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.

Call me Ishmael (Call me Ishmael, the name the storyteller gives himself). Some years ago—never mind how long precisely (never mind exactly how long)—having little or no money in my purse (having little or no money in my pocket), and nothing particular to interest me on shore (and nothing special to hold my interest on land), I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world (I thought I would sail around a bit and see the water side of the world). It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation (It is my way of shaking off low black moods and getting my blood moving properly). Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth (Whenever I find my mouth setting hard and bitter); whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul (whenever it is wet, grey November weather inside me); whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses (whenever I catch myself stopping without meaning to outside shops that sell coffins), and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet (and tagging along at the back of every funeral I come across); and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me (and above all whenever my black fits of gloom get such a hold on me), that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street (that it takes a firm sense of right and wrong to stop me walking out into the street on purpose), and methodically knocking people’s hats off (and steadily knocking people’s hats off one by one)—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can (then I reckon it is more than time to get to sea as fast as I can). This is my substitute for pistol and ball (This is what I do instead of shooting myself). With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword (With a grand wise gesture Cato, the Roman who killed himself rather than live under a tyrant, falls on his own sword); I quietly take to the ship (I quietly take to the ship). There is nothing surprising in this (There is nothing surprising about this). If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree (If only they knew it, nearly all men, each in his own measure), some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me (sooner or later hold very nearly the same feelings about the ocean that I do).

There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes (There is your island city of Manhattan), belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs (ringed round by docks the way islands in the Indian seas are ringed by coral reefs)—commerce surrounds it with her surf (trade breaks against it on every side like the sea). Right and left, the streets take you waterward (Left and right, the streets carry you towards the water). Its extreme downtown is the battery (At the very southern tip is the Battery, the old gun platform turned into a park), where that noble mole is washed by waves (where that fine stone wall out into the water is washed by waves), and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land (and cooled by winds that a few hours earlier were far out where no land could be seen). Look at the crowds of water-gazers there (Look at the crowds standing there staring at the water).

Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon (Walk right round the city on a dreamy Sunday afternoon). Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward (Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, two points on the New York waterfront, and from there north by way of Whitehall). What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town (Stationed like silent guards all round the town), stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries (stand thousands upon thousands of ordinary men lost in daydreams about the sea). Some leaning against the spiles (Some leaning against the wooden posts driven into the mud); some seated upon the pier-heads (some sitting on the ends of the piers); some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China (some looking over the side walls of ships that have come from China); some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep (some high up in the ropes, as if trying to get an even better look out to sea). But these are all landsmen (But these are all men of the land); of week days pent up in lath and plaster (shut up on weekdays inside plaster walls)—tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks (tied to shop counters, nailed to workbenches, fastened tight to desks). How then is this? (How can this be, then?) Are the green fields gone? (Have the green fields disappeared?) What do they here? (What are they doing here?)

But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive (walking straight towards the water and looking as if they mean to jump in). Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land (Nothing will satisfy them but the very last edge of the land); loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice (hanging about in the shade on the sheltered side of those warehouses will not do). No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in (They have to get as close to the water as they can without falling in). And there they stand—miles of them—leagues (miles of them, and miles more beyond that). Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues (All of them from inland, they come out of lanes and alleys, streets and avenues)—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite (Yet here they all come together). Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither? (is it the pulling power in the needles of all those ships’ compasses that draws them there?)

Once more (Try it another way). Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes (Say you are in the countryside, in some high country full of lakes). Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale (Take almost any path you like, and the odds are it takes you down into a valley), and leaves you there by a pool in the stream (and leaves you there beside a pool in the stream). There is magic in it (There is something magical in it). Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries (Take the most forgetful, dreamy man there is, sunk in his deepest daydreams)—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going (stand that man up on his feet and get him walking), and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region (and he will lead you to water without fail, if there is any water in the whole area). Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert (If you are ever thirsty in the great American desert), try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor (try this test, if your travelling party happens to include a professor of deep abstract thought). Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever (as everybody knows, deep thinking and water are married for good).

