Maximum-assistance view: every word above everyday vocabulary is explained at every appearance; each name is introduced at its first appearance in the chapter.

CHAPTER 1. Loomings (rising up large and dim).

Call me Ishmael (the narrator of this book). Some years ago—never mind how long precisely (exactly)—having little or no money in my purse (a money bag), and nothing particular to interest (interest: the spectacle that draws a crowd — the old sense here) me on shore (the land at the edge of the water), I thought I would sail (to travel by ship) about a little and see the watery (full of water) part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen (gloomy ill temper) and regulating (to order by rule) the circulation (passing from hand to hand). Whenever I find myself growing grim (hard and stern) about the mouth; whenever it is a damp (slightly wet), drizzly (with light steady rain) November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily (without willing it) pausing (a brief stop) before coffin (the box a dead body is laid in; also a common family name on Nantucket) warehouses (a storehouse of goods), and bringing up the rear (the back part; to bring up) of every funeral (burial ceremony) I meet; and especially whenever my hypos (low spirits) get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral (of right and wrong; the lesson) principle (a ruling truth) to prevent me from deliberately (deliberately: slowly and carefully — the old sense here) stepping into the street, and methodically (in orderly steps) knocking (to strike with the knuckles) people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute (one put in another's place) for pistol (the small hand gun) and ball. With a philosophical (of philosophy; calmly wise) flourish (to thrive; to wave grandly) Cato (a Roman who took his own life rather than yield) throws himself upon his sword (the long blade weapon); I quietly (without noise) take to the ship. There is nothing surprising (causing surprise) in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish (to hold dear) very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

There now is your insular (narrow, like islanders) city of the Manhattoes (the people of Manhattan in New York), belted (a band worn round the body) round by wharves (a landing place for ships) as Indian isles (an island) by coral (the sea-stone of pink branches) reefs (a ridge of rock at the sea's surface)—commerce (trade) surrounds (to close in on every side) it with her surf (the breaking waves on a shore). Right and left, the streets take you waterward (toward the water). Its extreme downtown (the lower part of a town) is the battery, where that noble (high and honourable) mole (the small burrowing animal; a dark skin spot) is washed (to clean with water) by waves, and cooled by breezes (a light wind), which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers (people who stand looking at the water) there.

Circumambulate (to walk all the way round) the city of a dreamy (lost in dreams) Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears (an old Dutch name for a bend of the East River in New York) Hook to Coenties (Coenties Slip, an old landing place in New York) Slip, and from thence (from there), by Whitehall (a London street of government offices; also a kind of rowing boat), northward (toward the north). What do you see?—Posted like silent (making no sound) sentinels (a soldier standing guard) all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal (mortal: human — the old sense here) men fixed in ocean reveries (a waking dream). Some leaning (to tilt; rest against) against the spiles (a wooden peg driven into a hole); some seated upon the pier-heads (the outer ends of a landing place); some looking over the bulwarks (a defending wall) of ships from China; some high aloft (high up in a ship's masts and ropes) in the rigging (the ropes and gear of a ship), as if striving (to struggle toward) to get a still better seaward (toward the sea) peep (to look quickly through a small gap). But these are all landsmen (one who works on land, not at sea); of week days pent (the writing tool) up in lath (a thin strip of wood under a wall's plaster) and plaster (wall coating; a healing patch)—tied to counters, nailed (the finger's horn; the iron pin) to benches (a long hard seat), clinched (to settle firmly) to desks (a writing table). How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?

But look! here come more crowds, pacing (a step's length; speed) straight for the water, and seemingly (to all appearance) bound (to tie fast) for a dive (to plunge in). Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering (to hang about idly) under the shady (giving shade) lee of yonder (over there; the world beyond) warehouses (a storehouse of goods) will not suffice (to be enough). No. They must get just as nigh (near — old form) the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of them—leagues. Inlanders (a person who lives away from the sea) all, they come from lanes and alleys (a narrow way between buildings), streets and avenues (a broad street or approach)—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite (to join into one). Tell me, does the magnetic (magnetic needle: the compass) virtue (goodness; a good power) of the needles (the sewing spike) of the compasses (the direction-finding needle; full range) of all those ships attract (to draw toward) them thither (to that place)?

Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale (a valley), and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded (with the mind elsewhere) of men be plunged (to dive suddenly) in his deepest reveries (a waking dream)—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going (going, in dialect), and he will infallibly (without fail) lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst (thirsty) in the great American desert (to abandon; the barren waste), try this experiment (a trial to find out), if your caravan (a train of travelers and wagons) happen to be supplied with a metaphysical (beyond the physical) professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation (deep quiet thought) and water are wedded (joined; married) for ever.

But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest (lost in dreams), shadiest (giving shade), quietest, most enchanting (delightful as magic) bit of romantic (of love and adventure) landscape (a wide view of land) in all the valley of the Saco (a river of Maine). What is the chief element (a basic part) he employs (to use)? There stand his trees, each with a hollow (empty inside; a dip in the ground) trunk (a great chest; a tree's stem), as if a hermit (one who lives alone in holy solitude) and a crucifix (a cross bearing the figure of Christ) were within; and here sleeps his meadow (a field of grass), and there sleep his cattle (cows and oxen); and up from yonder (over there; the world beyond) cottage (a small country house) goes a sleepy (heavy with sleep) smoke. Deep into distant (far away) woodlands (wooded country) winds a mazy (winding and hard to follow) way, reaching to overlapping (to run into one another) spurs (the rider's heel spike; to urge on) of mountains bathed (a washing in water) in their hill-side (the slope of a hill) blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced (a sleep-like state; a spell of stillness), and though this pine-tree (a tall tree with needles that stays green) shakes (to tremble; move quickly) down its sighs (a long sad breath) like leaves upon this shepherd (one who keeps sheep)’s head, yet all were vain (useless; without effect), unless the shepherd (one who keeps sheep)’s eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June, when for scores on scores of miles you wade (to walk through water) knee-deep (up to the knees) among Tiger-lilies (tall orange flowers spotted with dark marks)—what is the one charm (winning attractiveness; a magic token) wanting (lacking)?—Water—there is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara (the great waterfall between the United States and Canada) but a cataract (a great rush of falling water) of sand (the fine grains of the shore), would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet (a maker of poems) of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls (as much as a hand holds) of silver, deliberate (carefully weighed; to weigh) whether to buy him a coat (an animal's fur; a garment), which he sadly (with sadness) needed, or invest (to dress; wrap around) his money in a pedestrian (one who goes on foot) trip to Rockaway (a stretch of shore near New York) Beach? Why is almost every robust (strongly built) healthy boy with a robust (strongly built) healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage (a journey) as a passenger (one carried on a journey), did you yourself feel such a mystical (full of spiritual mystery) vibration (a fine trembling), when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity (a god), and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp (to seize; to understand) the tormenting (torturing), mild (gentle) image he saw in the fountain (a spring of water thrown up), plunged (to dive suddenly) into it and was drowned (to die in water; to cover over with sound). But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable (not able to be taken hold of) phantom (a ghost) of life; and this is the key to it all.

