When a gale sinks the pleasure ship carrying the ladies and gentlemen of Pride and Prejudice, they are rescued by the whaling ship Pequod, commanded by the brooding Captain Ahab. They find themselves on a hilarious voyage to the Pacific to chase the white whale, Moby Dick. Mr. Darcy’s pride is greatly humbled as he rows a harpoon boat and shares a hammock with a cannibal. In the end, romance wins out over the perils of whaling.
Chapter 1

Call me Ishmael. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. And so it was, that I signed on to the whaling ship Pequod to find that fortune. As a schoolmaster, I would never have earned enough money to become a gentleman.
A few days after we departed Nantucket, our sails billowing towards the Equator and the seasonal feeding grounds where the great White Whale Moby Dick frequented, we saw in the distant sky the dark thunderclouds of a passing gale. It had sunk a large pleasure ship, the SS President, on a voyage from Southampton to Boston, and the bowsprit was just disappearing into the water.
The watch on the mast-head called out, “Thar she goes!”
The brooding, reclusive captain of the Pequod, Ahab, hastened from his cabin, hobbling on his ivory leg, fashioned from the polished jawbone of a whale. His stump sent a hollow echo through the oak planks of the deck. His eyes were dark with obsession, the clouds piled upon his brow.
“Thar she blows? Do ye see the White Whale?” he barked.
“Nay, Captain,” said his chief mate, the staid and steadfast Starbuck. “A ship has sunk in the gale. Thar she goes, down to the bottom of the sea. I see many souls flailing about in the water in their soaked finery--ladies and gentlemen they must be. We should rescue them.”
“Let 'em drown!” cried Ahab, his brow furrowing even deeper. “Foolish women, let their bombazine skirts fill with brine and drag them down to their dark eternity.”
“But Captain, Sir, we must show compassion. They would do the same for us.”
“Not likely. But upon second thought, those men can row the extra oars in the harpoon boats, slice whale blubber, and boil it down to sperm oil in the furnaces. Save only the men.”
“But Captain, Sir, the men will not likely cooperate if the women are not also rescued.”
“Very well, if ye be so stubborn! But rescue only half a score of those damned souls. Our provisions are limited enough for a three-year voyage.”
And so the Pequod sailed to the spot where the ladies and gentlemen clung to floating steamer trunks and empty wine casks.
Rescued were Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and their five daughters, Jane, Elizabeth, Lydia, Kitty and Mary; Elizabeth’s friend Charlotte Lucas; Mr. Charles Bingley and his sisters, Caroline and Mrs. Hurst; and a gentleman named Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Once on board the deck, the survivors dried themselves off in the blazing sun and were provided with sustenance of bread and ale by the motley crew of sailors who eyed the ladies with wanton lust. The Bennet party remained at one end of the ship, and the Bingley party at the other, for neither group had yet been properly introduced to each other.
The ladies and gentlemen beheld the strange ship that had rescued them. You may have seen many quaint crafts in your day, but take my word for it, you never saw such a rare craft as the Pequod. She was old, dark and weather-stained, and her ancient decks were worn and wrinkled.
Her bow looked bearded, and the bulwarks on the sides of the ship were decorated with the long, sharp teeth of sperm whales, like one continuous jaw. Instead of a captain’s wheel, she was steered by the carved lower jaw of a whale. Overall, the Pequod resembled a barbaric Ethiopian emperor with a necklace of polished ivory.
The officers of the Pequod were Quakers from Nantucket--men born with Scripture names who learned to speak with thee and thou, and then went to sea and became the most bloodthirsty of all sailors and whale hunters. The sailors on the ship, however, were a ragged crew of savages and cannibals, collected from the islands in the Pacific during the ship’s previous whaling voyages.
The rescued party watched as Captain Ahab appeared on deck. He seemed to be made of solid bronze, strong and willful. A slender white scar threaded its way from his grey hair down one side of his scorched face and neck, till it disappeared into his clothing.
A great deal of his grimness was due to the barbaric white leg upon which he partly stood. On each side of the Pequod’s quarterdeck, there was a half-inch hole bored into the plank, where his bone leg was inserted.
Captain Ahab stood erect, looking straight out at the ocean. In his fixed and fearless eyes, there was infinite determination that would never surrender. Not a word did he speak. His sailors showed an uneasy, even painful, awareness of being under a troubled master-eye. Moody, wounded Ahab stood before them with a painful ordeal in his face--the regal dignity of some mighty anguish.
But Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was not intimidated by the sight of this rough-hewn plank of a man. The handsome and exceedingly proud gentleman marched up to Captain Ahab with great condescension and thanked him for being rescued.
“However, Captain,” said Darcy, “you have left many poor souls in the sea, including my beloved sister, my aunt, and two cousins.”
“Ye see those other ships on the horizon?” growled Ahab. “Let them save your precious relations.”
“Very well, let us hope so. But now, my good man, if you would be good enough to transport us posthaste to our original destination of Boston, where we will embark upon our tour of the Colonies--”
“Boston!” roared Ahab. “Nay, the Pequod is charted for the Equator. This is a whaling ship, not a pleasure boat! We shall pursue and destroy the White Whale and perhaps, in three years’ time, return to Nantucket.”
“Three years! Good lord! Sir, have you any idea whom you are addressing? I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, a gentleman of great importance and connections, and I will not be treated in such a frivolous manner!”
“Perhaps, then, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, you might enjoy the lovely view of the ocean from the mast-head, or lashed to the rigging during our next white squall.”
“I see your point, Captain. Very well, but I will report you to the Maritime Commission when we return to land.”
“Out of my sight! Watchmen on the mast-heads, there!” shouted Captain Ahab, looking up. “Look sharp, all of ye! There are whales hereabouts! If ye see a white one, yell as loud as ye can!”

