The Fountain

That for six thousand years—and no one knows how many millions of ages before—the great whales should have been spouting all over the sea, and sprinkling and mistifying the gardens of the deep, as with so many sprinkling or mistifying pots; and that for some centuries back, thousands of hunters should have been close by the fountain of the whale, watching these sprinklings and spoutings—that all this should be, and yet, that down to this blessed minute (fifteen and a quarter minutes past one o’clock P.M. of this sixteenth day of December, A.D. 1851), it should still remain a problem, whether these spoutings are, after all, really water, or nothing but vapor—this is surely a noteworthy thing.

For six thousand years, and for no one knows how many millions of ages before that, great whales have been spouting all over the sea. Like so many watering cans or misters, they have sprinkled and misted the gardens of the deep. For some centuries now, thousands of hunters have been close beside the whales’ fountains, watching them sprinkle and spout. Yet even at this blessed minute (fifteen and a quarter minutes past one in the afternoon on December 16, 1851), one question remains unanswered. Are the spouts really water, or are they nothing but vapor? That is surely a remarkable thing.

Let us, then, look at this matter, along with some interesting items contingent. Every one knows that by the peculiar cunning of their gills, the finny tribes in general breathe the air which at all times is combined with the element in which they swim; hence, a herring or a cod might live a century, and never once raise its head above the surface. But owing to his marked internal structure which gives him regular lungs, like a human being’s, the whale can only live by inhaling the disengaged air in the open atmosphere. Wherefore the necessity for his periodical visits to the upper world. But he cannot in any degree breathe through his mouth, for, in his ordinary attitude, the Sperm Whale’s mouth is buried at least eight feet beneath the surface; and what is still more, his windpipe has no connexion with his mouth. No, he breathes through his spiracle alone; and this is on the top of his head.

Let us look at this matter, along with some interesting related details. Everyone knows that fish generally breathe the air always present in the water, thanks to the ingenious design of their gills. So a herring or a cod might live a century without ever raising its head above the surface. But the whale has a distinctly different internal structure, with regular lungs like a human’s. It can live only by inhaling air from the open atmosphere. That is why it must visit the upper world from time to time. But the whale cannot breathe through its mouth at all. In its usual position, the Sperm Whale’s mouth is at least eight feet below the surface. What is more, its windpipe has no connection to its mouth. No, it breathes only through its spiracle, which is on top of its head.

If I say, that in any creature breathing is only a function indispensable to vitality, inasmuch as it withdraws from the air a certain element, which being subsequently brought into contact with the blood imparts to the blood its vivifying principle, I do not think I shall err; though I may possibly use some superfluous scientific words. Assume it, and it follows that if all the blood in a man could be aerated with one breath, he might then seal up his nostrils and not fetch another for a considerable time. That is to say, he would then live without breathing. Anomalous as it may seem, this is precisely the case with the whale, who systematically lives, by intervals, his full hour and more (when at the bottom) without drawing a single breath, or so much as in any way inhaling a particle of air; for, remember, he has no gills. How is this? Between his ribs and on each side of his spine he is supplied with a remarkable involved Cretan labyrinth of vermicelli-like vessels, which vessels, when he quits the surface, are completely distended with oxygenated blood. So that for an hour or more, a thousand fathoms in the sea, he carries a surplus stock of vitality in him, just as the camel crossing the waterless desert carries a surplus supply of drink for future use in its four supplementary stomachs. The anatomical fact of this labyrinth is indisputable; and that the supposition founded upon it is reasonable and true, seems the more cogent to me, when I consider the otherwise inexplicable obstinacy of that leviathan in having his spoutings out, as the fishermen phrase it. This is what I mean. If unmolested, upon rising to the surface, the Sperm Whale will continue there for a period of time exactly uniform with all his other unmolested risings. Say he stays eleven minutes, and jets seventy times, that is, respires seventy breaths; then whenever he rises again, he will be sure to have his seventy breaths over again, to a minute. Now, if after he fetches a few breaths you alarm him, so that he sounds, he will be always dodging up again to make good his regular allowance of air. And not till those seventy breaths are told, will he finally go down to stay out his full term below. Remark, however, that in different individuals these rates are different; but in any one they are alike. Now, why should the whale thus insist upon having his spoutings out, unless it be to replenish his reservoir of air, ere descending for good? How obvious is it, too, that this necessity for the whale’s rising exposes him to all the fatal hazards of the chase. For not by hook or by net could this vast leviathan be caught, when sailing a thousand fathoms beneath the sunlight. Not so much thy skill, then, O hunter, as the great necessities that strike the victory to thee!