But here is an artist (But here is a painter). He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of the Saco (He wants to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, quietest, most charming bit of beautiful countryside in the whole valley of the Saco river). What is the chief element he employs? (What is the main thing he puts in?) There stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk (There stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk), as if a hermit and a crucifix were within (as if a holy man living alone and a cross were inside it); and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle (and here his field lies sleeping, and there his cattle sleep); and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke (and up from that cottage over there goes a lazy trail of smoke). Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way (Far off into distant woods a twisting path winds), reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue (reaching to ridges of mountains that overlap each other, washed in the blue of their own slopes). But though the picture lies thus tranced (But though the picture lies there as if under a spell), and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd’s head (and though this pine tree shakes down its sighing sounds like falling leaves onto this shepherd’s head), yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him (still it would all be for nothing unless the shepherd’s eye were fixed on the magical stream in front of him). Go visit the Prairies in June (Go and see the great American grasslands in June), when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among Tiger-lilies (when for mile after mile you walk knee-deep through orange spotted lilies)—what is the one charm wanting? (what is the one lovely thing missing?)—Water—there is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand (If Niagara were only a great falling sheet of sand), would you travel your thousand miles to see it? (would you travel your thousand miles to see it?) Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver (Why did the poor poet from Tennessee, on suddenly getting two handfuls of silver coins), deliberate whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed (think hard about whether to buy himself a coat, which he badly needed), or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach? (or spend his money on a walking trip to Rockaway Beach?) Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him (Why is nearly every strong, healthy boy with a strong, healthy spirit in him), at some time or other crazy to go to sea? (at one time or another mad to go to sea?) Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration (Why on your first sea trip as a passenger did you yourself feel such a strange deep shiver), when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? (when you were 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 ancient Persians treat the sea as holy?) Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? (Why did the Greeks give it a god of its own, and make him the full brother of Jove, king of the gods?) Surely all this is not without meaning (Surely all this must mean something). And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus (And the meaning of that story of Narcissus goes deeper still), who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain (who, because he could not take hold of the gentle, maddening face he saw in the pool), plunged into it and was drowned (dived into it and drowned). But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans (But we ourselves see that same face in every river and every ocean). It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life (It is the face of the ghost of life itself, which can never be caught hold of); and this is the key to it all (and that is the key to the whole thing).

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes (Now, when I say I make a habit of going to sea whenever my eyes start to go misty), and begin to be over conscious of my lungs (and I start noticing my own breathing too much), I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger (I do not want anyone concluding that I ever go to sea as a paying traveller). For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse (Because to go as a passenger you must have a money bag), and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it (and a money bag is just a scrap of cloth unless there is something in it). Besides, passengers get sea-sick (Besides, passengers get sick from the motion of the ship)—grow quarrelsome (turn quick to argue)—don’t sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing (do not have much of a good time, generally speaking);—no, I never go as a passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt (and though I am a bit of an old sailor), do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook (I never go to sea as a fleet commander, or a captain, or a cook). I abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them (I leave the glory and honour of such posts to people who want them). For my part, I abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever (For myself, I hate all honourable, respectable hard work and hardship of every kind there is). It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself (It is as much as I can manage to look after myself), without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not (without looking after ships of every rig and size as well). And as for going as cook,—though I confess there is considerable glory in that (though I admit there is a good deal of glory in it), a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board (a cook being a kind of officer aboard ship)—yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls (still, somehow, I never took to grilling chickens);—though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered (though once one is grilled, sensibly buttered and well salted and peppered), there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will (nobody will speak of a grilled chicken with more respect, not to say worship, than I will). It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse (It is out of the worshipping love the old Egyptians had for grilled ibis birds and roasted river beast), that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids (that you find those animals preserved as mummies inside their huge ovens, the pyramids).

No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor (when I go to sea, I go as a plain ordinary sailor), right before the mast (right up in the front part of the ship where the crew live), plumb down into the forecastle (straight down into the crew’s quarters in the bow), aloft there to the royal mast-head (and up there to the top of the highest sail). True, they rather order me about some (True, they do order me about a fair bit), and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow (and make me jump from one crosspiece of the mast to another, like a grasshopper in a spring field). And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough (And at first this sort of thing is unpleasant enough). It touches one’s sense of honor (It stings your pride), particularly if you come of an old established family in the land (especially if you come from an old settled family in the country), the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes (the Van Rensselaers, the Randolphs, or the Hardicanutes, families with grand old names). And more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot (if just before putting your hand into the pot of tar), you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster (you have been playing the great man as a village schoolteacher), making the tallest boys stand in awe of you (making even the biggest boys go quiet with fear of you). The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor (The change from schoolteacher to sailor cuts sharp, I promise you), and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it (and it takes a strong dose of Seneca and the Stoics, ancient thinkers who taught calm under hardship, to help you take it with a smile). But even this wears off in time (But even this wears off in time).

