Moby Dick - Herman Melville

Chapter One

The Tattooed Harpooner

Call me Ishmael. Teaching school is my
profession. But from time to time I feel a
great need for more adventure. When that
yearning comes over me, I leave my
classroom and go to sea. There is something
about the open seas that lifts up my spirits
when I am feeling down.
I had never gone to sea as an officer or
even as a cook, but as a common sailor.
Some years ago I gained some experience
in the merchant service. But this time I
hungered for even more adventure: I wanted
to become a whale hunter.
I knew there was good money in the
trade. But that was not the only reason I
wanted to go whaling. I must confess that I
was interested in the whales themselves.
They were such fascinating brutes. They seemed both mysterious and magnificent.
Once I made up my mind to go, I stuffed
a couple of shirts into my knapsack. And
although I had only a handful of coins in
my pocket, I started off.
It was on a stormy Saturday night in
December when I arrived in the coastal town
of New Bedford. An icy wind chased me up
and down the narrow streets as I searched
for a place to stay. I shivered, as much from
the silence as from the chill. The town
seemed as cold and lonely as a tomb. My
dark mood was no way to begin an
adventure, but I could not shake myself free
of it. Still, here I was. One way or another I
had to find a room for the night.
The first lodging houses I passed seemed
much too fancy and costly. I fingered the
few coins in my pocket and hurried on down
the street. At last I reached the docks. A
strong smell of fish was in the air. I could
hear the cold, dark water slapping the sides
of ships and lapping at the wooden docks.
This was a poorer part of town. There
were no street lamps to light my way.
Shivering again, I pulled my coat closer
around me. Then ahead I saw a dim light in
the window of an old building. The sign over
the door read The Spouter Inn—Peter
Coffin, proprietor. What a name for a
landlord in this dark place! Still, I had
nowhere else to go, and it looked as if I
could afford to stay here.
The door was open, so I walked right in.
Just beyond the entry hall was the common
room. In the dim light I could make out a
few tables and chairs. Across the room a
weak fire burned in the fireplace, sending
out more smoke than heat or light. On the
wall over the fireplace hung a painting of a
whale attacking a ship. Years of smoke from
the fire had darkened the painting. But I
could still make out the gigantic monster of
the deep looming out of the water over the
ship. I thought about my business in that
town and shivered a little.
Another wall in the common room was
decorated with a collection of whalers’
tools. I saw harpoons, clubs, and spears. It
wasn’t a very cheerful room, but at least I was out of the cold and gloomy weather.
A few men sat about, talking and
drinking. I found the landlord, Peter Coffin,
and asked him for a room.
“Sorry, we’re full up,” he said. Then, as
I started to turn away, he called me back.
“Wait! You don’t mind sharing a bed with a
harpooner, do you?”
“I’d rather sleep alone,” I said, “but if
that’s all you’ve got, I’ll take it.”
When the landlord asked if I wanted a
meal, I was quick to answer yes. Before
long, Mr. Coffin called out, “Grub, ho!” and
all the men crowded around a long table in
the dining room. Having no fireplace, this
room was as cold as a North Atlantic
iceberg. But when the food was served, we
all found it good and hot.
After dinner, I asked the landlord if the
harpooner had come in yet. Oddly enough,
all the other men at the table stopped
talking. They looked from me to the landlord
with keen interest.
Peter Coffin grinned and shook his head.
“No, he’s not come in just yet. Perhaps he’s having some trouble selling his head.”
“His what?” I cried out. “Did you say he
was trying to sell his head?”
“That’s right,” said the landlord. “I told
him he couldn’t sell it in New Bedford. The
market here is overstocked.”
“Now see here,” I said firmly, “save your
tall tales for someone else. I’m not a stupid,
know-nothing greenhorn.”
The landlord and the other sailors burst
out laughing. This annoyed me even more,
since I could not guess what was so funny.
Finally Mr. Coffin took a breath. “Well,” he
said, “this harpooner just arrived from the
South Seas. That’s where he got the
shrunken heads. He’s sold all but one.”
That did it! I decided I wouldn’t wait up
for the harpooner. I might have to share a
bed with him, but I didn’t want to talk to
him. I climbed the stairs to the room we
would share, undressed, and lay down on the
wide bed.
At first I had a hard time falling asleep,
but I must have dozed off. Then suddenly I
heard footsteps outside the room. The door banged open and an enormous man walked
in! The flickering light of the bedside candle
outlined his bulky form.
He was a giant of a man. And oh, what a
face! He was not actually bad-looking, but
his deeply tanned skin was tattooed all over
with strange designs. When he took off his
coat, I could see even more tattoos on his
arms and chest. His head was bald except
for a long black topknot.
Good heavens, I thought, was I sharing
the bed with a cannibal? Drawing the covers over my head, I could hear the harpooner
humming to himself as he got ready for bed.
He didn’t seem to notice me. Had Peter
Coffin forgotten to tell him that I was there?
I felt the bed sag a little as he crawled under
the covers. Then, in the next moment, the
tattooed man looked in my face, yanked the
covers off, and let out a terrible cry.

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