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 2. The Carpet-Bag (a soft travelling bag made of thick woven cloth).

I stuffed a shirt or two (pushed a shirt or two in. From here the book stops arguing and starts telling what happened to him.) into my old carpet-bag (a soft travelling bag of thick woven cloth), tucked it under my arm (held it against my side), and started for (began travelling towards) Cape Horn (the stormy point at the southern tip of South America) and the Pacific (the great ocean west of America). Quitting (Leaving) the good city of old Manhatto (New York, on the island of Manhattan, under an old name for it), I duly (as planned) arrived in New Bedford (a whaling port on the American coast south of Boston). It was a Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed (I was very disappointed) upon learning that the little packet (the small boat that carried mail and people on a set run) for Nantucket (Nantucket, the island off that coast whose men lived by hunting whales) had already sailed (left port), and that no way of reaching that place would offer (there would be no way to get there), till the following Monday.

As most young candidates for the pains and penalties (young men who choose for themselves the hard work and the cost) of whaling stop at this same New Bedford (stay for a time in this same town), thence to embark (and go on board from there) on their voyage, it may as well be related (I should say here) that I, for one (as for me), had no idea of so doing (had no intention of doing that). For my mind was made up (Because I had decided) to sail (to travel by ship) in no other than a Nantucket craft (a ship from Nantucket), because there was a fine, boisterous (loud, wild and full of energy) something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me (which I liked very much). Besides though New Bedford has of late (lately) been gradually monopolising (taking the whole of) the business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her (now does far less of this trade than New Bedford), yet (but) Nantucket was her great original (the first of the two, the one the other copied)—the Tyre of this Carthage (Tyre was the old city that founded Carthage, and Carthage grew far greater than its parent. He means Nantucket started the trade and New Bedford is now the bigger of the two.);—the place where the first dead American whale was stranded (washed up on the shore and left there). Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen (the first whale hunters of that coast), the Red-Men (the native peoples of America, under the name white writers of that day used), first sally out (set off suddenly) in canoes (long narrow boats moved by paddles) to give chase to the Leviathan (go after the great sea beast)? And where but from Nantucket (And from what place other than that island), too, did that first adventurous little sloop (bold little sailing boat with one mast) put forth (left the shore), partly laden with imported cobblestones (half loaded with round paving stones brought in from somewhere else)—so goes the story (as people tell it)—to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh (near) enough to risk a harpoon (a long spear with a hook near the point, thrown into a whale) from the bowsprit (the pole sticking forward from the front of a boat)?

Now (So) having a night, a day, and still another night following before me in New Bedford, ere I could embark (before I could go on board) for my destined port (the harbour I was going to), it became a matter of concernment (something to worry about) where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a very dubious-looking (looking bad, promising nothing good), nay (no, worse than that), a very dark and dismal (dark and sad) night, bitingly (so sharply it hurt) cold and cheerless (with nothing in it to make you feel better). I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels I had sounded my pocket (I had felt worriedly through my pocket, the way a sailor drops a hooked weight to test how deep the water is), and only brought up a few pieces of silver (a few silver coins, barely any money at all),—So, wherever you go, Ishmael (the sailor who tells this story), said I to myself, as I stood in the middle of a dreary (grey and dull) street shouldering my bag (carrying my bag on my shoulder), and comparing the gloom (the near-darkness) towards the north with the darkness towards the south—wherever in your wisdom you may conclude to lodge (you may decide, in your good sense, to stay the night) for the night, my dear Ishmael, be sure to inquire (ask about) the price, and don’t be too particular (do not be too fussy).

With halting steps (Stopping and starting as I walked) I paced (walked up and down) the streets, and passed the sign of “The Crossed Harpoons” (the name of an inn, after the long barbed spears whale hunters throw)—but it looked too expensive and jolly (cheerful and full of noise) there. Further on, from the bright red windows of the “Sword-Fish Inn,” (another inn, named after a sea fish with a long pointed snout) there came such fervent rays (strong warm beams of light), that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and ice from before the house, for everywhere else (because everywhere else) the congealed (frozen solid) frost lay ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic (black and solid like a made road) pavement (the hard walking strip at the side of a street),—rather weary (tiring) for me, when I struck my foot against the flinty projections (stone-hard lumps sticking up), because from hard, remorseless service (hard use that never stopped) the soles (the bottom parts of the boots) of my boots were in a most miserable plight (in very bad condition). Too expensive and jolly (Too costly, and too full of cheerful noise, for a man with no money), again thought I (I thought again), pausing one moment to watch the broad glare (the wide spread of bright light) in the street, and hear the sounds of the tinkling (making a light ringing sound) glasses within (inside the inn). But go on (keep walking), Ishmael, said I at last; don’t you hear? get away from before the door; your patched (mended with pieces over the holes) boots are stopping the way (are blocking the door). So on I went. I now by instinct (without thinking about it) followed the streets that took me waterward (towards the water), for there, doubtless (no doubt), were the cheapest, if not the cheeriest (the most welcoming) inns (houses that sold drink and rented out beds).

