{"id":"01KG8AP5X9QM9M8GK5MZCWB27R","cid":"bafkreiesesuaowqlyjjfj5hp5nbqqlstrr75uxlitymindac4n3eyxzily","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":2875,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:30.764Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 36","source_file":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","start_line":2810,"text":"yet; and added that he was fearful Christianity, or rather Christians,\r\nhad unfitted him for ascending the pure and undefiled throne of thirty\r\npagan Kings before him. But by and by, he said, he would return,—as\r\nsoon as he felt himself baptized again. For the nonce, however, he\r\nproposed to sail about, and sow his wild oats in all four oceans. They\r\nhad made a harpooneer of him, and that barbed iron was in lieu of a\r\nsceptre now.\r\n\r\nI asked him what might be his immediate purpose, touching his future\r\nmovements. He answered, to go to sea again, in his old vocation. Upon\r\nthis, I told him that whaling was my own design, and informed him of my\r\nintention to sail out of Nantucket, as being the most promising port\r\nfor an adventurous whaleman to embark from. He at once resolved to\r\naccompany me to that island, ship aboard the same vessel, get into the\r\nsame watch, the same boat, the same mess with me, in short to share my\r\nevery hap; with both my hands in his, boldly dip into the Potluck of\r\nboth worlds. To all this I joyously assented; for besides the affection\r\nI now felt for Queequeg, he was an experienced harpooneer, and as such,\r\ncould not fail to be of great usefulness to one, who, like me, was\r\nwholly ignorant of the mysteries of whaling, though well acquainted\r\nwith the sea, as known to merchant seamen.\r\n\r\nHis story being ended with his pipe’s last dying puff, Queequeg\r\nembraced me, pressed his forehead against mine, and blowing out the\r\nlight, we rolled over from each other, this way and that, and very soon\r\nwere sleeping.\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 13. Wheelbarrow.\r\n\r\nNext morning, Monday, after disposing of the embalmed head to a barber,\r\nfor a block, I settled my own and comrade’s bill; using, however, my\r\ncomrade’s money. The grinning landlord, as well as the boarders, seemed\r\namazingly tickled at the sudden friendship which had sprung up between\r\nme and Queequeg—especially as Peter Coffin’s cock and bull stories\r\nabout him had previously so much alarmed me concerning the very person\r\nwhom I now companied with.\r\n\r\nWe borrowed a wheelbarrow, and embarking our things, including my own\r\npoor carpet-bag, and Queequeg’s canvas sack and hammock, away we went\r\ndown to “the Moss,” the little Nantucket packet schooner moored at the\r\nwharf. As we were going along the people stared; not at Queequeg so\r\nmuch—for they were used to seeing cannibals like him in their\r\nstreets,—but at seeing him and me upon such confidential terms. But we\r\nheeded them not, going along wheeling the barrow by turns, and Queequeg\r\nnow and then stopping to adjust the sheath on his harpoon barbs. I\r\nasked him why he carried such a troublesome thing with him ashore, and\r\nwhether all whaling ships did not find their own harpoons. To this, in\r\nsubstance, he replied, that though what I hinted was true enough, yet\r\nhe had a particular affection for his own harpoon, because it was of\r\nassured stuff, well tried in many a mortal combat, and deeply intimate\r\nwith the hearts of whales. In short, like many inland reapers and\r\nmowers, who go into the farmers’ meadows armed with their own\r\nscythes—though in no wise obliged to furnish them—even so, Queequeg,\r\nfor his own private reasons, preferred his own harpoon.\r\n\r\nShifting the barrow from my hand to his, he told me a funny story about\r\nthe first wheelbarrow he had ever seen. It was in Sag Harbor. The\r\nowners of his ship, it seems, had lent him one, in which to carry his\r\nheavy chest to his boarding house. Not to seem ignorant about the\r\nthing—though in truth he was entirely so, concerning the precise way in\r\nwhich to manage the barrow—Queequeg puts his chest upon it; lashes it\r\nfast; and then shoulders the barrow and marches up the wharf. “Why,”\r\nsaid I, “Queequeg, you might have known better than that, one would\r\nthink. Didn’t the people laugh?”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 36"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AK7FP6P1V67V3ATJHHZ83","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AP5X7TERXX0BKTZPES8M7","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AP5X3863BE54SXGEN2S29","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:34.121Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:49:40.795Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}