The women of New Bedford, Ishmael informs us, bloom only in summer and their bloom is unmatched everywhere except in Salem, where
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.
Is this some elaborate, juvenile joke whereby Ishmael means to say that women smell like fish ? Or that for all they look to be of an entirely different species—the pale, blue-eyed Puritan species, they smell just the same as the darker girls in the Spice islands? He is speaking of ambergris, which was obtained from Sperm whales and used by perfumers after it had aged. When it first comes out of the whale’s gastrointestinal tract, it smells like faeces.
Like the women of New Bedford, the women of Spanish Wells also seem to bloom only in summer, and when they are young, they appear to do very little other than strike fetching poses while seated next to young men driving boats. For example, as we exited Channel Cut—which is nerve-wracking because the current rushing through it is so strong, and the channel between the coral on both sides so narrow, that it is only safe to go through it at slack tide— we saw a small fishing boat come roaring out behind us. The young man standing on the bow, with one hand locked into the painter as though he were riding a bronco, the other ready with a spear, could have been one of the Pequod’s crew. The other young man at the helm steered the tiny craft straight into the waves with what seemed an insane speed. And the girl? She just sat there, utterly passive, indifferent to the brave action around her, completely useless! She might as well have been a statue. And so common! I found it very strange that I did not see a single woman driving a boat, not even a dinghy.
Ishmael takes a stroll around New Bedford and admires the strangers from distant shores he sees there: “actual cannibals chatting at street corners; savages outright; many of whom carry on their bones unholy flesh.” I wonder if vegans look at those of us who rejoice as we sink our teeth into bloody, red flesh, find it amazing that we, too, walk around in public, unhindered? Do they regard us as savages? But that is the point Melville is making, isn’t it? That the very people who think of themselves as refined and civilized are, in fact, quite brutal and bloodthirsty?
Consider Ishmael’s observation that all the lovely, tidy mansions in the town have been “harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea.” He reminds us that the tidy, civilized life on shore comes not just from the unruly, savage life on the sea, but also from the labors of the dark “savages” who toil on the ships owned by the White men on land.