Diego Aguirre

Professor Pressman 

ECL 522

16 December 2025

An Ode to the Working Class

The Great American Novel, Moby Dick, offers readers with a plethora of rich subject matter to dive into through its tale that is not so much about hunting a whale. A common reading of the novel is that in treating the Pequod as a nation-state representative of the 1850s United States, Herman Melville criticizes the unjust practices of our capitalist democratic republic. In Moby Dick, Melville employs medieval language to expose the hierarchical systems rooted in our country that have prevented the working class from getting the recognition they deserve; he further uses this language of nobility to flip the narrative as he celebrates the working class that has lifted this country on its back. 

Before discussing how Melville does this, it’s important to look at one of his sources of inspiration: Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “The American Scholar.” In it, Emerson touches on the ramifications of the increased specialization of workers in the United States. He writes “Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry” (Emerson). This evaluation from Emerson can be applied to most other physical laborers that fuel the nation, such as whalemen. Despite their importance to the growth of the United States, they’re treated as just another group of “Man sent out into the field” and are “seldom cheered.” Recognizing this, Melville writes an entire novel around whaling to make sure that this essential part of our whole is not forgotten. 

Of the many terms ascribed to the novel’s central characters, including the whales, one of the most interesting is their association with the medieval era. In the adjacent chapters, “The Advocate” and “Postscript,” Melville asserts “Whaling is imperial! By old English statutory law, the whale is declared a ‘royal fish’… we whalemen supply your kings and queens with coronation stuff!” (121, 123). In suggesting that both whaling and whales themselves are “imperial” and “royal”, Melville is prompting us to reconsider how we view them, especially since they are sourcing the materials used in coronations for those at the top. He continues with this language in the subsequent chapters “Knights and Squires.”

Melville introduces the crew of the Pequod through a medieval caste to highlight the hierarchy of both whale ships and the United States of America. The shared title of Chapters 26 and 27, “Knights and Squires,” is already enough to indicate a divide between the crew. The mates Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, white men from Nantucket, Cape Cod, and Tisbury, assume the position of knight. Directly under each of them is their “savage” squires: Pacific islander Queequeg, Gay-Header Indian Tashtego, and the imperial negro Daggoo. Though they are all described to be more physically capable and reliable, hence their position as the harpooners in such a violent and vital industry, their non-white skin creates a clear distinction in their status.

This dynamic in which the white man leads extends to the rest of the unnamed crew, and many other American industries as well:

As for the residue of the Pequod’s company, be it said, that at the present day not one in two of the many thousand men before the mast employed in the American whale fishery, are Americans born, though pretty nearly all the officers are. Herein it is the same with the American whale fishery as with the American army and military and merchant navies, and the engineering forces employed in the construction of the American Canals and Railroads. The same, I say, because in all these cases the native American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously supplying the muscles. (Melville 131)

Melville’s emphasis here is to remind us who it was that labored the most in the founding of our country. Even though “not one in two of the many thousand men” in the whaling industry were born in America (immigrants), most never received the title of officer, nor the benefits expected for someone who puts in the most work. In the specific case of the Pequod, we are never given the names of a majority of the crew who keep the ship operating; they don’t receive the focus given to their king Ahab, his knights Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, or even their squires Queequeg, Tashtego, and Daggoo. At the base of the ladder, few of them receive proper recognition in spite of their importance in maintaining the ship. Within the context of 1850s America, this group stands in for the enslaved, unrecognized as humans to the highest degree as they were stripped of their rights, yet expected to provide the labor necessary to maintain the growth of the nation.

Melville then directly calls out the same structure in the “American army and military and merchant navies, and the engineering forces employed in the construction of the American Canals and Railroads.” These foundational industries that served to protect and expand the United States ran off of the same design that let the mass contributors go unnoticed and unappreciated while the ones in charge received all of the attention and glory. The employees of these industries, mostly immigrants, were used in service of further increasing the position of the white man with the conquering of Mexican land and expansion towards the West; they were the ones that made it possible, but the end goal was never in favor of them. 

With some effective word choice, Melville then starts to hint towards who actually deserves our praise: “the native American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously supplying the muscles.” In deliberately leaving native uncapitalized, Melville presents the replacement of the Native American by the white man who have claimed the term for themselves. Considering this appropriation, liberally seems to be the native Americans’ loose assumption that they should provide the brains. Meanwhile, the rest of the world generously supplies the muscles. By suggesting that the rest of the world is more benevolent, Melville questions the legitimacy of the white man at the head to challenge the structures of all the American industries he has just described.

All of this culminates in the fact that these imperative industries were established with hierarchical systems that placed one group, the white man, above the rest who were not even deemed worthy of recognition. In the context of 1850s America, specifically in the increased national attention towards slavery and the continued Westward expansion, Melville draws attention to the structures behind the categorization of humans as more or less and breaks down the reasoning of these systems to show how unreliable they are. This faulty system is at the core of the Pequod, positioning Ahab as the king of the ship. However, Melville treats this as a cautionary tale of what happens when democracy shifts to monarchy, when kings are valued over their subjects, and when any opposition is considered rebellion.

As Ahab takes after King Lear in his descent into madness, Melville applies the noble traits expected of a king to another group of characters: the harpooners. In his journal article “Moby-Dick and American Political Symbolism,” Alan Heimert offers a possible reason on why they are treated as such. The harpooners: 

are representative of the three races on which each of the American sections, it might be said, had built its prosperity in the early nineteenth century. Stubb’s squire is an Indian; Starbuck’s comes from the Pacific islands. And Flask, perched precariously on Daggoo’s shoulders, seems, like the southern economy itself, sustained only by the strength of the “imperial negro.”(Heimert 502)

The harpooners fitting perfectly into Moby Dick’s allegory of the United States, Melville constantly shines an honorary light on them for their heroics. While Queequeg receives the most attention out of all of them, the most poignant scene of Melville’s praise is “Flask, perched precariously on Daggoo’s shoulders” referenced by Heimert.

