CHAPTER 1 Loomings. Call me Ishmael. Some

me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking

people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get

to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish

There is nothing surprising in this. If they

but knew it, almost all men

in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean

round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs--commerce

surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take

you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by

breezes, which a few

hours previous were out of sight of

land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there. Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties

Slip,

and from thence, by Whitehall, northward.

What do you see?--Posted like silent sentinels

all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the

spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking

over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high

aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days

pent up in lath and plaster--tied to

counters, nailed to benches, clinched to

desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?

But

shady

lee of yonder warehouses

will not suffice. No.

They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand--miles of them--leagues.

Inlanders all, they come from lanes

one it carries

you down in

a dale, and

leaves you there by a pool in the

stream. There is

magic in it.

of men

feet
a-going, and

infallibly lead you to water, if water there


	be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American

	desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor.

	Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever. But here is

an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in

shepherd's head, yet

all were vain, unless the shepherd's eye were

fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June, when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep

is not a drop of

water there! Were Niagara

of sand, would you travel

poor poet of Tennessee, upon

of silver, deliberate

whether to buy him a
coat, which he sadly needed,

or invest his money in a

almost every robust

healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy

to go to sea?

as a passenger, did you yourself

holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate

deity, and own brother

of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still

deeper the meaning of that

story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he

saw

in the

fountain, plunged into		it and		was drowned.	But
that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans.	It is the image of	the ungraspable phantom of life; and this		is the key to it all.	Now, when I say

deck.

their leaders in many other

one else. And, doubtless,

programme of Providence that was

drawn

up a long time ago.

It came in

	as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the
	bill must have run something like this: "GRAND CONTESTED ELECTION FOR THE PRESIDENCY OF THE UNITED STATES. "WHALING VOYAGE
	BY ONE ISHMAEL. "BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN." Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates,

in genteel

this

recall

think

the

the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and

Inlanders all, they come from lanes

Once more.

you down in

stream. There is

of men

in the

deck.

in genteel

this

recall

think

the