If I say that breathing is simply a function essential to life in any creature, I do not think I am mistaken. Breathing draws a certain element from the air. When that element comes into contact with the blood, it gives the blood its life-giving power. I may, though, be using some unnecessary scientific words. Assuming this is true, it follows that a man might aerate all his blood with one breath. He could then seal his nostrils and go a considerable time without taking another breath. In other words, he would live without breathing. Strange as it may seem, this is precisely the case with the whale. At regular intervals, when at the bottom, he lives for a full hour or more without taking a single breath. He does not inhale even a particle of air in any way. Remember, he has no gills. How is this possible? Between his ribs and on each side of his spine, he has a remarkable, intricate Cretan labyrinth of vermicelli-like vessels. When he leaves the surface, these vessels are completely filled with oxygenated blood. So, for an hour or more, a thousand fathoms beneath the sea, he carries an extra store of life in him. In much the same way, a camel crossing a waterless desert carries extra drink for future use in its four supplementary stomachs. The existence of this anatomical labyrinth is indisputable. And another fact makes me more convinced that the theory based on it is reasonable and true. Otherwise, I cannot explain the leviathan’s stubborn insistence on having his spoutings out, as the fishermen call it. Here is what I mean. If left undisturbed, a Sperm Whale will spend exactly the same amount of time at the surface on every visit. Say he stays eleven minutes and spouts seventy times, which means he takes seventy breaths. Whenever he rises again, he will take his seventy breaths once more, within the same number of minutes. Now suppose you alarm him after he has taken a few breaths, so that he dives. He will keep darting back up to complete his usual allowance of air. Only after he has taken all seventy breaths will he finally go down for his full time below. Note, however, that these rates differ among individual whales. But for any one whale, they remain the same. Why would the whale insist on having his spoutings out, unless he needs to refill his air reservoir before diving for good? How obvious, too, that the whale’s need to rise exposes him to all the deadly dangers of the hunt. No hook or net could catch this vast leviathan as he swims a thousand fathoms below the sunlight. So it is not so much your skill, O hunter, as these great necessities that give you the victory!

In man, breathing is incessantly going on—one breath only serving for two or three pulsations; so that whatever other business he has to attend to, waking or sleeping, breathe he must, or die he will. But the Sperm Whale only breathes about one seventh or Sunday of his time.

A person breathes constantly, taking one breath for every two or three heartbeats. So whatever else he has to do, awake or asleep, he must breathe or die. But the Sperm Whale breathes for only about one seventh, or one Sunday, of his time.

It has been said that the whale only breathes through his spout-hole; if it could truthfully be added that his spouts are mixed with water, then I opine we should be furnished with the reason why his sense of smell seems obliterated in him; for the only thing about him that at all answers to his nose is that identical spout-hole; and being so clogged with two elements, it could not be expected to have the power of smelling. But owing to the mystery of the spout—whether it be water or whether it be vapor—no absolute certainty can as yet be arrived at on this head. Sure it is, nevertheless, that the Sperm Whale has no proper olfactories. But what does he want of them? No roses, no violets, no Cologne-water in the sea.

It has been said that the whale breathes only through his spout-hole. If we could truthfully add that his spouts contain water, I think we would have an explanation. It would explain why his sense of smell seems to have disappeared. The only thing he has that resembles a nose at all is that same spout-hole. If it were clogged with two elements, it could not be expected to smell. But the spout remains a mystery. Is it water or vapor? Until we know, we cannot be absolutely certain about his sense of smell. Still, it is certain that the Sperm Whale has no proper organs of smell. But what does he need them for? There are no roses, no violets, no Cologne-water in the sea.

