cruisers that crossed their wakes in the
vicinity of the Tattoo Land? Was it not so, O Morquan! King of Japan, whose
lofty jet they say at times assumed the semblance of a snow-white cross against
the sky? Was it not so, O Don Miguel! thou Chilian whale, marked like an old
tortoise with mystic hieroglyphics upon the back! In plain prose, here are four
whales as well known to the students of Cetacean History as Marius or Sylla to
the classic scholar.
    But this is not all. New Zealand Tom and Don Miguel, after at various times
creating great havoc among the boats of different vessels, were finally gone in
quest of, systematically hunted out, chased and killed by valiant
whaling-captains, who heaved up their anchors with that express object as much
in view, as in setting out through the Narragansett Woods, Captain Butler of old
had it in his mind to capture that notorious murderous savage Annawon, the
headmost warrior of the Indian King Philip.
    I do not know where I can find a better place than just here, to make
mention of one or two other things, which to me seem important, as in printed
form establishing in all respects the reasonableness of the whole story of the
White Whale, more especially the catastrophe. For this is one of those
disheartening instances where truth requires full as much bolstering as error.
So ignorant are most landsmen of some of the plainest and most palpable wonders
of the world, that without some hints touching the plain facts, historical and
otherwise, of the fishery, they might scout at Moby-Dick as a monstrous fable,
or still worse and more detestable, a hideous and intolerable allegory.
    First: Though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils
of the grand fishery, yet they have nothing like a fixed, vivid conception of
those perils, and the frequency with which they recur. One reason perhaps is,
that not one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the
fishery, ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately
forgotten that record. Do you suppose that that poor fellow there, who this
moment perhaps caught by the whale-line off the coast of New Guinea, is being
carried down to the bottom of the sea by the sounding leviathan - do you suppose
that that poor fellow's name will appear in the newspaper obituary you will read
to-morrow at your breakfast? No: because the mails are very irregular between
here and New Guinea. In fact, did you ever hear what might be called regular
news direct or