The Pequod Meets the Rachel

Next day, a large ship, the Rachel, was descried, bearing directly down upon the Pequod, all her spars thickly clustering with men. At the time the Pequod was making good speed through the water; but as the broad-winged windward stranger shot nigh to her, the boastful sails all fell together as blank bladders that are burst, and all life fled from the smitten hull.

The next day, a large ship, the Rachel, was spotted heading straight toward the Pequod. Men crowded all of the Rachel's spars. At the time, the Pequod was moving quickly through the water. But as the broad-winged stranger approached from upwind, the Pequod's boastful sails all collapsed like burst bladders. All life fled from the stricken hull.

“Bad news; she brings bad news,” muttered the old Manxman. But ere her commander, who, with trumpet to mouth, stood up in his boat; ere he could hopefully hail, Ahab’s voice was heard.

“Bad news; she brings bad news,” muttered the old Manxman. But before her commander could call out hopefully, Ahab’s voice was heard. The commander was standing in his boat with a trumpet to his mouth.

“Hast seen the White Whale?”

“Have you seen the White Whale?”

“Aye, yesterday. Have ye seen a whale-boat adrift?”

“Yes, yesterday. Have you seen a whaleboat drifting?”

Throttling his joy, Ahab negatively answered this unexpected question; and would then have fain boarded the stranger, when the stranger captain himself, having stopped his vessel’s way, was seen descending her side. A few keen pulls, and his boat-hook soon clinched the Pequod’s main-chains, and he sprang to the deck. Immediately he was recognised by Ahab for a Nantucketer he knew. But no formal salutation was exchanged.

Suppressing his joy, Ahab answered no to the unexpected question. He then wanted to board the other ship. But its captain had stopped his vessel and was coming down its side. After a few strong strokes of the oars, he fastened his boat-hook to the Pequod’s main-chains and sprang onto the deck. Ahab immediately recognized him as a Nantucketer he knew. But they exchanged no formal greeting.

“Where was he?—not killed!—not killed!” cried Ahab, closely advancing. “How was it?”

“Where was he? Not killed! Not killed!” cried Ahab, stepping closer. “How did it happen?”

It seemed that somewhat late on the afternoon of the day previous, while three of the stranger’s boats were engaged with a shoal of whales, which had led them some four or five miles from the ship; and while they were yet in swift chase to windward, the white hump and head of Moby Dick had suddenly loomed up out of the water, not very far to leeward; whereupon, the fourth rigged boat—a reserved one—had been instantly lowered in chase. After a keen sail before the wind, this fourth boat—the swiftest keeled of all—seemed to have succeeded in fastening—at least, as well as the man at the mast-head could tell anything about it. In the distance he saw the diminished dotted boat; and then a swift gleam of bubbling white water; and after that nothing more; whence it was concluded that the stricken whale must have indefinitely run away with his pursuers, as often happens. There was some apprehension, but no positive alarm, as yet. The recall signals were placed in the rigging; darkness came on; and forced to pick up her three far to windward boats—ere going in quest of the fourth one in the precisely opposite direction—the ship had not only been necessitated to leave that boat to its fate till near midnight, but, for the time, to increase her distance from it. But the rest of her crew being at last safe aboard, she crowded all sail—stunsail on stunsail—after the missing boat; kindling a fire in her try-pots for a beacon; and every other man aloft on the look-out. But though when she had thus sailed a sufficient distance to gain the presumed place of the absent ones when last seen; though she then paused to lower her spare boats to pull all around her; and not finding anything, had again dashed on; again paused, and lowered her boats; and though she had thus continued doing till daylight; yet not the least glimpse of the missing keel had been seen.