Furthermore, as his windpipe solely opens into the tube of his spouting canal, and as that long canal—like the grand Erie Canal—is furnished with a sort of locks (that open and shut) for the downward retention of air or the upward exclusion of water, therefore the whale has no voice; unless you insult him by saying, that when he so strangely rumbles, he talks through his nose. But then again, what has the whale to say? Seldom have I known any profound being that had anything to say to this world, unless forced to stammer out something by way of getting a living. Oh! happy that the world is such an excellent listener!

Furthermore, the whale’s windpipe opens only into his spouting canal. Like the grand Erie Canal, this long canal has a kind of locks that open and shut. They keep air from escaping downward or water from entering upward. Because of this, the whale has no voice. That is, unless you insult him by saying that, when he rumbles so strangely, he talks through his nose. But then again, what does the whale have to say? I have seldom known a profound being who had anything to say to this world, unless forced to stammer out something to make a living. Oh, how fortunate that the world is such an excellent listener!

Now, the spouting canal of the Sperm Whale, chiefly intended as it is for the conveyance of air, and for several feet laid along, horizontally, just beneath the upper surface of his head, and a little to one side; this curious canal is very much like a gas-pipe laid down in a city on one side of a street. But the question returns whether this gas-pipe is also a water-pipe; in other words, whether the spout of the Sperm Whale is the mere vapor of the exhaled breath, or whether that exhaled breath is mixed with water taken in at the mouth, and discharged through the spiracle. It is certain that the mouth indirectly communicates with the spouting canal; but it cannot be proved that this is for the purpose of discharging water through the spiracle. Because the greatest necessity for so doing would seem to be, when in feeding he accidentally takes in water. But the Sperm Whale’s food is far beneath the surface, and there he cannot spout even if he would. Besides, if you regard him very closely, and time him with your watch, you will find that when unmolested, there is an undeviating rhyme between the periods of his jets and the ordinary periods of respiration.

The Sperm Whale’s spouting canal is mainly meant to carry air. For several feet, it runs horizontally just beneath the upper surface of his head, a little to one side. This curious canal is much like a gas pipe laid under one side of a city street. But the question returns: is this gas pipe also a water pipe? In other words, is the Sperm Whale’s spout merely the vapor of his exhaled breath? Or is that breath mixed with water taken in at the mouth and discharged through the blowhole? It is certain that the mouth connects indirectly with the spouting canal. But we cannot prove that this connection allows water to be discharged through the blowhole. The greatest need to discharge water would seem to arise when the whale accidentally takes it in while feeding. But the Sperm Whale’s food is far beneath the surface, and there he cannot spout even if he wants to. Besides, if you watch him closely and time him with your watch, you will notice something. When left undisturbed, the timing of his jets matches the ordinary rhythm of his breathing without fail.

But why pester one with all this reasoning on the subject? Speak out! You have seen him spout; then declare what the spout is; can you not tell water from air? My dear sir, in this world it is not so easy to settle these plain things. I have ever found your plain things the knottiest of all. And as for this whale spout, you might almost stand in it, and yet be undecided as to what it is precisely.

But why bother someone with all this reasoning about the subject? Speak up! You have seen the whale spout, so say what the spout is. Can’t you tell water from air? My dear sir, in this world, such simple things are not so easy to settle. I have always found simple things the most complicated of all. And as for the whale’s spout, you could almost stand in it and still be unsure exactly what it is.

The central body of it is hidden in the snowy sparkling mist enveloping it; and how can you certainly tell whether any water falls from it, when, always, when you are close enough to a whale to get a close view of his spout, he is in a prodigious commotion, the water cascading all around him. And if at such times you should think that you really perceived drops of moisture in the spout, how do you know that they are not merely condensed from its vapor; or how do you know that they are not those identical drops superficially lodged in the spout-hole fissure, which is countersunk into the summit of the whale’s head? For even when tranquilly swimming through the mid-day sea in a calm, with his elevated hump sun-dried as a dromedary’s in the desert; even then, the whale always carries a small basin of water on his head, as under a blazing sun you will sometimes see a cavity in a rock filled up with rain.