Now, when I say that I am in the habit (a settled way of acting) of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy (misty; unclear) about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious (aware) of my lungs (the breathing organ), I do not mean to have it inferred (to reason out from signs) that I ever go to sea as a passenger (one carried on a journey). For to go as a passenger (one carried on a journey) you must needs have a purse (a money bag), and a purse (a money bag) is but a rag (a torn scrap of cloth) unless you have something in it. Besides, passengers (one carried on a journey) get sea-sick (ill from the rolling of a ship)—grow quarrelsome (given to quarrelling)—don’t sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing;—no, I never go as a passenger (one carried on a journey); nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook. I abandon (to leave behind for good) the glory (great honour and brightness) and distinction (a difference; an honor) of such offices to those who like them. For my part, I abominate (to hate) all honorable (worthy of honour) respectable (worthy of respect) toils (dress; ladies' finery), trials, and tribulations (great trouble and suffering) of every kind whatsoever (of any kind at all). It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques (a three-masted sailing ship), brigs (a ship with two masts), schooners (a fast sailing ship with two or more masts), and what not. And as for going as cook,—though I confess (to admit) there is considerable (fairly large) glory (great honour and brightness) in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board (aboard a ship)—yet, somehow, I never fancied (the imagination) broiling (broiling: scorching hot) fowls (birds kept for food);—though once broiled (broiling: scorching hot), judiciously (with sound judgment) buttered (the yellow fat made from cream), and judgmatically (with good sense) salted and peppered (the hot spice), there is no one who will speak more respectfully (with respect), not to say reverentially (with deep respect), of a broiled (broiling: scorching hot) fowl (a bird) than I will. It is out of the idolatrous (worshipping as an idol) dotings (fondly indulgent) of the old Egyptians (the people of Egypt) upon broiled (broiling: scorching hot) ibis (a long-billed wading bird of the Nile) and roasted (cooked before the fire) river horse, that you see the mummies (a body preserved from long ago) of those creatures (a living being) in their huge bake-houses (buildings where bread is baked) the pyramids (the pointed monument of Egypt).

No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor (one who works at sea), right before the mast (a ship's tall pole), plumb (a weighted line for finding the true vertical) down into the forecastle (the crew's quarters in the front of a ship), aloft (high up in a ship's masts and ropes) there to the royal mast-head (the top of a ship's tall pole). True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar (to hold back from harming; extra) to spar (to hold back from harming; extra), like a grasshopper (the leaping field insect) in a May meadow (a field of grass). And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant (not pleasing) enough. It touches one’s sense of honor, particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the Van Rensselaers (an old and leading Dutch family of New York), or Randolphs (an old and leading Virginian family), or Hardicanutes (kings like Hardicanute, a Danish ruler of England). And more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot (a pot for thick black pitch), you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster (a school teacher), making the tallest boys stand in awe (deep wonder and fear) of you. The transition (a passing from one state to another) is a keen (sharp and eager) one, I assure (to promise; make sure) you, from a schoolmaster (a school teacher) to a sailor (one who works at sea), and requires a strong decoction (a boiled-down drink) of Seneca (a Roman writer on how to bear life calmly) and the Stoics (those who hold that a man should bear all things calmly) to enable (to make able) you to grin (a wide showing of the teeth) and bear it. But even this wears off in time.

What of it, if some old hunks (a thick lump) of a sea-captain (a ship's captain) orders me to get a broom (a sweeping brush) and sweep (to brush clean; to move widely) down the decks (a ship's floor)? What does that indignity (an insult to dignity) amount to, weighed (to measure heaviness), I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel (a chief angel) Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly (without delay) and respectfully (with respect) obey (to do as ordered) that old hunks (a thick lump) in that particular instance? Who ain (is not; are not)’t a slave (a person owned by another)? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains (masters of ships) may order me about—however they may thump (a heavy blow) and punch (a blow of the fist; the party drink) me about, I have the satisfaction (content; amends given) of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or metaphysical (beyond the physical) point of view, that is; and so the universal (of all) thump (a heavy blow) is passed round, and all hands should rub (to press and slide upon) each other’s shoulder-blades (the flat bones of the upper back), and be content.

Again, I always go to sea as a sailor (one who works at sea), because they make a point of paying me for my trouble, whereas (while on the other hand) they never pay passengers (one carried on a journey) a single penny (a small coin) that I ever heard of. On the contrary (opposite), passengers (one carried on a journey) themselves must pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable (without comfort) infliction (something laid on as a burden) that the two orchard (a field of fruit trees) thieves (one who steals) entailed (to carry with it) upon us. But being paid,—what will compare (to set beside for likeness) with it? The urbane (smoothly courteous) activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous (wonderful), considering that we so earnestly (with deep seriousness) believe money to be the root (the plant's ground anchor) of all earthly (of this earth) ills, and that on no account can a monied (having much money) man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully (with good cheer) we consign (to hand over to) ourselves to perdition (damnation)!

