The wind pushed steadily over the ocean, filling the Pequod’s sails and driving her forward. But the breeze picked up speed faster than the ship could move, and soon the vessel began to rock unsteadily on the waves.
After a while, the crew peered through their spyglasses and confirmed that the distant unknown ship was a whaler. She was far off to windward, sailing fast on a course for new hunting grounds—too far for the Pequod to catch up.
So Ahab ordered the crew to raise signal flags, hoping to get the stranger’s attention.
Like naval warships, every American whaling vessel had its own unique set of private signals. All the codes were recorded in a book, matched to each ship’s name, and every captain carried a copy. This system let whaling captains identify one another easily, even from great distances out at sea.
Finally, the distant ship answered the Pequod’s signal. It was the Jeroboam, out of Nantucket.
The Jeroboam adjusted her sails, turned toward the Pequod, and pulled alongside her downwind. She lowered a small boat, which quickly rowed closer.
Starbuck ordered the side ladder rigged to welcome the visiting captain. But the man in the approaching boat waved his hand firmly from the stern, signaling there was no need.
The Jeroboam’s captain, Mayhew, explained the reason from across the water. A dangerous contagious sickness had broken out on his ship. Though he and his small boat crew were healthy, he refused all direct contact with the Pequod’s men. He was sticking strictly to quarantine rules, even miles out at sea, to keep the Pequod’s crew safe from infection.
Still, the two ships did not cut off all communication entirely.
The wind had grown strong by then, and the Pequod plowed heavily through the waves with her top sail backed. The Jeroboam’s boat hovered a few yards away, her crew rowing gently to stay parallel. Large swells occasionally pushed the small boat ahead, but the sailors always skillfully rowed back into position. Through these constant small disruptions, the two crews managed to talk back and forth.
But their conversation kept getting interrupted by someone else aboard the Jeroboam’s boat.
One of the oarsmen looked utterly extraordinary—even by the strange, rugged standards of whaling life, where every sailor had a unique story.
He was short and young-looking, with freckles strewn across his face and shaggy blond hair. He wore a faded brown coat with long, oddly cut tails, its sleeves rolled up over his wrists. And his eyes held a fixed, wild, fanatical madness.
The second Stubb laid eyes on him, he shouted out at once.
“That’s him! That’s the crazy rogue the Town-Ho crew told us about!”
Stubb was referring to a bizarre story the Town-Ho’s men had shared with the Pequod’s crew weeks before. Word had spread about a deranged sailor aboard the Jeroboam who’d gained complete, strange power over nearly everyone on the ship.
This man had grown up in a fanatical religious sect called the Neskyeuna Shakers, where he’d been known as a powerful prophet. During their secret, chaotic meetings, he claimed to descend from heaven through a hidden trapdoor. He always carried a small vial in his vest pocket, saying it would trigger the seventh and final divine plague—though others whispered the vial held only sleeping drops, not holy wrath.
Driven by a sudden, bizarre impulse, he left the sect for Nantucket. Using the cunning that often comes with madness, he pretended to be a calm, ordinary young man and signed on as a rookie sailor for the Jeroboam’s whaling voyage.
The ship’s crew hired him. But the moment land vanished over the horizon, his sanity shattered completely.
He declared himself the Archangel Gabriel. He ordered the captain to jump overboard to atone for his sins. He issued a wild proclamation, naming himself the savior of all ocean lands and the supreme spiritual ruler of the seas.
He spoke with terrifying, unwavering sincerity. His restless, fevered imagination spun dark, terrifying visions, and his obvious, genuine delirium filled the uneducated crew with awe. To most of the sailors, he felt less like a madman and more like a sacred, fearsome figure. They were utterly terrified of him.
The captain knew the man was useless for ship work—he refused to labor unless the mood struck him. He’d planned to drop the mad prophet off at the first port they reached.
But when Gabriel learned of this plan, he unleashed a storm of curses. He swore he would break open all his holy seals and vials, dooming the entire ship and every man aboard if they tried to send him ashore.
He had convinced most of the crew he was a true prophet. The sailors marched to the captain together and swore they would all abandon the ship if Gabriel was cast off.
The captain had no choice but to back down.
From then on, no one dared lay a hand on Gabriel or speak harshly to him. He had complete freedom of the ship.
He cared nothing for the captain or the senior officers. Once the deadly epidemic broke out on the Jeroboam, his power grew even stronger. He claimed the plague answered only to him, and only he could choose when it would end.
Most of the terrified sailors bowed to him. Some even worshipped him like a god, obeying his every strange command. The tale sounds unbelievable, but every word is true. Fanatics do not merely fool themselves utterly—they possess an uncanny power to terrify and control countless others.
Back aboard the Pequod, Ahab leaned over the railing and called out to Captain Mayhew, standing in the small boat’s stern.
“I care nothing for your plague, Captain. Come aboard.”
At once, Gabriel leaped to his feet in the small boat, his eyes wild.
“Beware the fever! Beware the yellow sickness and the black plague!”
“Gabriel! Be quiet!” Captain Mayhew shouted, trying to calm him.
Before he could finish, a massive wave crashed forward, sweeping the small boat far ahead of the Pequod. The roar of the surf swallowed all sound.
When the boat drifted back within speaking range, Ahab shouted his one burning question.
“Have you seen the White Whale?”
Gabriel screamed his warning again.
