CHAPTER VI. _LUCY PEABODY’S DREAM._ Moby Dick went on his way, “emerging strong against the tide.” A Nantucket ship saw him as he blew, and her boats put out after him. “Just get off a minute, my dear,” said he to the little mermaid whom he carried. She did so, and then, instead of swimming away from the boats, he put down his enormous head and went straight at them. “The white whale!” cried the sailors; and they did not throw the harpoon, but went meekly back to the ship. They were bold enough, but they were afraid of the white whale, for Moby Dick had sunk two or three ships in his time and entirely reversed the whalers’ programme. Moby Dick executed a huge frisk on the surface of the sea, flapped his tail on the water with a noise like thunder, and then dived down to rejoin the mermaid. “All right, my dear,” he said, cheerfully. “I’m so glad you are safe,” said the mermaid, patting him with her little hands. On they went through the water, and the coast was soon in sight. It was growing dusk, and the lighthouse showed its red star over the sea. The mermaid was silent, and Moby Dick did not trouble her to talk. Suddenly a beautiful woman appeared to them on the crest of a long rolling billow. She made no effort; she did not swim, but moved through the water by her will alone. She seemed a part of the sea, like a wave come alive. “That is not a human being, surely,” said the mermaid, startled. “It’s very like that—you know—that wooden thing—that _he_ ran after,” said Moby Dick in a gigantic whisper, “only it’s alive.” “She don’t seem as though she could ever have been wood,” said the mermaid. “She looks kind. I don’t feel as though she were that—that person. Please ask if she has seen our friend.” “Yes; my dear child,” said Panope—for she it was—answering the mermaid’s thought, “I have seen him;” and the immortal sighed. “His family are very anxious about him, my lady,” said the whale, who was conscious of an awe he had never known before, though he felt he could trust the Sea-Nymph. “They need be anxious no more,” said Panope, gently and sadly. “What has happened?” asked the mermaid, turning pale, but keeping herself very quiet. Panope went to her, and the immortal daughter of the sea put her white arms round the mermaid and held her in a close and soft embrace. “My dear,” she said, very gently, “your old playmate is dead.” [Illustration: “‘My dear,’ she said, very gently, ‘your old playmate is dead.’”] “You don’t say so, ma’am!” said Moby Dick, with a great sigh; and then he swam away to a little distance and left the mermaid to the care of the Sea-Nymph, for he was a whale of very delicate feelings. The mermaid looked into the blue eyes of the Goddess, and felt that the countless ages of her being had but made her more wise and kind. She hid her face on the immortal maiden’s bosom.