The Jeroboam’s Story

Hand in hand, ship and breeze blew on; but the breeze came faster than the ship, and soon the Pequod began to rock.

The ship and the breeze moved on together. But the breeze moved faster than the ship, and soon the Pequod began to rock.

By and by, through the glass the stranger’s boats and manned mast-heads proved her a whale-ship. But as she was so far to windward, and shooting by, apparently making a passage to some other ground, the Pequod could not hope to reach her. So the signal was set to see what response would be made.

Soon, through the spyglass, they saw that the stranger’s boats and the men stationed atop her masts marked her as a whale-ship. But she was far to windward and sailing past, apparently heading for another whaling ground. The Pequod could not hope to reach her. So they raised a signal to see how she would respond.

Here be it said, that like the vessels of military marines, the ships of the American Whale Fleet have each a private signal; all which signals being collected in a book with the names of the respective vessels attached, every captain is provided with it. Thereby, the whale commanders are enabled to recognise each other upon the ocean, even at considerable distances and with no small facility.

Like naval vessels, each ship in the American Whale Fleet has a private signal. All these signals are collected in a book, along with the names of their respective ships. Every captain has a copy. This allows whaling captains to recognize one another at sea with considerable ease, even at great distances.

The Pequod’s signal was at last responded to by the stranger’s setting her own; which proved the ship to be the Jeroboam of Nantucket. Squaring her yards, she bore down, ranged abeam under the Pequod’s lee, and lowered a boat; it soon drew nigh; but, as the side-ladder was being rigged by Starbuck’s order to accommodate the visiting captain, the stranger in question waved his hand from his boat’s stern in token of that proceeding being entirely unnecessary. It turned out that the Jeroboam had a malignant epidemic on board, and that Mayhew, her captain, was fearful of infecting the Pequod’s company. For, though himself and boat’s crew remained untainted, and though his ship was half a rifle-shot off, and an incorruptible sea and air rolling and flowing between; yet conscientiously adhering to the timid quarantine of the land, he peremptorily refused to come into direct contact with the Pequod.

At last, the stranger answered the Pequod’s signal with a signal of her own. This identified her as the Jeroboam of Nantucket. She squared her yards and sailed toward the Pequod, coming alongside on her sheltered side. Then she lowered a boat, which soon drew near. Starbuck ordered the side ladder prepared for the visiting captain. But the captain waved from the stern of his boat to show that the ladder was unnecessary. It turned out that a deadly epidemic had broken out aboard the Jeroboam. Her captain, Mayhew, feared infecting the Pequod’s crew. He and his boat’s crew were untouched by the disease. His ship was also half a rifle shot away, with incorruptible sea and air rolling and flowing between the ships. Yet he conscientiously followed the timid quarantine practices of the land and firmly refused direct contact with the Pequod.

But this did by no means prevent all communications. Preserving an interval of some few yards between itself and the ship, the Jeroboam’s boat by the occasional use of its oars contrived to keep parallel to the Pequod, as she heavily forged through the sea (for by this time it blew very fresh), with her main-topsail aback; though, indeed, at times by the sudden onset of a large rolling wave, the boat would be pushed some way ahead; but would be soon skilfully brought to her proper bearings again. Subject to this, and other the like interruptions now and then, a conversation was sustained between the two parties; but at intervals not without still another interruption of a very different sort.

But this did not prevent all communication. The Jeroboam’s boat kept a few yards from the ship, occasionally using its oars to stay alongside the Pequod. By then the wind was blowing hard, and the Pequod moved heavily through the sea with her main-topsail aback. At times, though, a large rolling wave would suddenly push the boat some distance ahead. But the boat was soon skillfully brought back into position. Despite this and other occasional interruptions, the two parties kept up a conversation. But from time to time, they were interrupted in a very different way.

Pulling an oar in the Jeroboam’s boat, was a man of a singular appearance, even in that wild whaling life where individual notabilities make up all totalities. He was a small, short, youngish man, sprinkled all over his face with freckles, and wearing redundant yellow hair. A long-skirted, cabalistically-cut coat of a faded walnut tinge enveloped him; the overlapping sleeves of which were rolled up on his wrists. A deep, settled, fanatic delirium was in his eyes.

A man rowing in the Jeroboam’s boat had a striking appearance. Even in the wild life of whaling, where every crew is made up of remarkable individuals, he stood out. He was a small, short, youngish man with freckles all over his face and a thick head of yellow hair. He wore a faded walnut-colored coat with long skirts and a mysterious cut. Its overlapping sleeves were rolled up at his wrists. His eyes held a deep, fixed, fanatical madness.

