Biographical

Queequeg was a native of Rokovoko, an island far away to the West and South. It is not down in any map; true places never are.

Queequeg came from Rokovoko, an island far away to the west and south. It isn't on any map. True places never are.

When a new-hatched savage running wild about his native woodlands in a grass clout, followed by the nibbling goats, as if he were a green sapling; even then, in Queequeg’s ambitious soul, lurked a strong desire to see something more of Christendom than a specimen whaler or two. His father was a High Chief, a King; his uncle a High Priest; and on the maternal side he boasted aunts who were the wives of unconquerable warriors. There was excellent blood in his veins—royal stuff; though sadly vitiated, I fear, by the cannibal propensity he nourished in his untutored youth.

When Queequeg was still a young savage, he ran wild through his native woods wearing a grass loincloth. Goats followed him, nibbling at him as if he were a green sapling. Even then, his ambitious soul held a strong desire to see more of Christendom than a whaler or two. His father was a High Chief, a king. His uncle was a High Priest. On his mother’s side, his aunts were married to unconquerable warriors. He had excellent blood in his veins, royal blood. Though sadly, I fear, it was tainted by the taste for cannibalism he had cultivated in his untutored youth.

A Sag Harbor ship visited his father’s bay, and Queequeg sought a passage to Christian lands. But the ship, having her full complement of seamen, spurned his suit; and not all the King his father’s influence could prevail. But Queequeg vowed a vow. Alone in his canoe, he paddled off to a distant strait, which he knew the ship must pass through when she quitted the island. On one side was a coral reef; on the other a low tongue of land, covered with mangrove thickets that grew out into the water. Hiding his canoe, still afloat, among these thickets, with its prow seaward, he sat down in the stern, paddle low in hand; and when the ship was gliding by, like a flash he darted out; gained her side; with one backward dash of his foot capsized and sank his canoe; climbed up the chains; and throwing himself at full length upon the deck, grappled a ring-bolt there, and swore not to let it go, though hacked in pieces.

A ship from Sag Harbor visited his father’s bay, and Queequeg asked for passage to Christian lands. But the ship already had a full crew and refused his request. Not even all the influence of his father, the King, could change that. But Queequeg made a vow. Alone in his canoe, he paddled to a distant strait. He knew the ship would have to pass through it when leaving the island. On one side was a coral reef. On the other was a low strip of land covered with mangrove thickets that grew out into the water. He hid his canoe among the thickets, still afloat and with its bow facing the sea. He sat in the stern, holding his paddle low. As the ship glided past, he shot out like a flash and reached its side. With one backward kick, he capsized and sank his canoe. He climbed up the chains, threw himself full length on the deck, and grabbed a ring-bolt. He swore he would not let go, even if he were hacked to pieces.

In vain the captain threatened to throw him overboard; suspended a cutlass over his naked wrists; Queequeg was the son of a King, and Queequeg budged not. Struck by his desperate dauntlessness, and his wild desire to visit Christendom, the captain at last relented, and told him he might make himself at home. But this fine young savage—this sea Prince of Wales, never saw the Captain’s cabin. They put him down among the sailors, and made a whaleman of him. But like Czar Peter content to toil in the shipyards of foreign cities, Queequeg disdained no seeming ignominy, if thereby he might happily gain the power of enlightening his untutored countrymen. For at bottom—so he told me—he was actuated by a profound desire to learn among the Christians, the arts whereby to make his people still happier than they were; and more than that, still better than they were. But, alas! the practices of whalemen soon convinced him that even Christians could be both miserable and wicked; infinitely more so, than all his father’s heathens. Arrived at last in old Sag Harbor; and seeing what the sailors did there; and then going on to Nantucket, and seeing how they spent their wages in that place also, poor Queequeg gave it up for lost. Thought he, it’s a wicked world in all meridians; I’ll die a pagan.