Chapter 2

As the Bennet party eyed the Bingley party, Mrs. Bennet recognized the gentleman named Mr. Charles Bingley—she had learned of his presence on board the SS President. She greatly desired to meet him, for she had five daughters to marry off. The Bennets’ estate in Hertfordshire—Longbourn--was destined to be inherited by a distant male cousin, for women were prohibited from owning property in England. If the Bennet daughters did not marry rich husbands, they would be left penniless and destitute upon the decease of their father.
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” she said, leaning against a shark’s tooth on the bulwarks, and looking towards the forecastle deck, “that handsome gentleman there is a young man of large fortune from northern England. I received intelligence about him on board the SS President before it regrettably sank and, most regrettably, before we could be properly introduced to him.”
Mr. Bennet inclined his head towards Daggoo, a gigantic African harpooneer sharpening his lance near Mr. Bingley.
“Are you referring to that coal-black cannibal in the thong?”
“Mr. Bennet, you take delight in vexing me. I said gentleman.”
“What is his name?”
“Bingley--Mr. Charles Bingley.”
“Is he married or single?”
“Oh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune. What a fine thing for our girls!”
“How so? How can it affect them?”
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how tiresome you can be! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.”
“Is that his intention in being rescued?”
“Intention! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he might fall in love with one of our daughters, and therefore you must walk across the deck and introduce yourself.”
“I see no occasion for that,” he replied. “You and the girls may go and, since you are as handsome as any of our daughters, Mr. Bingley might like you the best.”
“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give up thinking of her own beauty.”
“Often, in such cases, a woman has not much beauty to think of.”
“But, my dear, you must properly introduce yourself so that we may then speak to him.”
“You are overly attentive to manners,” said he. “I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you, and you may pass along my assurance of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever of the girls he chooses--though I must throw in a good word for my Lizzy.”
“You will do no such thing. Elizabeth is not a bit better than the others, and I am sure she is not half as beautiful as Jane, nor half as good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving Elizabeth the preference.”
“None of them have much to recommend them,” replied he. “They are all silly and ignorant like other girls--but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters.”
“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You have no compassion on my poor nerves.”
“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with great concern these past twenty years.”
“Ah! You do not know what I suffer.”
“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many wealthy young men come into our neighbourhood after we return home.”
“It will be no use to us if twenty should come, since you will not visit them.”
“Depend upon it, my dear. When there are twenty, I will visit them all.”
Mr. Bennet was such an odd mixture of sarcastic humour, reserve, and unpredictability that, after three and twenty years of marriage, his wife could still not understand his personality.
Her mind, however, was less difficult to understand. She was a woman of small intelligence, little information, and uncertain mood. When she was unhappy, she imagined herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married.
Unbeknowngst to Mrs. Bennet, her husband had introduced himself to Mr. Bingley as they bobbed about in the ocean awaiting rescue, clinging to the same floating steamer trunk.
The visit was disclosed to Mrs. Bennet in the following manner:
Observing his second daughter Elizabeth drying out her hat on deck, he suddenly addressed her with, “I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”
“We cannot know what Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother resentfully, “since we are not able to converse with him.” She could not contain herself and began scolding one of her daughters:
“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”
“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father. “She has just spent several hours in the frigid Atlantic.”
“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty fretfully.
“While Kitty suppresses her coughs,” he continued, “let us return to Mr. Bingley.”
“I am sick of Mr. Bingley!” cried his wife.
“I am sorry to hear that--but why did you not tell me so before? If I had known as much, I certainly would not have introduced myself while waiting to be rescued. It is very unlucky, but we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”
The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished--Mrs. Bennet’s surpassing the rest--though after the uproar of joy was over, she declared that she had expected it all the while.
“How good of you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew you loved our girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this entire morning and never said a word about it till now.”
“Now, Kitty,” said Mr. Bennet, “you may cough as much as you choose.” As he spoke, he left the deck, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.
“What an excellent father you have, girls,” said their mother, after he left. “I do not know how you will ever repay his kindness--or me either, for that matter. At our age, I can tell you it is not so pleasant to make new acquaintances every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything.”

