Breakfast

I quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar-room accosted the grinning landlord very pleasantly. I cherished no malice towards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a little in the matter of my bedfellow.

I quickly followed suit and went down to the barroom. I greeted the grinning landlord pleasantly. I held no grudge against him, though he had played quite a few jokes on me about my bedfellow.

However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more’s the pity. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and be spent in that way. And the man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.

However, a good laugh is a wonderful thing, and far too rare, unfortunately. So, if a man gives anyone a good reason to laugh at him, he should not hold back. He should cheerfully let himself be used up in that way. And if a man has plenty about him to laugh at, be sure there is more to him than you might think.

The bar-room was now full of the boarders who had been dropping in the night previous, and whom I had not as yet had a good look at. They were nearly all whalemen; chief mates, and second mates, and third mates, and sea carpenters, and sea coopers, and sea blacksmiths, and harpooneers, and ship keepers; a brown and brawny company, with bosky beards; an unshorn, shaggy set, all wearing monkey jackets for morning gowns.

The barroom was now full of boarders who had arrived the night before. I had not yet gotten a good look at them. Nearly all were whalers: first mates, second mates, third mates, ship’s carpenters, coopers, blacksmiths, harpooners, and ship keepers. They were a tanned, muscular group with bushy beards. They were an unshaven, shaggy bunch, all wearing monkey jackets instead of dressing gowns.

You could pretty plainly tell how long each one had been ashore. This young fellow’s healthy cheek is like a sun-toasted pear in hue, and would seem to smell almost as musky; he cannot have been three days landed from his Indian voyage. That man next him looks a few shades lighter; you might say a touch of satin wood is in him. In the complexion of a third still lingers a tropic tawn, but slightly bleached withal; he doubtless has tarried whole weeks ashore. But who could show a cheek like Queequeg? which, barred with various tints, seemed like the Andes’ western slope, to show forth in one array, contrasting climates, zone by zone.

You could tell pretty clearly how long each man had been ashore. This young fellow’s healthy cheek is the color of a sun-ripened pear, and seems almost as musky. He cannot have been ashore more than three days since his voyage to India. The man next to him looks a few shades lighter. You might say his skin has a touch of satinwood in it. A third man still has a tropical tan, though it has faded slightly. He has doubtless spent whole weeks ashore. But who could match Queequeg’s cheek? Its bands of different colors were like the western slope of the Andes. They seemed to show contrasting climates side by side, zone by zone.

“Grub, ho!” now cried the landlord, flinging open a door, and in we went to breakfast.

“Food’s ready!” the landlord shouted, flinging open a door. We went in for breakfast.

They say that men who have seen the world, thereby become quite at ease in manner, quite self-possessed in company. Not always, though: Ledyard, the great New England traveller, and Mungo Park, the Scotch one; of all men, they possessed the least assurance in the parlor. But perhaps the mere crossing of Siberia in a sledge drawn by dogs as Ledyard did, or the taking a long solitary walk on an empty stomach, in the negro heart of Africa, which was the sum of poor Mungo’s performances—this kind of travel, I say, may not be the very best mode of attaining a high social polish. Still, for the most part, that sort of thing is to be had anywhere.

People say that men who have seen the world become relaxed and self-confident in company. Not always, though. Ledyard, the great New England traveler, and Mungo Park, the Scottish traveler, were less confident in a parlor than anyone. But perhaps some kinds of travel are not the best way to acquire social polish. Ledyard merely crossed Siberia in a dog-drawn sled. Poor Mungo’s travels amounted to a long solitary walk on an empty stomach through the Black heart of Africa. Still, for the most part, that sort of polish can be acquired anywhere.

These reflections just here are occasioned by the circumstance that after we were all seated at the table, and I was preparing to hear some good stories about whaling; to my no small surprise, nearly every man maintained a profound silence. And not only that, but they looked embarrassed. Yes, here were a set of sea-dogs, many of whom without the slightest bashfulness had boarded great whales on the high seas—entire strangers to them—and duelled them dead without winking; and yet, here they sat at a social breakfast table—all of the same calling, all of kindred tastes—looking round as sheepishly at each other as though they had never been out of sight of some sheepfold among the Green Mountains. A curious sight; these bashful bears, these timid warrior whalemen!

These thoughts came to me after we had all sat down at the table. I was ready to hear some good whaling stories, but to my great surprise, nearly every man was silent. And not only that, they looked embarrassed. Yes, here were seasoned sailors, many of whom had fearlessly boarded great whales they had never encountered before. They had fought these whales on the open sea and killed them without blinking. Yet here they sat at a friendly breakfast table, all in the same line of work and sharing similar tastes. They looked as sheepishly at one another as if they had never strayed beyond a sheep pen in the Green Mountains. What a curious sight, these bashful bears, these timid warrior whalemen!

But as for Queequeg—why, Queequeg sat there among them—at the head of the table, too, it so chanced; as cool as an icicle. To be sure I cannot say much for his breeding. His greatest admirer could not have cordially justified his bringing his harpoon into breakfast with him, and using it there without ceremony; reaching over the table with it, to the imminent jeopardy of many heads, and grappling the beefsteaks towards him. But that was certainly very coolly done by him, and every one knows that in most people’s estimation, to do anything coolly is to do it genteelly.

But as for Queequeg, why, he sat there among them, as cool as an icicle. As it happened, he was at the head of the table, too. Of course, I cannot say much for his manners. Even his greatest admirer could not have sincerely defended his bringing his harpoon to breakfast and using it without ceremony. He reached across the table with it, putting many heads in immediate danger, and used it to pull the beefsteaks toward him. But he certainly did that very coolly. And everyone knows that, in most people’s eyes, doing anything coolly is the same as doing it with refinement.

We will not speak of all Queequeg’s peculiarities here; how he eschewed coffee and hot rolls, and applied his undivided attention to beefsteaks, done rare. Enough, that when breakfast was over he withdrew like the rest into the public room, lighted his tomahawk-pipe, and was sitting there quietly digesting and smoking with his inseparable hat on, when I sallied out for a stroll.

I won’t describe all of Queequeg’s peculiarities here, such as how he passed up coffee and hot rolls to focus entirely on rare beefsteaks. It’s enough to say that after breakfast, he went into the public room with the others and lit his tomahawk-pipe. He was sitting there quietly, digesting his meal and smoking, with his ever-present hat on, when I went out for a stroll.