The Street

If I had been astonished at first catching a glimpse of so outlandish an individual as Queequeg circulating among the polite society of a civilized town, that astonishment soon departed upon taking my first daylight stroll through the streets of New Bedford.

At first, I was astonished to glimpse someone as unusual as Queequeg among the polite society of a civilized town. But that astonishment soon faded when I first walked through the streets of New Bedford in daylight.

In thoroughfares nigh the docks, any considerable seaport will frequently offer to view the queerest looking nondescripts from foreign parts. Even in Broadway and Chestnut streets, Mediterranean mariners will sometimes jostle the affrighted ladies. Regent Street is not unknown to Lascars and Malays; and at Bombay, in the Apollo Green, live Yankees have often scared the natives. But New Bedford beats all Water Street and Wapping. In these last-mentioned haunts you see only sailors; but in New Bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting at street corners; savages outright; many of whom yet carry on their bones unholy flesh. It makes a stranger stare.

On streets near the docks, any large seaport will often display the strangest-looking people from foreign lands. Even on Broadway and Chestnut Street, Mediterranean sailors sometimes bump into frightened ladies. Lascars and Malays can be seen on Regent Street. And in Bombay, at the Apollo Green, live Yankees have often scared the natives. But New Bedford beats all of Water Street and Wapping. In those places you see only sailors. But in New Bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting on street corners. They are outright savages, many of whom still carry unholy flesh on their bones. It makes a stranger stare.

But, besides the Feegeeans, Tongatobooarrs, Erromanggoans, Pannangians, and Brighggians, and, besides the wild specimens of the whaling-craft which unheeded reel about the streets, you will see other sights still more curious, certainly more comical. There weekly arrive in this town scores of green Vermonters and New Hampshire men, all athirst for gain and glory in the fishery. They are mostly young, of stalwart frames; fellows who have felled forests, and now seek to drop the axe and snatch the whale-lance. Many are as green as the Green Mountains whence they came. In some things you would think them but a few hours old. Look there! that chap strutting round the corner. He wears a beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat, girdled with a sailor-belt and sheath-knife. Here comes another with a sou’-wester and a bombazine cloak.

Besides the Feegeeans, Tongatobooarrs, Erromanggoans, Pannangians, and Brighggians, wild-looking whalers stagger unnoticed through the streets. But you will see other sights that are even stranger, and certainly more comical. Every week, scores of inexperienced men from Vermont and New Hampshire arrive in town, all eager for wealth and glory in whaling. Most are young and strongly built. They have felled forests, and now they want to put down the axe and take up the whale-lance. Many are as green as the Green Mountains they came from. In some ways, you would think they were only a few hours old. Look there! That fellow strutting around the corner wears a beaver hat and a swallow-tailed coat, with a sailor’s belt and sheath knife. Here comes another wearing a sou’wester and a bombazine cloak.

No town-bred dandy will compare with a country-bred one—I mean a downright bumpkin dandy—a fellow that, in the dog-days, will mow his two acres in buckskin gloves for fear of tanning his hands. Now when a country dandy like this takes it into his head to make a distinguished reputation, and joins the great whale-fishery, you should see the comical things he does upon reaching the seaport. In bespeaking his sea-outfit, he orders bell-buttons to his waistcoats; straps to his canvas trowsers. Ah, poor Hay-Seed! how bitterly will burst those straps in the first howling gale, when thou art driven, straps, buttons, and all, down the throat of the tempest.

No city dandy can compare with a country dandy. I mean a real bumpkin of a dandy, the kind who mows two acres wearing buckskin gloves. He even wears them in the hottest days of summer, for fear of tanning his hands. Now imagine a country dandy like this decides to make a name for himself and joins the great whale fishery. You should see the comical things he does when he reaches the seaport. When ordering his gear for the voyage, he asks for bell-shaped buttons on his vests and straps on his canvas trousers. Ah, poor Hay-Seed! How cruelly those straps will burst in the first howling gale, when the tempest swallows you whole, straps, buttons, and all.

