Moby Dick; Or, The Whale

The Water-Gazers of Manhattan

Turning his attention to New York City, Ishmael describes Manhattan as an “insular city” surrounded by commerce, with streets leading “waterward.” He observes crowds of people drawn to the waterfront, particularly on Sundays, standing like “silent sentinels” in reveries. These water-gazers include laborers confined to desks and counters during the week who now seek the “extremest limit of the land.” Ishmael muses on why people must get as close to the water as possible without falling in, asking whether “the magnetic virtue of the needles of all those ships” attracts them. The passage suggests a universal human draw toward water, uniting people from “lanes and alleys, streets and avenues—north, east, south, and west” in shared contemplation of the sea.

The Inescapable Magic of Water

Ishmael explores the deep connection between human consciousness and water through several illustrative examples. He notes that if a person follows almost any path in the countryside, they will inevitably “find water, if water there be in all that region,” suggesting that water exerts a mystical pull on the absent-minded. Similarly, a painter seeking to create the most enchanting landscape must include “the magic stream before him” for the scene to have meaning. He asks why a poet in Tennessee, upon receiving money, would debate between buying a needed coat or making a trip to Rockaway Beach. The answer lies in the symbolic significance of water: Ishmael connects the Greek veneration of the sea, the Persian holding it “holy,” and the myth of Narcissus to argue that water represents “the image of the ungraspable phantom of life”—the key to understanding human yearning.

Choosing the Role of a Simple Sailor

Ishmael clarifies that he always goes to sea “as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle,” rather than as a passenger, captain, or cook. Being a passenger requires money and leads to discomfort, while commanding positions bring unwanted responsibility and “honorable respectable toils.” Though he admits there is “considerable glory” in being a cook, he never fancied that occupation. As a common sailor, he submits to the orders of sea-captains who “thump and punch” him about, but he finds satisfaction in knowing “it is all right”—that everyone is “served in much the same way.” He values the “wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck” and the dignity of being paid for his labor, observing that “there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid.” He draws wisdom from Stoic philosophy to endure the indignities of his rank, ultimately accepting the “universal thump” that passes through all humanity.

The Grand Programme of a Whaling Voyage

The chapter concludes with Ishmael’s explanation of why he specifically chose a whaling voyage, suggesting it was part of a grand “programme of Providence” drawn up by the Fates. While others were cast for “magnificent parts in high tragedies” or “jolly parts in farces,” he was assigned the “shabby part of a whaling voyage.” Ishmael believes the Fates secretly influenced him, presenting motives “under various disguises” while making him believe it was “a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill.” Chief among these inducements was “the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself”—a “portentous and mysterious monster” whose “undeliverable, nameless perils” captivated him. The wild seas, the attending marvels, and an “everlasting itch for things remote” all swayed him toward this dangerous voyage, opening the “great flood-gates of the wonder-world” where “endless processions of the whale” floated into his soul, culminating in the image of one “grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.”

KAPITEL 2. The Carpet-Bag.

Ishmael packs a carpet-bag with shirts and departs from New York for Cape Horn and the Pacific, arriving in New Bedford on a Saturday night in December only to discover that the Nantucket packet has already sailed. He decides to wait two nights for the next departure, expressing a firm preference for sailing on a Nantucket vessel because of his admiration for the island’s storied whaling heritage. After checking his meager funds, he walks through dark, cold streets past expensive-looking inns, eventually wandering toward the cheaper waterfront establishments. He mistakenly enters a negro church during a fiery sermon about damnation, then finally discovers “The Spouter Inn” run by Peter Coffin—a dilapidated building on a bleak corner that promises both cheap lodging and hot coffee.