Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, you found yourself in wide, low, straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft. We’re now taken on a tour of the Spouter-Inn, boasting dark, “besmoked” paintings of whales attempting to impale themselves, along with all manner of saws and harpoons and other menacing…

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I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpetbag, tucked it under my arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. First off, I confess that I have always wanted to own a carpetbag. That is all. Ishmael has now set off on his journey, and sets a course for New Bedford (In…

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