, with nothing ruffled but the waves. The tranced ship indolently 
rolls; the drowsy trade winds blow; everything resolves you into lan- 
guor. For the most part, in this tropic whaling life, a sublime unevent- 
fulness invests you; you hear no news; read no gazettes; extras with 
startling accounts of commonplaces never delude you into unnecessary 
excitements; you hear of no domestic afflictions; bankrupt securities; 
fall of stocks; are never troubled with the thought of what you shall 
have for dinner — for all your meals for three years and more are 
snugly stowed in casks, and your bill of fare- is immutable. 
In one of those southern whalemen, on a long three or four years’ 
voyage, as often happens, the sum of the various hours you spend at 
the masthead would amount to several entire months. And it is much 