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor (one who works at sea), because of the wholesome (healthy) exercise and pure air of the fore-castle (the crew's quarters in the front of a ship) deck (a ship's floor). For as in this world, head winds are far more prevalent (widespread) than winds from astern (behind a ship) (that is, if you never violate (to break; to profane) the Pythagorean (of Pythagoras, the old Greek thinker) maxim (a short rule of wisdom)), so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck (the deck near the stern, kept for officers) gets his atmosphere (the surrounding air or mood) at second hand from the sailors (one who works at sea) on the forecastle (the crew's quarters in the front of a ship). He thinks he breathes (to draw air) it first; but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty (the common people) lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. But wherefore (why — old form) it was that after having repeatedly (again and again) smelt (to sense through the nose) the sea as a merchant (a trader) sailor (one who works at sea), I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling (the great sea animal) voyage (a journey); this the invisible (unable to be seen) police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance (watching) of me, and secretly (in secret) dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable (impossible to explain) way—he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless (without doubt; surely), my going on this whaling (the great sea animal) voyage (a journey), formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude (an interval) and solo between more extensive (wide-reaching) performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:

“Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States. “WHALING (the great sea animal) VOYAGE (a journey) BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY (covered in blood) BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”

Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby (worn and poor-looking) part of a whaling (the great sea animal) voyage (a journey), when others were set down for magnificent (grand and splendid) parts in high tragedies (a serious play with a sad end; a disaster), and short and easy parts in genteel (well-mannered; refined) comedies, and jolly (merry) parts in farces (an absurd comedy)—though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall (to call back to mind) all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives (a repeated theme) which being cunningly (with sly skill) presented to me under various disguises (a hiding change of appearance), induced (to lead into; bring about) me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling (cajoled: talked round with soft words) me into the delusion (a false belief) that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased (leaning to no side) freewill (the power to choose for oneself) and discriminating (to tell apart finely) judgment (a decision given after weighing).

Chief among these motives (a repeated theme) was the overwhelming (too great to resist) idea of the great whale (the great sea animal) himself. Such a portentous (like an omen; warning of something big) and mysterious (hidden and unexplained) monster (a dreadful unnatural creature) roused (stirred up; awakened) all my curiosity (eagerness to know). Then the wild and distant (far away) seas where he rolled his island bulk (the main mass); the undeliverable (not able to be handed over), nameless (without a name) perils (danger) of the whale (the great sea animal); these, with all the attending marvels (a wonder) of a thousand Patagonian (of Patagonia, the wild southern end of South America) sights and sounds, helped to sway (to swing from side to side; to rule) me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements (a thing that leads one on); but as for me, I am tormented (torturing pain) with an everlasting (lasting forever) itch (itching: restlessly eager) for things remote (far off). I love to sail (to travel by ship) forbidden (not allowed) seas, and land on barbarous (savage; brutal) coasts. Not ignoring (to take no notice of) what is good, I am quick to perceive (to see and grasp) a horror (great fear and disgust), and could still be social with it—would they let me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates (one living inside an institution) of the place one lodges (to take lodging; the Masons' meeting body) in.

By reason of these things, then, the whaling (the great sea animal) voyage (a journey) was welcome; the great flood-gates (flood-gates: gates holding back water) of the wonder-world (a world full of wonders) swung (hung swinging) open, and in the wild conceits (conceit: an idea; a fancy — the old sense here) that swayed (to swing from side to side; to rule) me to my purpose, two and two there floated (to rest on water or air) into my inmost (deepest within) soul, endless (without end) processions (a line of people moving in order) of the whale (the great sea animal), and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded (wearing a hood) phantom (a ghost), like a snow hill in the air.