{"id":"01KG6G893V97W47NSV8SS14AT8","cid":"bafkreidd4ooufnlqaiagt55iyqkhwsmfilzmfitmcb6uwrcu4w6jpdnabu","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":5216,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T03:48:16.150Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 14","source_file":"01KG6FXSCNX5F3D880P3YP3PKR","start_line":5113,"text":"rafters overhead, but solid junks of jerked beef hanging from them.\r\nEarth floor, but a heap of potatoes in one corner, and a sack of Indian\r\nmeal in another. A blanket was strung across the apartment at the\r\nfarther end, from which came a woman’s ailing voice and the voices of\r\nailing children. But somehow in the ailing of these voices there seemed\r\nno complaint.\r\n\r\n‘Mrs. Merrymusk and children?’\r\n\r\n‘Yes.’\r\n\r\nI looked at the cock. There he stood majestically in the middle of the\r\nroom. He looked like a Spanish grandee caught in a shower, and standing\r\nunder some peasant’s shed. There was a strange supernatural look of\r\ncontrast about him. He irradiated the shanty; he glorified its meanness.\r\nHe glorified the battered chest, and tattered gray coat, and the bunged\r\nhat. He glorified the very voices which came in ailing tones from behind\r\nthe screen.\r\n\r\n‘Oh, father,’ cried a little sickly voice, ‘let Trumpet sound again.’\r\n\r\n‘Crow,’ cried Merrymusk.\r\n\r\nThe cock threw himself into a posture.\r\n\r\nThe roof jarred.\r\n\r\n‘Does not this disturb Mrs. Merrymusk and the sick children?’\r\n\r\n‘Crow again, Trumpet.’\r\n\r\nThe roof jarred.\r\n\r\n‘It does not disturb them, then?’\r\n\r\n‘Didn’t you hear ’em _ask_ for it?’\r\n\r\n‘How is it, that your sick family like this crowing?’ said I. ‘The cock\r\nis a glorious cock, with a glorious voice, but not exactly the sort of\r\nthing for a sick-chamber, one would suppose. Do they really like it?’\r\n\r\n‘Don’t _you_ like it? Don’t it do _you_ good? Ain’t it inspiring? Don’t\r\nit impart pluck? give stuff against despair?’\r\n\r\n‘All true,’ said I, removing my hat with profound humility before the\r\nbrave spirit disguised in the base coat.\r\n\r\n‘But then,’ said I, still with some misgivings, ‘so loud, so wonderfully\r\nclamorous a crow, methinks might be amiss to invalids, and retard their\r\nconvalescence.’\r\n\r\n‘Crow your best now, Trumpet!’\r\n\r\nI leaped from my chair. The cock frightened me, like some overpowering\r\nangel in the Apocalypse. He seemed crowing over the fall of wicked\r\nBabylon, or crowing over the triumph of righteous Joshua in the vale of\r\nAskalon. When I regained my composure somewhat, an inquisitive thought\r\noccurred to me. I resolved to gratify it.\r\n\r\n‘Merrymusk, will you present me to your wife and children?’\r\n\r\n‘Yes. Wife, the gentleman wants to step in.’\r\n\r\n‘He is very welcome,’ replied a weak voice.\r\n\r\nGoing behind the curtain, there lay a wasted, but strangely cheerful\r\nhuman face; and that was pretty much all; the body, hid by the\r\ncounterpane and an old coat, seemed too shrunken to reveal itself\r\nthrough such impediments. At the bedside sat a pale girl, ministering.\r\nIn another bed lay three children, side by side: three more pale faces.\r\n\r\n‘Oh, father, we don’t mislike the gentleman, but let us see Trumpet\r\ntoo.’\r\n\r\nAt a word, the cock strode behind the screen, and perched himself on the\r\nchildren’s bed. All their wasted eyes gazed at him with a wild and\r\nspiritual delight. They seemed to sun themselves in the radiant plumage\r\nof the cock.\r\n\r\n‘Better than a ’pothecary, eh?’ said Merrymusk. ‘This is Dr. Cock\r\nhimself.’\r\n\r\nWe retired from the sick ones, and I reseated myself again, lost in\r\nthought over this strange household.\r\n\r\n‘You seem a glorious independent fellow!’ said I.\r\n\r\n‘And I don’t think you a fool, and never did. Sir, you are a trump.’\r\n\r\n‘Is there any hope of your wife’s recovery?’ said I, modestly seeking to\r\nturn the conversation.\r\n\r\n‘Not the least.’\r\n\r\n‘The children?’\r\n\r\n‘Very little.’\r\n\r\n‘It must be a doleful life, then, for all concerned. This lonely\r\nsolitude--this shanty--hard work--hard times.’\r\n\r\n‘Haven’t I Trumpet? He’s the cheerer. He crows through all; crows at the\r\ndarkest: Glory to God in the highest! Continually he crows it.’\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 14"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG6G6Q5SW6GV0037JNSFXSK6","peer_type":"article","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG6FXSCNX5F3D880P3YP3PKR","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG2T49K0H5GDRB0G4YDTPG8H","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG6G893VCGBX7TRN2ZRAYYT5","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG6G893VSDQHK2CM7CHGGM2X","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T03:48:21.243Z","ts":"2026-01-30T03:48:27.441Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}