That night, Queequeg and I lay in bed making plans for the next day.
But then he told me something that surprised me—and honestly worried me a little.
He had been consulting Yojo, his small black god.
According to Queequeg, Yojo had given him the same message several times. We were not supposed to walk around the harbor together and choose a whaling ship.
Instead, I was supposed to choose the ship by myself.
Yojo, Queequeg explained, had already chosen the right ship for us. Somehow, if I simply followed my own judgment, I would end up choosing exactly the vessel Yojo had selected.
And once I found it, I was supposed to sign on immediately, even if Queequeg had not joined me yet.
Queequeg had great faith in Yojo’s judgment. He believed his little god usually knew what was going to happen before anyone else did.
He also thought Yojo was a good-hearted god who wanted to help people, even though things did not always turn out the way Yojo intended.
I wasn’t convinced.
I had been counting on Queequeg’s experience to help me choose the safest and best whaling ship.
But no matter how much I argued with him, he refused to change his mind.
So I finally gave in.
The next morning, I left Queequeg in our little room with Yojo and went down to the harbor.
It seemed to be some kind of holy fasting day for Queequeg and his god. He was sitting there fasting with his tomahawk pipe, while Yojo was apparently warming himself beside a small fire made from wood shavings.
I never understood Queequeg’s religious ceremonies. I had tried several times, but his prayers and rituals were completely beyond me.
I decided to leave him to it and go look at the ships.
After wandering around the harbor and asking a lot of questions, I learned that three ships were preparing for three-year whaling voyages.
They were the Devil-Dam, the Tit-bit, and the Pequod.
I looked over the Devil-Dam first.
Then I went aboard the Tit-bit.
Finally, I stepped onto the Pequod.
I had barely looked around when I knew.
This was the ship I wanted.
The Pequod was unlike any ship I had ever seen.
She was not especially large. In fact, she was rather small by the standards of a serious whaling vessel.
But she looked old, tough, and strangely impressive.
Her hull had been battered and darkened by years of storms and long voyages across every ocean.
Her bows looked almost as if they had a beard.
Her masts had been replaced after the original ones were lost in a storm somewhere near Japan.
The decks were old and worn, marked by years of hard use.
Yet the ship’s age was only part of what made her unusual.
For more than fifty years, she had been involved in whaling, and generations of sailors had decorated her with trophies from the creatures they had hunted.
Captain Peleg, who had once served as her chief mate and was now one of her owners, had added many of these strange decorations.
The Pequod looked almost like some ancient warrior covered in trophies.
The sides of the ship were lined with long, sharp whale teeth.
The ropes and equipment were fastened with pieces of whale bone and ivory.
Even the steering handle was carved from the jawbone of a sperm whale.
A sailor steering the ship during a storm must have felt as if he were trying to control a wild horse by grabbing its jaw.
It was a magnificent ship.
But there was something sad about her, too.
Perhaps all truly impressive things carry a little sadness with them.
I walked toward the quarter-deck, looking for someone who seemed to be in charge.
At first, I couldn’t see anyone.
Then I noticed something strange behind the mainmast.
It looked like a small tent or a Native American-style shelter.
The structure was about ten feet high and shaped like a cone.
It had been built from enormous pieces of black whale bone, tied together at the top.
There was an opening facing the front of the ship, giving whoever sat inside a clear view toward the bow.
Partly hidden inside this strange shelter, I finally found an elderly man who clearly had some authority.
It was around noon, and the ship’s work had stopped for a while.
The old man was sitting in an old wooden chair covered with elaborate carvings.
He looked like an ordinary old sailor at first.
He was broad and strong, with deeply tanned skin.
He wore a blue coat cut in a simple Quaker style.
But around his eyes were countless tiny wrinkles.
Years of sailing into strong winds had permanently tightened the muscles around his eyes.
Those wrinkles made his natural frown look even more severe.
I approached the entrance to the strange little shelter.
“Are you the captain of the Pequod?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Suppose I am. What do you want with him?”
“I’m thinking of signing on.”
“So you are, are you?”
He studied me.
“You’re not from Nantucket. Have you ever been aboard a whale boat?”
“No, sir.”
“I suppose you know nothing about whaling.”
