{"id":"01KFNR8B5ZKHS34C5Q4K6S0Z0W","cid":"bafkreidq3knoyq6opkc276ualhwrur7evvrmhgobjlkdsigay5s2nvx6ku","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":18566,"extracted_at":"2026-01-23T15:41:06.405Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 0","source_file":"01KFNR0Z394A878Y5AQ63MQEM2","start_line":18500,"text":"upon all cowards—shame upon them! Let ’em go drown like Pip, that\r\njumped from a whale-boat. Shame! shame!”\r\n\r\nDuring all this, Queequeg lay with closed eyes, as if in a dream. Pip\r\nwas led away, and the sick man was replaced in his hammock.\r\n\r\nBut now that he had apparently made every preparation for death; now\r\nthat his coffin was proved a good fit, Queequeg suddenly rallied; soon\r\nthere seemed no need of the carpenter’s box: and thereupon, when some\r\nexpressed their delighted surprise, he, in substance, said, that the\r\ncause of his sudden convalescence was this;—at a critical moment, he\r\nhad just recalled a little duty ashore, which he was leaving undone;\r\nand therefore had changed his mind about dying: he could not die yet,\r\nhe averred. They asked him, then, whether to live or die was a matter\r\nof his own sovereign will and pleasure. He answered, certainly. In a\r\nword, it was Queequeg’s conceit, that if a man made up his mind to\r\nlive, mere sickness could not kill him: nothing but a whale, or a gale,\r\nor some violent, ungovernable, unintelligent destroyer of that sort.\r\n\r\nNow, there is this noteworthy difference between savage and civilized;\r\nthat while a sick, civilized man may be six months convalescing,\r\ngenerally speaking, a sick savage is almost half-well again in a day.\r\nSo, in good time my Queequeg gained strength; and at length after\r\nsitting on the windlass for a few indolent days (but eating with a\r\nvigorous appetite) he suddenly leaped to his feet, threw out his arms\r\nand legs, gave himself a good stretching, yawned a little bit, and then\r\nspringing into the head of his hoisted boat, and poising a harpoon,\r\npronounced himself fit for a fight.\r\n\r\nWith a wild whimsiness, he now used his coffin for a sea-chest; and\r\nemptying into it his canvas bag of clothes, set them in order there.\r\nMany spare hours he spent, in carving the lid with all manner of\r\ngrotesque figures and drawings; and it seemed that hereby he was\r\nstriving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the twisted tattooing on\r\nhis body. And this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet\r\nand seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written\r\nout on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a\r\nmystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in\r\nhis own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one\r\nvolume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own\r\nlive heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore\r\ndestined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon\r\nthey were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last. And this thought\r\nit must have been which suggested to Ahab that wild exclamation of his,\r\nwhen one morning turning away from surveying poor Queequeg—“Oh,\r\ndevilish tantalization of the gods!”\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 111. The Pacific.\r\n\r\nWhen gliding by the Bashee isles we emerged at last upon the great\r\nSouth Sea; were it not for other things, I could have greeted my dear\r\nPacific with uncounted thanks, for now the long supplication of my\r\nyouth was answered; that serene ocean rolled eastwards from me a\r\nthousand leagues of blue.\r\n\r\nThere is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently\r\nawful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath; like those\r\nfabled undulations of the Ephesian sod over the buried Evangelist St.\r\nJohn. And meet it is, that over these sea-pastures, wide-rolling watery\r\nprairies and Potters’ Fields of all four continents, the waves should\r\nrise and fall, and ebb and flow unceasingly; for here, millions of\r\nmixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all\r\nthat we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming, still; tossing\r\nlike slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves but made so by\r\ntheir restlessness.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 0"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KFNR84EGVKVZJN297R0MQBMY","peer_label":"The Carpenter","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KFNR84EGVKVZJN297R0MQBMY","peer_label":"The Carpenter","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":"01KFNR8B6FS9DQ5VVY5D5B3Y6K","peer_label":"Chunk 1","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-23T15:41:06.698Z","ts":"2026-01-23T15:41:17.779Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}