The Pequod Meets the Bachelor

And jolly enough were the sights and the sounds that came bearing down before the wind, some few weeks after Ahab’s harpoon had been welded.

A few weeks after Ahab’s harpoon had been welded, cheerful sights and sounds came downwind.

It was a Nantucket ship, the Bachelor, which had just wedged in her last cask of oil, and bolted down her bursting hatches; and now, in glad holiday apparel, was joyously, though somewhat vain-gloriously, sailing round among the widely-separated ships on the ground, previous to pointing her prow for home.

It was a Nantucket ship, the Bachelor. She had just squeezed in her last barrel of oil and fastened down her bulging hatches. Now, dressed for a celebration, she sailed joyfully, though somewhat boastfully, among the widely scattered ships on the whaling grounds. Soon she would turn toward home.

The three men at her mast-head wore long streamers of narrow red bunting at their hats; from the stern, a whale-boat was suspended, bottom down; and hanging captive from the bowsprit was seen the long lower jaw of the last whale they had slain. Signals, ensigns, and jacks of all colours were flying from her rigging, on every side. Sideways lashed in each of her three basketed tops were two barrels of sperm; above which, in her top-mast cross-trees, you saw slender breakers of the same precious fluid; and nailed to her main truck was a brazen lamp.

The three men at the ship’s mastheads wore long, narrow red streamers on their hats. A whaleboat hung from the stern, bottom down. The long lower jaw of the last whale they had killed hung from the bowsprit. Signals, ensigns, and jacks of all colors flew from the rigging on every side. Two barrels of sperm whale oil were lashed sideways in each of the ship’s three basketed platforms. Above them, slender casks of the same precious oil rested on the crossbars of the upper masts. A brass lamp was nailed to the top of the mainmast.

As was afterwards learned, the Bachelor had met with the most surprising success; all the more wonderful, for that while cruising in the same seas numerous other vessels had gone entire months without securing a single fish. Not only had barrels of beef and bread been given away to make room for the far more valuable sperm, but additional supplemental casks had been bartered for, from the ships she had met; and these were stowed along the deck, and in the captain’s and officers’ state-rooms. Even the cabin table itself had been knocked into kindling-wood; and the cabin mess dined off the broad head of an oil-butt, lashed down to the floor for a centrepiece. In the forecastle, the sailors had actually caulked and pitched their chests, and filled them; it was humorously added, that the cook had clapped a head on his largest boiler, and filled it; that the steward had plugged his spare coffee-pot and filled it; that the harpooneers had headed the sockets of their irons and filled them; that indeed everything was filled with sperm, except the captain’s pantaloons pockets, and those he reserved to thrust his hands into, in self-complacent testimony of his entire satisfaction.

As people later learned, the Bachelor had been astonishingly successful. This was all the more remarkable because many other vessels in the same seas had gone months without catching a single whale. The crew had given away barrels of beef and bread to make room for the much more valuable sperm whale oil. They had also traded for extra casks from ships they met. These casks were stored along the deck and in the captain’s and officers’ cabins. The cabin table itself had even been chopped into kindling. The cabin diners ate from the broad top of an oil cask, lashed to the floor as a centerpiece. In the sailors’ quarters, the men had actually sealed their chests with caulk and pitch and filled them with oil. People jokingly added that the cook had put a lid on his largest boiler and filled it. The steward had plugged his spare coffee pot and filled it. The harpooners had capped the sockets of their harpoons and filled them. In fact, everything was filled with sperm oil except the captain’s pants pockets. He kept those empty so he could thrust his hands into them, a self-satisfied sign of his complete satisfaction.

As this glad ship of good luck bore down upon the moody Pequod, the barbarian sound of enormous drums came from her forecastle; and drawing still nearer, a crowd of her men were seen standing round her huge try-pots, which, covered with the parchment-like poke or stomach skin of the black fish, gave forth a loud roar to every stroke of the clenched hands of the crew. On the quarter-deck, the mates and harpooneers were dancing with the olive-hued girls who had eloped with them from the Polynesian Isles; while suspended in an ornamented boat, firmly secured aloft between the foremast and mainmast, three Long Island negroes, with glittering fiddle-bows of whale ivory, were presiding over the hilarious jig. Meanwhile, others of the ship’s company were tumultuously busy at the masonry of the try-works, from which the huge pots had been removed. You would have almost thought they were pulling down the cursed Bastille, such wild cries they raised, as the now useless brick and mortar were being hurled into the sea.

