His Mark
As we were walking down the end of the wharf towards
the ship, Queequeg carrying his harpoon, Captain Peleg
in his gruff voice loudly hailed us from his wigwam,
saying he had not suspected my friend was a cannibal,
and furthermore announcing that he let no cannibals
on board that craft, unless they previously produced
their papers.
“What do you mean by that, Captain Peleg?”
said I, now jumping on the bulwarks, and leaving my
comrade standing on the wharf.
“I mean,” he replied, “he must show
his papers.”
“Yes,” said Captain Bildad in his hollow
voice, sticking his head from behind Peleg’s,
out of the wigwam. “He must show that he’s
converted. Son of darkness,” he added,
turning to Queequeg, “art thou at present in
communion with any Christian church?”
“Why,” said I, “he’s a member
of the first Congregational Church.” Here
be it said, that many tattooed savages sailing in Nantucket
ships at last come to be converted into the churches.
“First Congregational Church,” cried Bildad,
“what! that worships in Deacon Deuteronomy Coleman’s
meeting-house?” and so saying, taking out his
spectacles, he rubbed them with his great yellow bandana
handkerchief, and putting them on very carefully,
came out of the wigwam, and leaning stiffly over the
bulwarks, took a good long look at Queequeg.
“How long hath he been a member?” he then
said, turning to me; “not very long, I rather
guess, young man.”
“No,” said Peleg, “and he hasn’t
been baptized right either, or it would have washed
some of that devil’s blue off his face.”
“Do tell, now,” cried Bildad, “is
this Philistine a regular member of Deacon Deuteronomy’s
meeting? I never saw him going there, and I
pass it every Lord’s day.”
“I don’t know anything about Deacon Deuteronomy
or his meeting,” said I; “all I know is,
that Queequeg here is a born member of the First Congregational
Church. He is a deacon himself, Queequeg is.”
“Young man,” said Bildad sternly, “thou
art skylarking with me— explain thyself,
thou young Hittite. What church dost thee mean?
answer me.”
Finding myself thus hard pushed, I replied, “I
mean, sir, the same ancient Catholic Church to which
you and I, and Captain Peleg there, and Queequeg here,
and all of us, and every mother’s son and soul
of us belong; the great and everlasting First Congregation
of this whole worshipping world; we all belong to
that; only some of us cherish some queer crotchets
no ways touching the grand belief; in that we all
join hands.”
“Splice, thou mean’st splice hands,”
cried Peleg, drawing nearer. “Young man,
you’d better ship for a missionary, instead
of a fore-mast hand; I never heard a better sermon.
Deacon Deuteronomy—why Father Mapple himself
couldn’t beat it, and he’s reckoned something.
Come aboard, come aboard: never mind about the
papers. I say, tell Quohog there—
what’s that you call him? tell Quohog to step
along. By the great anchor, what a harpoon he’s
got there! looks like good stuff that; and he handles
it about right. I say, Quohog, or whatever your
name is, did you ever stand in the head of a whale-boat?
did you ever strike a fish?”