“Think of your whaling boats, smashed and sunk! Beware his terrible tail!”
“Gabriel, I demand to know—” Ahab began once more.
Again the boat lurched forward, as if dragged by invisible demons. For a long moment, rough, chaotic waves rolled between the two ships, silent and violent. The huge sperm whale head hoisted aboard the Pequod swung wildly in the wind. Gabriel stared at it, his fanatical face twisted with uncharacteristic fear.
When the waves calmed enough to speak again, Captain Mayhew finally told the terrible story of Moby Dick—though Gabriel interrupted every time the White Whale’s name was spoken, screaming mad warnings that matched the raging sea’s fury.
Not long after the Jeroboam left Nantucket, her crew heard tales from another whaler of the legendary White Whale and the destruction he left in his wake.
Gabriel soaked up every word. He solemnly warned the captain never to attack the White Whale if they ever spotted him. In his madness, he insisted Moby Dick was the living incarnation of the Shakers’ God, a sacred being no mortal could harm.
A year or two later, the Jeroboam’s lookouts finally spotted Moby Dick on the open water.
The ship’s first mate, Macey, burned with excitement to hunt the famous whale. The captain allowed it, ignoring all of Gabriel’s frantic curses and prophecies of doom. Macey persuaded five sailors to join him in the whaling boat and set off in pursuit.
They rowed exhaustedly across the waves, making countless dangerous, failed attempts to harpoon the whale. Finally, Macey drove his iron harpoon deep into Moby Dick’s flesh.
Up on the main masthead, Gabriel flailed his arms wildly, screaming that the hunters were defiling a god and that certain death awaited them all.
Macey stood tall in the bow of his small boat, shouting fiercely at the whale, readying his lance for the final strike.
Suddenly, a massive white shadow surged up from the sea. The rush of water and wind stole the breath from every rower’s lungs.
In the next instant, the enraged White Whale struck.
Macey, full of fiery defiance, was blasted straight into the air. He arced high above the waves and crashed into the sea fifty yards from the boat.
The boat was completely unharmed. Not a single sailor was hurt. But Macey vanished beneath the waves, gone forever.
It is a strange, common tragedy in the sperm whaling trade: sometimes only the hunter dies, untouched, while boat and crew remain perfectly safe. Often the boat’s bow or the standing plank is torn away and sinks with the body. Most eerie of all, many recovered bodies bear no mark of injury at all—just sudden, instant death.
Every man aboard the Jeroboam watched Macey’s death unfold in horror.
“The vial! The holy vial has struck!” Gabriel shrieked.
His terrified crew immediately abandoned the hunt. After this horrific event, Gabriel’s power over the ship grew absolute. His followers believed he had specifically predicted Macey’s death, cementing his reputation as a true prophet of doom. He became a nameless, living terror aboard the Jeroboam.
When Mayhew finished his story, Ahab pressed him with sharp questions about the White Whale.
Curious, Mayhew asked directly if Ahab intended to hunt Moby Dick if he ever got the chance.
“I do,” Ahab answered flatly.
At once, Gabriel jumped to his feet again, glaring furiously at the old captain. He pointed a shaking finger downward and shouted with frantic rage.
“Think of the blasphemer! He’s dead and buried beneath the waves! Beware the sinner’s end!”
Ahab turned stonily away from the madman. He spoke to Mayhew calmly.
“Captain, I just remembered my mail bag. I have a letter for one of your officers, if I’m not mistaken. Starbuck, fetch the bag.”
All whaling ships carried stacks of letters bound for other vessels. Mail was delivered only by pure chance, if two ships happened to meet at sea. Most letters never reached their recipients. Many took years to arrive, long after they were first written.
Starbuck soon returned with a single letter. It was crumpled, damp, and covered in faint green mold, having languished in the dark cabin locker for months. It looked like a letter delivered by death itself.
“Can’t you read it?” Ahab snapped. “Give it here.”
He squinted at the faint, faded handwriting.
“Mr. Har—Mr. Harry—this is a woman’s handwriting, his wife’s no doubt. Mr. Harry Macey, of the Jeroboam.”
Ahab’s voice went cold.
“This is for Macey. And Macey is dead.”
“Poor man. Poor fellow. It’s from his wife,” Mayhew sighed sadly. “Let me take it.”
Before Ahab could hand it over, Gabriel shouted sharply across the water.
“Keep it yourself! You’ll be joining him soon enough!”
“Damn you and your ravings!” Ahab roared.
“Captain Mayhew, prepare to receive the letter.”
Starbuck took a long spade pole, split the end open with his knife, and slipped the letter into the slit. This way, they could pass the mail without letting the small boat come close enough to risk infection.
Ahab held the pole out toward the Jeroboam’s boat. The rowers paused, waiting to take the letter.
The boat drifted slightly toward the Pequod’s stern. By some strange trick of fate, the letter slid straight toward Gabriel’s outstretched hand.
He snatched it instantly. Grabbing the boat’s knife, he impaled the letter on the blade and hurled it back at the Pequod.
The letter landed at Ahab’s feet.
“Row away! Now!” Gabriel shouted to the crew.
The men dug their oars into the water, and the small boat sped rapidly away from the Pequod, vanishing into the rolling waves.
As the Pequod’s crew returned to stripping the whale’s outer skin, the whole ship buzzed with strange whispers and theories about the bizarre, terrifying encounter with the Jeroboam’s mad prophet.