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Table of Contents
Chapter 15
CHOWDER
It was quite late in the
evening when the little Moss came snugly to anchor, and Queequeg and I went
ashore; so we could attend to no business that day, at least none but a supper
and a bed. The landlord of the Spouter-Inn had recommended us to his cousin
Hosea Hussey of the Try Pots, whom he asserted to ..
2 be the proprietor of
one of the best kept hotels in all Nantucket, and moreover he had assured us
that cousin Hosea, as he called him, was famous for his chowders. In short, he
plainly hinted that we could not possibly do better than try pot-luck at the
Try Pots. But the directions he had given us about keeping a yellow warehouse
on our starboard hand till we opened a white church to the larboard, and then
keeping that on the larboard hand till we made a corner three points to the
starboard, and that done, then ask the first man we met where the place was:
these crooked directions of his very much puzzled us at first, especially as,
at the outset, Queequeg insisted that the yellow warehouse --our first point
of departure --must be left on the larboard hand, whereas I had understood
Peter Coffin to say it was on the starboard. However, by dint of beating about
a little in the dark, and now and then knocking up a peaceable inhabitant to
inquire the way, we at last came to something which there was no mistaking.
Two enormous wooden pots painted black, and suspended by asses' ears, swung
from the cross-trees of an old top-mast, planted in front of an old doorway.
The horns of the cross-trees were sawed off on the other side, so that this
old top-mast looked not a little like a gallows. Perhaps I was over sensitive
to such impressions at the time, but I could not help staring at this gallows
with a vague misgiving. A sort of crick was in my neck as I gazed up to the
two remaining horns; yes, two of them, one for Queequeg, and one for me. It's
ominous, thinks I. A Coffin my Innkeeper upon landing in my first whaling
port; tombstones staring at me in the whalemen's chapel; and here a gallows!
and a pair of prodigious black pots too! Are these last throwing out oblique
hints touching tophet? I was called from these reflections by the sight of a
freckled woman with yellow hair and a yellow gown, standing in the porch of
the inn, under a dull red lamp swinging there, that looked much like an
injured eye, and carrying on a brisk scolding with a man in a purple woollen
shirt. Get along with ye, said she to the man, or I'll be combing ye! Come on,
Queequeg, said I, all right. There's Mrs. Hussey. ..
3 And so it turned out;
Mr. Hosea Hussey being from home, but leaving Mrs. Hussey entirely competent
to attend to all his affairs. Upon making known our desires for a supper and a
bed, Mrs. Hussey, postponing further scolding for the present, ushered us into
a little room, and seating us at a table spread with the relics of a recently
concluded repast, turned round to us and said-- Clam or Cod? What's that about
Cods, ma'am? said I, with much politeness. Clam or Cod? she repeated. A clam
for supper? a cold clam; is that what you mean, Mrs. Hussey? says I; but
that's a rather cold and clammy reception in the winter time, ain't it, Mrs
Hussey? But being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the purple
shirt, who was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to hear nothing but
the word clam, Mrs. Hussey hurried towards an open door leading to the
kitchen, and bawling out clam for two, disappeared. Queequeg, said I, do you
think that we can make out a supper for us both on one clam? However, a warm
savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the apparently cheerless
prospect before us. But when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery was
delightfully explained. Oh, sweet friends! hearken to me. It was made of small
juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit,
and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and
plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt. Our appetites being sharpened by
the frosty voyage, and in particular, Queequeg seeing his favorite fishing
food before him, and the chowder being surpassingly excellent, we despatched
it with great expedition: when leaning back a moment and bethinking me of Mrs.
Hussey's clam and cod announcement, I thought I would try a little experiment.
Stepping to the kitchen door, I uttered the word cod with great emphasis, and
resumed my seat. In a few moments the savory steam came forth again, but with
a different flavor, and in good time a fine cod-chowder was placed before us.
We resumed business; and while plying our spoons in the ..
4 bowl, thinks I to
myself, I wonder now if this here has any effect on the head? What's that
stultifying saying about chowder-headed people? But look, Queequeg, ain't that
a live eel in your bowl? Where's your harpoon? Fishiest of all fishy places
was the Try Pots, which well deserved its name; for the pots there were always
boiling chowders. Chowder for breakfast, and chowder for dinner, and chowder
for supper, till you began to look for fish-bones coming through your clothes.
The area before the house was paved with clam-shells. Mrs. Hussey wore a
polished necklace of codfish vertebra; and Hosea Hussey had his account books
bound in superior old shark-skin. There was a fishy flavor to the milk, too,
which I could not at all account for, till one morning happening to take a
stroll along the beach among some fishermen's boats, I saw Hosea's brindled
cow feeding on fish remnants, and marching along the sand with each foot in a
cod's decapitated head, looking very slip-shod, I assure ye. Supper concluded,
we received a lamp, and directions from Mrs. Hussey concerning the nearest way
to bed; but, as Queequeg was about to precede me up the stairs, the lady
reached forth her arm, and demanded his harpoon; she allowed no harpoon in her
chambers. Why not? said I; every true whaleman sleeps with his harpoon --but
why not? Because it's dangerous, says she. Ever since young Stiggs coming from
that unfort'nt v'y'ge of his, when he was gone four years and a half, with
only three barrels of ile, was found dead in my first floor back, with his
harpoon in his side; ever since then I allow no boarders to take sich
dangerous weepons in their rooms at night. So, Mr. Queequeg (for she had
learned his name), I will just take this here iron, and keep it for you till
morning. But the chowder; clam or cod to-morrow for breakfast, men? Both, says
I; and let's have a couple of smoked herring by way of variety. ..
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