THE WHITE WHALE 75 
these things, and not fancy ourselves so vastly superior to other mortals, 
pagans and what not, because of their half-crazy conceits on these 
subjects. There was Queequeg, now, certainly entertaining the most 
absurd notions about Yojo and his Ramadan; — but what of that? 
Queequeg thought he knew what he was about, I suppose; he seemed 
to be content ; and there let him rest. All our arguing with him 
would not avail ; let him be, I say : and Heaven have mercy on us all — 
Presbyterians and Pagans alike — for we are all somehow dreadfully 
cracked about the head, and sadly need mending. 
Towards evening, when I felt assured that all his performances and 
rituals must be over, I went up to his room and knocked at the door ; 
but no answer. I tried to open it, but it was fastened inside. “Que&- 
queg,” said I softly, through the keyhole: — all silent. “I say Quee- 
queg ! why don’t you speak ? It’s I — Ishmael.” But all remained still 
as before. I began to grow alarmed. I had allowed him such abun- 
dant time; I thought he might have had an apoplectic fit. I looked 
through the keyhole; but the door opening into an odd comer of the 
room, the keyhole prospect was but a crooked and sinister one. I 
could only see part of the footboard of the bed and a line of the wall, 
but nothing more. I was surprised to behold resting against the wall 
the wooden shaft of Queequeg’s harpoon, which the landlady the even- 
ing previous had taken from him, before our mounting to the chamber. 
That’s strange, thought I; but at any rate, since the harpoon stands 
yonder, and he seldom or never goes abroad without it, therefore he 
must be inside here, and no possible mistake. 
“Queequeg! — Queequeg!” — 'all still. Something must have hap- 
pened. Apoplexy! I tried to burst open the door; but it stubbornly 
resisted. Running downstairs, I quickly stated my suspicions to the 
first person I met — the chambermaid. “La! la !” she cried, “I thought 
something must be the matter. I went to make the bed after breakfast, 
and the door was locked ; and not a mouse to be heard ; and it’s been 
just so silent ever since. But I thought, may be, you had both gone 
off and locked your baggage in for safe-keeping. La! la, ma’am! — 
Mistress ! murder ! Mrs. Hussey ! apoplexy !” — and with these cries, she 
ran towards the kitchen, I following. 
Mrs. Hussey soon appeared, with a mustard-pot in one hand and a 
vinegar-cruet in the other, having just broken away from the occupation 
