CHAPTER 15

  Chowder

  It was quite late in the evening when the little Moss came snugly to

anchor, and Queequeg and I went ashore; so we could attend to no

business that day, at least none but a supper and a bed. The

landlord of the Spouter-Inn had recommended us to his cousin Hosea

Hussey of the Try Pots, whom he asserted to be the proprietor of one

of the best kept hotels in all Nantucket, and moreover he had

assured us that Cousin Hosea, as he called him, was famous for his

chowders. In short, he plainly hinted that we could not possibly do

better than try pot-luck at the Try Pots. But the directions hc had

given us about keeping a yellow warehouse on our starboard hand till

we opened a white church to the larboard, and then keeping that on the

larboard hand till we made a corner three points to the starboard, and

that done, then ask the first man we met where the place was; these

crooked directions of his very much puzzled us at first, especially

as, at the outset, Queequeg insisted that the yellow warehouse- our

first point of departure- must be left on the larboard hand, whereas I

had understood Peter Coffin to say it was on the starboard. However,

by dint of beating about a little in the dark, and now and then

knocking up a peaceful inhabitant to inquire the way, we at last

came to something which there was no mistaking.

  Two enormous wooden pots painted black, and suspended by asses'

ears, swung from the cross-trees of an old top-mast, planted in

front of an old doorway. The horns of the cross-trees were sawed off

on the other side, so that this old top-mast looked not a little

like a gallows. Perhaps I was over sensitive to such impressions at

the time, but I could not help staring at this gallows with a vague

misgiving. A sort of crick was in my neck as I gazed up to the two

remaining horns; yes, two of them, one for Queequeg, and one for me.

It's ominous, thinks I. A Coffin my Innkeeper upon landing in my first

whaling port; tombstones staring at me in the whalemen's chapel, and

here a gallows! and a pair of prodigious black pots too! Are these

last throwing out oblique hints touching Tophet?

  I was called from these reflections by the sight of a freckled woman

with yellow hair and a yellow gown, standing in the porch of the

inn, under a dull red lamp swinging there, that looked much like an

injured eye, and carrying on a brisk scolding with a man in a purple

woollen shirt.

  "Get along with ye," said she to the man, "or I'll be combing ye!"

  "Come on, Queequeg," said I, "all right. There's Mrs. Hussey."

  And so it turned out; Mr. Hosea Hussey being from home, but

leaving Mrs. Hussey entirely competent to attend to all his affairs.

Upon making known our desires for a supper and a bed, Mrs. Hussey,

postponing further scolding for the present, ushered us into a

little room, and seating us at a table spread with the relics of a

recently concluded repast, turned round to us and said- "Clam or Cod?"

  "What's that about Cods, ma'am?" said I, with much politeness.

  "Clam or Cod?" she repeated.

  "A clam for supper? a cold clam; is that what you mean, Mrs.

Hussey?" says I, "but that's a rather cold and clammy reception in the

winter time, ain't it, Mrs. Hussey?"

  But being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the

purple shirt who was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to

hear nothing but the word "clam," Mrs. Hussey hurried towards an

open door leading to the kitchen, and bawling out "clam for two,"

disappeared.

  "Queequeg," said I, "do you think that we can make a supper for us

both on one clam?"

  However, a warm savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the

apparently cheerless prospect before us. But when that smoking chowder

came in, the mystery was delightfully explained. Oh! sweet friends,

hearken to me. It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger

than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuits, and salted pork cut

up into little flakes! the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully

seasoned with pepper and salt. Our appetites being sharpened by the

frosty voyage, and in particular, Queequeg seeing his favourite

fishing food before him, and the chowder being surpassingly excellent,

we despatched it with great expedition: when leaning back a moment and

bethinking me of Mrs. Hussey's clam and cod announcement, I thought

I would try a little experiment. Stepping to the kitchen door, I

uttered the word "cod" with great emphasis, and resumed my seat. In

a few moments the savoury steam came forth again, but with a different

flavor, and in good time a fine cod-chowder was placed before us.

  We resumed business; and while plying our spoons in the bowl, thinks

I to myself, I wonder now if this here has any effect on the head?

What's that stultifying saying about chowder-headed people? "But look,

Queequeg, ain't that a live eel in your bowl? Where's your harpoon?"

  Fishiest of all fishy places was the Try Pots, which well deserved

its name; for the pots there were always boiling chowders. Chowder for

breakfast, and chowder for dinner, and chowder for supper, till you

began to look for fish-bones coming through your clothes. The area

before the house was paved with clam-shells. Mrs. Hussey wore a

polished necklace of codfish vertebra; and Hosea Hussey had his

account books bound in superior old shark-skin. There was a fishy

flavor to the milk, too, which I could not at all account for, till

one morning happening to take a stroll along the beach among some

fishermen's boats, I saw Hosea's brindled cow feeding on fish

remnants, and marching along the sand with each foot in a cod's

decapitated head, looking very slipshod, I assure ye.

  Supper concluded, we received a lamp, and directions from Mrs.

Hussey concerning the nearest way to bed; but, as Queequeg was about

to precede me up the stairs, the lady reached forth her arm, and

demanded his harpoon; she allowed no harpoon in her chambers. "Why

not? said I; "every true whaleman sleeps with his harpoon- but why

not?" "Because it's dangerous," says she. "Ever since young Stiggs

coming from that unfort'nt v'y'ge of his, when he was gone four

years and a half, with only three barrels of ile, was found dead in my

first floor back, with his harpoon in his side; ever since then I

allow no boarders to take sich dangerous weepons in their rooms at

night. So, Mr. Queequeg" (for she had learned his name), "I will

just take this here iron, and keep it for you till morning. But the

chowder; clam or cod to-morrow for breakfast, men?"

  "Both," says I; "and let's have a couple of smoked herring by way of

variety."