But at length all the past night's events soberly recurred, one by one, in fixed reality, and 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.