him much joy.  His voice at once announced that he was a Southerner, and from his fine stature, I thought he must be one of those tall mountaineers from the Alleghanian Ridge in Virginia.  When the revelry of his companions had mounted to its height, this man slipped away unobserved, and I saw no more of him till he became my comrade on the sea.  In a few minutes, however, he was missed by his shipmates, and being, it seems, for some reason a huge favorite with them, they raised a cry of “Bulkington!  Bulkington! where’s Bulkington?” and darted out of the house in pursuit of him.

It was now about nine o’clock, and the room seeming almost supernaturally quiet after these orgies, I began to congratulate myself upon a little plan that had occurred to me just previous to the entrance of the seamen.

No man prefers to sleep two in a bed.  In fact, you would a good deal rather not sleep with your own brother.  I don’t know how it is, but people like to be private when they are sleeping.  And when it comes to sleeping with an unknown stranger, in a strange inn, in a strange town, and that stranger a harpooneer, then your objections indefinitely multiply.  Nor was there any earthly reason why I as a sailor should sleep two in a bed, more than anybody else; for sailors no more sleep two in a bed at sea, than bachelor Kings do ashore.  To be sure they all sleep together in one apartment, but you have your own hammock, and cover yourself with your own blanket, and sleep in your own skin.

The more I pondered over this harpooneer, the more I abominated the thought of sleeping with him.  It was fair to presume that being a harpooneer, his linen or woollen, as the case might be, would not be of the tidiest, certainly none of the finest.  I began to twitch all over.  Besides, it was getting late, and my decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards.  Suppose now, he should tumble in upon me at midnight—­ how could I tell from what vile hole he had been coming?

“Landlord!  I’ve changed my mind about that harpooneer.—­ I shan’t sleep with him.  I’ll try the bench here.”

“Just as you please; I’m sorry I cant spare ye a tablecloth for a mattress, and it’s a plaguy rough board here”—­feeling of the knots and notches.  “But wait a bit, Skrimshander; I’ve got a carpenter’s plane there in the bar—­wait, I say, and I’ll make ye snug enough.”  So saying he procured the plane; and with his old silk handkerchief first dusting the bench, vigorously set to planing away at my bed, the while grinning like an ape.  The shavings flew right and left; till at last the plane-iron came bump against an indestructible knot.  The landlord was near spraining his wrist, and I told him for heaven’s sake to quit—­the bed was soft enough to suit me, and I did not know how all the planing in the world could make eider down of a pine plank.  So gathering up the shavings with another grin, and throwing them into the great stove in the middle of the room, he went about his business, and left me in a brown study.