{"id":"01KG8AMFCCA88HTN81EETFX0S7","cid":"bafkreihxixm74numkaovkkl3fg5ekahskqanvzozhknr4cejiwhfuh2igm","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":2817,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:36.270Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 6","source_file":"01KG89J19NC56FFGBCM2SWEZZY","start_line":2728,"text":"pointing the tube, at long-gun distance, the slightest roll of the\r\nship, at the time of firing, would send a shot, meant for the hull,\r\nhigh over the top-gallant yards.\r\n\r\nBut besides these differences between a sham-fight at _general\r\nquarters_ and a real cannonading, the aspect of the ship, at the\r\nbeating of the retreat, would, in the latter case, be very dissimilar\r\nto the neatness and uniformity in the former.\r\n\r\n_Then_ our bulwarks might look like the walls of the houses in West\r\nBroadway in New York, after being broken into and burned out by the\r\nNegro Mob. Our stout masts and yards might be lying about decks, like\r\ntree boughs after a tornado in a piece of woodland; our dangling ropes,\r\ncut and sundered in all directions, would be bleeding tar at every\r\nyard; and strew with jagged splinters from our wounded planks, the\r\ngun-deck might resemble a carpenter’s shop. _Then_, when all was over,\r\nand all hands would be piped to take down the hammocks from the exposed\r\nnettings (where they play the part of the cotton bales at New Orleans),\r\nwe might find bits of broken shot, iron bolts and bullets in our\r\nblankets. And, while smeared with blood like butchers, the surgeon and\r\nhis mates would be amputating arms and legs on the berth-deck, an\r\nunderling of the carpenter’s gang would be new-legging and arming the\r\nbroken chairs and tables in the Commodore’s cabin; while the rest of\r\nhis _squad_ would be _splicing_ and _fishing_ the shattered masts and\r\nyards. The scupper-holes having discharged the last rivulet of blood,\r\nthe decks would be washed down; and the galley-cooks would be going\r\nfore and aft, sprinkling them with hot vinegar, to take out the\r\nshambles’ smell from the planks; which, unless some such means are\r\nemployed, often create a highly offensive effluvia for weeks after a\r\nfight.\r\n\r\n_Then_, upon mustering the men, and calling the quarter-bills by the\r\nlight of a battle-lantern, many a wounded seaman with his arm in a\r\nsling, would answer for some poor shipmate who could never more make\r\nanswer for himself:\r\n\r\n“Tom Brown?”\r\n\r\n“Killed, sir.”\r\n\r\n“Jack Jewel?”\r\n\r\n“Killed, sir.”\r\n\r\n“Joe Hardy?”\r\n\r\n“Killed, sir.”\r\n\r\nAnd opposite all these poor fellows’ names, down would go on the\r\nquarter-bills the bloody marks of red ink—a murderer’s fluid, fitly\r\nused on these occasions.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVII.\r\nAWAY! SECOND, THIRD, AND FOURTH CUTTERS, AWAY!\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was the morning succeeding one of these _general quarters_ that we\r\npicked up a life-buoy, descried floating by.\r\n\r\nIt was a circular mass of cork, about eight inches thick and four feet\r\nin diameter, covered with tarred canvas. All round its circumference\r\nthere trailed a number of knotted ropes’-ends, terminating in fanciful\r\nTurks’ heads. These were the life-lines, for the drowning to clutch.\r\nInserted into the middle of the cork was an upright, carved pole,\r\nsomewhat shorter than a pike-staff. The whole buoy was embossed with\r\nbarnacles, and its sides festooned with sea-weeds. Dolphins were\r\nsporting and flashing around it, and one white bird was hovering over\r\nthe top of the pole. Long ago, this thing must have been thrown\r\nover-board to save some poor wretch, who must have been drowned; while\r\neven the life-buoy itself had drifted away out of sight.\r\n\r\nThe forecastle-men fished it up from the bows, and the seamen thronged\r\nround it.\r\n\r\n“Bad luck! bad luck!” cried the Captain of the Head; “we’ll number one\r\nless before long.”\r\n\r\nThe ship’s cooper strolled by; he, to whose department it belongs to\r\nsee that the ship’s life-buoys are kept in good order.\r\n\r\nIn men-of-war, night and day, week in and week out, two life-buoys are\r\nkept depending from the stern; and two men, with hatchets in their\r\nhands, pace up and down, ready at the first cry to cut the cord and\r\ndrop the buoys overboard. Every two hours they are regularly relieved,\r\nlike sentinels on guard. No similar precautions are adopted in the\r\nmerchant or whaling service.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 6"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJQ3RR4R8SYRASCT3K24X","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J19NC56FFGBCM2SWEZZY","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AMFCCCT8JYPHH7EHDK894","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AMFCC3A7SHEDT59P9Y2RH","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:38.284Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:44.684Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}