Chapter 1 The Spouter Inn Call Me Ishmael Some years ago, I was in need of work.
I had no plans for my life and no real home, so I decided to go to sea and see some of the world.
I had done this before.
Whenever I feel a bit low or that life is too hard, I get work on a ship.
Otherwise, I get too restless.
I may find myself walking into the street and knocking people's hats off.
I doubt that I am the only man who feels this way.
If you are in a city near the ocean, you will see hundreds of people gazing at the water.
I cannot understand how some can work in an office.
I need freedom and the open sea or I would go mad.
Men like me cannot resist the pull of the sea.
We would spend our last dime for a trip to the beach.
We would walk through a desert to reach a shore.
We are always happiest on a ship when there is no land in sight.
I never go to sea as a passenger, though.
A passenger needs money to buy a ticket.
A passenger gets seasick and complains about the service.
No, when I go to sea, I go as a sailor.
I stuffed a shirt or two in my bag, tucked it under my arm, and headed toward the Atlantic Ocean.
I arrived in the town of New Bedford too late.
The last boat to the island of Nantucket was gone.
I was very disappointed.
I was determined to find employment on a Nantucket ship.
Nantucket whaling ships were the finest heading out to sea.
Nantucket was also the oldest whaling port in America.
I wanted to be a part of that history and would not settle for second best.
Fishing for whales, called whaling, was a big industry back then.
Whale blubber was used for oil in lamps.
Everyone needed oil lamps to see at night.
The oil was even used in street lamps.
Hundreds of ships sailed each year looking for whales.
They sailed all over the world and were gone for several years at a time.
It was hard work, but I wanted to know that adventure.
The next boat to Nantucket didn't leave for another two days.
I knew no one in New Bedford.
I would need to find a place to stay and something to eat, so I walked toward the water, where cheaper hotels would surely be found.
At last, I found the Spouter Inn.
The sign said the owner was named Peter Coffin.
The building was leaning to one side.
The old sign creaked loudly in the wind.
It certainly didn't look like a nice hotel, but it looked perfect for me.
The inside of the hotel was almost as run down as the outside.
The wallpaper was worn and faded.
The furniture was tattered.
It reminded me of the insides of a condemned ship.
On one wall, there was a large oil painting.
It was so dirty and damaged by years of smoke that you could not tell what the picture was.
It appeared to be a black mass over another black mass.
I stared at it for some time.
I finally realized it was a picture of a whale, the great monster of the deep.
The opposite wall was covered with harpoons and spears.
These are tools that a whaler uses.
I wondered what stories these tools could tell.
Where had they traveled?
Which whalers had used them?
I walked through the dusty lobby.
There were more display cases with treasures from far-off lands.
I stopped in my tracks when I looked into a side room.
There was a whale's jawbone.
It was so large that a horse and buggy could have passed through.
I was still staring in amazement when a very old man entered the room, told him I was looking for a room before I traveled to Nantucket.
You don't have any objections to sharing with a harpooner, do you?
He asked.
If you're going whaling, you'll have to get used to it anyway.
This is why you're going to Nantucket, isn't it?
For whaling?
I don't really like sharing a bed, I said, but if that's all you have and the harpooner is a decent fellow,
Good, the landlord said.
Do you want supper?
It will be here in a minute.
He walked out of the room.
I was left alone with my thoughts.
I wondered what would happen next and what might be served for supper.
