{"id":"01KG8AMHTSHYXEVVRPDE5QHCK1","cid":"bafkreihw56g6wwhwwfsqihzerghqgmq6yqucfqwojgwzbca4o7dikirbx4","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":10725,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J19NC56FFGBCM2SWEZZY","start_line":10650,"text":"CHAPTER LXVII.\r\nWHITE-JACKET ARRAIGNED AT THE MAST.\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen with five hundred others I made one of the compelled spectators at\r\nthe scourging of poor Rose-water, I little thought what Fate had\r\nordained for myself the next day.\r\n\r\nPoor mulatto! thought I, one of an oppressed race, they degrade you\r\nlike a hound. Thank God! I am a white. Yet I had seen whites also\r\nscourged; for, black or white, all my shipmates were liable to that.\r\nStill, there is something in us, somehow, that in the most degraded\r\ncondition, we snatch at a chance to deceive ourselves into a fancied\r\nsuperiority to others, whom we suppose lower in the scale than\r\nourselves.\r\n\r\nPoor Rose-water! thought I; poor mulatto! Heaven send you a release\r\nfrom your humiliation!\r\n\r\nTo make plain the thing about to be related, it needs to repeat what\r\nhas somewhere been previously mentioned, that in _tacking ship_ every\r\nseaman in a man-of-war has a particular station assigned him. What that\r\nstation is, should be made known to him by the First Lieutenant; and\r\nwhen the word is passed to _tack_ or _wear_, it is every seaman’s duty\r\nto be found at his post. But among the various _numbers and stations_\r\ngiven to me by the senior Lieutenant, when I first came on board the\r\nfrigate, he had altogether omitted informing me of my particular place\r\nat those times, and, up to the precise period now written of, I had\r\nhardly known that I should have had any special place then at all. For\r\nthe rest of the men, they seemed to me to catch hold of the first rope\r\nthat offered, as in a merchant-man upon similar occasions. Indeed, I\r\nsubsequently discovered, that such was the state of discipline—in this\r\none particular, at least—that very few of the seamen could tell where\r\ntheir proper stations were, at _tacking or wearing_.\r\n\r\n“All hands tack ship, ahoy!” such was the announcement made by the\r\nboatswain’s mates at the hatchways the morning after the hard fate of\r\nRose-water. It was just eight bells—noon, and springing from my white\r\njacket, which I had spread between the guns for a bed on the main-deck,\r\nI ran up the ladders, and, as usual, seized hold of the main-brace,\r\nwhich fifty hands were streaming along forward. When _main-top-sail\r\nhaul!_ was given through the trumpet, I pulled at this brace with such\r\nheartiness and good-will, that I almost flattered myself that my\r\ninstrumentality in getting the frigate round on the other tack,\r\ndeserved a public vote of thanks, and a silver tankard from Congress.\r\n\r\nBut something happened to be in the way aloft when the yards swung\r\nround; a little confusion ensued; and, with anger on his brow, Captain\r\nClaret came forward to see what occasioned it. No one to let go the\r\nweather-lift of the main-yard! The rope was cast off, however, by a\r\nhand, and the yards unobstructed, came round.\r\n\r\nWhen the last rope was coiled, away, the Captain desired to know of the\r\nFirst Lieutenant who it might be that was stationed at the weather\r\n(then the starboard) main-lift. With a vexed expression of countenance\r\nthe First Lieutenant sent a midshipman for the Station Bill, when, upon\r\nglancing it over, my own name was found put down at the post in\r\nquestion.\r\n\r\nAt the time I was on the gun-deck below, and did not know of these\r\nproceedings; but a moment after, I heard the boatswain’s mates bawling\r\nmy name at all the hatch-ways, and along all three decks. It was the\r\nfirst time I had ever heard it so sent through the furthest recesses of\r\nthe ship, and well knowing what this generally betokened to other\r\nseamen, my heart jumped to my throat, and I hurriedly asked Flute, the\r\nboatswain’s-mate at the fore-hatchway, what was wanted of me.\r\n\r\n“Captain wants ye at the mast,” he replied. “Going to flog ye, I\r\nguess.”\r\n\r\n“What for?”\r\n\r\n“My eyes! you’ve been chalking your face, hain’t ye?”\r\n\r\n“What am I wanted for?” I repeated.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJTJSBQJ8HHY334KV78RD","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J19NC56FFGBCM2SWEZZY","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AMHTSJ47ATWHA4S7D5KZ7","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:40.793Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:51.769Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}