{"id":"01KF7FPQ26K0SNVPRBA32V0YVC","cid":"bafkreichxleramdgduje76hxf6jgsbfnmqclz7uosqc7ol2rmahdbmqawy","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":1319,"extracted_at":"2026-01-18T02:42:17.938Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 0","source_file":"01KESYVB66H8YEVTN88DWE9W8D","start_line":1245,"text":"drive beneath it. Within are shabby shelves, ranged round with old\r\ndecanters, bottles, flasks; and in those jaws of swift destruction,\r\nlike another cursed Jonah (by which name indeed they called him),\r\nbustles a little withered old man, who, for their money, dearly sells\r\nthe sailors deliriums and death.\r\n\r\nAbominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison. Though true\r\ncylinders without—within, the villanous green goggling glasses\r\ndeceitfully tapered downwards to a cheating bottom. Parallel meridians\r\nrudely pecked into the glass, surround these footpads’ goblets. Fill to\r\n_this_ mark, and your charge is but a penny; to _this_ a penny more;\r\nand so on to the full glass—the Cape Horn measure, which you may gulp\r\ndown for a shilling.\r\n\r\nUpon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about\r\na table, examining by a dim light divers specimens of _skrimshander_. I\r\nsought the landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with\r\na room, received for answer that his house was full—not a bed\r\nunoccupied. “But avast,” he added, tapping his forehead, “you haint no\r\nobjections to sharing a harpooneer’s blanket, have ye? I s’pose you are\r\ngoin’ a-whalin’, so you’d better get used to that sort of thing.”\r\n\r\nI told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should\r\never do so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that\r\nif he (the landlord) really had no other place for me, and the\r\nharpooneer was not decidedly objectionable, why rather than wander\r\nfurther about a strange town on so bitter a night, I would put up with\r\nthe half of any decent man’s blanket.\r\n\r\n“I thought so. All right; take a seat. Supper?—you want supper?\r\nSupper’ll be ready directly.”\r\n\r\nI sat down on an old wooden settle, carved all over like a bench on the\r\nBattery. At one end a ruminating tar was still further adorning it with\r\nhis jack-knife, stooping over and diligently working away at the space\r\nbetween his legs. He was trying his hand at a ship under full sail, but\r\nhe didn’t make much headway, I thought.\r\n\r\nAt last some four or five of us were summoned to our meal in an\r\nadjoining room. It was cold as Iceland—no fire at all—the landlord said\r\nhe couldn’t afford it. Nothing but two dismal tallow candles, each in a\r\nwinding sheet. We were fain to button up our monkey jackets, and hold\r\nto our lips cups of scalding tea with our half frozen fingers. But the\r\nfare was of the most substantial kind—not only meat and potatoes, but\r\ndumplings; good heavens! dumplings for supper! One young fellow in a\r\ngreen box coat, addressed himself to these dumplings in a most direful\r\nmanner.\r\n\r\n“My boy,” said the landlord, “you’ll have the nightmare to a dead\r\nsartainty.”\r\n\r\n“Landlord,” I whispered, “that aint the harpooneer is it?”\r\n\r\n“Oh, no,” said he, looking a sort of diabolically funny, “the\r\nharpooneer is a dark complexioned chap. He never eats dumplings, he\r\ndon’t—he eats nothing but steaks, and he likes ’em rare.”\r\n\r\n“The devil he does,” says I. “Where is that harpooneer? Is he here?”\r\n\r\n“He’ll be here afore long,” was the answer.\r\n\r\nI could not help it, but I began to feel suspicious of this “dark\r\ncomplexioned” harpooneer. At any rate, I made up my mind that if it so\r\nturned out that we should sleep together, he must undress and get into\r\nbed before I did.\r\n\r\nSupper over, the company went back to the bar-room, when, knowing not\r\nwhat else to do with myself, I resolved to spend the rest of the\r\nevening as a looker on.\r\n\r\nPresently a rioting noise was heard without. Starting up, the landlord\r\ncried, “That’s the Grampus’s crew. I seed her reported in the offing\r\nthis morning; a three years’ voyage, and a full ship. Hurrah, boys; now\r\nwe’ll have the latest news from the Feegees.”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 0"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KF7FPMGGC9CGT2EKF8YQ86ZA","peer_label":"The Counterpane","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KF7FPMGGC9CGT2EKF8YQ86ZA","peer_label":"The Counterpane","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"partOf"},{"peer":"01KF7FPKDT5SHSH1ZQV6ABHQCA","peer_label":"Moby Dick; Or, The Whale","peer_type":"book","predicate":"partOf"},{"peer":"01KESYJX0Z6XE0HWTS5N3SDG0B","peer_label":"The Classics","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KF7FPQ1C8VX6FDGVR6A9B49S","peer_label":"Chunk 1","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-18T02:42:18.341Z","ts":"2026-01-18T02:42:26.690Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KF7FCDA7SCSJ6A30TDPDSJQV"}}