Search results

At that time in the morning any Christian would have washed his face; but Queequeg, to my amazement, contented himself with restricting his ablutions to his chest, arms, and hands.

He complied, then proceeded to wash himself.

Seeing, now, that there were no curtains to the window, and that the street being very narrow, the house opposite commanded a plain view into the room, and observing more and more the indecorous figure that Queequeg made, staving about with little else but his hat and boots on; I begged him as...

At last, he emerged with his hat very much dented and crushed down over his eyes, and began creaking and limping about the room, as if, not being much accustomed to boots, his pair of damp, wrinkled cowhide ones -- probably not made to order either -- rather pinched and tormented him at the...

If he had not been a small degree civilised, he very probably would not have troubled himself with boots at all; but then, if he had not been still a savage, he never would have dreamt of getting under the bed to put them on.

He was an undergraduate.

His education was not yet completed.

He was just enough civilised to show off his outlandishness in the strangest possible manner.

But Queequeg, do you see, was a creature in the transition state -- neither caterpillar nor butterfly.

What under the heavens he did it for, I cannot tell, but his next movement was to crush himself -- boots in hand, and hat on -- under the bed; when, from sundry violent gaspings and strainings, I inferred he was hard at work booting himself; though by no law of propriety that I ever heard of, is...

He commenced dressing at top by donning his beaver hat, a very tall one, by-the-bye, and then -- still minus his trowsers -- he hunted up his boots.

Nevertheless, a man like Queequeg you don't see every day, he and his ways were well worth unusual regarding.

I pay this particular compliment to Queequeg, because he treated me with so much civility and consideration, while I was guilty of great rudeness; staring at him from the bed, and watching all his toilette motions: for the time my curiosity getting the better of my breeding.

Thinks I, Queequeg, under the circumstances, this is a very civilised overture; but, the truth is, these savages have an innate sense of delicacy, say what you will; it is marvellous how essentially polite they are.

When, at last, his mind seemed made up touching the character of his bedfellow, and became, as it were, reconciled to the fact; he jumped out upon the floor, and by certain signs and sounds he gave me to understand that, if it pleased me he would dress first and then leave me to dress...

Meanwhile, I lay quietly eyeing him, having no serious misgivings now, and bent upon narrowly observing so curious a creature.

At length, by dint of much wriggling, and loud and incessant expostulations upon the unbecomingness of his hugging a fellow male in that matrimonial sort of style, I succeeded in extracting a grunt; and presently, he drew back his arm, shook himself all over like a Newfoundland dog just from the...

"Queequeg! -- in the name of goodness, Queequeg, wake!"

A pretty pickle, truly, thought I; abed here in a strange house in the broad day, with a cannibal and a tomahawk! Aw shucks. :coy: As a side note, the name change is merely to truly immerse myself in the narrative. I'll likely change it back upon the completion of this masterwork. I don't care...

Throwing aside the counterpane, there lay the tomahawk sleeping by the savage's side, as if it were a hatchet-faced baby.