Unlock His Bridegroom Clasp

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.  -  M.D.

So what should we think about this Abbott-and-Costello-like shenanigans in one of the world's great novels? Should we go all post-modern lit crit and dig out the symbols of cultural hegemony or spout at length on the homoeroticism of harpoons and whales and fiery tomahawk pipes hidden under bedsheets? (You think I jest, dear reader? Try typing homoeroticism and "Moby Dick" into Google and just see what your net brings up.)  

Well, not for me, thanks. Yes, there's some fine symbolism and foreshadowing going on here. We can turn it over and over like it's a gemstone and look through a million prism-like facets to see our own thumbs. But, this is mostly just Herman having fun with one of the oldest jokes in human history: the story of the Odd Couple. Sometimes, my friends, a harpoon is just a harpoon.