{"id":"01KG8AKM4XENZMN8WXC3S46P0V","cid":"bafkreifmnoygl75jmu7l2acfdnubv4mavailfc3axoje7cqbzmlwettwea","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":5471,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","start_line":5412,"text":"Indians, are impossible. All is clear, open, fluent. The very element\r\nwhich sustains the combatants, yields at the stroke of a feather. One\r\nwind and one tide at one time operate upon all who here engage. This\r\nsimplicity renders a battle between two men-of-war, with their huge\r\nwhite wings, more akin to the Miltonic contests of archangels than to\r\n_the comparatively squalid_ tussles of earth.\r\n\r\nAs the ships neared, a hazy darkness overspread the water. The moon was\r\nnot yet risen. Objects were perceived with difficulty. Borne by a soft\r\nmoist breeze over gentle waves, they came within pistol- shot. Owing to\r\nthe obscurity, and the known neighborhood of other vessels, the Serapis\r\nwas uncertain who the Richard was. Through the dim mist each ship\r\nloomed forth to the other vast, but indistinct, as the ghost of Morven.\r\nSounds of the trampling of resolute men echoed from either hull, whose\r\ntight decks dully resounded like drum-heads in a funeral march.\r\n\r\nThe Serapis hailed. She was answered by a broadside. For half an hour\r\nthe combatants deliberately manoeuvred, continually changing their\r\nposition, but always within shot fire. The. Serapis—the better sailer\r\nof the two—kept critically circling the Richard, making lounging\r\nadvances now and then, and as suddenly steering off; hate causing her\r\nto act not unlike a wheeling cock about a hen, when stirred by the\r\ncontrary passion. Meantime, though within easy speaking distance, no\r\nfurther syllable was exchanged; but an incessant cannonade was kept up.\r\n\r\nAt this point, a third party, the Scarborough, drew near, seemingly\r\ndesirous of giving assistance to her consort. But thick smoke was now\r\nadded to the night’s natural obscurity. The Scarborough imperfectly\r\ndiscerned two ships, and plainly saw the common fire they made; but\r\nwhich was which, she could not tell. Eager to befriend the Serapis, she\r\ndurst not fire a gun, lest she might unwittingly act the part of a foe.\r\nAs when a hawk and a crow are clawing and beaking high in the air, a\r\nsecond crow flying near, will seek to join the battle, but finding no\r\nfair chance to engage, at last flies away to the woods; just so did the\r\nScarborough now. Prudence dictated the step; because several chance\r\nshot—from which of the combatants could not be known—had already struck\r\nthe Scarborough. So, unwilling uselessly to expose herself, off went\r\nfor the present this baffled and ineffectual friend.\r\n\r\nNot long after, an invisible hand came and set down a great yellow lamp\r\nin the east. The hand reached up unseen from below the horizon, and set\r\nthe lamp down right on the rim of the horizon, as on a threshold; as\r\nmuch as to say, Gentlemen warriors, permit me a little to light up this\r\nrather gloomy looking subject. The lamp was the round harvest moon; the\r\none solitary foot-light of the scene. But scarcely did the rays from\r\nthe lamp pierce that languid haze. Objects before perceived with\r\ndifficulty, now glimmered ambiguously. Bedded in strange vapors, the\r\ngreat foot-light cast a dubious, half demoniac glare across the waters,\r\nlike the phantasmagoric stream sent athwart a London flagging in a\r\nnight-rain from an apothecary’s blue and green window. Through this\r\nsardonical mist, the face of the Man-in-the-Moon—looking right towards\r\nthe combatants, as if he were standing in a trap-door of the sea,\r\nleaning forward leisurely with his arms complacently folded over upon\r\nthe edge of the horizon—this queer face wore a serious, apishly\r\nself-satisfied leer, as if the Man-in-the-Moon had somehow secretly put\r\nup the ships to their contest, and in the depths of his malignant old\r\nsoul was not unpleased to see how well his charms worked. There stood\r\nthe grinning Man-in-the-Moon, his head just dodging into view over the\r\nrim of the sea:—Mephistopheles prompter of the stage.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJJRQ4SKWG11NYNT96ERE","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKM4X719R4QPRVEJR7S2Y","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKM4VS453WKDB65TBFD6B","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:10.397Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:16.869Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}