“Nothing, sir. But I’m sure I can learn quickly. I’ve made several voyages in the merchant service, and I think—”
“Forget the merchant service!”
His voice suddenly became much sharper.
“Don’t talk to me about merchant ships. I don’t want to hear it.”
He pointed toward one of his legs.
“You see this leg? Keep talking about the merchant service and I’ll take that other leg away from you myself.”
I realized immediately that he had no patience for merchant sailors.
He continued questioning me.
“So you think you’re something special because you’ve sailed on merchant ships?”
He snorted.
“What makes you want to go whaling? That’s what I want to know.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You haven’t been a pirate, have you?”
“You didn’t rob your last captain, did you?”
“And you’re not planning to murder the officers once you get out to sea?”
I assured him that I had done none of those things.
It was becoming clear that this old sailor had strong Nantucket prejudices.
He seemed suspicious of anyone who wasn’t from Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard, or somewhere nearby.
“But seriously,” he said, “why do you want to go whaling? I won’t think about signing you on until I know that.”
“I want to see what whaling is like,” I said.
“And I want to see the world.”
“See what whaling is like?”
He looked at me carefully.
“Have you ever seen Captain Ahab?”
“Captain Ahab? Who is he?”
“Aha. I thought you didn’t know.”
He leaned back.
“Captain Ahab is the captain of this ship.”
“Then I’ve made a mistake. I thought I was talking to the captain.”
“You’re talking to Captain Peleg.”
He smiled faintly.
“Captain Bildad and I are responsible for getting the Pequod ready for the voyage. We provide the supplies and hire the crew. We’re both owners of the ship and act as her agents.”
He paused.
“But if you really want to know what whaling is before you commit yourself to it, there’s one thing you should know.”
He looked directly at me.
“Go take a look at Captain Ahab.”
“Why?”
“Because he has only one leg.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean? Did a whale take the other one?”
“Did a whale take it?”
Peleg suddenly became excited.
“Young man, come closer.”
He leaned toward me.
“That whale didn’t merely take his leg. It bit it, crushed it, and chewed it up.”
He laughed loudly.
“It was the most monstrous sperm whale ever seen!”
His sudden excitement made me uneasy.
I could also hear real sadness beneath his laughter.
I tried to remain calm.
“I don’t doubt you, sir. But how was I supposed to know that particular whale was especially dangerous? The fact that Ahab lost his leg to it would certainly suggest that.”
Peleg looked me over again.
“You don’t sound like a sailor who has never been to sea.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Surely you’ve been to sea before?”
“Sir, I thought I told you that I had made four voyages in the merchant—”
“Enough!”
He slammed his hand down.
“I told you not to talk about merchant ships.”
He took a breath.
“Let’s forget that argument. I’ve told you a little about whaling. Now answer me this: do you still want to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
He leaned toward me.
“Would you be willing to throw a harpoon into a living whale and then jump after it?”
I thought about that.
“If it were absolutely necessary, yes.”
I paused.
“But I don’t believe anyone would normally require such a thing.”
“Good answer.”
He seemed satisfied.
“So you want to go whaling because you want to experience it for yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And you also want to see the world.”
“That’s right.”
“Then go forward to the bow.”
He pointed toward the front of the ship.
“Look out over the water. Then come back and tell me what you see.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether he was joking.
His face, however, was completely serious.
I went forward.
The Pequod was swinging gently at anchor with the incoming tide.
The ship happened to be pointing diagonally toward the open ocean.
I looked out.
There was almost nothing to see.
The horizon stretched endlessly.
The sea seemed enormous, empty, and monotonous.
I returned to Peleg.
“Well?” he asked. “What’s your report?”
“Not much,” I said.
“Just water.”
I looked back toward the sea.
“There’s a very wide horizon, though. And I think a squall is coming.”
Peleg laughed.
“That’s what you call seeing the world?”
He shook his head.
“If you want to see more of the world, you think you need to sail around Cape Horn?”
He pointed toward the sea.
“Can’t you see the world from right where you’re standing?”
His argument left me slightly confused.
Still, I had already decided.
I was going whaling.
And the Pequod seemed like as good a ship as any.
In fact, I had begun to think she might be the best one.
