{"id":"01KG8AP769288SKQC4CHMHM0NV","cid":"bafkreigouxaxcnj73o7edn5eztx5tngtilieq2u5vyr4quv4lneptedrha","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":3876,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:30.764Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 54","source_file":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","start_line":3802,"text":"since. But I thought, may be, you had both gone off and locked your\r\nbaggage in for safe keeping. La! la, ma’am!—Mistress! murder! Mrs.\r\nHussey! apoplexy!”—and with these cries, she ran towards the kitchen, I\r\nfollowing.\r\n\r\nMrs. Hussey soon appeared, with a mustard-pot in one hand and a\r\nvinegar-cruet in the other, having just broken away from the occupation\r\nof attending to the castors, and scolding her little black boy\r\nmeantime.\r\n\r\n“Wood-house!” cried I, “which way to it? Run for God’s sake, and fetch\r\nsomething to pry open the door—the axe!—the axe! he’s had a stroke;\r\ndepend upon it!”—and so saying I was unmethodically rushing up stairs\r\nagain empty-handed, when Mrs. Hussey interposed the mustard-pot and\r\nvinegar-cruet, and the entire castor of her countenance.\r\n\r\n“What’s the matter with you, young man?”\r\n\r\n“Get the axe! For God’s sake, run for the doctor, some one, while I pry\r\nit open!”\r\n\r\n“Look here,” said the landlady, quickly putting down the vinegar-cruet,\r\nso as to have one hand free; “look here; are you talking about prying\r\nopen any of my doors?”—and with that she seized my arm. “What’s the\r\nmatter with you? What’s the matter with you, shipmate?”\r\n\r\nIn as calm, but rapid a manner as possible, I gave her to understand\r\nthe whole case. Unconsciously clapping the vinegar-cruet to one side of\r\nher nose, she ruminated for an instant; then exclaimed—“No! I haven’t\r\nseen it since I put it there.” Running to a little closet under the\r\nlanding of the stairs, she glanced in, and returning, told me that\r\nQueequeg’s harpoon was missing. “He’s killed himself,” she cried. “It’s\r\nunfort’nate Stiggs done over again—there goes another counterpane—God\r\npity his poor mother!—it will be the ruin of my house. Has the poor lad\r\na sister? Where’s that girl?—there, Betty, go to Snarles the Painter,\r\nand tell him to paint me a sign, with—“no suicides permitted here, and\r\nno smoking in the parlor;”—might as well kill both birds at once. Kill?\r\nThe Lord be merciful to his ghost! What’s that noise there? You, young\r\nman, avast there!”\r\n\r\nAnd running up after me, she caught me as I was again trying to force\r\nopen the door.\r\n\r\n“I don’t allow it; I won’t have my premises spoiled. Go for the\r\nlocksmith, there’s one about a mile from here. But avast!” putting her\r\nhand in her side-pocket, “here’s a key that’ll fit, I guess; let’s\r\nsee.” And with that, she turned it in the lock; but, alas! Queequeg’s\r\nsupplemental bolt remained unwithdrawn within.\r\n\r\n“Have to burst it open,” said I, and was running down the entry a\r\nlittle, for a good start, when the landlady caught at me, again vowing\r\nI should not break down her premises; but I tore from her, and with a\r\nsudden bodily rush dashed myself full against the mark.\r\n\r\nWith a prodigious noise the door flew open, and the knob slamming\r\nagainst the wall, sent the plaster to the ceiling; and there, good\r\nheavens! there sat Queequeg, altogether cool and self-collected; right\r\nin the middle of the room; squatting on his hams, and holding Yojo on\r\ntop of his head. He looked neither one way nor the other way, but sat\r\nlike a carved image with scarce a sign of active life.\r\n\r\n“Queequeg,” said I, going up to him, “Queequeg, what’s the matter with\r\nyou?”\r\n\r\n“He hain’t been a sittin’ so all day, has he?” said the landlady.\r\n\r\nBut all we said, not a word could we drag out of him; I almost felt\r\nlike pushing him over, so as to change his position, for it was almost\r\nintolerable, it seemed so painfully and unnaturally constrained;\r\nespecially, as in all probability he had been sitting so for upwards of\r\neight or ten hours, going too without his regular meals.\r\n\r\n“Mrs. Hussey,” said I, “he’s _alive_ at all events; so leave us, if you\r\nplease, and I will see to this strange affair myself.”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 54"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AK7FP6P1V67V3ATJHHZ83","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AP6J4CR9VEX3203HJ7JQB","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AP76C7SEFHCN7CBVX1HPV","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:35.433Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:49:41.925Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}