In Nantucket: Moby Dick Revisited

On November 20, 1820, the Nantucket whaling ship Essex was attacked by a sperm whale, and sank in mid-Pacific. The incident provided Herman Melville the ending for Moby Dick. It also sent the 20-man crew of the Essex zigzagging across open ocean for three months in three 23-ft. whaleboats. Eventually they resorted to cannibalism to survive. For more than 100 years the only known account was that of the first mate, Owen Chase. But this spring 100 pages written by Thomas Nickerson, who shipped on the Essex as a boy of 16, were found in an attic in Connecticut and sent to Edouard Stackpole, whaling expert and curator of the Peter Foulger Museum in Nantucket. Here are excerpts from Nickerson 's chronicle:

November 20. I being then at the helm and looking on the windward side of the ship saw a very large whale approaching us. I called out to the mate to inform him of it. On his seeing the whale he instantly gave me an order to put the helm hard up. I had scarcely time to obey the order, when I heard a loud cry from several voices at once, that the whale was coming foul of the ship. Scarcely had the sound of their voices reached my ears when it was followed by a tremendous crash, the whale had struck the ship with his head under the larboard fore chains at the water's edge with such force as to shock every man upon his feet. The whale then getting under the ship's bottom came up under the starboard quarters. This gave the mate a fine opportunity to have killed him with a throw of his lance. His first impulse was to do so, but on a second look, observing his tail directly beneath the rudder, his better judgment prevailed lest a flourish of the tail should unhang the rudder and render the ship unmanageable.

Could he have foreseen all that so soon followed he would probably have chosen the lesser evil and have saved the ship by killing the whale even at the expense of losing the rudder. For the monster took a turn off about 300 yards ahead, then turning short came around with his utmost speed and again struck the ship a tremendous blow with his head and with such force as to stove in the whole bow at the water's edge. One of the men who was below at the time came running upon deck saying "The ship is filling with water."

We turned our attention to getting clear the boat, the only boat left us, with which we could expect to escape. We succeeded in getting her out without injury, although the ship was waterlogged and fast falling upon her side. In the meantime the steward had twice entered the cabin and at his peril had brought out the trunks of the Captain and mate and also two quadrants and two of Bowdiches Practical Navigators. These, with the two compasses taken from the binnacle, was all that we had an opportunity of getting into the boat, and get in ourselves, when the ship capsized, with the mastheads in the water. ... The boats of the Captain and Second Mate were about two miles to the leeward of the ship, and each fast to a whale. Their first intimation of the loss was the boatsteerers looking in direction of the ship, cried out to the Captain "Look! Look! What ails the ship, she is upsetting." It had the appearance at first sight of a ship caught in a sudden and hard squall or gust of wind with the sails flying in all directions and the vessel nearly turned upon one side. They lost no time in disengaging themselves.

On coming up to the ship the Captain ordered the masts cut away to try if possible to get the ship more upright with the hope to get at some provisions and water. This done, the ship again righted to an angle of 45 degrees. We commenced to cut open the decks in different parts of the ship, but unfortunately for us our provisions were mostly in the lower hold and could not be come at. We could only obtain two casks of ship bread weighing about 500 Ibs., and two small hogs, which came swimming to the boats from amongst the wreck, and some half-dozen terrapins. With this little stock of food then, we are forced to be satisfied and thanks be to God, who is ever watching over us, that it is no less. [They cast off from the hulk November 23, heading for South America.]

November 24. The wind has risen. The sea constantly breaking into the boats makes the prospect of preserving our little stock of provisions less and less probable. At 1 p.m. a heavy sea broke into our boat filling it half full of water and saturating our stock of bread with salt water. The bread being our only dependence gave to us on the whole rather a cheerless prospect. We this day arranged our allowance of food and water, and gave it out for the first time. It consisted in one cake of biscuit and a pint of water to each man, for the 24 hours.

December 17. This calm continued through the 14th to 16th December inclusive. During this trying state of affairs the mate proposed reducing our allowance of provisions one-half whilst the calms continued. We could not have reduced our allowance of water for already we had not sufficient to keep our mouths in moisture. We frequently applied salt water to our parched lips with the hope to quell the fever that raged there but that only served to increase our thirst so much that some were compelled to seek relief in their own urine. Our sufferings during these hot days almost exceed belief. Some of the men were induced to hang themselves over the side of the boat into the sea to cool their bodies and it was with the utmost difficulty that they were enabled to haul themselves again into the boat.

January 19. A severe thunderstorm caused us to take in all sails. We made frequent attempts to catch water with our sails spread horizontally, but the boats were very low and the sails were wet with salt water and consequently filled with salt so as to spoil all the fresh water that fell--and although we used frequently to catch a sailfull in a shower, yet always found it too salty for use.

January 20. This day Richard Peterson, a colored man and a native of New York State, complained of general debility and low spirits, declaring that he could not survive the day. He refused his allowance of food, saying "Keep it, it may be of service to someone but can be of none to me." He died without a struggle. He was a man of about 60 years of age and we believe he died a Christian.

February 15. We are about 300 miles from Mas Afuera and have taken out our last morsel of food, which consists of only two cakes of common ship bread to each one in equal share. Death seems truly to be hovering over us, but upon a consultation we agreed that let whatever would come, we would never draw lots after our food had quite gone for each other's death, but leave all with God. We consented, however, at this time, in case one should die first the others could if they thought proper subsist upon our remains.

[They were found by the brig Indian, February 17, 1821, 450 miles off the coast of Chile, having sailed 3,500 miles. The captain's boat was also saved, but the third whaleboat, with its crew of six, was never found. Nickerson's account of what happened in the captain's boat:]

When their last morsel of food was gone and finding all must die, and for the sake that their friends should know their fate, Charles Ramsdell made the first proposition to cast lots. Captain Pollard would not listen to it, saying to the others "No, but if I die first you are welcome to subsist on my remains," and [Pollard's nephew Owen] Coffin joined in the entreaty to cast lots. They then cut some blank paper checks, [and] put them in a hat. The lot fell upon Coffin, which he distinctly declared to be a fair lot and that he wished to abide by it. Captain Pollard then declared that he would take the lot himself, but to this Coffin would not listen. This was a trying moment, truly, the son of a beloved sister, to fall by their hands. Who can doubt but that Pollard would rather have met the death a thousand times. None that knew him will ever doubt. Neither of his companions but that shrank from the heart-rending trial. So they were compelled again to cast lots that who should draw the fatal trigger. As if the fate would have it, the awful die turned upon Captain Pollard, [who] for a long time declared that he could never do it, but finally had to submit. Coffin then called to them to come near whilst he breathed a parting message to his dear mother and family, then, craving a few moments in silence, he told them that he knew the lots had been fairly drawn. Peace to his memory.

Captain Pollard was not nor could he be thought to have dealt unfairly with this trying matter. On his arrival he bore the awful message to his mother as her son desired, but she became almost frantic with the thought, and I have learned that she never could become reconciled to the Captain's presence.

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