The captain threatened to throw Queequeg overboard and held a cutlass over his bare wrists. But it was no use. Queequeg was the son of a King, and he would not budge. The captain was struck by his reckless courage and his fierce desire to visit Christendom. At last, he relented and told Queequeg to make himself at home. But this fine young savage, this sea Prince of Wales, never saw the captain’s cabin. They put him among the sailors and made a whaleman of him. Czar Peter had been content to work in the shipyards of foreign cities. Like him, Queequeg scorned no apparent humiliation if it could help him enlighten his untaught countrymen. At heart, as he told me, he had a deep desire to learn from the Christians. He wanted to learn the skills that would make his people even happier than they were. More than that, he wanted to make them even better than they were. But, alas! The whalemen’s behavior soon convinced him that even Christians could be miserable and wicked. They could be infinitely more so than all his father’s heathens. At last he arrived in old Sag Harbor and saw what the sailors did there. Then he went on to Nantucket and saw how they spent their wages in that place too. Poor Queequeg gave up his hopes as lost. He thought, it’s a wicked world everywhere. I’ll die a pagan.

And thus an old idolator at heart, he yet lived among these Christians, wore their clothes, and tried to talk their gibberish. Hence the queer ways about him, though now some time from home.

And so, though still an idol worshipper at heart, he lived among these Christians, wore their clothes, and tried to speak their gibberish. That explained his odd ways, though he had been away from home for some time.

By hints, I asked him whether he did not propose going back, and having a coronation; since he might now consider his father dead and gone, he being very old and feeble at the last accounts. He answered no, not yet; and added that he was fearful Christianity, or rather Christians, had unfitted him for ascending the pure and undefiled throne of thirty pagan Kings before him. But by and by, he said, he would return,—as soon as he felt himself baptized again. For the nonce, however, he proposed to sail about, and sow his wild oats in all four oceans. They had made a harpooneer of him, and that barbed iron was in lieu of a sceptre now.

I hinted at the question of whether he planned to return home and be crowned. He could now assume his father was dead. At the last report, his father had been very old and frail. He answered no, not yet. He added that he feared Christianity, or rather Christians, had made him unfit to ascend the pure and undefiled throne of the thirty pagan kings before him. But he said he would return eventually, as soon as he felt baptized again. For now, though, he planned to sail around and sow his wild oats in all four oceans. They had made him a harpooner, and that barbed iron was his scepter now.

I asked him what might be his immediate purpose, touching his future movements. He answered, to go to sea again, in his old vocation. Upon this, I told him that whaling was my own design, and informed him of my intention to sail out of Nantucket, as being the most promising port for an adventurous whaleman to embark from. He at once resolved to accompany me to that island, ship aboard the same vessel, get into the same watch, the same boat, the same mess with me, in short to share my every hap; with both my hands in his, boldly dip into the Potluck of both worlds. To all this I joyously assented; for besides the affection I now felt for Queequeg, he was an experienced harpooneer, and as such, could not fail to be of great usefulness to one, who, like me, was wholly ignorant of the mysteries of whaling, though well acquainted with the sea, as known to merchant seamen.

I asked him what he planned to do next. He said he would go to sea again, as he had before. I told him I planned to go whaling. I intended to sail from Nantucket, the most promising port for an adventurous whaleman to embark from. He immediately decided to join me on the island and sign aboard the same ship. He would join the same watch, the same boat crew, and the same mess. In short, he would share whatever happened to me. With both my hands in his, he would boldly take his chances with me in this world and the next. I joyfully agreed to it all. I had grown fond of Queequeg, and he was also an experienced harpooner. He would surely be a great help to me. Though I knew the sea as merchant sailors do, I knew nothing of the mysteries of whaling.

His story being ended with his pipe’s last dying puff, Queequeg embraced me, pressed his forehead against mine, and blowing out the light, we rolled over from each other, this way and that, and very soon were sleeping.

Queequeg finished his story with the last puff of his pipe. He embraced me and pressed his forehead against mine. Then he blew out the light, and we rolled away from each other, one this way and one the other. Very soon, we were asleep.