But think not that this famous town has only harpooneers, cannibals, and bumpkins to show her visitors. Not at all. Still New Bedford is a queer place. Had it not been for us whalemen, that tract of land would this day perhaps have been in as howling condition as the coast of Labrador. As it is, parts of her back country are enough to frighten one, they look so bony. The town itself is perhaps the dearest place to live in, in all New England. It is a land of oil, true enough: but not like Canaan; a land, also, of corn and wine. The streets do not run with milk; nor in the spring-time do they pave them with fresh eggs. Yet, in spite of this, nowhere in all America will you find more patrician-like houses; parks and gardens more opulent, than in New Bedford. Whence came they? how planted upon this once scraggy scoria of a country?

But do not think this famous town offers visitors only harpooners, cannibals, and country bumpkins. Not at all. Even so, New Bedford is a strange place. Without us whalemen, this stretch of land might still be as wild as the coast of Labrador. Even now, parts of the countryside behind the town look so bare and bony that they could frighten you. The town itself is perhaps the most expensive place to live in all New England. It is a land of oil, certainly. But unlike Canaan, it is not also a land of corn and wine. Its streets do not run with milk. Nor are they paved with fresh eggs in spring. Yet nowhere in all America will you find more aristocratic houses or more lavish parks and gardens than in New Bedford. Where did they come from? How did they take root in this once scraggy, barren land?

Go and gaze upon the iron emblematical harpoons round yonder lofty mansion, and your question will be answered. Yes; all these brave houses and flowery gardens came from the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. One and all, they were harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea. Can Herr Alexander perform a feat like that?

Go and look at the symbolic iron harpoons around that grand mansion, and your question will be answered. Yes, all these fine houses and flower gardens came from the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. Every one of them was harpooned and dragged up here from the bottom of the sea. Can Herr Alexander perform a feat like that?

In New Bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters, and portion off their nieces with a few porpoises a-piece. You must go to New Bedford to see a brilliant wedding; for, they say, they have reservoirs of oil in every house, and every night recklessly burn their lengths in spermaceti candles.

In New Bedford, they say, fathers give their daughters whales as wedding dowries and each of their nieces a few porpoises. You must go to New Bedford to see a dazzling wedding. For they say every house has reservoirs of oil, and every night people recklessly burn their own height in spermaceti candles.

In summer time, the town is sweet to see; full of fine maples—long avenues of green and gold. And in August, high in air, the beautiful and bountiful horse-chestnuts, candelabra-wise, proffer the passer-by their tapering upright cones of congregated blossoms. So omnipotent is art; which in many a district of New Bedford has superinduced bright terraces of flowers upon the barren refuse rocks thrown aside at creation’s final day.

In summer, the town is lovely to see, with fine maples lining long avenues in green and gold. In August, the beautiful, abundant horse-chestnuts offer passersby their tall, tapering cones of clustered blossoms. High in the air, the blossoms stand like candles on a candelabra. Such is the power of human skill. In many parts of New Bedford, it has created bright terraces of flowers on barren rocks. Those rocks were cast aside on the final day of creation.

And the women of New Bedford, they bloom like their own red roses. But roses only bloom in summer; whereas the fine carnation of their cheeks is perennial as sunlight in the seventh heavens. Elsewhere match that bloom of theirs, ye cannot, save in Salem, where they tell me the young girls breathe such musk, their sailor sweethearts smell them miles off shore, as though they were drawing nigh the odorous Moluccas instead of the Puritanic sands.

And the women of New Bedford bloom like their own red roses. But roses bloom only in summer. The lovely pink of their cheeks lasts all year, like sunlight in the seventh heaven. You cannot find a bloom like theirs anywhere else, except in Salem. There, I am told, the young girls give off such a musky scent that their sailor sweethearts smell them miles offshore. It is as if the sailors were approaching the fragrant Moluccas instead of the Puritan sands.