CHAPTER 1. Loomings.

My name is Ishmael. A few years ago, broke and bored with life ashore, I set off to explore the waters of the world. It’s my way of beating the blues and getting my heart pumping. There are times when my soul feels like a drizzly November. There are times I become obsessed with funerals, window-shopping for my own coffin. There are times when I want to knock off a strangers hat, just to start a fight. These are the times when I know I must go to sea. Where others may dramatically commit suicide, I quietly take to the ship. I’m sure that almost all men would feel the same as me, if they knew the call of the ocean.

Standing here, in Manhattan, all streets lead to the water. The bustle of trade, brought from the sea; wharves surround the city as coral reefs surround the islands of the Caribbean. People crowd by the breakwater to gaze at the waves and feel the winds that have never touched land until now. Wander along the banks of the East River on a lazy Sunday; from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, to Whitehall and then North. What do you see? Thousands of men, standing like statues; dreaming of the sea. Some lean against the piles. Some sit at the end of the pier. Some stare at the sides of ships from China. And some climb high into the ship’s rigging, as if striving to get a better look at the sea. But these are all landsmen. Those who spend their weekdays as carpenters and builders, shopkeepers and clerks. Why are they here? Are the green fields gone?

Look! Here come more crowds; heading straight for the water, as if to dive in. Strange! They are not happy until they reach the very edge of land. The shade of the warehouses lining the water is not enough. No, they must get just as close to the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand, as far as the eye can see. They come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues, North and South, East and West. Here they all unite, as though drawn by the magnetic effect of all the ship’s compasses. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Walk in any direction you like, and ten to one you’ll wander down a hillside and end up by a stream. It’s like magic; take an absent-minded man, deep in thought, and start him walking. If there is water nearby, he will lead you to it. Remember this, and try it, if you’re ever lost in the desert with one.