{"id":"01KG8AKS89VZV1RP9FR3QFF00N","cid":"bafkreifyrn5ktba4koi5q754qbsmdc25nfzvcbcenfsodghks6qqu6tesq","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":6573,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.842Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","start_line":6506,"text":"I was particularly pleased and tickled, with a multitude of little\r\nsalt-droghers, rigged like sloops, and not much bigger than a\r\npilot-boat, but with broad bows painted black, and carrying red sails,\r\nwhich looked as if they had been pickled and stained in a tan-yard.\r\nThese little fellows were continually coming in with their cargoes for\r\nships bound to America; and lying, five or six together, alongside of\r\nthose lofty Yankee hulls, resembled a parcel of red ants about the\r\ncarcass of a black buffalo.\r\n\r\nWhen loaded, these comical little craft are about level with the water;\r\nand frequently, when blowing fresh in the river, I have seen them\r\nflying through the foam with nothing visible but the mast and sail, and\r\na man at the tiller; their entire cargo being snugly secured under\r\nhatches.\r\n\r\nIt was diverting to observe the self-importance of the skipper of any\r\nof these diminutive vessels. He would give himself all the airs of an\r\nadmiral on a three-decker’s poop; and no doubt, thought quite as much\r\nof himself. And why not? What could Caesar want more? Though his craft\r\nwas none of the largest, it was subject to _him;_ and though his crew\r\nmight only consist of himself; yet if he governed it well, he achieved\r\na triumph, which the moralists of all ages have set above the victories\r\nof Alexander.\r\n\r\nThese craft have each a little cabin, the prettiest, charmingest, most\r\ndelightful little dog-hole in the world; not much bigger than an\r\nold-fashioned alcove for a bed. It is lighted by little round glasses\r\nplaced in the deck; so that to the insider, the ceiling is like a small\r\nfirmament twinkling with astral radiations. For tall men, nevertheless,\r\nthe place is but ill-adapted; a sitting, or recumbent position being\r\nindispensable to an occupancy of the premises. Yet small, low, and\r\nnarrow as the cabin is, somehow, it affords accommodations to the\r\nskipper and his family. Often, I used to watch the tidy good-wife,\r\nseated at the open little scuttle, like a woman at a cottage door,\r\nengaged in knitting socks for her husband; or perhaps, cutting his\r\nhair, as he kneeled before her. And once, while marveling how a couple\r\nlike this found room to turn in, below, I was amazed by a noisy\r\nirruption of cherry-cheeked young tars from the scuttle, whence they\r\ncame rolling forth, like so many curly spaniels from a kennel.\r\n\r\nUpon one occasion, I had the curiosity to go on board a salt-drogher,\r\nand fall into conversation with its skipper, a bachelor, who kept house\r\nall alone. I found him a very sociable, comfortable old fellow, who had\r\nan eye to having things cozy around him. It was in the evening; and he\r\ninvited me down into his sanctum to supper; and there we sat together\r\nlike a couple in a box at an oyster-cellar.\r\n\r\n“He, he,” he chuckled, kneeling down before a fat, moist, little cask\r\nof beer, and holding a cocked-hat pitcher to the faucet—“You see, Jack,\r\nI keep every thing down here; and nice times I have by myself. Just\r\nbefore going to bed, it ain’t bad to take a nightcap, you know; eh!\r\nJack?—here now, smack your lips over that, my boy—have a pipe?—but\r\nstop, let’s to supper first.”\r\n\r\nSo he went to a little locker, a fixture against the side, and groping\r\nin it awhile, and addressing it with—_“What cheer here, what cheer?”_\r\nat last produced a loaf, a small cheese, a bit of ham, and a jar of\r\nbutter. And then placing a board on his lap, spread the table, the\r\npitcher of beer in the center. “Why that’s but a two legged table,”\r\nsaid I, “let’s make it four.”\r\n\r\nSo we divided the burthen, and supped merrily together on our knees.\r\n\r\nHe was an old ruby of a fellow, his cheeks toasted brown; and it did my\r\nsoul good, to see the froth of the beer bubbling at his mouth, and\r\nsparkling on his nut-brown beard. He looked so like a great mug of ale,\r\nthat I almost felt like taking him by the neck and pouring him out.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AKJ86MMH6FKESBK9CQMY3","peer_type":"section","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKS89PWQX44S1ZAH1T2M8","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:15.625Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:30.410Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}