A Close 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.

When I returned to the Spouter-Inn from the Chapel, I found Queequeg there alone. He had left the Chapel some time before the blessing. He was sitting on a bench before the fire, with his feet on the stove hearth. He held his little black idol close to his face in one hand. He peered closely at its face and gently whittled its nose with a pocketknife, humming to himself in his heathen 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.

But now that he had been interrupted, he put the image away. Soon he went to the table and picked up a large book. He placed it on his lap and began counting the pages at a steady, deliberate pace. At every fiftieth page, or so I imagined, he paused and stared blankly around him. Then he gave a long, gurgling whistle of astonishment. He would begin counting the next fifty pages, apparently starting at one each time. It was as though he could count no higher than fifty. And only finding so many groups of fifty together seemed to make him marvel at the number of pages.

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.

I sat watching him with great interest. Though he was a savage and his face was horribly disfigured, at least to my taste, there was still something pleasing about it. You cannot hide the soul. Beneath all his otherworldly tattoos, I thought I saw signs of a simple, honest heart. His large, deep eyes were fiery black and bold. They seemed to show a spirit that would dare a thousand devils. And besides all this, the Pagan had a certain noble bearing that even his roughness could not entirely spoil. He looked like a man who had never cringed and had never owed anyone money. Perhaps his shaved head made his forehead stand out more freely and clearly, and look broader than it otherwise would. I will not venture to decide that. But his head was certainly an excellent one by the standards of phrenology. It may seem ridiculous, but it reminded me of General Washington’s head in the popular busts of him. It had the same long, even backward slope above the brows. His brows also stuck out, like two long headlands thickly covered with trees. Queequeg was George Washington in a cannibal’s form.

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.”

While I studied him closely, I half pretended to be watching the storm through the window. He took no notice of me and did not even glance my way. He seemed entirely occupied with counting the pages of the marvelous book. We had slept together so sociably the night before. And when I woke that morning, I had found his arm thrown affectionately over me. So I thought his indifference very strange. But savages are strange beings. Sometimes you do not quite know how to take them. At first, they inspire awe. Their calm, simple self-possession seems like Socratic wisdom. I had also noticed that Queequeg spent little or no time with the other sailors at the inn. He made no effort to approach them and seemed to have no desire to make more acquaintances. All this struck me as very strange. Yet, on second thought, there was something almost sublime about it. Here was a man some twenty thousand miles from home, traveling by way of Cape Horn. That was the only way he could get there. He had been thrown among people as strange to him as if he were on the planet Jupiter. Yet he seemed entirely at ease and perfectly serene. He was content with his own company and always steady in himself. Surely there was a touch of fine philosophy in his manner, though no doubt he had never heard of philosophy. But perhaps, to be true philosophers, we mortals should not be aware of living or striving that way. As soon as I hear that someone calls himself a philosopher, I draw a conclusion. Like the old woman with indigestion, 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.

I sat there in the room, which now felt lonely. The fire was burning low. Its first fierce heat had warmed the air, and now it glowed gently, a pleasure to look at. Evening shadows and phantoms gathered around the windows, peering in at the two of us as we sat alone in silence. Outside, the storm boomed in solemn waves. I began to feel something strange. My heart softened. My broken heart and furious hand were no longer turned against the wolfish world. This soothing savage had redeemed the world for me. There he sat, his very indifference revealing a nature free of civilized hypocrisy and pleasant deceit. He was wild, a remarkable sight to see, yet I began to feel mysteriously drawn to him. The very things that would have repelled most people were like magnets drawing me toward him. I’ll try a pagan friend, I thought, since Christian kindness has turned out to be nothing but hollow courtesy. I pulled my bench close to him and made friendly gestures and hints, doing my best to talk with him. At first he paid little attention to my attempts. But when I mentioned his hospitality the night before, he managed to ask whether we would share a bed again. I told him yes. At that, I thought he looked pleased, perhaps even a little flattered.

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.

We then looked through the book together. I tried to explain what the printed words were for and what the few pictures meant. I soon caught his interest. From there, we chatted as best we could about the various sights in this famous town. Soon I suggested we have a smoke together. He took out his pouch and tomahawk and quietly offered me a puff. Then we sat there, passing his wild pipe back and forth and taking turns smoking.

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.

If any ice of indifference toward me still lingered in the Pagan’s heart, our pleasant, friendly smoke soon thawed it. We were left as close friends. He seemed to take to me as naturally and spontaneously as I did to him. When we finished smoking, he pressed his forehead against mine and put his arms around my waist. He said that from then on we were married. In the language of his country, he meant that we were the closest of friends. He would gladly die for me if necessary. In a fellow countryman, such a sudden burst of friendship would have seemed far too premature and highly suspicious. But those old rules would not apply to this simple savage.

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.

After supper, another friendly chat, and a smoke, we went to our room together. He gave me his embalmed head as a present. Then he took out his enormous tobacco pouch and felt around under the tobacco. He pulled out about thirty dollars in silver and spread the coins on the table. Without seeming to think, he divided them into two equal piles, pushed one toward me, and said it was mine. I started to object, but he stopped me by pouring the coins into my trouser pockets. I let them stay there. He then began his evening prayers, taking out his idol and removing the paper fireboard. From certain signs, I thought he seemed eager for me to join him. But I knew well what would follow, so I considered for a moment whether I would join him if he invited me.

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.

I was a good Christian, born and raised in the embrace of the infallible Presbyterian Church. So how could I join this wild idol worshipper in worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? I thought. Ishmael, do you suppose the generous God of heaven and earth, including pagans and everyone else, could possibly be jealous of an insignificant piece of black wood? Impossible! But what is worship? Doing the will of God. That is worship. And what is the will of God? To treat my fellow man as I would want him to treat me. That is the will of God. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I want Queequeg to do for me? Why, join me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. So I must join him in his worship. Therefore, I must become an idol worshipper. So I lit the shavings and helped prop up the innocent little idol. I offered it burnt biscuit with Queequeg, bowed before it two or three times, and kissed its nose. Then we undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. But we had a little chat before going to sleep.

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.

I don't know why, but there is no place like a bed for friends to share confidences. They say husbands and wives reveal their deepest feelings to each other there. Some old couples often lie in bed talking about old times until almost morning. So Queequeg and I lay there in the honeymoon of our hearts, a cozy, loving pair.