{"id":"01KG8AP9067XVNPV7VJ5VYN1NB","cid":"bafkreic2ii77j265ts6q64nvzlrrszwrsxsqps32kan33x7ybwa4zgdx5a","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":5515,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:30.765Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 83","source_file":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","start_line":5446,"text":"thinks over by daylight.”\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 30. The Pipe.\r\n\r\nWhen Stubb had departed, Ahab stood for a while leaning over the\r\nbulwarks; and then, as had been usual with him of late, calling a\r\nsailor of the watch, he sent him below for his ivory stool, and also\r\nhis pipe. Lighting the pipe at the binnacle lamp and planting the stool\r\non the weather side of the deck, he sat and smoked.\r\n\r\nIn old Norse times, the thrones of the sea-loving Danish kings were\r\nfabricated, saith tradition, of the tusks of the narwhale. How could\r\none look at Ahab then, seated on that tripod of bones, without\r\nbethinking him of the royalty it symbolized? For a Khan of the plank,\r\nand a king of the sea, and a great lord of Leviathans was Ahab.\r\n\r\nSome moments passed, during which the thick vapor came from his mouth\r\nin quick and constant puffs, which blew back again into his face. “How\r\nnow,” he soliloquized at last, withdrawing the tube, “this smoking no\r\nlonger soothes. Oh, my pipe! hard must it go with me if thy charm be\r\ngone! Here have I been unconsciously toiling, not pleasuring—aye, and\r\nignorantly smoking to windward all the while; to windward, and with\r\nsuch nervous whiffs, as if, like the dying whale, my final jets were\r\nthe strongest and fullest of trouble. What business have I with this\r\npipe? This thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild white\r\nvapors among mild white hairs, not among torn iron-grey locks like\r\nmine. I’ll smoke no more—”\r\n\r\nHe tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea. The fire hissed in the\r\nwaves; the same instant the ship shot by the bubble the sinking pipe\r\nmade. With slouched hat, Ahab lurchingly paced the planks.\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 31. Queen Mab.\r\n\r\nNext morning Stubb accosted Flask.\r\n\r\n“Such a queer dream, King-Post, I never had. You know the old man’s\r\nivory leg, well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to\r\nkick back, upon my soul, my little man, I kicked my leg right off! And\r\nthen, presto! Ahab seemed a pyramid, and I, like a blazing fool, kept\r\nkicking at it. But what was still more curious, Flask—you know how\r\ncurious all dreams are—through all this rage that I was in, I somehow\r\nseemed to be thinking to myself, that after all, it was not much of an\r\ninsult, that kick from Ahab. ‘Why,’ thinks I, ‘what’s the row? It’s not\r\na real leg, only a false leg.’ And there’s a mighty difference between\r\na living thump and a dead thump. That’s what makes a blow from the\r\nhand, Flask, fifty times more savage to bear than a blow from a cane.\r\nThe living member—that makes the living insult, my little man. And\r\nthinks I to myself all the while, mind, while I was stubbing my silly\r\ntoes against that cursed pyramid—so confoundedly contradictory was it\r\nall, all the while, I say, I was thinking to myself, ‘what’s his leg\r\nnow, but a cane—a whalebone cane. Yes,’ thinks I, ‘it was only a\r\nplayful cudgelling—in fact, only a whaleboning that he gave me—not a\r\nbase kick. Besides,’ thinks I, ‘look at it once; why, the end of it—the\r\nfoot part—what a small sort of end it is; whereas, if a broad footed\r\nfarmer kicked me, _there’s_ a devilish broad insult. But this insult is\r\nwhittled down to a point only.’ But now comes the greatest joke of the\r\ndream, Flask. While I was battering away at the pyramid, a sort of\r\nbadger-haired old merman, with a hump on his back, takes me by the\r\nshoulders, and slews me round. ‘What are you ’bout?’ says he. Slid!\r\nman, but I was frightened. Such a phiz! But, somehow, next moment I was\r\nover the fright. ‘What am I about?’ says I at last. ‘And what business\r\nis that of yours, I should like to know, Mr. Humpback? Do _you_ want a\r\nkick?’ By the lord, Flask, I had no sooner said that, than he turned\r\nround his stern to me, bent over, and dragging up a lot of seaweed he\r\nhad for a clout—what do you think, I saw?—why thunder alive, man, his\r\nstern was stuck full of marlinspikes, with the points out. Says I, on\r\nsecond thoughts, ‘I guess I won’t kick you, old fellow.’ ‘Wise Stubb,’\r","title":"Chunk 83"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AK7FP6P1V67V3ATJHHZ83","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AP906Q326J8SMW8N07VPE","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AP9KEDGCTPY3V7C46XYMQ","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:49:37.286Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:49:43.288Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}