CHAPTER 10
A Bosom Friend
Returning to the Spouter-Inn from the Chapel, I found Queequeg therequite alone; he having left the Chapel before the benediction some time.He was sitting on a bench before the fire, with his feet onthe stove hearth, and in one hand was holding close up to hisface 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 tothe table, took up a large book there, and placing it on his lap begancounting 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 atnumber 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 nomeans disagreeable. You cannot hide the soul. Through all hisunearthly tattooings, I thought I saw the traces of a simplehonest 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 aboutthe 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 wasdrawn out in freer and brighter relief, and looked more expansivethan 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 regularlygraded retreating slope from above the brows, which were likewisevery 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 belooking out at the storm from the casement, he never heeded my presence,never troubled himself with so much as a single glance; but appearedwholly 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 thrownover me upon waking in the morning, I thought this indifferenceof his very strange. But savages are strange beings; at times youdo 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 verylittle, 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 sometwenty thousand miles from home, by the way of Cape Horn, that is--which was the only way he could get there--thrown among peopleas strange to him as though he were in the planet Jupiter; and yethe seemed entirely at his ease; preserving the utmost serenity;content with his own companionship; always equal to himself. Surely thiswas a touch of fine philosophy; though no doubt he had never heardthere 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 fora 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 phantomsgathering 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 againstthe wolfish world. This soothing savage had redeemed it.There he sat, his very indifference speaking a nature in whichthere lurked no civilized hypocrisies and bland deceits.Wild he was; a very sight of sights to see; yet I began to feelmyself mysteriously drawn towards him. And those same thingsthat would have repelled most others, they were the very magnetsthat 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 signsand 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 explainto him the purpose of the printing, and the meaning of the fewpictures that were in it. Thus I soon engaged his interest;and from that we went to jabbering the best we could aboutthe various outer sights to be seen in this famous town.Soon I proposed a social smoke; and, producing his pouchand tomahawk, he quietly offered me a puff. And then we satexchanging puffs from that wild pipe of his, and keeping itregularly passing between us.
If there yet lurked any ice of indifference towards mein the Pagan's breast, this pleasant, genial smoke we had,soon thawed it out, and left us cronies. He seemed to taketo 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 wewere married; meaning, in his country's phrase, that we werebosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be.In a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would haveseemed 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 ourroom 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 onthe 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 pouringthem 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 wellknowing 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 infalliblePresbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolatorin worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thoughtI. Do you suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heavenand earth--pagans and all included--can possibly be jealous of aninsignificant 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 mein my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I mustthen 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 twiceor thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and wentto 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 forconfidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say,there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and someold 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.
Moby Dick; Or, The Whale Page 11