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I . Call Me Ishmael Call me Ishmael . Some years ago , I had very little money in my pocket , and life on land seemed grey and dull to me . Whenever I felt like that , I always did the same thing . I went to sea . I think many people feel this pull towards the water . Walk down to any harbour on a Sunday afternoon , and you will see crowds of people there . They stand quietly by the water and look out to sea , like people in a dream . I never went to sea as a passenger , because passengers have to pay . I always went as a simple sailor , because sailors get paid . This time , however , I wanted something new . I wanted to go on a whaling voyage , a long journey to hunt whales . Why ? I cannot fully explain it even now . Perhaps it was the great whale himself . I wanted to see that huge , mysterious animal with my own eyes , in the wild and distant seas where he lived . So I put a few shirts into my old carpet - bag , and I left New York . It was a cold Saturday night in December when I arrived in New Bedford . I wanted to sail from Nantucket , a small island near the coast . It was the oldest home of American whaling . But the little boat to Nantucket was not leaving until Monday , so I had to find a bed for two nights . I did not have much money , so I walked past the bright , expensive hotels . The streets were dark and icy , and the wind cut through my coat . At last , near the water , I saw a weak light and an old wooden sign . On the sign there was a picture of a tall jet of mist . It was the spout of a whale . When a whale comes up to breathe , it blows a cloud of warm , wet air high above the water . Sailors call this the spout . Under the picture were the words “ The Spouter - Inn : Peter Coffin ” . “ Coffin ? ” I thought . “ That’s not a very cheerful name . But the place looks cheap , and it will do for me . ” Inside , the inn was dark and low , like the inside of an old ship . On the walls there were old harpoons and other strange weapons . A harpoon is a long , heavy spear with a sharp iron point . Whalers throw it into a whale , and a long rope is tied to it . Some of these harpoons were bent and broken . I asked the landlord for a room . “ The house is full , ” said Peter Coffin . “ There isn’t a free bed in the place . ” Then he looked at me thoughtfully . “ But you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with a harpooneer , would you ? You’re going whaling , so you’d better get used to that sort of thing . ” A harpooneer is the man in a whaling boat who throws the harpoon . I did not like the idea of sharing a bed with a stranger . But it was late and very cold , and I had nowhere else to go . So I said yes .
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