Moby Dick; Or, The Whale

Skrimshander

Melville introduces the whaleman’s art of “scrimshander”—the elaborate carving of whale teeth, whalebone, and other maritime materials into intricate keepsakes and decorative objects. Throughout the Pacific and at American whaling ports like Nantucket, New Bedford, and Sag Harbor, one encounters lively sketches of whales and whaling scenes carved by the fishermen themselves. Some scrimshanders possess specialized dental-like tool kits for their craft, though most work with nothing more than their jack-knives—the sailor’ most versatile implement. With this singular tool, the whaleman demonstrates remarkable ingenuity, transforming rough ocean materials into objects of maritime fancy that reflect both technical skill and artistic vision.

The Savage’s Patience

Melville draws a philosophical parallel between the “savage” and the whaleman, arguing that long exile from civilization inevitably restores a man to primitive savagery. He declares himself as much a savage as any Iroquois, ready to rebel against the King of the Cannibals. The crucial characteristic of the savage in domestic hours, Melville observes, is wonderful patience of industry—a persistence demonstrated in Hawaiian war-clubs and spear-paddles of extraordinary intricacy, carved with nothing but broken sea-shells or sharks’ teeth over years of steady application. This same patience characterizes the white sailor-savage, who with his single poor jack-knife will carve bone sculptures as intricate in design as Achilles’ shield or Dürer’s prints, filled with barbaric spirit and suggestiveness.

Wooden Whales

Wooden whales carved in profile from dark slabs of South Sea war-wood appear frequently in the forecastles of American whaling vessels. Melville notes that some of these carvings display considerable accuracy in their representation of the whale’s form. These wooden whales served both as folk art and as expressions of the whaleman’s intimate familiarity with his quarry, crafted during the long hours of ocean leisure that characterized whaling life. The tradition of carving wooden whale figures demonstrates how whales pervaded every aspect of the whaleman’s existence, even the decorative objects that surrounded him in his working and living spaces.

Brass and Iron Whales

Beyond the whaleman’s own craft, whales appear in various functional architectural contexts. At old gable-roofed country houses, brass whales hang by their tails for use as door knockers—a placement Melville wryly suggests suits sleepy porters, as the anvil-headed whale would prove most effective for rousing them. However, these decorative whales are seldom notable for their faithfulness to nature. Similarly, sheet-iron whales appear on the spires of old-fashioned churches, serving as weather-cocks. Yet their great height and their implicit “Hands off!” warning prevent close examination of their artistic merit. These functional uses of whale imagery reveal how the creature had entered the broader cultural imagination, appearing in domestic and ecclesiastical architecture even when accuracy was sacrificed for utility.

Petrified Leviathans

In rocky, uneven regions where massive boulders lie scattered in fantastic groupings at the base of cliffs, Melville discovers images of petrified Leviathans. These natural rock formations, partly merged in grass, create the illusion of ancient whales embedded in the earth. On windy days, the grass breaks against these stone shapes like surf against a ship’s hull, completing the illusion of great creatures at rest. The landscape itself becomes a canvas upon which geological processes have painted whale-like forms, suggesting that the Leviathan’s presence pervades not only the ocean but the very substance of the earth itself.

Mountain Whale Profiles

In mountainous countries where the traveler remains constantly surrounded by amphitheatrical heights, fleeting glimpses of whale profiles occasionally emerge along undulating ridges from fortunate vantage points. Yet Melville cautions that one must be a thorough whaleman to perceive these sights. Moreover, if one wishes to return to such a view, one must precisely record the latitude and longitude of the observation point, for these mountain whale sightings are so chance-like that rediscovering the exact stand-point would otherwise require laborious effort. He compares this to the Solomon Islands, which despite being visited by Mendanna and chronicled by Figuera remain essentially unknown to modern geography—places glimpsed once and then lost to imprecise memory.