{"id":"01KG8AKTVZAWP2P5AB1PQ4ZVDJ","cid":"bafkreicljsuh3avhnecn6lfy7rn4xqcfv65f7wxcuhgmyhuzebvbxxmg5y","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":2100,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1H7Y803CZ7X80F0QFHZ","start_line":2029,"text":"CHAPTER XVI.\r\nWE ENCOUNTER A GALE\r\n\r\n\r\nThe mild blue weather we enjoyed after leaving the Marquesas gradually\r\nchanged as we ran farther south and approached Tahiti. In these\r\ngenerally tranquil seas, the wind sometimes blows with great violence;\r\nthough, as every sailor knows, a spicy gale in the tropic latitudes of\r\nthe Pacific is far different from a tempest in the howling North\r\nAtlantic. We soon found ourselves battling with the waves, while the\r\nbefore mild Trades, like a woman roused, blew fiercely, but still\r\nwarmly, in our face.\r\n\r\nFor all this, the mate carried sail without stint; and as for brave\r\nlittle Jule, she stood up to it well; and though once in a while\r\nfloored in the trough of a sea, sprang to her keel again and showed\r\nplay. Every old timber groaned—every spar buckled—every chafed cord\r\nstrained; and yet, spite of all, she plunged on her way like a racer.\r\nJermin, sea-jockey that he was, sometimes stood in the fore-chains,\r\nwith the spray every now and then dashing over him, and shouting out,\r\n“Well done, Jule—dive into it, sweetheart. Hurrah!”\r\n\r\nOne afternoon there was a mighty queer noise aloft, which set the men\r\nrunning in every direction. It was the main-t’-gallant-mast. Crash! it\r\nbroke off just above the cap, and held there by the rigging, dashed\r\nwith every roll from side to side, with all the hamper that belonged to\r\nit. The yard hung by a hair, and at every pitch, thumped against the\r\ncross-trees; while the sail streamed in ribbons, and the loose ropes\r\ncoiled, and thrashed the air, like whip-lashes. “Stand from under!” and\r\ndown came the rattling blocks, like so many shot. The yard, with a snap\r\nand a plunge, went hissing into the sea, disappeared, and shot its full\r\nlength out again. The crest of a great wave then broke over it—the ship\r\nrushed by—and we saw the stick no more.\r\n\r\nWhile this lively breeze continued, Baltimore, our old black cook, was\r\nin great tribulation.\r\n\r\nLike most South Seamen, the Julia’s “caboose,” or cook-house, was\r\nplanted on the larboard side of the forecastle. Under such a press of\r\ncanvas, and with the heavy sea running the barque, diving her bows\r\nunder, now and then shipped green glassy waves, which, breaking over\r\nthe head-rails, fairly deluged that part of the ship, and washed clean\r\naft. The caboose-house—thought to be fairly lashed down to its\r\nplace—served as a sort of breakwater to the inundation.\r\n\r\nAbout these times, Baltimore always wore what he called his “gale\r\nsuit,” among other things comprising a Sou’-wester and a huge pair of\r\nwell-anointed sea-boots, reaching almost to his knees. Thus equipped\r\nfor a ducking or a drowning, as the case might be, our culinary\r\nhigh-priest drew to the slides of his temple, and performed his sooty\r\nrites in secret.\r\n\r\nSo afraid was the old man of being washed overboard that he actually\r\nfastened one end of a small line to his waistbands, and coiling the\r\nrest about him, made use of it as occasion required. When engaged\r\noutside, he unwound the cord, and secured one end to a ringbolt in the\r\ndeck; so that if a chance sea washed him off his feet, it could do\r\nnothing more.\r\n\r\nOne evening just as he was getting supper, the Julia reared up on her\r\nstern like a vicious colt, and when she settled again forward, fairly\r\ndished a tremendous sea. Nothing could withstand it. One side of the\r\nrotten head-bulwarks came in with a crash; it smote the caboose, tore\r\nit from its moorings, and after boxing it about, dashed it against the\r\nwindlass, where it stranded. The water then poured along the deck like\r\na flood rolling over and over, pots, pans, and kettles, and even old\r\nBaltimore himself, who went breaching along like a porpoise.\r\n\r\nStriking the taffrail, the wave subsided, and washing from side to\r\nside, left the drowning cook high and dry on the after-hatch: his\r\nextinguished pipe still between his teeth, and almost bitten in two.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJH07TJCJFETBWFNY1DEZ","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1H7Y803CZ7X80F0QFHZ","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKTVZRNQ2WMGA99E4FY2N","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:17.279Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:24.402Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}