What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks? (What of it, if some hard old brute of a sea captain orders me to fetch a broom and sweep the decks?) What does that indignity amount to, weighed, I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? (What does that insult amount to, weighed, I mean, on the scales of the New Testament?) Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me (Do you think Gabriel, the highest of God’s messengers, thinks any less of me), because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? (because I obey that hard old brute quickly and politely in that one case?) Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that (Who is not somebody’s slave? Tell me that). Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about (however much the old sea captains order me about)—however they may thump and punch me about (however much they knock me about), I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right (I have the comfort of knowing it is all fair enough); that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way (that everybody else is treated much the same way, one way or another)—either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is (either in a bodily sense or in a deeper one, that is); and so the universal thump is passed round (and so the knock everyone gets is passed round to all), and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades, and be content (and everybody should rub each other’s backs and be satisfied).

Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying me for my trouble (because they make sure to pay me for my trouble), whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I ever heard of (while they never pay passengers a single penny, as far as I have ever heard). On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay (The other way round, passengers have to pay themselves). And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid (And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid). The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us (Paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable punishment that the two fruit thieves of the Garden of Eden brought down on us). But being paid,—what will compare with it? (what can compare with it?) The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous (The smooth, easy way a man takes money in is really wonderful), considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills (considering how firmly we believe money is the root of every trouble on earth), and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven (and that a rich man cannot get into heaven on any terms). Ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition! (how happily we hand ourselves over to be damned!)

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck (because of the healthy exercise and clean air on the crew’s deck up front). For as in this world, head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (Because in this world winds blowing against you are far more common than winds pushing from behind) (that is, if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim (that is, if you never break the rule of Pythagoras, who told his followers not to break wind)), so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle (so mostly the fleet commander on the rear deck gets his air second-hand, after it has passed the sailors up front). He thinks he breathes it first; but not so (He thinks the air comes to him first, but it does not). In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things (In much the same way ordinary people lead their leaders in many other things), at the same time that the leaders little suspect it (while the leaders hardly suspect it). But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor (But why it was that, after smelling the sea over and over as a sailor on trading ships), I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage (I should now get it into my head to go on a whale-hunting voyage); this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me (this the unseen policeman of Fate, who watches me all the time), and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way (and secretly follows me about, and sways me in some way nobody can explain)—he can better answer than any one else (can answer better than anyone else). And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago (was part of the great running order of God’s plan, drawn up a long time ago). It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances (It came in as a kind of short filler act, a single turn between bigger shows). I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this (I imagine that this part of the programme must have read something like this):

“Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States (Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States). “WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL (WHALE-HUNTING VOYAGE BY A MAN CALLED ISHMAEL). “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN (BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN).”

Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates (Though I cannot say exactly why those stage managers, the Fates who decide what happens to us), put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage (put me down for this poor little part of a whale-hunting voyage), when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies (when others were given magnificent parts in grand tragedies), and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces (and short easy parts in polite comedies, and cheerful parts in broad funny plays)—though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances (still, now that I go back over everything that happened), I think I can see a little into the springs and motives (I think I can see a little way into the hidden causes and reasons) which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises (which, being cleverly put in front of me in various disguises), induced me to set about performing the part I did (talked me into going ahead and playing the part I did), besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment (and talked me round into the false belief that it was a choice made by my own free, unswayed will and careful judgement).

Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself (Chief among these reasons was the overpowering idea of the great whale himself). Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity (Such an awe-striking, mysterious monster woke up all my curiosity). Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk (Then the wild, far-off seas where he rolled his island-sized body); the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale (the dangers of the whale that nothing can save you from and nobody can name); these, with all the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds (these, with all the wonders that go with a thousand sights and sounds of the far south), helped to sway me to my wish (helped tip me towards what I wanted). With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements (With other men, perhaps, such things would not have tempted them at all); but as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote (but as for me, I am plagued by a never-ending itch for far-off things). I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts (I love to sail on forbidden seas and go ashore on wild coasts where people live rough). Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to perceive a horror, and could still be social with it (Without shutting my eyes to what is good, I am quick to spot something dreadful, and I could still keep company with it)—would they let me (if they would let me)—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges in (since it is only sensible to be on friendly terms with everyone else living in the house you lodge in).

By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome (For these reasons, then, the whale-hunting voyage was welcome); the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open (the great gates holding back the world of wonders swung open), and in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose (and among the wild fancies that pushed me towards my plan), two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale (there floated in pairs into the deepest part of me endless parades of the whale), and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air (and right in the middle of them all one great hooded ghost, like a hill of snow hanging in the air).