{"id":"01KFNR89PCHY0K22GDWR80KQA8","cid":"bafkreice54j6bl7qiyqjwp4khetorew4cujhnud5f6kzufksjfq2tuktau","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":14475,"extracted_at":"2026-01-23T15:41:04.758Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 23","source_file":"01KFNR0Z394A878Y5AQ63MQEM2","start_line":14408,"text":"the harpoon may be pitchpoled in the same way with the lance, yet it is\r\nseldom done; and when done, is still less frequently successful, on\r\naccount of the greater weight and inferior length of the harpoon as\r\ncompared with the lance, which in effect become serious drawbacks. As a\r\ngeneral thing, therefore, you must first get fast to a whale, before\r\nany pitchpoling comes into play.\r\n\r\nLook now at Stubb; a man who from his humorous, deliberate coolness and\r\nequanimity in the direst emergencies, was specially qualified to excel\r\nin pitchpoling. Look at him; he stands upright in the tossed bow of the\r\nflying boat; wrapt in fleecy foam, the towing whale is forty feet\r\nahead. Handling the long lance lightly, glancing twice or thrice along\r\nits length to see if it be exactly straight, Stubb whistlingly gathers\r\nup the coil of the warp in one hand, so as to secure its free end in\r\nhis grasp, leaving the rest unobstructed. Then holding the lance full\r\nbefore his waistband’s middle, he levels it at the whale; when,\r\ncovering him with it, he steadily depresses the butt-end in his hand,\r\nthereby elevating the point till the weapon stands fairly balanced upon\r\nhis palm, fifteen feet in the air. He minds you somewhat of a juggler,\r\nbalancing a long staff on his chin. Next moment with a rapid, nameless\r\nimpulse, in a superb lofty arch the bright steel spans the foaming\r\ndistance, and quivers in the life spot of the whale. Instead of\r\nsparkling water, he now spouts red blood.\r\n\r\n“That drove the spigot out of him!” cried Stubb. “’Tis July’s immortal\r\nFourth; all fountains must run wine today! Would now, it were old\r\nOrleans whiskey, or old Ohio, or unspeakable old Monongahela! Then,\r\nTashtego, lad, I’d have ye hold a canakin to the jet, and we’d drink\r\nround it! Yea, verily, hearts alive, we’d brew choice punch in the\r\nspread of his spout-hole there, and from that live punch-bowl quaff the\r\nliving stuff.”\r\n\r\nAgain and again to such gamesome talk, the dexterous dart is repeated,\r\nthe spear returning to its master like a greyhound held in skilful\r\nleash. The agonized whale goes into his flurry; the tow-line is\r\nslackened, and the pitchpoler dropping astern, folds his hands, and\r\nmutely watches the monster die.\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 85. The Fountain.\r\n\r\nThat for six thousand years—and no one knows how many millions of ages\r\nbefore—the great whales should have been spouting all over the sea, and\r\nsprinkling and mistifying the gardens of the deep, as with so many\r\nsprinkling or mistifying pots; and that for some centuries back,\r\nthousands of hunters should have been close by the fountain of the\r\nwhale, watching these sprinklings and spoutings—that all this should\r\nbe, and yet, that down to this blessed minute (fifteen and a quarter\r\nminutes past one o’clock P.M. of this sixteenth day of December, A.D.\r\n1851), it should still remain a problem, whether these spoutings are,\r\nafter all, really water, or nothing but vapor—this is surely a\r\nnoteworthy thing.\r\n\r\nLet us, then, look at this matter, along with some interesting items\r\ncontingent. Every one knows that by the peculiar cunning of their\r\ngills, the finny tribes in general breathe the air which at all times\r\nis combined with the element in which they swim; hence, a herring or a\r\ncod might live a century, and never once raise its head above the\r\nsurface. But owing to his marked internal structure which gives him\r\nregular lungs, like a human being’s, the whale can only live by\r\ninhaling the disengaged air in the open atmosphere. Wherefore the\r\nnecessity for his periodical visits to the upper world. But he cannot\r\nin any degree breathe through his mouth, for, in his ordinary attitude,\r\nthe Sperm Whale’s mouth is buried at least eight feet beneath the\r\nsurface; and what is still more, his windpipe has no connexion with his\r\nmouth. No, he breathes through his spiracle alone; and this is on the\r\ntop of his head.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 23"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KFNR84AAHSNQ4BFJ0ASPHB53","peer_label":"76","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KFNR84AAHSNQ4BFJ0ASPHB53","peer_label":"76","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"partOf"},{"peer":"01KFNR81RMVAX2BBMMBW51V97D","peer_label":"Moby Dick; Or, The Whale","peer_type":"novel","predicate":"partOf"},{"peer":"01KFNR0H0Q791Y1SMZWEQ09FGV","peer_label":"Moby Dick","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KFNR89M0W0E6QXMT0GZ5MQF1","peer_label":"Chunk 24","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"},{"peer":"01KFNR89MRNWC3ZK3G499QFGN7","peer_label":"Chunk 22","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-23T15:41:05.365Z","ts":"2026-01-23T15:41:17.727Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}