{"id":"01KG8AKMFDV278BKW8WKV8DG2Y","cid":"bafkreiafspqsqtskl5f7urosm3gir5pkw7xo63f7ivfscjhmlolrmo3ury","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":8543,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":8465,"text":"CHAPTER LX.\r\nWherein, That Gallant Gentleman And Demi-God, King Media, Scepter In\r\nHand, Throws Himself Into The Breach\r\n\r\n\r\nSailing south from Vivenza, not far from its coast, we passed a cluster\r\nof islets, green as new fledged grass; and like the mouths of floating\r\ncornucopias, their margins brimmed over upon the brine with flowers. On\r\nsome, grew stately roses; on others stood twin-pillars; across others,\r\ntri-hued rainbows rested.\r\n\r\nCried Babbalanja, pointing to the last, “Franko’s pledge of peace! with\r\nthat, she loudly vaunts she’ll span the reef!—Strike out all hues but\r\nred,—and the token’s nearer truth.”\r\n\r\nAll these isles were prolific gardens; where King Bello, and the\r\nPrinces of Porpheero grew their most delicious fruits,—nectarines and\r\ngrapes.\r\n\r\nBut, though hard by, Vivenza owned no garden here; yet longed and\r\nlusted; and her hottest tribes oft roundly swore, to root up all roses\r\nthe half-reef over; pull down all pillars; and dissolve all rainbows.\r\n“Mardi’s half is ours;” said they. Stand back invaders! Full of vanity;\r\nand mirroring themselves in the future; they deemed all reflected\r\nthere, their own.\r\n\r\n’Twas now high noon.\r\n\r\n“Methinks the sun grows hot,” said Media, retreating deeper under the\r\ncanopy. “Ho! Vee-Vee; have you no cooling beverage? none of that golden\r\nwine distilled from torrid grapes, and then sent northward to be\r\ncellared in an iceberg? That wine was placed among our stores. Search,\r\nsearch the crypt, little Vee-Vee! Ha, I see it!—that yellow\r\ngourd!—Come: drag it forth, my boy. Let’s have the amber cups: so: pass\r\nthem round;—fill all! Taji! my demi-god, up heart! Old Mohi, my babe,\r\nmay you live ten thousand centuries! Ah! this way you mortals have of\r\ndying out at three score years and ten, is but a craven habit. So,\r\nBabbalanja! may you never die. Yoomy! my sweet poet, may you live to\r\nsing to me in Paradise. Ha, ha! would that we floated in this glorious\r\nstuff, instead of this pestilent brine.—Hark ye! were I to make a Mardi\r\nnow, I’d have every continent a huge haunch of venison; every ocean a\r\nwine-vat! I’d stock every cavern with choice old spirits, and make\r\nthree surplus suns to ripen the grapes all the year round. Let’s drink\r\nto that!—Brimmers! So: may the next Mardi that’s made, be one entire\r\ngrape; and mine the squeezing!”\r\n\r\n“Look, look! my lord,” cried Yoomy, “what a glorious shore we pass.”\r\n\r\nSallying out into the high golden noon, with golden-beaming goblets\r\nsuspended, we gazed.\r\n\r\n“This must be Kolumbo of the south,” said Mohi.\r\n\r\nIt was a long, hazy reach of land; piled up in terraces, traced here\r\nand there with rushing streams, that worked up gold dust alluvian, and\r\nseemed to flash over pebbled diamonds. Heliotropes, sun-flowers,\r\nmarigolds gemmed, or starred the violet meads, and vassal-like, still\r\nsunward bowed their heads. The rocks were pierced with grottoes,\r\nblazing with crystals, many-tinted.\r\n\r\nIt was a land of mints and mines; its east a ruby; west a topaz.\r\nInland, the woodlands stretched an ocean, bottomless with foliage; its\r\ngreen surges bursting through cable-vines; like Xerxes’ brittle chains\r\nwhich vainly sought to bind the Hellespont. Hence flowed a tide of\r\nforest sounds; of parrots, paroquets, macaws; blent with the howl of\r\njaguars, hissing of anacondas, chattering of apes, and herons\r\nscreaming.\r\n\r\nOut from those depths up rose a stream.\r\n\r\nThe land lay basking in the world’s round torrid brisket, hot with\r\nsolar fire.\r\n\r\n“No need here to land,” cried Yoomy, “Yillah lurks not here.”\r\n\r\n“Heat breeds life, and sloth, and rage,” said Babbalanja. “Here live\r\nbastard tribes and mongrel nations; wrangling and murdering to prove\r\ntheir freedom.—Refill, my lord.”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJVBMF0M3PVJ9JF0CFPA8","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKMFJ91S2M2X2M738DPE7","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:10.733Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:26.281Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}