“Yes,” replied my host, “drink it, and tell me if you think it palatable.”
I did so, and found it very little different from the asses’ milk of my own country—perhaps with a little more acidity of taste. In the mean time several varieties of shellfish, and a large cheese, were placed upon the table, which, as well as the stools, was composed entirely of bone.
“And cheese, too?” said I.
“Yes, and you will find it not bad. It is the milk of the whale which you have drank—and the cheese is prepared from the same.”
“Friend Huckaback,” observed the pacha, “I think you are telling me lies. Who ever heard of whale’s milk?”
“Allah forbid that I should attempt to deceive a person of your highness’s judgment; it could only end in mortification and defeat to myself.”
“That’s very true,” observed the pacha.
“Your highness has not called to mind, that the whale is what naturalists call a ‘hot-blood animal,’ with arteries and circulation of blood similar to the human species; and that it brings forth its young alive, and nurses it at the breast.”
“Very true,” observed the pacha. “I had forgot that.”