Chapter X: 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 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 a 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. Wild 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
fireboard. 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.