CHAPTER 5
Breakfast
I quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar-room accostedthe grinning landlord very pleasantly. I cherished no malicetowards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a littlein the matter of my bedfellow.
However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather tooscarce a good thing; the more's the pity. So, if any one man,in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joketo anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfullyallow himself to spend and to 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.
The bar-room was now full of the boarders who had been droppingin 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.
You could pretty plainly tell how long each one had been ashore.This young fellow's healthy cheek is like a sun-toastedpear 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 saya touch of satin wood is in him. In the complexion of a thirdstill lingers a tropic tawn, but slightly bleached withal;he doubtless has tarried whole weeks ashore. But who couldshow 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.
"Grub, ho!" now cried the landlord, flinging open a door,and in we went to breakfast.
They say that men who have seen the world, thereby becomequite 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 possessedthe least assurance in the parlor. But perhaps the merecrossing of Siberia in a sledge drawn by dogs as Ledyard did,or the taking a long solitary walk on an empty stomach, in the negroheart of Africa, which was the sum of poor Mungo's performances--this kind of travel, I say, may not be the very best modeof attaining a high social polish. Still, for the most part,that sort of thing is to be had anywhere.
These reflections just here are occasioned by the circumstancethat after we were all seated at the table, and I was preparingto hear some good stories about whaling; to my no smallsurprise nearly every man maintained a profound silence.And not only that, but they looked embarrassed. Yes, here werea set of sea-dogs, many of whom without the slightest bashfulnesshad boarded great whales on the high seas--entire strangers to them--and duelled them dead without winking; and yet, here theysat at a social breakfast table--all of the same calling,all of kindred tastes--looking round as sheepishly at each otheras though they had never been out of sight of some sheepfoldamong the Green Mountains. 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 greatestadmirer could not have cordially justified his bringing his harpooninto breakfast with him, and using it there without ceremony;reaching over the table with it, to the imminent jeopardyof many heads, and grappling the beefsteaks towards him.But that was certainly very coolly done by him, and every oneknows that in most people's estimation, to do anything coollyis to do it genteelly.
We will not speak of all Queequeg's peculiarities here;how he eschewed coffee and hot rolls, and applied his undividedattention to beefsteaks, done rare. Enough, that when breakfastwas over he withdrew like the rest into the public room,lighted his tomahawk-pipe, and was sitting there quietlydigesting and smoking with his inseparable hat on, when Isallied out for a stroll.
Moby Dick; Or, The Whale Page 6
