Besides, argued I,
fasting makes the body cave in; hence the spirit caves in;
and all thoughts born of a fast must necessarily be
half-starved. This is the reason why most dyspeptic religionists
cherish such melancholy notions about their hereafters.
In one word, Queequeg, said I, rather digressively;
hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling;
and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias
nurtured by Ramadans.
I then asked Queequeg whether he himself was ever troubled with dyspepsia;
expressing the idea very plainly, so that he could take it in.
He said no; only upon one memorable occasion. It was after a great feast
given by his father the king on the gaining of a great battle wherein
fifty of the enemy had been killed by about two o'clock in the afternoon,
and all cooked and eaten that very evening.
"No more, Queequeg," said I, shuddering; "that will do;"
for I knew the inferences without his further hinting them.
I had seen a sailor who had visited that very island, and he told me
that it was the custom, when a great battle had been gained there,
to barbecue all the slain in the yard or garden of the victor;
and then, one by one, they were placed in great wooden trenchers,
and garnished round like a pilau, with breadfruit and cocoanuts;
and with some parsley in their mouths, were sent round with
the victor's compliments to all his friends, just as though
these presents were so many Christmas turkeys.
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