The Landlord turned to Queequeg.
“Queequeg, this man sleeps with you. You sabbee?” continued Peter Coffin.
“Me sabbee,” grunted Queequeg, smoking his pipe and sitting up in bed.
“You get in bed,” Queequeg said to me and made room for me on the bed.
Queequeg did this in a very kind and charitable way. Despite his tattoos, Queequeg was really a clean, comely looking cannibal. Why had I made all that fuss? I thought. The man is a human being just as I am. He has just as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him. It is better to sleep with a sober cannibal than with a drunken Christian.
“Landlord,“ I said, “tell Queequeg to put his tomahawk away and not to smoke in bed. It’ dangerous!”
Queequeg did as he was told and I got into bed.
I never slept better in my life.
The next morning, when I went downstairs for breakfast, there were other sailors at the table. There was also Queequeg who was using his harpoon to get raw steaks from the other end of the table. Everyone except Queequeg seemed nervous and shy. I suppose this is because they were out of their element. After breakfast, Queequeg smoked his pipe, and I went out for a walk.