So soon as this figure had been first descried, Stubb had exclaimed—“That’s he! that’s he!—the long-togged scaramouch the Town-Ho’s company told us of!” Stubb here alluded to a strange story told of the Jeroboam, and a certain man among her crew, some time previous when the Pequod spoke the Town-Ho. According to this account and what was subsequently learned, it seemed that the scaramouch in question had gained a wonderful ascendency over almost everybody in the Jeroboam. His story was this:

As soon as the figure was spotted, Stubb exclaimed, “That’s him! That’s him! The long-clothed clown the Town-Ho’s crew told us about!” Stubb was referring to a strange story about the Jeroboam and a certain man among her crew. The story had been told some time earlier, when the Pequod spoke with the Town-Ho. According to that account and what was learned later, the clown had gained remarkable influence over almost everyone aboard the Jeroboam. His story was this:

He had been originally nurtured among the crazy society of Neskyeuna Shakers, where he had been a great prophet; in their cracked, secret meetings having several times descended from heaven by the way of a trap-door, announcing the speedy opening of the seventh vial, which he carried in his vest-pocket; but, which, instead of containing gunpowder, was supposed to be charged with laudanum. A strange, apostolic whim having seized him, he had left Neskyeuna for Nantucket, where, with that cunning peculiar to craziness, he assumed a steady, common-sense exterior, and offered himself as a green-hand candidate for the Jeroboam’s whaling voyage. They engaged him; but straightway upon the ship’s getting out of sight of land, his insanity broke out in a freshet. He announced himself as the archangel Gabriel, and commanded the captain to jump overboard. He published his manifesto, whereby he set himself forth as the deliverer of the isles of the sea and vicar-general of all Oceanica. The unflinching earnestness with which he declared these things;—the dark, daring play of his sleepless, excited imagination, and all the preternatural terrors of real delirium, united to invest this Gabriel in the minds of the majority of the ignorant crew, with an atmosphere of sacredness. Moreover, they were afraid of him. As such a man, however, was not of much practical use in the ship, especially as he refused to work except when he pleased, the incredulous captain would fain have been rid of him; but apprised that that individual’s intention was to land him in the first convenient port, the archangel forthwith opened all his seals and vials—devoting the ship and all hands to unconditional perdition, in case this intention was carried out. So strongly did he work upon his disciples among the crew, that at last in a body they went to the captain and told him if Gabriel was sent from the ship, not a man of them would remain. He was therefore forced to relinquish his plan. Nor would they permit Gabriel to be any way maltreated, say or do what he would; so that it came to pass that Gabriel had the complete freedom of the ship. The consequence of all this was, that the archangel cared little or nothing for the captain and mates; and since the epidemic had broken out, he carried a higher hand than ever; declaring that the plague, as he called it, was at his sole command; nor should it be stayed but according to his good pleasure. The sailors, mostly poor devils, cringed, and some of them fawned before him; in obedience to his instructions, sometimes rendering him personal homage, as to a god. Such things may seem incredible; but, however wondrous, they are true. Nor is the history of fanatics half so striking in respect to the measureless self-deception of the fanatic himself, as his measureless power of deceiving and bedevilling so many others. But it is time to return to the Pequod.