It seemed that late the previous afternoon, three of the stranger ship’s boats had been hunting a group of whales. The whales had led the boats four or five miles from the ship. As the boats were still chasing them swiftly into the wind, Moby Dick’s white hump and head suddenly rose from the water. He was not very far away, in the opposite direction, downwind. The fourth boat, rigged and held in reserve, was immediately lowered to chase him. After sailing swiftly before the wind, this fourth boat, the fastest of them all, seemed to have harpooned the whale. At least, that was all the man at the masthead could make out. In the distance, he saw the tiny boat, then a quick flash of bubbling white water. After that, he saw nothing more. So the crew concluded that the wounded whale must have carried his pursuers away for an unknown distance, as often happens. There was some concern, but no real alarm yet. Signals recalling the boats were raised in the rigging, and darkness fell. Before searching for the fourth boat, the ship had to pick up the other three, far away in the opposite direction. As a result, the ship had to leave the fourth boat to its fate until nearly midnight. For a time, the ship even had to move farther away from it. But once the rest of the crew were safely aboard, the ship set every sail, including one extra sail after another, in pursuit of the missing boat. The crew lit a fire in the try-pots as a beacon, and every other man went aloft to keep watch. The ship sailed far enough to reach the place where the missing men were thought to have last been seen. Then she stopped and lowered her spare boats to row all around her. Finding nothing, she raced on, stopped again, and lowered her boats once more. She continued in this way until daylight, but not the slightest glimpse of the missing boat was seen.

The story told, the stranger Captain immediately went on to reveal his object in boarding the Pequod. He desired that ship to unite with his own in the search; by sailing over the sea some four or five miles apart, on parallel lines, and so sweeping a double horizon, as it were.

After telling his story, the visiting captain immediately explained why he had boarded the Pequod. He wanted the Pequod to join his own ship in the search. The ships would sail along parallel lines, some four or five miles apart. In this way, they would sweep a double horizon, so to speak.

“I will wager something now,” whispered Stubb to Flask, “that some one in that missing boat wore off that Captain’s best coat; mayhap, his watch—he’s so cursed anxious to get it back. Who ever heard of two pious whale-ships cruising after one missing whale-boat in the height of the whaling season? See, Flask, only see how pale he looks—pale in the very buttons of his eyes—look—it wasn’t the coat—it must have been the—”

“I’d bet something,” Stubb whispered to Flask, “that someone in that missing boat took the captain’s best coat. Maybe his watch, too. He’s so damned anxious to get it back. Who ever heard of two pious whaling ships searching for one missing whaleboat at the height of whaling season? Look, Flask, just look how pale he is. Even the pupils of his eyes are pale. Look, it wasn’t the coat. It must have been the...”

“My boy, my own boy is among them. For God’s sake—I beg, I conjure”—here exclaimed the stranger Captain to Ahab, who thus far had but icily received his petition. “For eight-and-forty hours let me charter your ship—I will gladly pay for it, and roundly pay for it—if there be no other way—for eight-and-forty hours only—only that—you must, oh, you must, and you shall do this thing.”

“My boy, my own boy is among them. For God’s sake, I beg you, I implore you!” The stranger Captain cried out to Ahab, who had so far received his plea coldly. “Let me hire your ship for forty-eight hours. I will gladly pay for it, and pay generously, if there is no other way. Just forty-eight hours, that is all. You must, oh, you must, and you will do this.”

“His son!” cried Stubb, “oh, it’s his son he’s lost! I take back the coat and watch—what says Ahab? We must save that boy.”

“His son!” cried Stubb. “Oh, he’s lost his son! I take back the coat and watch. What does Ahab say? We must save that boy.”

“He’s drowned with the rest on ’em, last night,” said the old Manx sailor standing behind them; “I heard; all of ye heard their spirits.”

“He drowned last night with the rest of them,” said the old Manx sailor standing behind them. “I heard their spirits. All of you heard them.”

Now, as it shortly turned out, what made this incident of the Rachel’s the more melancholy, was the circumstance, that not only was one of the Captain’s sons among the number of the missing boat’s crew; but among the number of the other boat’s crews, at the same time, but on the other hand, separated from the ship during the dark vicissitudes of the chase, there had been still another son; as that for a time, the wretched father was plunged to the bottom of the cruellest perplexity; which was only solved for him by his chief mate’s instinctively adopting the ordinary procedure of a whale-ship in such emergencies, that is, when placed between jeopardized but divided boats, always to pick up the majority first. But the captain, for some unknown constitutional reason, had refrained from mentioning all this, and not till forced to it by Ahab’s iciness did he allude to his one yet missing boy; a little lad, but twelve years old, whose father with the earnest but unmisgiving hardihood of a Nantucketer’s paternal love, had thus early sought to initiate him in the perils and wonders of a vocation almost immemorially the destiny of all his race. Nor does it unfrequently occur, that Nantucket captains will send a son of such tender age away from them, for a protracted three or four years’ voyage in some other ship than their own; so that their first knowledge of a whaleman’s career shall be unenervated by any chance display of a father’s natural but untimely partiality, or undue apprehensiveness and concern.

