{"id":"01KG8AK0QRH826PP462ZZXC346","cid":"bafkreiepil7zidmglcw2ilpac2zdx3n3v7erlteaooildh4iue42ubdq24","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":779,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:50.352Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 2","source_file":"01KG89J19Y3FNVN5KWASY78BP4","start_line":691,"text":"“Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a lubber’s day\r\nWhen gallant things will go, and the three-deckers first.”\r\n\r\nMy pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs slack;\r\nBut bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea;\r\nThis empty can here must needs solace me—\r\nNay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back;\r\nDick drinks from your eyes and he finds no lack!\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nTOM DEADLIGHT\r\n\r\n\r\nDuring a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the Mediterranean, a\r\ngrizzled petty-officer, one of the two captains of the forecastle,\r\ndying at night in his hammock, swung in the sick-bay under the tiered\r\ngun-decks of the British _Dreadnaught, 98,_ wandering in his mind,\r\nthough with glimpses of sanity, and starting up at whiles, sings by\r\nsnatches his good-bye and last injunctions to two messmates, his\r\nwatchers, one of whom fans the fevered tar with the flap of his old\r\nsou’wester. Some names and phrases, with here and there a line, or part\r\nof one; these, in his aberration, wrested into incoherency from their\r\noriginal connection and import, he voluntarily derives, as he does the\r\nmeasure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, and\r\nnow humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last flutterings of\r\ndistempered thought.\r\n\r\nFarewell and adieu to you noble hearties,—\r\n    Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,\r\nFor I’ve received orders for to sail for the Deadman,\r\n    But hope with the grand fleet to see you again.\r\n\r\nI have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys;\r\n    I have hove my ship to, for the strike soundings clear—\r\nThe black scud a’flying; but, by God’s blessing, dam’ me,\r\n    Right up the Channel for the Deadman I’ll steer.\r\n\r\nI have worried through the waters that are called the Doldrums,\r\n    And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope—\r\nBlast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads:—\r\n    _Flying Dutchman_—odds bobbs—off the Cape of Good Hope!\r\n\r\nBut what’s this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt?\r\n    The white goney’s wing?—how she rolls!— ’t is the Cape!—\r\nGive my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none;\r\n    And tell _Holy Joe_ to avast with the crape.\r\n\r\nDead reckoning, says _Joe_, it won’t do to go by;\r\n    But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t’ other night.\r\nDead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman;\r\n    And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right.\r\n\r\nThe signal!—it streams for the grand fleet to anchor.\r\n    The captains—the trumpets—the hullabaloo!\r\nStand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters,\r\n    For the Lord High Admiral, he’s squinting at you!\r\n\r\nBut give me my _tot_, Matt, before I roll over;\r\n    Jock, let’s have your flipper, it’s good for to feel;\r\nAnd don’t sew me up without _baccy_ in mouth, boys,\r\n    And don’t blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nJACK ROY\r\n\r\n\r\nKept up by relays of generations young\r\nNever dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung;\r\nWhile in sands, sounds, and seas where the storm-petrels cry,\r\nDropped mute around the globe, these halyard singers lie.\r\nShort-lived the clippers for racing-cups that run,\r\nAnd speeds in life’s career many a lavish mother’s-son.\r\n\r\nBut thou, manly king o’ the old _Splendid’s_ crew,\r\nThe ribbons o’ thy hat still a-fluttering, should fly—\r\nA challenge, and forever, nor the bravery should rue.\r\nOnly in a tussle for the starry flag high,\r\nWhen ’tis piety to do, and privilege to die.\r\nThen, only then, would heaven think to lop\r\nSuch a cedar as the captain o’ the _Splendid’s_ main-top:\r\nA belted sea-gentleman; a gallant, off-hand\r\nMercutio indifferent in life’s gay command.\r\nMagnanimous in humor; when the splintering shot fell,\r\n“Tooth-picks a-plenty, lads; thank ’em with a shell!”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 2"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJF3V3MBHYBFMZPY1BDMZ","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J19Y3FNVN5KWASY78BP4","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AK0QRM2CYS0G9GE20QGMN","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AK0QSY5QA5HMVDSMYQCP3","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:50.520Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:47:53.146Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}