- description
- # CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
## Overview
This is the first chapter of the novel [Moby-Dick; or, The Whale](arke:01KG8AJ9GN1K052QJEZVGKXJ0T), extracted from the file [moby_dick.txt](arke:01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6). It is part of the [Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW) collection. The chapter introduces the narrator, Ishmael, and his motivations for going to sea.
## Context
The chapter was extracted by a structure-extraction-lambda process. It follows a piece of [frontmatter](arke:01KG8AK4T0Q3JRSM86ZKMQ7S0D) and precedes [CHAPTER 2. The Carpet-Bag.](arke:01KG8AK4TB7JCH8KZ9RB07WSYB) in the novel's structure.
## Contents
The chapter consists of the opening lines of the novel, including the famous "Call me Ishmael." Ishmael describes his tendency to seek the sea as a remedy for melancholy and a substitute for more drastic measures. He reflects on the allure of the ocean for all men, particularly those living in the "insular city of the Manhattoes." He observes the crowds of "water-gazers" at the battery, highlighting the connection between the city and the sea.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T20:50:39.426Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
- end_line
- 842
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:54.524Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 817
- text
- CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having
little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me
on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part
of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and
regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about
the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever
I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and
bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever
my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral
principle to prevent 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 Cato throws himself upon his sword; I
quietly take to the ship. 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 with me.
There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted 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.
- title
- CHAPTER 1. Loomings.