I told Peleg that I was determined to go.
Seeing that I would not change my mind, he agreed to take me.
“You might as well sign the papers now,” he said.
“Come with me.”
He led me below deck and into the cabin.
There I saw another unusual old man sitting on a bench.
This was Captain Bildad.
Like Peleg, he was one of the principal owners of the Pequod.
The rest of the ship belonged to a scattered collection of investors—widows, orphans, and other people who owned small shares.
Some might own enough to represent a piece of timber.
Others might own the equivalent of a plank or even a few nails.
That was simply how people in Nantucket invested their money.
Whaling ships were treated as investments, much like profitable financial securities.
Bildad was also a Quaker.
So was Peleg.
Nantucket had originally been settled by Quakers, and their influence could still be seen everywhere.
But Nantucket Quakers were not always the peaceful people one might expect.
Some of them were fierce sailors and fearless whale hunters.
They were Quakers who could fight.
Bildad was one of the strangest examples.
He had once been a successful whaleman.
He had risen from a poor cabin boy to a harpooner, then to a boat leader, chief mate, captain, and finally shipowner.
By the age of sixty, he had retired from active sailing.
Now he simply lived on the income from his investments.
But people had told me that Bildad had always been extremely strict.
As a chief mate, he had driven his crews brutally hard.
They said that when his ships returned home, many of his exhausted sailors had to be carried directly to the hospital.
He rarely swore at his men.
He didn’t need to.
One cold look from his pale eyes was enough to make a lazy sailor grab a tool and start working as if his life depended on it.
He had almost no unnecessary flesh on his body.
His long, thin frame seemed to reflect his entire personality—practical, economical, and severe.
That was the man I now saw sitting in the cabin.
The space below deck was low and cramped.
Bildad sat perfectly upright, as he apparently always did.
His broad-brimmed hat rested beside him.
His legs were crossed stiffly.
His coat was buttoned all the way to his chin.
A pair of spectacles sat on his nose.
He was completely absorbed in a large book.
Peleg looked at him.
“Bildad! Still at it?”
Bildad ignored him.
“You’ve been studying that Bible for thirty years, as far as I can remember.”
Peleg grinned.
“How far have you gotten?”
Bildad calmly looked up.
He seemed accustomed to Peleg’s irreverent behavior.
Then he noticed me and looked at Peleg questioningly.
Peleg nodded toward me.
“He says he’s our man, Bildad.”
“He wants to sign on.”
Bildad turned toward me.
“You do?”
His voice was deep and solemn.
Without thinking, I answered in the same style.
“I do.”
Peleg laughed.
“What do you think of him, Bildad?”
Bildad studied me for a moment.
“He’ll do.”
Then he lowered his eyes and returned to his book.
I thought he was one of the strangest old Quakers I had ever met.
Peleg was loud and energetic, while Bildad seemed almost completely emotionless.
But I kept my thoughts to myself.
Peleg opened a chest and took out the ship’s papers.
He placed a pen and ink on a small table.
I sat down and began thinking about the terms of my employment.
I already knew that whalers did not receive ordinary wages.
Instead, each crew member received a share of the profits from the voyage.
These shares were called “lays.”
The more important a person’s position on the ship, the larger his share.
As a beginner in whaling, I knew my share would be small.
Still, I had experience at sea.
I could steer a ship, splice ropes, and handle many basic sailing tasks.
So I thought I might receive something around a 275th share of the voyage’s net profits.
That was considered a fairly small share.
But it was better than nothing.
If the voyage went well, my share might at least cover the clothes I would wear out at sea.
And for three years of food and lodging, I would pay nothing.
Of course, this was not exactly the road to becoming rich.
But I had never cared much about becoming rich.
If the world was willing to feed me and give me a place to sleep while I worked, I was satisfied.
I thought a 275th share was reasonable.
In fact, given my size and strength, I would not have been shocked if they offered me something closer to a 200th share.
There was, however, one thing that worried me.
I had already heard a great deal about Peleg and Bildad.
They were the main owners of the Pequod, and the other investors had largely left the management of the ship to them.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether the tight-fisted Bildad would have much influence over my pay.
He was sitting in the cabin as if he owned the place.
