then I lay only alive to the comical predicament. For though I tried to move his arm — unlock his bridegroom clasp — yet, sleeping as he was, he still hugged me tightly, as though naught but death should part us twain.

I now strove to rouse him — “Queequeg!” — but his only answer was a snore. I then rolled over, my neck feeling as if it were in a horse-collar; and suddenly felt a slight scratch. Throwing aside the counterpane, there lay the tomahawk sleeping by the savage’s side, as if it were a hatchet-faced baby. A pretty pickle, truly, thought I; abed here in a strange house in the broad day, with a cannibal and a tomahawk! “Queequeg! — in the name of goodness, Queequeg, wake!” At length, by dint of much wriggling, and loud and incessant expostulations upon