As it soon turned out, one circumstance made the Rachel’s tragedy even sadder. One of the captain’s sons was among the crew of the missing boat. But another son had been in one of the other boats, which had also become separated from the ship during the dark, unpredictable course of the chase. For a time, the wretched father was caught in the cruelest dilemma. His chief mate resolved it by instinctively following the usual practice on a whale-ship in such emergencies. When endangered boats were separated, the ship always picked up the larger number first. But the captain, for some unknown reason rooted in his nature, had said nothing of this. Only when Ahab’s coldness forced him to did he mention the son who was still missing. The boy was only twelve. With the earnest, unquestioning courage of a Nantucketer’s fatherly love, the captain had sought to introduce him early to the dangers and wonders of a calling that had been the destiny of all his people for as long as anyone could remember. Nantucket captains also quite often send a son so young away on another ship for a long voyage of three or four years. They do this so that the boy’s first experience of a whaleman’s life will not be weakened by any chance display of a father’s natural but ill-timed favoritism, or excessive fear and concern.

Meantime, now the stranger was still beseeching his poor boon of Ahab; and Ahab still stood like an anvil, receiving every shock, but without the least quivering of his own.

Meanwhile, the stranger kept begging Ahab for his small favor. But Ahab still stood like an anvil, taking every blow without the slightest tremble.

“I will not go,” said the stranger, “till you say aye to me. Do to me as you would have me do to you in the like case. For you too have a boy, Captain Ahab—though but a child, and nestling safely at home now—a child of your old age too—Yes, yes, you relent; I see it—run, run, men, now, and stand by to square in the yards.”

“I won’t go,” said the stranger, “until you say yes to me. Treat me as you would want me to treat you in the same situation. For you have a boy too, Captain Ahab. He is still a child, nestled safely at home, and born to you in your old age. Yes, yes, you’re giving in. I can see it. Run, men, run now, and get ready to square the yards.”

“Avast,” cried Ahab—“touch not a rope-yarn”; then in a voice that prolongingly moulded every word—“Captain Gardiner, I will not do it. Even now I lose time. Good-bye, good-bye. God bless ye, man, and may I forgive myself, but I must go. Mr. Starbuck, look at the binnacle watch, and in three minutes from this present instant warn off all strangers: then brace forward again, and let the ship sail as before.”

“Stop,” cried Ahab. “Don’t touch a single rope.” Then he spoke slowly, drawing out every word. “Captain Gardiner, I will not do it. I am losing time even now. Goodbye, goodbye. God bless you, man, and may I forgive myself, but I must go. Mr. Starbuck, check the clock by the compass. Exactly three minutes from now, order all strangers off the ship. Then turn the sails forward again and let the ship sail as before.”

Hurriedly turning, with averted face, he descended into his cabin, leaving the strange captain transfixed at this unconditional and utter rejection of his so earnest suit. But starting from his enchantment, Gardiner silently hurried to the side; more fell than stepped into his boat, and returned to his ship.

He hurriedly turned away and went down into his cabin. The strange captain stood frozen, stunned by the complete rejection of his earnest plea. But Gardiner shook off his daze and hurried silently to the side of the ship. He almost fell into his boat, then returned to his ship.

Soon the two ships diverged their wakes; and long as the strange vessel was in view, she was seen to yaw hither and thither at every dark spot, however small, on the sea. This way and that her yards were swung round; starboard and larboard, she continued to tack; now she beat against a head sea; and again it pushed her before it; while all the while, her masts and yards were thickly clustered with men, as three tall cherry trees, when the boys are cherrying among the boughs.

Soon the two ships went their separate ways. As long as the strange vessel remained in sight, it could be seen turning toward every dark spot on the sea, however small. Its yards swung first one way, then the other, and the ship kept tacking from side to side. At times it fought against the oncoming sea. At other times the sea pushed it along. All the while, men crowded its masts and yards, like boys picking cherries among the branches of three tall cherry trees.

But by her still halting course and winding, woeful way, you plainly saw that this ship that so wept with spray, still remained without comfort. She was Rachel, weeping for her children, because they were not.

But the ship still moved unevenly, winding along its sorrowful path. You could plainly see that the ship, weeping with spray, was still without comfort. She was Rachel, weeping for her children because they were gone.