{"id":"01KG8AKW9Z2J6RV83WZGE6EXGN","cid":"bafkreie4p4ilkgu7wmlb3fcqjaqtu4pnanv2aiukbenucvhh5eqnmqguda","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":231,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.534Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1HYC04JWXEK48P07WPK","start_line":157,"text":"CHAPTER I.\r\nFoot In Stirrup\r\n\r\n\r\nWe are off! The courses and topsails are set: the coral-hung anchor\r\nswings from the bow: and together, the three royals are given to the\r\nbreeze, that follows us out to sea like the baying of a hound. Out\r\nspreads the canvas—alow, aloft-boom-stretched, on both sides, with many\r\na stun’ sail; till like a hawk, with pinions poised, we shadow the sea\r\nwith our sails, and reelingly cleave the brine.\r\n\r\nBut whence, and whither wend ye, mariners?\r\n\r\nWe sail from Ravavai, an isle in the sea, not very far northward from\r\nthe tropic of Capricorn, nor very far westward from Pitcairn’s island,\r\nwhere the mutineers of the Bounty settled. At Ravavai I had stepped\r\nashore some few months previous; and now was embarked on a cruise for\r\nthe whale, whose brain enlightens the world.\r\n\r\nAnd from Ravavai we sail for the Gallipagos, otherwise called the\r\nEnchanted Islands, by reason of the many wild currents and eddies there\r\nmet.\r\n\r\nNow, round about those isles, which Dampier once trod, where the\r\nSpanish bucaniers once hived their gold moidores, the Cachalot, or\r\nsperm whale, at certain seasons abounds.\r\n\r\nBut thither, from Ravavai, your craft may not fly, as flies the\r\nsea-gull, straight to her nest. For, owing to the prevalence of the\r\ntrade winds, ships bound to the northeast from the vicinity of Ravavai\r\nare fain to take something of a circuit; a few thousand miles or so.\r\nFirst, in pursuit of the variable winds, they make all haste to the\r\nsouth; and there, at length picking up a stray breeze, they stand for\r\nthe main: then, making their easting, up helm, and away down the coast,\r\ntoward the Line.\r\n\r\nThis round-about way did the Arcturion take; and in all conscience a\r\nweary one it was. Never before had the ocean appeared so monotonous;\r\nthank fate, never since.\r\n\r\nBut bravo! in two weeks’ time, an event. Out of the gray of the\r\nmorning, and right ahead, as we sailed along, a dark object rose out of\r\nthe sea; standing dimly before us, mists wreathing and curling aloft,\r\nand creamy breakers frothing round its base.—We turned aside, and, at\r\nlength, when day dawned, passed Massafuero. With a glass, we spied two\r\nor three hermit goats winding down to the sea, in a ravine; and\r\npresently, a signal: a tattered flag upon a summit beyond. Well\r\nknowing, however, that there was nobody on the island but two or three\r\nnoose-fulls of runaway convicts from Chili, our captain had no mind to\r\ncomply with their invitation to land. Though, haply, he may have erred\r\nin not sending a boat off with his card.\r\n\r\nA few days more and we “took the trades.” Like favors snappishly\r\nconferred, they came to us, as is often the case, in a very sharp\r\nsquall; the shock of which carried away one of our spars; also our fat\r\nold cook off his legs; depositing him plump in the scuppers to leeward.\r\n\r\nIn good time making the desired longitude upon the equator, a few\r\nleagues west of the Gallipagos, we spent several weeks chassezing\r\nacross the Line, to and fro, in unavailing search for our prey. For\r\nsome of their hunters believe, that whales, like the silver ore in\r\nPeru, run in veins through the ocean. So, day after day, daily; and\r\nweek after week, weekly, we traversed the self-same longitudinal\r\nintersection of the self-same Line; till we were almost ready to swear\r\nthat we felt the ship strike every time her keel crossed that imaginary\r\nlocality.\r\n\r\nAt length, dead before the equatorial breeze, we threaded our way\r\nstraight along the very Line itself. Westward sailing; peering right,\r\nand peering left, but seeing naught.\r\n\r\nIt was during this weary time, that I experienced the first symptoms of\r\nthat bitter impatience of our monotonous craft, which ultimately led to\r\nthe adventures herein recounted.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJP4C9JM2SWKWNSK1T0D6","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1HYC04JWXEK48P07WPK","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKW9WZTJMM7SD6W5E103X","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.751Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:25.543Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}