前面若干章之前，曾提到过一个叫巴尔金顿的人，那是个刚上岸的高个子水手，是在新贝德福的一家客栈里遇见的。
在那个寒风刺骨的冬夜，裴廓德号将她那复仇般的船首插进冰冷恶毒的浪涛时，我竟看见站在舵旁的正是巴尔金顿！我怀着同情的敬畏与恐惧望着这个人——隆冬时节，他刚结束四年危险航程踏上陆地，竟又如此不安分地再度出发，去迎接另一段狂风暴雨的岁月。大地仿佛灼烧着他的双脚。最奇妙的事物总是不可言说；深沉的记忆不留下墓志铭；这六英寸的一章，便是巴尔金顿无碑的坟墓。我只想说，他的命运正如那艘被风暴抛弄的船，凄惨地沿着背风的海岸漂流。港口本愿施以援手；港口是慈悲的；港口里有安全、舒适、炉边、晚餐、温暖的毛毯、朋友，一切对我们凡胎肉身仁慈的东西。但在那场狂风里，港口、陆地，却是那船最大的危难；她必须逃离一切款待；陆地只需轻轻一碰，哪怕只是擦过船骨，也会让她浑身战栗。她拼尽全力张满帆驶离海岸；这样做，恰是与那些本想把她吹回家的风相抗；她重新去寻找那被鞭笞的大海中无岸的境地；为了避难，凄然冲入险境；她唯一的朋友竟是她最苦的仇敌！
如今你可知晓，巴尔金顿？你是否恍惚瞥见那令人无法忍受的真理：一切深沉、认真的思想，不过是灵魂为保持自身海洋般开阔独立的无畏努力；而天地间最狂暴的风，却合谋将她抛上那诡诈、奴性的海岸？
但正如唯有在无陆地中方存最高真理——无岸、如神般无限——那么，宁可葬身于那呼啸的无限，也好过在背风岸上不光彩地撞碎，哪怕那里意味着安全！因为若那样，唉！谁愿如虫豸般怯懦爬向陆地！可怖中的可怖！难道这般苦痛尽皆虚妄？鼓起勇气，鼓起勇气，哦巴尔金顿！ grimly承受吧，半神！从你葬身海洋的浪花中——直直升起，你的神化！
Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded
mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn.
When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive
bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her
helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon
the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years’ dangerous
voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another
tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest
things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs;
this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only
say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that
miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give
succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort,
hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our
mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship’s
direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land,
though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and
through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing,
fights ’gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks
all the lashed sea’s landlessness again; for refuge’s sake forlornly
rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe!
Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally
intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid
effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the
wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the
treacherous, slavish shore?
But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless,
indefinite as God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite,
than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For
worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the
terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O
Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy
ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!
