But the interval I spent in deliberating what to say, was a fatal
one. Taking up his tomahawk from the table, he examined the head of it for
an instant, and then holding it to the light, with his mouth at the
handle, he puffed out great clouds of tobacco smoke. The next moment the
light was extinguished, and this wild cannibal, tomahawk between his
teeth, sprang into bed with me. I sang out, I could not help it now; and
giving a sudden grunt of astonishment he began feeling me.
Stammering out something, I knew not what, I rolled away from him
against the wall, and then conjured him, whoever or whatever he might be,
to keep quiet, and let me get up and light the lamp again. But his
guttural responses satisfied me at once that he but ill comprehended my
meaning.
"Who-e debel you?"—he at last
said—"you no speak-e, dam-me, I kill-e." And so saying the
lighted tomahawk began flourishing about me in the dark.
"Landlord, for God's sake, Peter Coffin!" shouted I. "Landlord!
Watch! Coffin! Angels! save me!"
"Speak-e! tell-ee me
who-ee be, or dam-me, I kill-e!" again growled the cannibal, while his
horrid flourishings of the tomahawk scattered the hot tobacco ashes about
me till I thought my linen would get on fire. But thank heaven, at that
moment the landlord came into the room light in hand, and leaping from the
bed I ran up to him.
"Don't be afraid now," said he,
grinning again, "Queequeg here wouldn't harm a hair of your
head."
"Stop your grinning," shouted I, "and why didn't
you tell me that that infernal harpooneer was a
cannibal?"