He even seemed more interested in reading his Bible than in negotiating with me.
Peleg was struggling to repair a pen with his pocketknife.
Bildad continued reading aloud under his breath.
“Do not store up treasures for yourselves on earth, where moth and rust destroy—”
Peleg interrupted him.
“Well, Captain Bildad, what do you say?”
“What share should we give this young man?”
Bildad didn’t even look up.
“You know best.”
He paused.
“The seven hundred and seventy-seventh share should be enough, shouldn’t it?”
Then he returned to his Bible.
I almost couldn’t believe what I had heard.
Seven hundred and seventy-seventh?
That was an absurdly tiny share.
Peleg clearly thought the same thing.
“Bildad, you don’t want to cheat the young man, do you?”
“He deserves more than that.”
Bildad calmly repeated himself.
“Seven hundred and seventy-seventh.”
Then he continued reading.
“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
I couldn’t help thinking that Bildad certainly didn’t want me to collect much treasure from this voyage.
A 777th share was so small that it was almost meaningless.
Peleg finally slammed his hand on the table.
“I’m giving him a three hundredth share.”
He looked at Bildad.
“Did you hear me? Three hundredth.”
Bildad slowly closed his book.
“Captain Peleg, you have a generous heart.”
He looked at me.
“But you must remember your responsibility to the other owners.”
“Many of them are widows and orphans.”
“If we pay this young man too much, we may take food away from those people.”
He paused.
“Seven hundred and seventy-seventh.”
Peleg exploded.
“Bildad!”
He jumped up and began pacing around the cabin.
“If I had followed your advice all these years, I’d have a conscience so heavy it could sink the biggest ship around Cape Horn!”
Bildad remained completely calm.
“Perhaps your conscience draws ten inches of water.”
He paused.
“Or perhaps ten fathoms. I cannot say.”
Then he looked at Peleg seriously.
“But you are still an unrepentant man.”
“I fear your conscience may have a leak in it.”
“And one day it may carry you straight down to the fires of hell.”
Peleg stared at him.
“Hell?”
His face turned red.
“You dare tell me I’m going to hell?”
He became furious.
“That’s an insult!”
“Say it again and you’ll see what happens.”
He was so angry that he could barely speak.
“I’ll swallow a live goat, horns, hair, and all!”
Then he pointed toward the door.
“Get out of here, you self-righteous old fool!”
Peleg lunged toward him.
But Bildad somehow slipped away from him with surprising speed.
I was horrified.
These two men were the principal owners of the ship.
If they were capable of fighting over a few shares, what kind of voyage was I signing up for?
For a moment, I seriously considered walking away from the Pequod.
But Bildad calmly sat back down.
He seemed completely unaffected.
Apparently, he was used to Peleg’s temper.
Peleg also sat down after a while.
The anger seemed to have burned itself out.
He still looked slightly shaken.
Finally, he whistled.
“Well, the storm seems to have passed.”
He looked at Bildad.
“Bildad, you were always good at sharpening a lance.”
“Fix this pen for me, will you?”
Bildad took the pen.
Peleg handed him the knife.
“That’s better. Thanks.”
Then Peleg turned back to me.
“So, young man, your name is Ishmael, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“You’re signed on for the three hundredth share.”
I hesitated.
“Captain Peleg, I have a friend who wants to join the ship too.”
“Can I bring him tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
Peleg nodded.
“Bring him along. We’ll have a look at him.”
Bildad looked up from his book.
“What share does he expect?”
Peleg waved him off.
“Don’t worry about that yet.”
Then he turned to me.
“Has he ever been whaling?”
“He’s killed more whales than I could count.”
“Then bring him.”
That settled it.
I signed the papers and left the ship.
I felt that I had accomplished something important that morning.
I was convinced that the Pequod was the very ship Yojo had chosen for Queequeg and me.
As I walked away, however, another thought suddenly occurred to me.
I had signed onto a ship whose captain I had never even met.
That was not entirely unusual.
Whaling voyages could last for years, and captains often stayed away from home until everything was ready.
If a captain had a family, he might leave the ship in the owners’ hands while the crew was being hired and the supplies were loaded.
Even so, I thought it would be wise to see the man who would actually command me before I sailed away with him.