Chapter 3

That night, the salvaged passengers all went below to sleep in hammocks in the sailor’s cabins. Darcy was informed that, on Captain Ahab’s orders, he would be sharing a hammock with the savage cannibal harpooneer, Queequeg.
Darcy was distressed. It was fair to presume that, being a harpooneer, Queequeg’s clothes would not be the tidiest. Darcy retired early, exhausted from the day’s momentous events. He climbed awkwardly into the appointed hammock, extinguished the lamp, and waited for the arrival of his bedmate.
Shortly, the door opened and a shadowy figure entered the cabin. Darcy was all eagerness to see Queequeg’s face. Then he turned round, and--good heavens! What a sight! Such a face! It was a dark purplish-yellow color, with large black squares here and there. Yes, thought Darcy, it is just as I thought—he has been in a fight, got dreadfully cut, and here he is, just back from the ship’s surgeon. But as the cannibal turned his face towards the light, Darcy saw that the black squares on his cheeks were not bandages, but tattoos.
Queequeg opened his bag and pulled out a tomahawk. He turned it upside down, struck a match, and began smoking the end of the weapon, for it was also a pipe. He then took off his beaver hat, and Darcy nearly screamed with fresh surprise. There was no hair on his head--nothing but a small scalp knot twisted up on his forehead. His bald, purplish head now looked for all the world like a mildewed skull. Had Queequeg not stood between Darcy and the door, the gentleman from Pemberley would have bolted out of the room.
The next moment this wild savage, tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into bed with Darcy. With a sudden grunt of surprise, Queequeg began feeling Darcy. He stammered:
“Whoee devil you? You no speakee, dammee, or I killee!”
And so saying, the tomahawk began waving around Darcy’s head in the dark.
“Bingley, for God’s sake! Starbuck!” shouted Darcy. “Ahab! Constable! Angels! Save me!”
“Speakee! Tell me whoee be, or dammee, I killee!” again growled Queequeg, while his horrid waving of the tomahawk scattered hot tobacco ashes about Darcy till he thought the counterpane would set on fire.
“My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, and I would appreciate it, Sir, if you would stash your tomahawk or pipe, or whatever you call it. Stop smoking, and I will turn in with you. I do not fancy having a man smoking in bed with me.”
Queequeg grunted and extinguished the pipe. Darcy never slept better in his life.
Upon waking the next morning at daylight, Darcy found Queequeg’s arm thrown over him in the most loving and affectionate manner, as if he were the savage’s wife. Although Darcy tried to move his arm--unlock his bridegroom’s clasp--he still hugged Darcy tightly, as though nothing but death should do them part. He now tried to rouse him--“Queequeg!”--but his only answer was a snore.
Darcy then rolled over, and his neck suddenly felt a slight scratch. Throwing aside the counterpane, there lay the tomahawk by the savage’s side. Truly a pretty pickle, thought Darcy.
“Queequeg! In the name of goodness, Queequeg, wake!” At length, by much wriggling and loud disapproval about the unattractiveness of his hugging a fellow male in that matrimonial style, Darcy succeeded in producing a grunt.
Soon Queequeg proposed a social smoke and, producing his pouch and tomahawk, he quietly offered Darcy a puff. Then they sat, exchanging puffs from that wild pipe, and passing it regularly between them.
When the smoke was over, Queequeg pressed his forehead against Darcy’s, clasped him round the waist, and said that from now on, they were married--meaning, in his country’s lingo, that they were bosom friends. It meant that Queequeg would gladly die for Darcy, if need be.



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Readable Classics gently edits the works of great literature, retaining their original voices, to make them more enjoyable and less frustrating for modern readers.
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