Such dreary (grey and sad) streets! blocks of blackness (solid shapes of dark where houses should be), not houses, on either hand (on both sides), and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb (a stone room built for the dead). At this hour of the night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of the town (that part of the town) proved all but deserted (almost completely empty). But presently (soon after) I came to a smoky (blurred by smoke) light proceeding from (coming out of) a low, wide building, the door of which stood invitingly (in a way that seemed to welcome me in) open. It had a careless look (It looked as if no one took care of it), as if it were meant for the uses of the public (meant for anyone to walk into); so, entering, the first thing I did was to stumble over an ash-box (a box for the grey dust left after a fire has burnt out) in the porch (the covered entrance in front of the door). Ha! thought I (I thought: the question after it is in my head, not said aloud), ha, as the flying particles (the tiny bits of dust in the air) almost choked me, are these ashes (the grey dust left after a fire) from that destroyed city, Gomorrah (Gomorrah, a city the Bible says God burnt to ashes because the people in it were so bad)? But “The Crossed Harpoons (the inn named for the long spears whale hunters throw),” and “The Sword-Fish (another inn, named after a big sea fish with a long, sharp nose like a sword)?”—this, then must needs be (has to be) the sign of (the board outside an inn showing its name; so, the inn called) “The Trap.” (a joke: the other places had whaling and sea words over their doors, but at this door my foot hit a box of ashes and I fell over it, so I say this one must be The Trap, because it caught me the way a trap catches an animal) However, I picked myself up (stood up again after my fall) and hearing a loud voice within (inside), pushed on (went further in) and opened a second, interior (inner) door.

It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet (Tophet is a place of burning in the Bible, a name for hell. He is joking that the dark room full of people is hell's own council in session.). A hundred black faces turned round in their rows to peer (to look closely, trying to see); and beyond, a black Angel of Doom (the angel who in old belief comes to announce the end and the judgment) was beating a book (striking the open Bible with his hand as he preached) in a pulpit (the raised box a preacher speaks from). It was a negro church (a church of black worshippers, under the word used in that century); and the preacher’s text (the line from the Bible the man speaking to them had taken as his subject) was about the blackness of darkness (a phrase from the Bible for the deepest dark of hell), and the weeping (crying) and wailing (crying out loud and long) and teeth-gnashing (grinding the teeth together in pain) there. Ha, Ishmael (Ha, Ishmael. He is speaking to himself by name, half laughing at his own bad luck.), muttered (said in a low voice to myself) I, backing out (stepping out again the way I came), Wretched entertainment (A poor welcome, poor food and no bed) at the sign of (at the house whose painted board reads) ‘The Trap!’ (there is no inn of that name. He is inventing one for the place he walked into by mistake: a door that catches you.)

Moving on, I at last came to a dim (weak and faint) sort of light not far from the docks (the places where ships tie up and load), and heard a forlorn (sad and left alone) creaking (a dry rubbing noise) in the air; and looking up, saw a swinging sign (a painted board hung out over the street, moving in the wind, to show what the house is) over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly representing (showing, but only just) a tall straight jet of misty spray (the high straight column of water a whale blows up, breaking into fine drops), and these words underneath—“The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.” (the name of the inn, and under it the name of the man who keeps it)

Coffin?—Spouter? (Both words carry two senses together. Coffin is a family name and also the box a dead man is buried in. A spouter is a whale blowing water, and also a man who talks too much. He is reading the sign as a warning.)—Rather ominous (looking like a sign of something bad coming) in that particular connexion (with those two words put together like that), thought I (I thought). But it is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this Peter here is an emigrant (someone who has left his own place to live elsewhere) from there. As the light looked so dim (weak and faint), and the place, for the time (just then), looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated (falling to pieces) little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here (pulled here on wheels from somewhere else) from the ruins of some burnt district (a part of a town that had burned down in a big fire), and as the swinging (hanging and moving in the wind) sign had a poverty-stricken sort of creak (a dry grinding noise that sounded as poor and worn out as the house) to it, I thought that here was the very spot (exactly the right place) for cheap lodgings (a cheap room for the night), and the best of pea coffee (thin, muddy coffee, made weak so that a little serves many people).

