Southeast of the Cape of Good Hope, far out near the remote Crozet Islands, lay a prime hunting spot for right whale fishermen. It was here that we spotted another sail rising on the open sea. The vessel was the Goney, also known as the Albatross.
As the distant ship slowly drew closer, I watched from my high perch on the foremast. For anyone new to long-distance whaling voyages, the sight was striking—a fellow whaler, weathered and worn from years away from home, adrift on the endless ocean.
The ship looked as though the waves had bleached every inch of her. She resembled the bare, pale skeleton of a walrus washed ashore. Long, rust-red streaks scored her faded white hull, stretching from bow to stern like old scars.
Her masts and tangled rigging were thick and frosted over with salt buildup, looking just like bare tree branches coated in winter hoarfrost. Only her lowest sails were unfurled, leaving the rest of her rigging bare and lifeless against the sky.
The three mast lookouts were a wild, haunting sight. Their clothes were tattered, patched, and worn thin after nearly four years at sea, hanging off their bodies like rough animal hides.
They stood balanced in iron hoops nailed fast to the masts, swinging back and forth over the bottomless dark ocean below. When the Goney glided slowly beneath our stern, the six of us perched on our masts were so close we could practically jump from one ship’s rigging to the other.
Yet those weary, lonely fishermen only stared at us quietly as they passed. They spoke not a single word to our lookouts, even as a loud call rang out from our quarterdeck below.
“Ship ahoy! Have you seen the White Whale?”
The strange captain of the Goney leaned over his pale, weathered rail, lifting his speaking trumpet to his lips. Before he could utter a word, the trumpet slipped from his hands and tumbled down into the sea.
A strong wind suddenly picked up, roaring across the waves. Without his trumpet, the captain shouted uselessly, his voice swallowed by the gusts. There was no way for us to hear a single thing he said.
All the while, his ship kept moving forward, drifting farther and farther away from us. Every sailor aboard the Pequod watched the unsettling moment in silence. It was a bad omen—the very first time we’d spoken of the White Whale to another ship, and misfortune had struck instantly.
Ahab froze for a short moment. It looked as if he planned to lower a boat to board the stranger ship, but the rising, threatening wind made it far too dangerous.
Seizing the chance of our better wind position, Ahab grabbed a new trumpet. He could tell from the Goney’s worn Nantucket build that she was heading home soon. He shouted loudly across the water.
“Ahoy there! This is the Pequod, sailing around the world! Tell folks to send all future mail to the Pacific Ocean! If I’m not home in three years, tell them to address my letters to——”
In that exact second, the wake trails of our two ships crossed one another. Right away, dozens of small, harmless fish that had been swimming calmly beside our ship for days suddenly fled.
Their fins trembled as they darted away, rushing to line up alongside the stranger ship’s hull, fore and aft. Ahab had surely seen this simple ocean phenomenon countless times during his long voyages.
But for a man obsessed with a single goal, even the smallest, most meaningless coincidences feel full of hidden meaning.
“Swim away from me, will you?” Ahab muttered, staring down into the churning water.
His words sounded plain on the surface, but his tone held a deep, helpless sorrow I’d never heard from the mad old captain before.
He turned sharply to the helmsman, who had been holding the ship steady against the wind to slow our progress. Ahab’s voice boomed out in his fierce, lion-like roar.
“Up helm! Keep her off—sail round the world!”
Sailing around the world. The phrase sounds grand and full of pride. But what does endless circumnavigation truly accomplish?
It only leads us through countless dangers, all to circle right back to where we started. The people and peaceful lives we left behind were always waiting for us there, fixed and unchanged.
If the world were an endless flat plain, if sailing east forever brought new lands, strange beauty, and uncharted wonders lovelier than any ancient island paradise, then this voyage would hold real promise.
But we chase phantom mysteries and haunting demons that linger in every human heart. We sail across this round globe chasing impossible dreams, only to get lost in empty, fruitless mazes—or drown halfway through our pursuit.