He had grown up among the mad society of Neskyeuna Shakers, where he had been a great prophet. At their deranged, secret meetings, he had several times descended from heaven through a trapdoor. He announced that the seventh vial would soon be opened, and carried it in his vest pocket. But instead of containing gunpowder, the vial was supposed to be filled with laudanum. Seized by a strange desire to become an apostle, he left Neskyeuna for Nantucket. There, with the cunning peculiar to madness, he put on a calm, sensible manner. He offered himself as an inexperienced hand for the Jeroboam’s whaling voyage. They hired him, but as soon as the ship was out of sight of land, his madness burst out in a flood. He declared himself the archangel Gabriel and ordered the captain to jump overboard. He published a manifesto proclaiming himself the deliverer of the isles of the sea and vicar-general of all Oceanica. He declared these things with unwavering earnestness. His restless, excited imagination worked in dark and daring ways, and he displayed all the unearthly terrors of true delirium. Together, these things gave Gabriel an air of holiness in the minds of most of the ignorant crew. They were also afraid of him. The skeptical captain wanted to be rid of him. A man like Gabriel was not much use aboard ship, especially since he worked only when he pleased. But Gabriel learned that the captain intended to put him ashore at the first convenient port. The archangel immediately opened all his seals and vials, condemning the ship and everyone aboard to certain damnation if the captain carried out his plan. Gabriel had such a hold over his followers among the crew that they finally went to the captain as a group. They told him that if Gabriel was sent off the ship, not one of them would stay. The captain was therefore forced to give up his plan. Nor would the crew allow Gabriel to be mistreated in any way, whatever he said or did. So Gabriel had complete freedom of the ship. As a result, the archangel cared little or nothing for the captain and mates. Since the epidemic had broken out, he had become more domineering than ever. He declared that the plague, as he called it, was entirely under his command. It would not be stopped except as he pleased. The sailors, mostly poor devils, cringed before him, and some fawned on him. Following his instructions, they sometimes paid him personal homage, as if he were a god. Such things may seem incredible, but however wondrous they are, they are true. The history of fanatics is striking for the boundless self-deception of the fanatic himself. But it is even more striking for his boundless power to deceive and torment so many others. But it is time to return to the Pequod.

“I fear not thy epidemic, man,” said Ahab from the bulwarks, to Captain Mayhew, who stood in the boat’s stern; “come on board.”

“I’m not afraid of your epidemic, man,” Ahab said from the ship’s railing. Captain Mayhew stood at the back of the boat. “Come on board.”

But now Gabriel started to his feet.

But now Gabriel sprang to his feet.

“Think, think of the fevers, yellow and bilious! Beware of the horrible plague!”

“Think, think of yellow fever and bilious fevers! Watch out for the horrible plague!”

“Gabriel! Gabriel!” cried Captain Mayhew; “thou must either—” But that instant a headlong wave shot the boat far ahead, and its seethings drowned all speech.

“Gabriel! Gabriel!” cried Captain Mayhew. “You must either...” But at that instant, a rushing wave shot the boat far ahead. Its churning drowned out all speech.

“Hast thou seen the White Whale?” demanded Ahab, when the boat drifted back.

“Have you seen the White Whale?” Ahab demanded when the boat drifted back.

“Think, think of thy whale-boat, stoven and sunk! Beware of the horrible tail!”

“Think, think of your whaleboat, smashed and sunk! Beware of the horrible tail!”

“I tell thee again, Gabriel, that—” But again the boat tore ahead as if dragged by fiends. Nothing was said for some moments, while a succession of riotous waves rolled by, which by one of those occasional caprices of the seas were tumbling, not heaving it. Meantime, the hoisted sperm whale’s head jogged about very violently, and Gabriel was seen eyeing it with rather more apprehensiveness than his archangel nature seemed to warrant.

“I tell you again, Gabriel, that...” But again the boat tore ahead as if demons were dragging it. Nothing was said for a few moments as a succession of wild waves rolled by. In one of the sea’s occasional whims, the waves tumbled rather than heaved. Meanwhile, the raised sperm whale’s head swung about violently. Gabriel was seen watching it with more anxiety than his archangel nature seemed to warrant.

When this interlude was over, Captain Mayhew began a dark story concerning Moby Dick; not, however, without frequent interruptions from Gabriel, whenever his name was mentioned, and the crazy sea that seemed leagued with him.

When this pause was over, Captain Mayhew began a grim story about Moby Dick. But whenever Moby Dick’s name was mentioned, Gabriel interrupted. So did the wild sea, which seemed to be in league with Gabriel.

It seemed that the Jeroboam had not long left home, when upon speaking a whale-ship, her people were reliably apprised of the existence of Moby Dick, and the havoc he had made. Greedily sucking in this intelligence, Gabriel solemnly warned the captain against attacking the White Whale, in case the monster should be seen; in his gibbering insanity, pronouncing the White Whale to be no less a being than the Shaker God incarnated; the Shakers receiving the Bible. But when, some year or two afterwards, Moby Dick was fairly sighted from the mast-heads, Macey, the chief mate, burned with ardour to encounter him; and the captain himself being not unwilling to let him have the opportunity, despite all the archangel’s denunciations and forewarnings, Macey succeeded in persuading five men to man his boat. With them he pushed off; and, after much weary pulling, and many perilous, unsuccessful onsets, he at last succeeded in getting one iron fast. Meantime, Gabriel, ascending to the main-royal mast-head, was tossing one arm in frantic gestures, and hurling forth prophecies of speedy doom to the sacrilegious assailants of his divinity. Now, while Macey, the mate, was standing up in his boat’s bow, and with all the reckless energy of his tribe was venting his wild exclamations upon the whale, and essaying to get a fair chance for his poised lance, lo! a broad white shadow rose from the sea; by its quick, fanning motion, temporarily taking the breath out of the bodies of the oarsmen. Next instant, the luckless mate, so full of furious life, was smitten bodily into the air, and making a long arc in his descent, fell into the sea at the distance of about fifty yards. Not a chip of the boat was harmed, nor a hair of any oarsman’s head; but the mate for ever sank.

