From early times, Herman Melville, like countless other lonely, contemplative, and misunderstood wanderers, was drawn to the sea. A reserved, bookish, skeptical man, he was never given to easy answers or orthodox religious beliefs. He was a striking figure — average in height with a full, curling brown beard, cane, and ever-present Meerschaum pipe. His merry blue-green eyes and cheerful sociability brought him many friends and partners for games of whist.
He was a faithful letter writer and established a reputation as a mesmerizing teller of tales. He gave full range to his imagination, as demonstrated by his comment about the writing of Moby-Dick: "I have a sort of sea-feeling. My room seems a ship's cabin; and at nights when I wake up and hear the wind shrieking, I almost fancy there is too much sail on the house, and I had better go on the roof and rig in the chimney." Yet, as he grew older, he drew into himself, in part a reaction to personal troubles and literary anonymity.
Born August 1, 1819, on Pearl Street in New York City near the Battery, Melville was the third child of eight children, four boys and four girls, and a descendant of respectable Scotch, Irish, and Dutch colonial settlers. He was the grandson of two Revolutionary War leaders, one of whom participated in the Boston Tea Party. His father, Allan Melvill (as the name was originally spelled), a snobbish, shallow man, was an importer of French luxury items, including fine silks, hats, and gloves. He suffered a mental breakdown, caught pneumonia, and died broke in 1832, owing nearly $25,000 and leaving destitute his wife, Maria Gansevoort Melville. An aristocratic, imperious, unsympathetic woman, she moved in with her well-to-do parents, who helped educate and support her brood.
