CHAPTER 10

  A Bosom Friend

  Returning to the Spouter-Inn from the Chapel, I found Queequeg there

quite alone; he having left the Chapel before the benediction some

time. He was sitting on a bench before the fire, with his feet on

the stove hearth, and in one hand was holding close up to his face

that little negro idol of his; peering hard into its face, and with

a jack-knife gently whittling away at its nose, meanwhile humming to

himself in his heathenish way.

  But being now interrupted, he put up the image; and pretty soon,

going to the table, took up a large book there, and placing it on

his lap began counting the pages with deliberate regularity; at

every fiftieth page- as I fancied- stopping for a moment, looking

vacantly around him, and giving utterance to a long-drawn gurgling

whistle of astonishment. He would then begin again at the next

fifty; seeming to commence at number one each time, as though he could

not count more than fifty, and it was only by such a large number of

fifties being found together, that his astonishment at the multitude

of pages was excited.

  With much interest I sat watching him. Savage though he was, and

hideously marred about the face- at least to my taste- his countenance

yet had a something in it which was by no means disagreeable. You

cannot hide the soul. Through all his unearthly tattooings, I

thought I saw the traces of a simple honest heart; and in his large,

deep eyes, fiery black and bold, there seemed tokens of a spirit

that would dare a thousand devils. And besides all this, there was a

certain lofty bearing about the Pagan, which even his uncouthness

could not altogether maim. He looked like a man who had never

cringed and never had had a creditor. Whether it was, too, that his

head being shaved, his forehead was drawn out in freer and brighter

relief, and looked more expansive than it otherwise would, this I will

not venture to decide; but certain it was his head was phrenologically

an excellent one. It may seem ridiculous, but it reminded me of

General Washington's head, as seen in the popular busts of him. It had

the same long regularly graded retreating slope from above the

brows, which were likewise very projecting, like two long promontories

thickly wooded on top. Queequeg was George Washington

cannibalistically developed.

  Whilst I was thus closely scanning him, half-pretending meanwhile to

be looking out at the storm from the casement, he never heeded my

presence, never troubled himself with so much as a single glance;

but appeared wholly occupied with counting the pages of the marvellous

book. Considering how sociably we had been sleeping together the night

previous, and especially considering the affectionate arm I had

found thrown over me upon waking in the morning, I thought this

indifference of his very strange. But savages are strange beings; at

times you do not know exactly how to take them. At first they are

overawing; their calm self-collectedness of simplicity seems as

Socratic wisdom. I had noticed also that Queequeg never consorted at

all, or but very little, with the other seamen in the inn. He made

no advances whatever; appeared to have no desire to enlarge the circle

of his acquaintances. All this struck me as mighty singular; yet, upon

second thoughts, there was something almost sublime in it. Here was

a man some twenty thousand miles from home, by the way of Cape Horn,

that is- which was the only way he could get there- thrown among

people as strange to him as though he were in the planet Jupiter;

and yet he seemed entirely at his ease; preserving the utmost

serenity; content with his own companionship; always equal to himself.

Surely this was a touch of fine philosophy; though no doubt he had

never heard there was such a thing as that. But, perhaps, to be true

philosophers, we mortals should not be conscious of so living or so

striving. So soon as I hear that such or such a man gives himself

out for a philosopher, I conclude that, like the dyspeptic old

woman, he must have "broken his digester."

  As I sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in

that mild stage when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it

then only glows to be looked at; the evening shades and phantoms

gathering round the casements, and peering in upon us silent, solitary

twain; the storm booming without in solemn swells; I began to be

sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. No more my

splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish

world. This soothing savage had redeemed it. There he sat, his very

indifference speaking a nature in which there lurked no civilized

hypocrisies and bland deceits. he was; a very sight of sights to

see; yet I began to feel myself mysteriously drawn towards him. And

those same things that would have repelled most others, they were

the very magnets that thus drew me. I'll try a pagan friend, thought

I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy. I drew

my bench near him, and made some friendly signs and hints, doing my

best to talk with him meanwhile. At first he little noticed these

advances; but presently, upon my referring to his last night's

hospitalities, he made out to ask me whether we were again to be

bedfellows. I told him yes; whereat I thought he looked pleased,

perhaps a little complimented.

  We then turned over the book together, and I endeavored to explain

to him the purpose of the printing, and the meaning of the few

pictures that were in it. Thus I soon engaged his interest; and from

that we went to jabbering the best we could about the various outer

sights to be seen in this famous town. Soon I proposed a social smoke;

and, producing his pouch and tomahawk, he quietly offered me a puff.

And then we sat exchanging puffs from that wild pipe of his, and

keeping it regularly passing between us.

  If there yet lurked any ice of indifference towards me in the

Pagan's breast, this pleasant, genial smoke we had, soon thawed it

out, and left us cronies. He seemed to take to me quite as naturally

and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed

his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that

henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country's phrase, that

we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should

be. In a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would have seemed

far too premature, a thing to be much distrusted; but in this simple

savage those old rules would not apply.

  After supper, and another social chat and smoke, we went to our room

together. He made me a present of his embalmed head; took out his

enormous tobacco wallet, and groping under the tobacco, drew out

some thirty dollars in silver; then spreading them on the table, and

mechanically dividing them into two equal portions, pushed one of them

towards me, and said it was mine. I was going to remonstrate; but he

silenced me by pouring them into my trowsers' pockets. I let them

stay. He then went about his evening prayers, took out his idol, and

removed the paper firebrand. By certain signs and symptoms, I

thought he seemed anxious for me to join him; but well knowing what

was to follow, I deliberated a moment whether, in case he invited

me, I would comply or otherwise.

  I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible

Presbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolator in

worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thought I. Do

you suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and

earth- pagans and all included- can possibly be jealous of an

insignificant bit of black wood? Impossible! But what is worship?-

to do the will of God? that is worship. And what is the will of

God?- to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do

to me- that is the will of God. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And

what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me

in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must

then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolator. So I kindled

the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little idol; offered him

burnt biscuit with Queequeg; salamed before him twice or thrice;

kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at peace

with our own consciences and all the world. But we did not go to sleep

without some little chat.

  How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for

confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say,

there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some

old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning.

Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg- a cosy,

loving pair.