The Albatross

South-eastward from the Cape, off the distant Crozetts, a good cruising ground for Right Whalemen, a sail loomed ahead, the Goney (Albatross) by name. As she slowly drew nigh, from my lofty perch at the fore-mast-head, I had a good view of that sight so remarkable to a tyro in the far ocean fisheries—a whaler at sea, and long absent from home.

Southeast of the Cape, off the distant Crozetts, a ship appeared ahead. The area was good cruising ground for right whale hunters. The ship was called the Goney (Albatross). As she slowly approached, I had a good view from my high perch atop the foremast. For a beginner in the distant whaling grounds, it was a remarkable sight: a whaler at sea, long absent from home.

As if the waves had been fullers, this craft was bleached like the skeleton of a stranded walrus. All down her sides, this spectral appearance was traced with long channels of reddened rust, while all her spars and her rigging were like the thick branches of trees furred over with hoar-frost. Only her lower sails were set. A wild sight it was to see her long-bearded look-outs at those three mast-heads. They seemed clad in the skins of beasts, so torn and bepatched the raiment that had survived nearly four years of cruising. Standing in iron hoops nailed to the mast, they swayed and swung over a fathomless sea; and though, when the ship slowly glided close under our stern, we six men in the air came so nigh to each other that we might almost have leaped from the mast-heads of one ship to those of the other; yet, those forlorn-looking fishermen, mildly eyeing us as they passed, said not one word to our own look-outs, while the quarter-deck hail was being heard from below.

As if the waves had bleached it, the ship was as white as the skeleton of a stranded walrus. Long streaks of red rust ran down all her ghostly sides. All her spars and rigging looked like thick tree branches covered in frost. Only her lower sails were set. The long-bearded lookouts at her three mastheads were a wild sight. They looked as if they were dressed in animal skins. Their clothes had survived nearly four years at sea and were badly torn and patched. They stood in iron hoops nailed to the masts, swaying and swinging over a bottomless sea. The ship slowly glided close beneath our stern, bringing the six of us in the air close together. We were so close that we might almost have leaped from one ship’s mastheads to the other’s. Yet the forlorn-looking fishermen glanced mildly at us as they passed, without saying a word to our lookouts. Meanwhile, we could hear a hail from the quarterdeck below.

“Ship ahoy! Have ye seen the White Whale?”

“Hello, ship! Have you seen the White Whale?”

But as the strange captain, leaning over the pallid bulwarks, was in the act of putting his trumpet to his mouth, it somehow fell from his hand into the sea; and the wind now rising amain, he in vain strove to make himself heard without it. Meantime his ship was still increasing the distance between. While in various silent ways the seamen of the Pequod were evincing their observance of this ominous incident at the first mere mention of the White Whale’s name to another ship, Ahab for a moment paused; it almost seemed as though he would have lowered a boat to board the stranger, had not the threatening wind forbade. But taking advantage of his windward position, he again seized his trumpet, and knowing by her aspect that the stranger vessel was a Nantucketer and shortly bound home, he loudly hailed—“Ahoy there! This is the Pequod, bound round the world! Tell them to address all future letters to the Pacific ocean! and this time three years, if I am not at home, tell them to address them to ——”

But as the strange captain leaned over the pale bulwarks and raised his speaking trumpet to his mouth, it somehow fell into the sea. The wind was rising strongly now, and he tried in vain to make himself heard without it. Meanwhile, his ship was drawing farther away. In various silent ways, the Pequod’s sailors showed that they had noticed this ominous incident. It had happened at the first mention of the White Whale’s name to another ship. Ahab paused for a moment. It almost seemed he would have lowered a boat to board the stranger, had the threatening wind not prevented him. But he took advantage of his position upwind and seized his own trumpet again. From the stranger’s appearance, he knew she was a Nantucket ship, soon bound for home. He shouted, “Ahoy there! This is the Pequod, bound around the world! Tell them to address all future letters to the Pacific ocean! And three years from now, if I am not at home, tell them to address them to ...”

At that moment the two wakes were fairly crossed, and instantly, then, in accordance with their singular ways, shoals of small harmless fish, that for some days before had been placidly swimming by our side, darted away with what seemed shuddering fins, and ranged themselves fore and aft with the stranger’s flanks. Though in the course of his continual voyagings Ahab must often before have noticed a similar sight, yet, to any monomaniac man, the veriest trifles capriciously carry meanings.

At that moment, the wakes of the two ships crossed. At once, in keeping with their strange habits, schools of small, harmless fish darted away from our ship. For some days, they had been swimming peacefully beside us. Now their fins seemed to shudder as they lined up along the length of the other ship. In all his voyages, Ahab must often have seen the same thing before. But to a man obsessed with a single idea, even the smallest things can take on arbitrary meanings.

“Swim away from me, do ye?” murmured Ahab, gazing over into the water. There seemed but little in the words, but the tone conveyed more of deep helpless sadness than the insane old man had ever before evinced. But turning to the steersman, who thus far had been holding the ship in the wind to diminish her headway, he cried out in his old lion voice,—“Up helm! Keep her off round the world!”

“Swimming away from me, are you?” murmured Ahab, looking down into the water. The words seemed to mean little, but his tone conveyed a deeper, more helpless sadness than the mad old man had ever shown before. Until then, the steersman had held the ship into the wind to slow her down. But Ahab turned to him and cried out in his old lion’s voice, “Up helm! Steer her away, around the world!”

Round the world! There is much in that sound to inspire proud feelings; but whereto does all that circumnavigation conduct? Only through numberless perils to the very point whence we started, where those that we left behind secure, were all the time before us.

Around the world! Those words can inspire great pride. But where does such a voyage take us? Through countless dangers, only to the very place where we started. Those we left behind in safety were there ahead of us all along.

Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could for ever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. But in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of that demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes or midway leave us whelmed.

If the world were an endless plain, we could sail east forever and reach new distances. We could discover sights sweeter and stranger than any in the Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon. Then the voyage would hold promise. But we chase the distant mysteries we dream of around this round globe. Or we pursue, in torment, the demon phantom that swims before all human hearts at one time or another. In these pursuits, we are either led through barren mazes or left overwhelmed halfway.