Moby Dick; or, The Whale (version 2) — 31: Queen Mab
Next morning Stubb accosted Flask.
“Such a queer dream, King-Post, I never had.
You know the old man’s ivory leg, well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to kick back, upon my soul, my little man, I kicked my leg right off!
And then, presto!
Ahab seemed a pyramid, and I, like a blazing fool, kept kicking at it.
But what was still more curious, Flask—you know how curious all dreams are—through all this rage that I was in, I somehow seemed to be thinking to myself, that after all, it was not much of an insult, that kick from Ahab.
‘Why,’ thinks I, ‘what’s the row?
It’s not a real leg, only a false leg.
’ And there’s a mighty difference between a living thump and a dead thump.
That’s what makes a blow from the hand, Flask, fifty times more savage to bear than a blow from a cane.
The living member—that makes the living insult, my little man.
And thinks I to myself all the while, mind, while I was stubbing my silly toes against that cursed pyramid—so confoundedly contradictory was it all, all the while, I say, I was thinking to myself, ‘what’s his leg now, but a cane—a whalebone cane.
Yes,’ thinks I, ‘it was only a playful cudgelling—in fact, only a whaleboning that he gave me—not a base kick.
Besides,’ thinks I, ‘look at it once; why, the end of it—the foot part—what a small sort of end it is; whereas, if a broad footed farmer kicked me, _there’s_ a devilish broad insult.
But this insult is whittled down to a point only.
’ But now comes the greatest joke of the dream, Flask.
While I was battering away at the pyramid, a sort of badger-haired old merman, with a hump on his back, takes me by the shoulders, and slews me round.
‘What are you ’bout?
’ says he.
Slid!
man, but I was frightened.
Such a phiz!
But, somehow, next moment I was over the fright.
‘What am I about?
’ says I at last.
‘And what business is that of yours, I should like to know, Mr. Humpback?
Do _you_ want a kick?
’ By the lord, Flask, I had no sooner said that, than he turned round his stern to me, bent over, and dragging up a lot of seaweed he had for a clout—what do you think, I saw?
—why thunder alive, man, his stern was stuck full of marlinspikes, with the points out.
Says I, on second thoughts, ‘I guess I won’t kick you, old fellow.
’ ‘Wise Stubb,’ said he, ‘wise Stubb;’ and kept muttering it all the time, a sort of eating of his own gums like a chimney hag.
Seeing he wasn’t going to stop saying over his ‘wise Stubb, wise Stubb,’ I thought I might as well fall to kicking the pyramid again.
But I had only just lifted my foot for it, when he roared out, ‘Stop that kicking!
’ ‘Halloa,’ says I, ‘what’s the matter now, old fellow?
’ ‘Look ye here,’ says he; ‘let’s argue the insult.
Captain Ahab kicked ye, didn’t he?
’ ‘Yes, he did,’ says I—‘right _here_ it was.
’ ‘Very good,’ says he—‘he used his ivory leg, didn’t he?
’ ‘Yes, he did,’ says I. ‘Well then,’ says he, ‘wise Stubb, what have you to complain of?
Didn’t he kick with right good will?
it wasn’t a common pitch pine leg he kicked with, was it?
No, you were kicked by a great man, and with a beautiful ivory leg, Stubb.
It’s an honor; I consider it an honor.
Listen, wise Stubb.
In old England the greatest lords think it great glory to be slapped by a queen, and made garter-knights of; but, be _your_ boast, Stubb, that ye were kicked by old Ahab, and made a wise man of.
Remember what I say; _be_ kicked by him; account his kicks honors; and on no account kick back;
for you can’t help yourself, wise Stubb.
Don’t you see that pyramid?
’ With that, he all of a sudden seemed somehow, in some queer fashion, to swim off into the air.
I snored; rolled over; and there I was in my hammock!
Now, what do you think of that dream, Flask?
” “I don’t know; it seems a sort of foolish to me, tho’.
” “May be; may be.
But it’s made a wise man of me, Flask.
D’ye see Ahab standing there, sideways looking over the stern?
Well, the best thing you can do, Flask, is to let that old man alone; never speak to him, whatever he says.
Halloa!
what’s that he shouts?
Hark!
” “Mast-head, there!
Look sharp, all of ye!
There are whales hereabouts!
If ye see a white one, split your lungs for him!
” “What d’ye think of that now, Flask?
ain’t there a small drop of something queer about that, eh?
A white whale—did ye mark that, man?
Look ye—there’s something special in the wind.
Stand by for it, Flask.
Ahab has that that’s bloody on his mind.
But, mum; he comes this way.
”
