The Morality of Misrepresentation: When Bad Reporting Has A Body Count

They say that men who have seen the world, thereby become quite at ease in manner, quite self-possessed in company. Though Ledyard, the great New England traveller, they possessed the least assurance in the parlor. But perhaps the mere crossing of Siberia in a sledge drawn by dogs as Ledyard did, or the taking a long solitary walk on an empty stomach, in the negro heart of Africa, which was the sum of poor Mungo’s performances this kind of travel. These reflections just here are occasioned by the circumstance that after we were all seated at the table, and I was preparing to hear some good stories about whaling to my no small surprise. Nearly every man maintained a profound silence. And not only that, but they looked embarrassed. Yes, here were a set of sea-dogs, many of whom without the slightest bashfulness had boarded great whales on the high seas entire strangers to them and duelled them dead without winking; and yet, here they sat at a social breakfast table all of the same calling, all of kindred tastes looking round as sheepishly at each other as though they had never been out of sight of some sheepfold among the Green Mountains. Curious sight these bashful bears, these timid warrior whalemen. They say that men who have seen the world, thereby become quite at ease in manner, quite self-possessed in company. Perhaps the mere crossing of Siberia in a sledge drawn by dogs as Ledyard did, or the taking a long solitary walk on an empty stomach, in the negro heart of Africa, which was the sum of poor Mungo’s performances this kind of travel, I say, may not be the very best mode of attaining a high social polish.

The bar-room was now full of the boarders who had been dropping in the night previous, and whom I had not as yet had a good look at. You could pretty plainly tell how long each one had been ashore. This young fellow’s healthy cheek is like a sun-toasted pear in hue, and would seem to smell almost as musky; he cannot have been three days landed from his Indian voyage. That man next him looks a few shades lighter you might say a touch of satin wood is in him. In the complexion of a third still lingers a tropic tawn, but slightly bleached withal.  He doubtless has tarried whole weeks ashore.

Photoshoot: In the Woods

The Pequod, we found everything in profound quiet not a soul moving the cabin entrance was locked within the hatches were all on, and lumbered with coils of rigging. Seeing a light we went down and found only an old rigger there, wrapped in a tattered pea-jacket. He was thrown at whole length upon two chests, his face downwards and inclosed in his folded arms. The profoundest slumber slept upon him. Barred with various tints seemed like the Andes’ western slope, to show forth in one array contrasting climates. Quickly followed suit and descending into the bar-room accosted the grinning landlord very pleasantly. Cherished no malice towards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a little in the matter of my bedfellow.

Share on