{"id":"01KG8AP5XGVW1QDKMXVFZWF1MV","cid":"bafkreieaolmeb7ihetizlvpqzzv7psii6zv2v6pn765ff53jlci7gl62iq","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":3158,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:30.764Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 42","source_file":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","start_line":3089,"text":"much puzzled us at first, especially as, at the outset, Queequeg\r\ninsisted that the yellow warehouse—our first point of departure—must be\r\nleft on the larboard hand, whereas I had understood Peter Coffin to say\r\nit was on the starboard. However, by dint of beating about a little in\r\nthe dark, and now and then knocking up a peaceable inhabitant to\r\ninquire the way, we at last came to something which there was no\r\nmistaking.\r\n\r\nTwo enormous wooden pots painted black, and suspended by asses’ ears,\r\nswung from the cross-trees of an old top-mast, planted in front of an\r\nold doorway. The horns of the cross-trees were sawed off on the other\r\nside, so that this old top-mast looked not a little like a gallows.\r\nPerhaps I was over sensitive to such impressions at the time, but I\r\ncould not help staring at this gallows with a vague misgiving. A sort\r\nof crick was in my neck as I gazed up to the two remaining horns; yes,\r\n_two_ of them, one for Queequeg, and one for me. It’s ominous, thinks\r\nI. A Coffin my Innkeeper upon landing in my first whaling port;\r\ntombstones staring at me in the whalemen’s chapel; and here a gallows!\r\nand a pair of prodigious black pots too! Are these last throwing out\r\noblique hints touching Tophet?\r\n\r\nI was called from these reflections by the sight of a freckled woman\r\nwith yellow hair and a yellow gown, standing in the porch of the inn,\r\nunder a dull red lamp swinging there, that looked much like an injured\r\neye, and carrying on a brisk scolding with a man in a purple woollen\r\nshirt.\r\n\r\n“Get along with ye,” said she to the man, “or I’ll be combing ye!”\r\n\r\n“Come on, Queequeg,” said I, “all right. There’s Mrs. Hussey.”\r\n\r\nAnd so it turned out; Mr. Hosea Hussey being from home, but leaving\r\nMrs. Hussey entirely competent to attend to all his affairs. Upon\r\nmaking known our desires for a supper and a bed, Mrs. Hussey,\r\npostponing further scolding for the present, ushered us into a little\r\nroom, and seating us at a table spread with the relics of a recently\r\nconcluded repast, turned round to us and said—“Clam or Cod?”\r\n\r\n“What’s that about Cods, ma’am?” said I, with much politeness.\r\n\r\n“Clam or Cod?” she repeated.\r\n\r\n“A clam for supper? a cold clam; is _that_ what you mean, Mrs. Hussey?”\r\nsays I, “but that’s a rather cold and clammy reception in the winter\r\ntime, ain’t it, Mrs. Hussey?”\r\n\r\nBut being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the purple\r\nShirt, who was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to hear nothing\r\nbut the word “clam,” Mrs. Hussey hurried towards an open door leading\r\nto the kitchen, and bawling out “clam for two,” disappeared.\r\n\r\n“Queequeg,” said I, “do you think that we can make out a supper for us\r\nboth on one clam?”\r\n\r\nHowever, a warm savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the\r\napparently cheerless prospect before us. But when that smoking chowder\r\ncame in, the mystery was delightfully explained. Oh, sweet friends!\r\nhearken to me. It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than\r\nhazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit, and salted pork cut up\r\ninto little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully\r\nseasoned with pepper and salt. Our appetites being sharpened by the\r\nfrosty voyage, and in particular, Queequeg seeing his favourite fishing\r\nfood before him, and the chowder being surpassingly excellent, we\r\ndespatched it with great expedition: when leaning back a moment and\r\nbethinking me of Mrs. Hussey’s clam and cod announcement, I thought I\r\nwould try a little experiment. Stepping to the kitchen door, I uttered\r\nthe word “cod” with great emphasis, and resumed my seat. In a few\r\nmoments the savoury steam came forth again, but with a different\r\nflavor, and in good time a fine cod-chowder was placed before us.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 42"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AK7FP6P1V67V3ATJHHZ83","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AP5XG0DCC1NEM89BV802Y","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AP5XTQD3N1Z62Q3ZHEZTC","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:34.128Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:49:41.238Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}