As this cheerful, lucky ship approached the gloomy Pequod, the savage sound of enormous drums came from her forecastle. As she drew closer, a crowd of men could be seen standing around her huge try-pots. The pots were covered with the parchment-like poke, or stomach skin, of the black fish. Each blow from the crew’s clenched fists made the pots roar. On the quarter-deck, the mates and harpooneers were dancing with the olive-skinned girls who had run away with them from the Polynesian Isles. Three Black men from Long Island led the merry jig with glittering fiddle bows made of whale ivory. They sat in a decorated boat, suspended and firmly secured high between the foremast and mainmast. Meanwhile, other crew members were noisily at work on the brickwork of the try-works, where the huge pots had been removed. As they hurled the now useless bricks and mortar into the sea, they raised such wild cries that you might almost have thought they were tearing down the cursed Bastille.

Lord and master over all this scene, the captain stood erect on the ship’s elevated quarter-deck, so that the whole rejoicing drama was full before him, and seemed merely contrived for his own individual diversion.

Master of the whole scene, the captain stood upright on the ship’s raised quarterdeck. From there, he could see the whole joyful spectacle. It seemed to have been staged solely for his own amusement.

And Ahab, he too was standing on his quarter-deck, shaggy and black, with a stubborn gloom; and as the two ships crossed each other’s wakes—one all jubilations for things passed, the other all forebodings as to things to come—their two captains in themselves impersonated the whole striking contrast of the scene.

Ahab, too, stood on his quarter-deck, shaggy and dark, with a stubborn gloom. As the two ships crossed each other’s wakes, one was full of joy over things past. The other was full of dread about things to come. The two captains embodied the striking contrast between the ships.

“Come aboard, come aboard!” cried the gay Bachelor’s commander, lifting a glass and a bottle in the air.

“Come aboard, come aboard!” cried the cheerful commander of the Bachelor, raising a glass and a bottle in the air.

“Hast seen the White Whale?” gritted Ahab in reply.

“Have you seen the White Whale?” Ahab replied through gritted teeth.

“No; only heard of him; but don’t believe in him at all,” said the other good-humoredly. “Come aboard!”

“No, I’ve only heard of him, but I don’t believe in him at all,” the other man said cheerfully. “Come aboard!”

“Thou art too damned jolly. Sail on. Hast lost any men?”

“You’re too damned cheerful. Sail on. Have you lost any men?”

“Not enough to speak of—two islanders, that’s all;—but come aboard, old hearty, come along. I’ll soon take that black from your brow. Come along, will ye (merry’s the play); a full ship and homeward-bound.”

“Not enough to mention, just two islanders, that’s all. But come aboard, old friend. I’ll soon take that gloom from your brow. Come along, will you? (The play is merry.) The ship is full and bound for home.”

“How wondrous familiar is a fool!” muttered Ahab; then aloud, “Thou art a full ship and homeward bound, thou sayst; well, then, call me an empty ship, and outward-bound. So go thy ways, and I will mine. Forward there! Set all sail, and keep her to the wind!”

“How amazingly familiar a fool can be!” Ahab muttered. Then he said aloud, “You say your ship is full and heading home. Well, call mine an empty ship heading out. So go your way, and I’ll go mine. Forward there! Set all sail and keep her headed into the wind!”

And thus, while the one ship went cheerily before the breeze, the other stubbornly fought against it; and so the two vessels parted; the crew of the Pequod looking with grave, lingering glances towards the receding Bachelor; but the Bachelor’s men never heeding their gaze for the lively revelry they were in. And as Ahab, leaning over the taffrail, eyed the homeward-bound craft, he took from his pocket a small vial of sand, and then looking from the ship to the vial, seemed thereby bringing two remote associations together, for that vial was filled with Nantucket soundings.

One ship sailed cheerfully before the wind, while the other stubbornly fought against it. And so the two ships parted. The Pequod’s crew watched the Bachelor sail away, their gazes grave and lingering. But the Bachelor’s men paid no attention, caught up in their lively celebrations. As Ahab leaned over the stern rail and watched the ship heading home, he took a small vial of sand from his pocket. Looking from the ship to the vial, he seemed to be bringing two distant associations together. For the vial was filled with sand from soundings taken off Nantucket.