The center of the spout is hidden in the snowy, sparkling mist around it. How can you be sure any water falls from it? Whenever you are close enough to a whale to see his spout clearly, he is thrashing about wildly. Water cascades all around him. And if, at such times, you think you see drops of water in the spout, how do you know they have not simply condensed from its vapor? Or how do you know they are not the very drops lying in the slit of the blowhole, which is recessed into the top of the whale’s head? Even when a whale swims peacefully through a calm sea at midday, his raised hump is sun-dried like a dromedary’s in the desert. Even then, he always carries a small pool of water on his head. In the same way, you will sometimes see a hollow in a rock filled with rainwater under a blazing sun.

Nor is it at all prudent for the hunter to be over curious touching the precise nature of the whale spout. It will not do for him to be peering into it, and putting his face in it. You cannot go with your pitcher to this fountain and fill it, and bring it away. For even when coming into slight contact with the outer, vapory shreds of the jet, which will often happen, your skin will feverishly smart, from the acridness of the thing so touching it. And I know one, who coming into still closer contact with the spout, whether with some scientific object in view, or otherwise, I cannot say, the skin peeled off from his cheek and arm. Wherefore, among whalemen, the spout is deemed poisonous; they try to evade it. Another thing; I have heard it said, and I do not much doubt it, that if the jet is fairly spouted into your eyes, it will blind you. The wisest thing the investigator can do then, it seems to me, is to let this deadly spout alone.

Nor is it wise for a hunter to be too curious about exactly what a whale’s spout is made of. He should not peer into it or put his face in it. You cannot take your pitcher to this fountain, fill it, and carry it away. Even slight contact with the outer wisps of spray will make your skin burn, because the spray is so irritating. Such contact will often happen. I know one man who came even closer to the spout, and the skin peeled off his cheek and arm. I cannot say whether he approached it for some scientific purpose or for another reason. So whalemen consider the spout poisonous and try to avoid it. I have also heard that if the jet sprays directly into your eyes, it will blind you. I do not much doubt it. So, it seems to me, the wisest thing an investigator can do is leave this deadly spout alone.

Still, we can hypothesize, even if we cannot prove and establish. My hypothesis is this: that the spout is nothing but mist. And besides other reasons, to this conclusion I am impelled, by considerations touching the great inherent dignity and sublimity of the Sperm Whale; I account him no common, shallow being, inasmuch as it is an undisputed fact that he is never found on soundings, or near shores; all other whales sometimes are. He is both ponderous and profound. And I am convinced that from the heads of all ponderous profound beings, such as Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a certain semi-visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts. While composing a little treatise on Eternity, I had the curiosity to place a mirror before me; and ere long saw reflected there, a curious involved worming and undulation in the atmosphere over my head. The invariable moisture of my hair, while plunged in deep thought, after six cups of hot tea in my thin shingled attic, of an August noon; this seems an additional argument for the above supposition.

Still, we can form hypotheses, even if we cannot prove them. My hypothesis is that the spout is nothing but mist. Among other reasons, I reach this conclusion because of the Sperm Whale's great natural dignity and grandeur. I consider him no ordinary, shallow creature. It is an undisputed fact that he is never found in shallow waters or near shores. All other whales are sometimes found there. He is both massive and profound. I am convinced that a faintly visible steam always rises from the heads of all massive, profound beings. This happens when they are thinking deep thoughts. Such beings include Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on. While writing a short treatise on Eternity, I grew curious and placed a mirror in front of me. Before long, I saw the air above my head reflected in the mirror. It was twisting and rippling in a curious, complicated way. My hair is always damp when I am lost in deep thought after six cups of hot tea. This happens at noon in August, in my thin-walled, shingled attic. That seems to be further evidence for my theory.

And how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that vapor—as you will sometimes see it—glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts. For, d’ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapor. And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye.

How greatly our opinion of the mighty, misty monster rises when we see him sailing solemnly through a calm tropical sea. A canopy of vapor hangs over his huge, gentle head, born from thoughts he cannot share. Sometimes that vapor shines with a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal on his thoughts. You see, rainbows do not appear in clear air. They shine only through vapor. And so, through the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, lighting my fog with a heavenly ray. I thank God for this. For all have doubts, and many deny, but few have intuitions along with their doubts or denials. Doubts about all earthly things, and intuitions about some heavenly things: together, these make a man neither a believer nor an unbeliever, but someone who regards both with an equal eye.