In “The First Lowering” to hunt whales, Melville zooms in on a peculiar scene where, acting as a mast-head, the “noble negro” Dagoo bears the “vivacious, tumultuous, ostentatious, little Flask” upon his shoulders (241). This scene on Flask’s boat serves as a microcosm of the United States in which the black man literally uplifts the white; Melville uses this to reverse the preconceived notions of nobility based on race all while praising the stability of the foundational Daggoo. 

At the start of this scene, it is described that little King-Post (Flask) was “recklessly standing upon the top of the loggerhead” in hopes of satisfying his “large and tall ambition” (Melville 240). In a situation where these men are chasing their profits, it’s important to note that the ambitious yet little King-Post could not satisfy his desires by himself. Fortunately for him, his harpooner Daggoo “volunteered his lofty shoulders for a pedestal” (Melville 240). Daggoo’s volunteering of himself as a pedestal, or mast-head, recalls the generosity of “the rest of the world” and it can also be viewed as a reclamation of power. If we are to view this scene as a representation of the United States in the 1850s, Daggoo willingly offering himself directly goes against the subjugation of slaves’ labor. Daggoo is proud to offer himself as a mast-head because their unified work is what will lead to their success in this whale hunt.

Though there may be something to argue about Daggoo maintaining the status of an object, specifically one that lets the white man stand upon him, Melville proposes we change our minds about which position is praiseworthy. He writes:

But the sight of little Flask mounted upon gigantic Daggoo was yet more curious; for sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, unthought of, barbaric majesty, the noble negro to every roll of the sea harmoniously rolled his fine form. On his broad back, flaxen-haired Flask seemed a snow-flake. The bearer looked nobler than the rider. (Melville 241)

It would be easy to forget that this all occurs during their first chaotic whale hunt since Daggoo is described as “sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, unthought of, barbaric majesty.” Maintaining his posture on the small boat rocking against the rolling waves is a second nature to Daggoo; he is able to stand firm and support the little Flask in all his “barbaric majesty.” No longer is Flask referred to as little Kind-Post, now Daggoo receives the title of majesty. Melville uses his common trick of pairing opposing terms, barbaric and majesty, to overthrow the idea that they’re meant to be separate. He continues to use this honorific language as “the noble negro to every roll of the sea harmoniously rolled his fine form.” Again, Melville gives praise to the ones that not only withstand the pressure of nature and those they’re uplifting, but are in harmony with its flow. It’s no surprise that “the bearer looked nobler than the rider,” for Daggoo, and the many noble negroes enslaved by the majestic barbarians of nineteenth century America, were the pedestal that provided the stability that Flask and all the other snow-flakes relied on to satisfy their ambitions.

While Melville sings the praises of Daggoo, Flask seems to have fallen from grace. He was already stripped of his title of King-Post, but Melville only continues to mock the attitude of this snow-flake: “truly vivacious, tumultuous, ostentatious little Flask would now and then stamp with impatience; but not one added heave did he thereby give to the negro’s lordly chest. So have I seen Passion and Vanity stamping the living magnanimous earth, but the earth did not alter her tides and her seasons for that” (Melville 241). Flask seems to have now been reduced to a spoiled and bratty prince. He maintains his lively and obnoxious attitude, trying to lord over the boat, stamping with impatience, but his power has diminished. He knows how reliant he is in this situation too, as he does not dare add one heave to “the negro’s lordly chest.” Melville can’t help but sprinkle in more compliments for Daggoo, again referring to him as “lordly,” now bearing not only Flask, but his authority as well. Then Melville closes this scene with one last comparison for both men: Flask is assigned to the “Passion and Vanity” that stamps “the living magnanimous earth” that is Daggoo. The once lordly King-Post, now just a vain bundle of intense emotion and pride, can only try and stamp his desires upon the generous and forgiving Daggoo. But in this celebratory scene of Daggoo, we are presented with an alternative to the United States in which the noble negro refuses altering for the ones they bear on their backs.

In the context of their first frenzied chase of whales, it is important that Melville stops for a second to focus on this comedic scene of Flask and Daggoo. By positioning the mast-head Daggoo as noble, majestic, firm, and magnanimous, we are left to commend him rather than the ambitious, ostentatious, vain, snow-flake Flask. A whale boat in which the ambitions of the head are prioritized over the stability of the pedestal cannot even participate in the chase. The humbling mockery of Flask and glory given to Daggoo is a direct reversal of the narratives that have persisted since nineteenth century United States, in which the figureheads are praised while the people they stand upon are belittled, mocked, ignored, enslaved, and persecuted. 

Ultimately, Melville’s treatment of Daggoo here is how the working class should’ve always been treated. But from our country’s inception to the present, this established hierarchy has been used by those in power to ignore and vilify those at the bottom, ranging from our history of slavery to today’s targeting of the immigrants that are a vital part of this nation’s workforce. Recognizing this back in the nineteenth century, Melville proposes that we reconsider who is nobler between the bearers and the riders. Should we desire a different fate than the doomed Pequod, the United States needs to take after Melville and celebrate the ones before the mast, the ones that keep our nation afloat. 

Works Cited

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “The American Scholar.” 1837

Heimert, Alan. “Moby-Dick and American Political Symbolism.” American Quarterly, vol. 15, no. 4, 1963, pp. 498–534. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2710971. Accessed 16 Dec. 2025.

Melville, Herman, et al. Moby-Dick, Or, The Whale. Penguin Books, 2003.