It was a queer (strange) sort of place—a gable-ended old house (an old house whose end wall rises to a point under the roof), one side palsied as it were (one side of it sagging, as if that half of the building had gone weak and could no longer hold itself up), and leaning over sadly. It stood on a sharp bleak (bare and cold) corner, where that tempestuous (wild and stormy) wind Euroclydon (Euroclydon, the old name for a violent north-east wind, taken from the Bible) kept up (went on making) a worse howling (a long loud crying noise) than ever it did about poor Paul’s tossed craft (Paul's ship, thrown about by the waves. In the Bible he was driven off his route and wrecked by that same wind on a voyage to Rome.). Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr (a very pleasant light breeze. He means the opposite. The whole passage turns on the difference between judging a storm from inside a warm room and standing out in it.) to any one in-doors, with his feet on the hob (his feet up on the iron shelf beside the fire) quietly toasting (warming through) for bed. “In judging of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon,” says an old writer—of whose works I possess the only copy extant (of whose books I own the only one still in existence)—“it maketh a marvellous difference (it makes a very big difference. For a few lines the page changes into the English of old holy books, because he is quoting something ancient.), whether thou lookest out at it (whether you see it through a window) from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest (you watch) it from that sashless window (a window frame with no glass in it at all), where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death (Death, written about as if he were a living person) is the only glazier (the only man whose trade is putting glass into windows. Here the frost is the only glass there is.).” True enough, thought I, as this passage occurred to my mind—old black-letter, thou reasonest well (old book in heavy pointed type, you argue well). Yes, these eyes are windows, and this body of mine is the house. What a pity they didn’t stop up (block) the chinks (the narrow gaps) and the crannies (small cracks) though, and thrust in (push in) a little lint (a little soft fluff scraped off cloth, used to stop up holes) here and there. But it’s too late to make any improvements now. The universe is finished; the copestone is on (the last stone at the very top has been laid, so the building is finished), and the chips were carted off (the loose bits of stone were hauled away long ago) a million years ago. Poor Lazarus (Lazarus, a beggar who lay hungry in torn clothes outside a rich man's house) there, chattering his teeth against the curbstone for his pillow (his teeth knocking together with cold, his head resting on the raised stone edge of the road, with nothing between him and the wind), and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings (shaking so hard with cold that his torn clothes drop off him), he might (even if he were to) plug up (block) both ears with rags (torn scraps of cloth), and put a corn-cob (the hard middle piece that yellow corn seeds grow on, left over once the seeds are gone) into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out (stop the wind getting in) the tempestuous Euroclydon (that same wild storm wind from the north-east). Euroclydon! says old Dives (Dives is the name tradition gave the rich man in that Bible story), in his red silken wrapper (his loose red silk indoor gown)—(he had a redder one afterwards) (a quiet joke: in the story the rich man ends in the fire after he dies) pooh, pooh (nonsense, nonsense)! What a fine frosty (freezing cold and clear) night; how Orion glitters (Orion is a group of bright stars easy to pick out in a winter sky); what northern lights (the coloured lights that show in the night sky of the far north)! Let them talk of their oriental summer climes (warm eastern lands) of everlasting conservatories (glass rooms kept warm all year for growing plants); give me the privilege (the special right) of making my own summer with my own coals (my own fire of black lumps dug out of the ground).

But what thinks (But what does he think) Lazarus (that same man from the gate)? Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up to the grand northern lights (those same coloured lights in the northern night sky)? Would not Lazarus rather be in Sumatra (Sumatra, a hot island in the east) than here? Would he not far rather (Would he not very much prefer to) lay him down lengthwise (lie down flat, his whole body stretched out along it) along the line of the equator (the line drawn round the middle of the world, where it is hottest); yea, ye gods! (yes indeed! a cry of surprise that calls on all the powers of heaven) go down to the fiery pit (hell, pictured as a hole full of fire) itself, in order to keep out (stop the cold reaching him) this frost?

Now, (Think of it:) that Lazarus (Lazarus, the beggar who lay in rags outside a rich man's house) should lie stranded (be left lying like something washed up by the sea) there on the curbstone (the raised stone edge at the side of the road) before the door of Dives (Dives, the wealthy one who ate well while that other starved at his gate), this is more wonderful than that an iceberg (a floating mountain of ice) should be moored (tied up in place) to one of the Moluccas (the Moluccas, hot islands in the eastern seas). Yet (But) Dives himself, he too lives like a Czar (like the emperor of Russia) in an ice palace made of frozen sighs (a great cold house built of other people's frozen breath of sorrow), and being a president of a temperance society (a club whose members promised to give up all strong drink), he only drinks the tepid tears of orphans (he takes nothing but the warm tears of children with no parents. He is praised for drinking no wine, but what he lives on is their suffering, and the kinder it is made to sound the crueller it is.).

But no more of this blubbering (this crying. The word also names the thick fat of a whale, so it points straight at the hunt he is off to join.) now, we are going a-whaling (off to hunt whales), and there is plenty of that yet to come (there is much more of it still ahead. He means both more crying and more whale fat, since the one word covers the two.). Let us scrape (rub hard to clear) the ice from our frosted (covered in white ice) feet, and see what sort of a place this “Spouter” (the Spouter Inn, the house with the whale-spray sign) may be.