But somehow I grew merry again.

Delightful inducements to embark, fine chance for promotion, it seems--aye, a stove boat will make me an immortal by brevet.

Yes, there is death in this business of whaling--a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity.

But what then?
Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death.
Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance.

Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air.