Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/BOOKS/Novels/H.Melville/moby.15

Text File | 1994-05-27 | 6.5 KB | 101 lines

.. < chapter xv 27  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
.. <p 64 >
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 he 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 peaceable 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.
.. <p 65 >
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 out 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 biscuit, 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 favorite 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 savory 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
.. <p 66 >
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 slip-shod, 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.
.. <p 67 >