Not long after the Jeroboam left home, she encountered a whaling ship. Its crew gave the Jeroboam’s crew reliable news of Moby Dick and the havoc he had caused. Gabriel eagerly absorbed the news. He solemnly warned the captain not to attack the White Whale if they saw him. In his babbling madness, he declared that the White Whale was none other than the Shaker God in bodily form, the God from whom the Shakers received the Bible. But a year or two later, Moby Dick was sighted from the mastheads. Macey, the chief mate, burned with eagerness to fight him. The captain was willing to give him the chance, despite all the archangel’s condemnations and warnings. So Macey persuaded five men to crew his boat and pushed off with them. After much exhausting rowing and many dangerous, unsuccessful attacks, he finally managed to lodge a harpoon in the whale. Meanwhile, Gabriel climbed to the top of the main royal mast. There he waved one arm frantically and shouted prophecies of swift doom for the men attacking his god. As Gabriel shouted, Macey stood in the bow of his boat, shouting wildly at the whale with all the reckless energy of his kind. He was trying to get a clear chance to strike with his raised lance. Then a broad white shadow rose from the sea. Its swift, fanning motion temporarily knocked the breath out of the oarsmen. In the next instant, the doomed mate, so full of furious life, was struck bodily into the air. He fell in a long arc and landed in the sea about fifty yards away. Not a chip of the boat was damaged, nor a hair on any oarsman’s head harmed. But the mate sank forever.

It is well to parenthesize here, that of the fatal accidents in the Sperm-Whale Fishery, this kind is perhaps almost as frequent as any. Sometimes, nothing is injured but the man who is thus annihilated; oftener the boat’s bow is knocked off, or the thigh-board, in which the headsman stands, is torn from its place and accompanies the body. But strangest of all is the circumstance, that in more instances than one, when the body has been recovered, not a single mark of violence is discernible; the man being stark dead.

It is worth noting here that this kind of fatal accident is perhaps almost as common as any in Sperm-Whale fishing. Sometimes, only the man who is killed is injured. More often, the boat’s bow is knocked off, or the thigh-board is torn from its place and goes with the body. The thigh-board is where the headsman stands. But strangest of all, in more than one case, the body has been recovered without a single visible mark of violence. Yet the man was stone dead.

The whole calamity, with the falling form of Macey, was plainly descried from the ship. Raising a piercing shriek—“The vial! the vial!” Gabriel called off the terror-stricken crew from the further hunting of the whale. This terrible event clothed the archangel with added influence; because his credulous disciples believed that he had specifically fore-announced it, instead of only making a general prophecy, which any one might have done, and so have chanced to hit one of many marks in the wide margin allowed. He became a nameless terror to the ship.

The whole disaster, including Macey’s falling body, was clearly visible from the ship. Gabriel let out a piercing shriek: “The vial! the vial!” He called the terrified crew away from pursuing the whale any further. This terrible event gave the archangel even more influence. His gullible disciples believed he had specifically foretold it. In fact, he had only made a general prophecy. Anyone could have done that and chanced to hit one of many possible targets within such wide limits. He became a nameless terror to the ship.

Mayhew having concluded his narration, Ahab put such questions to him, that the stranger captain could not forbear inquiring whether he intended to hunt the White Whale, if opportunity should offer. To which Ahab answered—“Aye.” Straightway, then, Gabriel once more started to his feet, glaring upon the old man, and vehemently exclaimed, with downward pointed finger—“Think, think of the blasphemer—dead, and down there!—beware of the blasphemer’s end!”

After Mayhew finished his story, Ahab asked him several questions. The visiting captain could not help asking whether Ahab intended to hunt the White Whale if he had the chance. Ahab answered, “Yes.” At once, Gabriel jumped to his feet again and glared at the old man. Pointing downward, he cried out fiercely, “Think, think of the blasphemer, dead and down there! Beware of the blasphemer’s fate!”

