Off to Lisbon went the brig Sea-nymph, and after her the poor merman. He stayed there as long as the ship stayed, hiding under boats and behind timbers, chased more than once, in danger of his life every hour, hardly able to get a glimpse of his idol. The wooden nymph stood straight up in her place, looking toward the city this time, because her head happened to be turned that way.
75

Once a priest going across the water in a boat happened to see him. The priest took him for a demon, was dreadfully scared, and solemnly cursed him, as is the fashion of priests when they are afraid of anything. Besides, such is the approved mode of dealing with demons in those countries. The report went abroad that there was an evil spirit in the harbor. The Spanish and Italian sailors said innumerable prayers to the saints and bought little blessed candles. The Yankees and Englishmen hunted him whenever they could, for they had a curiosity to see what a live demon was like. You may imagine what a life it was for the poor merman. He was almost worn out when The Sea-nymph weighed anchor and set sail for Sicily. He followed her, of course, for he was more possessed than ever.

And yet away down at the bottom of his heart he had misgivings. When day after day went on and the nymph stood still in the same place, he could not help thinking to himself, “What if it should be a wooden image, after all!”

But when this thought came into his head he drove it away, and called himself all the names that ever were for daring to entertain such a notion about his goddess. Was she not constant? Did she not always hold out her vase toward him? He didn’t or wouldn’t think, the poor silly merman, that it was because he always swam right before her and she couldn’t hold it any other way.
76

Not far from the Straits of Gibraltar the merman met his most intimate friend, who had been looking for him a long time, and had only heard of him through Moby Dick.

“My dear fellow,” said his friend, “I am so glad to see you!” and then he stopped, for he couldn’t help seeing that the other was not at all glad to see him, and he felt hurt and disappointed.

“Are you?” said the merman, coldly, and gazing after the ship sailing away from him.

“Why, of course. We’ve all been so anxious about you. Why haven’t you written? Your grandfather has tried every spell he could think of, but it all seemed of no use. The dear old gentleman is almost sick, and so miserable about you that he has had no heart to finish his work, even though the Baltic merman has come out with another pamphlet. Do come home.”

Now as his friend spoke our merman felt at once how selfish and ungrateful he had been. But his passion for his wooden nymph had so altered his nature that instead of being sorry he was only angry with himself, and pretended that he was angry with his friend.
77

“I suppose I am old enough to be my own master,” he said, haughtily.

“Why, what has come over you?” said his friend. “I’m sure it was natural I should come to look for you. If I’d been lost, wouldn’t you have tried to find me?”

The merman felt more and more ashamed of himself and grew crosser and crosser. “Excuse me,” he said, coldly, “but I have business that I must attend to. I don’t choose to discuss the subject;” and he swam away after The Sea-nymph.

“But look here!” said his friend, coming after him. “I must tell you something. I’m going to be married to your youngest sister, and I want you to come and be best man. The girls are breaking their hearts about you.”

“Oh, I dare say,” said the merman with a sneer. He had always been a most affectionate brother, but now he had no room in his heart for anything but his wooden image.
78

“And there’s a dear little girl next door that will be glad to see you. She’s to be bridesmaid, of course. It’s my belief she likes you. The sweetest mermaid in the sea, she is, except your sister.”

“She’s well enough for a mermaid,” said the merman, impatiently, for the ship was going farther and farther away.

“I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said his friend, growing vexed at last. “I shall really think that absurd story of Moby Dick’s was true when he said you were in love with a wooden statue of a human being.”

“She’s not human,” snapped the merman, coloring scarlet; “she’s a nymph, an immortal.”

“Let’s have a look at her,” he said.

“You are not worthy to behold her perfections,” said the merman.

“Why, a catfish may look at a congressman,” said his friend, quoting a sea proverb. “Is she on board that ship off there? Come on;” and away he went and our merman after him. They came up with the ship, and there, as usual, stood the wooden image staring over the water.

“She’s watching for me,” said the merman.
79

The friend said nothing. He swam round and round, and looked up at the figure-head through his eye-glass.

“Isn’t she a goddess?” asked our merman, impatiently.

“Goddess!” said the other. “My dear fellow, it’s only wood as sure as you are alive.”

“No merman shall insult me,” said our merman, in a passion.

“Who wants to? Do open your eyes, my dear boy, and see for yourself.”

“I do; I see how she looks at me and holds out her silver vase.”

“She’ll do as much for me,” said his friend, swimming before the ship. Our merman was wild with rage and jealousy, for he could not help seeing that she did. He drew his sword (for he wore one), made of a sword-fish blade, and flew at his friend. “Defend yourself,” he said.

“Nonsense,” said the other. “A likely story, I am going to fight you about a wooden stick. As for looking at me, she’d do the same for any old turtle.”
80

The merman couldn’t but feel that this was true. But he only grew more angry. He struck his friend with all his might. There was a dark stain on the sea.

“I’m not going to fight you,” said the other, turning very pale, “for you are her brother, but I think you’ll be very sorry for this some time;” and he turned round and swam away as well as he could.

Fortunately, after a little he met Moby Dick.

“Hallo!” said the whale in a tone of concern. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing much,” said the other, for he wouldn’t tell the story.

The whale suspected the truth. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his flipper, for he was a soft-hearted monster.

“Come with me,” said he; “I’ll take you to a surgeon.”

He carried the wounded merman to an old sea-owl who lived in a cave under the rock of Gibraltar. The old sea-owl was sitting in his door reading the newspaper when Moby Dick came rushing toward him, supporting in his flipper the hurt merman, who was too faint to swim.
81

“This young gentleman has met with an accident,” said the whale to the sea-owl; “I want you to cure him.” The sea-owl laid down his paper and took off his spectacles.

“What concern is it of yours?” said the sea-owl.

“That is none of your business,” said Moby Dick. “Take him into the house and take care of him.”

“You are weakly sentimental,” said the sea-owl. “I perceive that you belong to the rose-water class. What is suffering? A mere thrilling of a certain set of nerves. It creates a sensation which we call pain. It is disagreeable. Suppose it is. Are we sent into the world only to enjoy ourselves? Enjoyment is contemptible; the desire of happiness is base, unworthy a rational being. Let us rise to more exalted feelings; let us glorify ourselves in discomfort; and if we see any one basely comfortable, let us make ourselves as disagreeable as possible, and raise him to our own platform. What possible difference does it make whether we live or die, or are cold and hungry? What odds does it make in this huge universe? Are we nothing but vultures screaming for prey? Let us cultivate silence, that I may have the talk all to myself;” and the sea-owl looked at Moby Dick in the most impressive and superior manner. “What difference, I repeat, does our happiness or misery make in the huge sum of the universal—?&r............