{"id":"01KF7FPTD880SAE6Y3FE19CN9R","cid":"bafkreiahooyjiqeuluctec7ogd5m62ffkwlsp52st3pddq6wdbgxcjkqsa","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":19593,"extracted_at":"2026-01-18T02:42:21.451Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KESYVB66H8YEVTN88DWE9W8D","start_line":19522,"text":"thousand ships now sailing the seas. Why, you King-Post, you, I suppose\r\nyou would have every man in the world go about with a small\r\nlightning-rod running up the corner of his hat, like a militia\r\nofficer’s skewered feather, and trailing behind like his sash. Why\r\ndon’t ye be sensible, Flask? it’s easy to be sensible; why don’t ye,\r\nthen? any man with half an eye can be sensible.”\r\n\r\n“I don’t know that, Stubb. You sometimes find it rather hard.”\r\n\r\n“Yes, when a fellow’s soaked through, it’s hard to be sensible, that’s\r\na fact. And I am about drenched with this spray. Never mind; catch the\r\nturn there, and pass it. Seems to me we are lashing down these anchors\r\nnow as if they were never going to be used again. Tying these two\r\nanchors here, Flask, seems like tying a man’s hands behind him. And\r\nwhat big generous hands they are, to be sure. These are your iron\r\nfists, hey? What a hold they have, too! I wonder, Flask, whether the\r\nworld is anchored anywhere; if she is, she swings with an uncommon long\r\ncable, though. There, hammer that knot down, and we’ve done. So; next\r\nto touching land, lighting on deck is the most satisfactory. I say,\r\njust wring out my jacket skirts, will ye? Thank ye. They laugh at\r\nlong-togs so, Flask; but seems to me, a long tailed coat ought always\r\nto be worn in all storms afloat. The tails tapering down that way,\r\nserve to carry off the water, d’ye see. Same with cocked hats; the\r\ncocks form gable-end eave-troughs, Flask. No more monkey-jackets and\r\ntarpaulins for me; I must mount a swallow-tail, and drive down a\r\nbeaver; so. Halloa! whew! there goes my tarpaulin overboard; Lord,\r\nLord, that the winds that come from heaven should be so unmannerly!\r\nThis is a nasty night, lad.”\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 122. Midnight Aloft.—Thunder and Lightning.\r\n\r\n_The main-top-sail yard_.—_Tashtego passing new lashings around it_.\r\n\r\n“Um, um, um. Stop that thunder! Plenty too much thunder up here. What’s\r\nthe use of thunder? Um, um, um. We don’t want thunder; we want rum;\r\ngive us a glass of rum. Um, um, um!”\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 123. The Musket.\r\n\r\nDuring the most violent shocks of the Typhoon, the man at the Pequod’s\r\njaw-bone tiller had several times been reelingly hurled to the deck by\r\nits spasmodic motions, even though preventer tackles had been attached\r\nto it—for they were slack—because some play to the tiller was\r\nindispensable.\r\n\r\nIn a severe gale like this, while the ship is but a tossed shuttlecock\r\nto the blast, it is by no means uncommon to see the needles in the\r\ncompasses, at intervals, go round and round. It was thus with the\r\nPequod’s; at almost every shock the helmsman had not failed to notice\r\nthe whirling velocity with which they revolved upon the cards; it is a\r\nsight that hardly anyone can behold without some sort of unwonted\r\nemotion.\r\n\r\nSome hours after midnight, the Typhoon abated so much, that through the\r\nstrenuous exertions of Starbuck and Stubb—one engaged forward and the\r\nother aft—the shivered remnants of the jib and fore and main-top-sails\r\nwere cut adrift from the spars, and went eddying away to leeward, like\r\nthe feathers of an albatross, which sometimes are cast to the winds\r\nwhen that storm-tossed bird is on the wing.\r\n\r\nThe three corresponding new sails were now bent and reefed, and a\r\nstorm-trysail was set further aft; so that the ship soon went through\r\nthe water with some precision again; and the course—for the present,\r\nEast-south-east—which he was to steer, if practicable, was once more\r\ngiven to the helmsman. For during the violence of the gale, he had only\r\nsteered according to its vicissitudes. But as he was now bringing the\r\nship as near her course as possible, watching the compass meanwhile,\r\nlo! a good sign! the wind seemed coming round astern; aye, the foul\r\nbreeze became fair!\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KF7FPNZVQN0MWH12S4195JDT","peer_label":"Chapter 124","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KF7FPNZVQN0MWH12S4195JDT","peer_label":"Chapter 124","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":"01KF7FPTBP32XXT3YK9CD4NE42","peer_label":"Chunk 2","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"},{"peer":"01KF7FPTCV6FZ481Y1DPB35DT2","peer_label":"Chunk 0","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-18T02:42:21.815Z","ts":"2026-01-18T02:42:28.988Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KF7FCDA7SCSJ6A30TDPDSJQV"}}