Ahab stolidly turned aside; then said to Mayhew, “Captain, I have just bethought me of my letter-bag; there is a letter for one of thy officers, if I mistake not. Starbuck, look over the bag.”

Ahab turned aside without showing emotion. Then he said to Mayhew, “Captain, I just remembered my mailbag. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a letter for one of your officers. Starbuck, look through the bag.”

Every whale-ship takes out a goodly number of letters for various ships, whose delivery to the persons to whom they may be addressed, depends upon the mere chance of encountering them in the four oceans. Thus, most letters never reach their mark; and many are only received after attaining an age of two or three years or more.

Every whaling ship carries many letters for people on other ships. Whether the letters reach their recipients depends entirely on chance encounters in the four oceans. As a result, most letters never reach their destinations. Many are delivered only after two or three years or more.

Soon Starbuck returned with a letter in his hand. It was sorely tumbled, damp, and covered with a dull, spotted, green mould, in consequence of being kept in a dark locker of the cabin. Of such a letter, Death himself might well have been the post-boy.

Soon Starbuck returned with a letter in his hand. It was badly crumpled, damp, and covered with dull, spotted green mold from being kept in a dark cabin locker. Death himself could well have delivered such a letter.

“Can’st not read it?” cried Ahab. “Give it me, man. Aye, aye, it’s but a dim scrawl;—what’s this?” As he was studying it out, Starbuck took a long cutting-spade pole, and with his knife slightly split the end, to insert the letter there, and in that way, hand it to the boat, without its coming any closer to the ship.

“Can’t you read it?” cried Ahab. “Give it to me, man. Yes, yes, it’s only a faint scrawl. What’s this?” As Ahab studied the letter, Starbuck took a long cutting-spade pole and slightly split its end with his knife. He inserted the letter in the split so he could pass it to the boat without the boat coming any closer to the ship.

Meantime, Ahab holding the letter, muttered, “Mr. Har—yes, Mr. Harry—(a woman’s pinny hand,—the man’s wife, I’ll wager)—Aye—Mr. Harry Macey, Ship Jeroboam;—why it’s Macey, and he’s dead!”

Meanwhile, Ahab held the letter and muttered, “Mr. Har, yes, Mr. Harry. (A woman’s tiny handwriting, his wife’s, I’ll wager.) Yes, Mr. Harry Macey, Ship Jeroboam. Why, it’s Macey, and he’s dead!”

“Poor fellow! poor fellow! and from his wife,” sighed Mayhew; “but let me have it.”

“Poor fellow! Poor fellow! And from his wife,” Mayhew sighed. “But let me have it.”

“Nay, keep it thyself,” cried Gabriel to Ahab; “thou art soon going that way.”

“No, keep it yourself,” Gabriel cried to Ahab. “You'll be going that way soon.”

“Curses throttle thee!” yelled Ahab. “Captain Mayhew, stand by now to receive it”; and taking the fatal missive from Starbuck’s hands, he caught it in the slit of the pole, and reached it over towards the boat. But as he did so, the oarsmen expectantly desisted from rowing; the boat drifted a little towards the ship’s stern; so that, as if by magic, the letter suddenly ranged along with Gabriel’s eager hand. He clutched it in an instant, seized the boat-knife, and impaling the letter on it, sent it thus loaded back into the ship. It fell at Ahab’s feet. Then Gabriel shrieked out to his comrades to give way with their oars, and in that manner the mutinous boat rapidly shot away from the Pequod.

“Damn you!” yelled Ahab. “Captain Mayhew, get ready to receive it.” He took the fateful letter from Starbuck’s hands, caught it in the slit of the pole, and reached it over toward the boat. But as he did so, the oarsmen stopped rowing in anticipation. The boat drifted a little toward the ship’s stern, so that, as if by magic, the letter suddenly came within reach of Gabriel’s eager hand. He grabbed it at once, seized the boat knife, and pierced the letter with it. Then he sent the knife and letter back into the ship. They fell at Ahab’s feet. Gabriel shrieked at his comrades to row, and the mutinous boat quickly sped away from the Pequod.

As, after this interlude, the seamen resumed their work upon the jacket of the whale, many strange things were hinted in reference to this wild affair.

After this interlude, the sailors resumed working on the whale's outer layer. As they worked, many strange things were hinted at about the wild affair.