It so chanced that the doubloon of the Pequod was a most wealthy example of these things.  On its round border it bore the letters, REPUBLICA DEL ECUADOR:  QUITO.  So this bright coin came from a country planted in the middle of the world, and beneath the great equator, and named after it; and it had been cast midway up the Andes, in the unwaning clime that knows no autumn.  Zoned by those letters you saw the likeness of three Andes’ summits; from one a flame; a tower on another; on the third a crowing cock; while arching over all was a segment of the partitioned zodiac, the signs all marked with their usual cabalistics, and the keystone sun entering the equinoctial point at Libra.

Before this equatorial coin, Ahab, not unobserved by others, was now pausing.

“There’s something ever egotistical in mountain-tops and towers, and all other grand and lofty things; look here,—­ three peaks as proud as Lucifer.  The firm tower, that is Ahab; the volcano, that is Ahab; the courageous, the undaunted, and victorious fowl, that, too, is Ahab; all are Ahab; and this round gold is but the image of the rounder globe, which, like a magician’s glass, to each and every man in turn but mirrors back his own mysterious self.  Great pains, small gains for those who ask the world to solve them; it cannot solve itself.  Methinks now this coined sun wears a ruddy face; but see! aye, he enters the sign of storms, the equinox! and but six months before he wheeled out of a former equinox at Aries!  From storm to storm!  So be it, then.  Born in throes, ’t is fit that man should live in pains and die in pangs!  So be it, then!  Here’s stout stuff for woe to work on.  So be it, then.”

“No fairy fingers can have pressed the gold, but devil’s claws must have left their mouldings there since yesterday,” murmured Starbuck to himself, leaning against the bulwarks.  “The old man seems to read Belshazzar’s awful writing.  I have never marked the coin inspectingly.  He goes below; let me read.  A dark valley between three mighty, heaven-abiding peaks, that almost seem the Trinity, in some faint earthly symbol.  So in this vale of Death, God girds us round; and over all our gloom, the sun of Righteousness still shines a beacon and a hope.  If we bend down our eyes, the dark vale shows her mouldy soil; but if we lift them, the bright sun meets our glance half way, to cheer.  Yet, oh, the great sun is no fixture; and if, at midnight, we would fain snatch some sweet solace from him, we gaze for him in vain!  This coin speaks wisely, mildly, truly, but still sadly to me.  I will quit it, lest Truth shake me falsely.”