So I turned back and found Captain Peleg.
“Where can I find Captain Ahab?” I asked.
“What do you want with Ahab?”
Peleg looked surprised.
“Everything’s settled. You’re already signed on.”
“I know.”
“But I’d still like to meet him.”
Peleg hesitated.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to see him right now.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with him.”
He lowered his voice.
“He stays inside the house most of the time.”
“He seems sick, but he doesn’t really look sick.”
“In fact, he isn’t sick.”
“But he isn’t quite well, either.”
Peleg shook his head.
“He’s a strange man.”
“Some people think he’s very strange.”
“But he’s a good man.”
“I think you’ll like him.”
Then Peleg’s expression became more serious.
“He’s a remarkable man, Ahab.”
“He doesn’t talk much.”
“But when he speaks, you’d better listen.”
He leaned closer.
“Ahab isn’t an ordinary man.”
“He has studied at colleges.”
“He has also lived among cannibals.”
“He’s seen things far stranger and deeper than anything you have ever encountered at sea.”
“He has faced enemies more powerful and mysterious than whales.”
Peleg’s eyes grew intense.
“And his harpoon?”
He smiled.
“There’s no better one in all of Nantucket.”
Then he shook his head.
“He’s not like Captain Bildad.”
“And he’s not like me.”
“He’s Ahab.”
“Ahab was the name of an ancient king, you know.”
I remembered the biblical king.
“Ahab was a wicked king.”
“When he was killed, didn’t dogs lick his blood?”
Peleg immediately came closer.
“Listen to me.”
His voice became very serious.
“Never say that aboard the Pequod.”
“Don’t say it anywhere.”
I was surprised by his reaction.
“Captain Ahab didn’t choose that name himself.”
“His mother gave it to him.”
“She was a strange, foolish woman.”
“She died when Ahab was only a year old.”
“An old woman named Tistig once said that his name might somehow turn out to be prophetic.”
“Other fools may tell you the same thing.”
“But don’t believe them.”
“It’s nonsense.”
Peleg paused.
“I know Ahab.”
“I sailed with him years ago when I was his mate.”
“He is a good man.”
“Not a religious good man like Bildad.”
“He swears too much for that.”
He gave a small smile.
“But he’s good.”
“He’s a lot like me in that way.”
“Only there’s much more to him.”
Peleg’s expression became thoughtful.
“I know he was never a cheerful man.”
“And on the trip home after losing his leg, he became a little mentally disturbed for a while.”
“But who could blame him?”
“The pain in that wounded stump was terrible.”
“Anyone suffering like that might lose his mind for a while.”
He looked directly at me.
“Ever since that last voyage, when that cursed whale took his leg, Ahab has been moody.”
“Very moody.”
“Sometimes he’s even violent and savage.”
“But I believe he’ll get over it.”
Then Peleg gave me one final piece of advice.
“Remember this, young man.”
“It’s better to sail with a troubled captain who is fundamentally good than with a cheerful captain who is a bad man.”
He started to walk away.
“And don’t judge Ahab just because his name belonged to a wicked king.”
Peleg stopped and turned back.
“Besides, Ahab has a wife.”
“A young woman.”
“They’ve been married only a few years.”
“She’s gentle and patient.”
“And they have a child.”
“Think about that.”
“Can a man who has a wife and child really be completely beyond hope?”
Peleg shook his head.
“No.”
“Whatever has happened to Ahab, whatever darkness may be inside him, he’s still human.”
“Don’t forget that.”
I walked away slowly.
Peleg’s words had left me deeply unsettled.
Until that moment, Captain Ahab had been little more than a name to me.
Now he seemed like some distant, mysterious figure surrounded by pain.
I felt sorry for him.
Perhaps it was because of the terrible loss of his leg.
At the same time, I felt something else whenever I thought about him.
It was a kind of fear.
Or perhaps not exactly fear.
I couldn’t find the right word for it.
There was something about the man that I could already sense without ever having seen him.
Still, whatever that strange feeling was, it did not make me want to leave the Pequod.
I was simply frustrated that so much about its captain remained hidden from me.
Before long, other thoughts took over my mind.
And for the moment, the mysterious Captain Ahab faded from my thoughts.