O to resume the joys of the soldier! To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer⁠—to feel his sympathy! To behold his calmness⁠—to be warm’d in the rays of his smile! To go to battle⁠—to hear the bugles play and the drums beat! To hear the crash of artillery⁠—to see the glittering of the bayonets and musket-barrels in the sun! To see men fall and die and not complain! To taste the savage taste of blood⁠—to be so devilish! To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy.

O the whaleman’s joys! O I cruise my old cruise again! I feel the ship’s motion under me, I feel the Atlantic breezes fanning me, I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head, There⁠—she blows! Again I spring up the rigging to look with the rest⁠—we descend, wild with excitement, I leap in the lower’d boat, we row toward our prey where he lies, We approach stealthy and silent, I see the mountainous mass, lethargic, basking, I see the harpooner standing up, I see the weapon dart from his vigorous arm; O swift again far out in the ocean the wounded whale, settling, running to windward, tows me, Again I see him rise to breathe, we row close again, I see a lance driven through his side, press’d deep, turn’d in the wound, Again we back off, I see him settle again, the life is leaving him fast, As he rises he spouts blood, I see him swim in circles narrower and narrower, swiftly cutting the water⁠—I see him die, He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then falls flat and still in the bloody foam.