{"id":"01KJNXJR0R3A90WD7NF89QTEMC","cid":"bafkreigp6pfyeuapjri47kqffvwbghnhzqqc2ij4d55jsxdsa3nvfmhtlq","type":"text_chunk","properties":{"char_end":647881,"char_start":640181,"chunk_index":90,"chunk_total":178,"estimated_tokens":1925,"source_file_key":"moby-dick","text":"sharp two-edged sword by the blade, and that enemy all the time\r\nstriving to wrest it out of your clutch.\r\n\r\n“Wet the line! wet the line!” cried Stubb to the tub oarsman (him\r\nseated by the tub) who, snatching off his hat, dashed sea-water into\r\nit.* More turns were taken, so that the line began holding its place.\r\nThe boat now flew through the boiling water like a shark all fins.\r\nStubb and Tashtego here changed places—stem for stern—a staggering\r\nbusiness truly in that rocking commotion.\r\n\r\n*Partly to show the indispensableness of this act, it may here be\r\nstated, that, in the old Dutch fishery, a mop was used to dash the\r\nrunning line with water; in many other ships, a wooden piggin, or\r\nbailer, is set apart for that purpose. Your hat, however, is the most\r\nconvenient.\r\n\r\nFrom the vibrating line extending the entire length of the upper part\r\nof the boat, and from its now being more tight than a harpstring, you\r\nwould have thought the craft had two keels—one cleaving the water, the\r\nother the air—as the boat churned on through both opposing elements at\r\nonce. A continual cascade played at the bows; a ceaseless whirling eddy\r\nin her wake; and, at the slightest motion from within, even but of a\r\nlittle finger, the vibrating, cracking craft canted over her spasmodic\r\ngunwale into the sea. Thus they rushed; each man with might and main\r\nclinging to his seat, to prevent being tossed to the foam; and the tall\r\nform of Tashtego at the steering oar crouching almost double, in order\r\nto bring down his centre of gravity. Whole Atlantics and Pacifics\r\nseemed passed as they shot on their way, till at length the whale\r\nsomewhat slackened his flight.\r\n\r\n“Haul in—haul in!” cried Stubb to the bowsman! and, facing round\r\ntowards the whale, all hands began pulling the boat up to him, while\r\nyet the boat was being towed on. Soon ranging up by his flank, Stubb,\r\nfirmly planting his knee in the clumsy cleat, darted dart after dart\r\ninto the flying fish; at the word of command, the boat alternately\r\nsterning out of the way of the whale’s horrible wallow, and then\r\nranging up for another fling.\r\n\r\nThe red tide now poured from all sides of the monster like brooks down\r\na hill. His tormented body rolled not in brine but in blood, which\r\nbubbled and seethed for furlongs behind in their wake. The slanting sun\r\nplaying upon this crimson pond in the sea, sent back its reflection\r\ninto every face, so that they all glowed to each other like red men.\r\nAnd all the while, jet after jet of white smoke was agonizingly shot\r\nfrom the spiracle of the whale, and vehement puff after puff from the\r\nmouth of the excited headsman; as at every dart, hauling in upon his\r\ncrooked lance (by the line attached to it), Stubb straightened it again\r\nand again, by a few rapid blows against the gunwale, then again and\r\nagain sent it into the whale.\r\n\r\n“Pull up—pull up!” he now cried to the bowsman, as the waning whale\r\nrelaxed in his wrath. “Pull up!—close to!” and the boat ranged along\r\nthe fish’s flank. When reaching far over the bow, Stubb slowly churned\r\nhis long sharp lance into the fish, and kept it there, carefully\r\nchurning and churning, as if cautiously seeking to feel after some gold\r\nwatch that the whale might have swallowed, and which he was fearful of\r\nbreaking ere he could hook it out. But that gold watch he sought was\r\nthe innermost life of the fish. And now it is struck; for, starting\r\nfrom his trance into that unspeakable thing called his “flurry,” the\r\nmonster horribly wallowed in his blood, overwrapped himself in\r\nimpenetrable, mad, boiling spray, so that the imperilled craft,\r\ninstantly dropping astern, had much ado blindly to struggle out from\r\nthat phrensied twilight into the clear air of the day.\r\n\r\nAnd now abating in his flurry, the whale once more rolled out into\r\nview; surging from side to side; spasmodically dilating and contracting\r\nhis spout-hole, with sharp, cracking, agonized respirations. At last,\r\ngush after gush of clotted red gore, as if it had been the purple lees\r\nof red wine, shot into the frighted air; and falling back again, ran\r\ndripping down his motionless flanks into the sea. His heart had burst!\r\n\r\n“He’s dead, Mr. Stubb,” said Daggoo.\r\n\r\n“Yes; both pipes smoked out!” and withdrawing his own from his mouth,\r\nStubb scattered the dead ashes over the water; and, for a moment, stood\r\nthoughtfully eyeing the vast corpse he had made.\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 62. The Dart.\r\n\r\nA word concerning an incident in the last chapter.\r\n\r\nAccording to the invariable usage of the fishery, the whale-boat pushes\r\noff from the ship, with the headsman or whale-killer as temporary\r\nsteersman, and the harpooneer or whale-fastener pulling the foremost\r\noar, the one known as the harpooneer-oar. Now it needs a strong,\r\nnervous arm to strike the first iron into the fish; for often, in what\r\nis called a long dart, the heavy implement has to be flung to the\r\ndistance of twenty or thirty feet. But however prolonged and exhausting\r\nthe chase, the harpooneer is expected to pull his oar meanwhile to the\r\nuttermost; indeed, he is expected to set an example of superhuman\r\nactivity to the rest, not only by incredible rowing, but by repeated\r\nloud and intrepid exclamations; and what it is to keep shouting at the\r\ntop of one’s compass, while all the other muscles are strained and half\r\nstarted—what that is none know but those who have tried it. For one, I\r\ncannot bawl very heartily and work very recklessly at one and the same\r\ntime. In this straining, bawling state, then, with his back to the\r\nfish, all at once the exhausted harpooneer hears the exciting\r\ncry—“Stand up, and give it to him!” He now has to drop and secure his\r\noar, turn round on his centre half way, seize his harpoon from the\r\ncrotch, and with what little strength may remain, he essays to pitch it\r\nsomehow into the whale. No wonder, taking the whole fleet of whalemen\r\nin a body, that out of fifty fair chances for a dart, not five are\r\nsuccessful; no wonder that so many hapless harpooneers are madly cursed\r\nand disrated; no wonder that some of them actually burst their\r\nblood-vessels in the boat; no wonder that some sperm whalemen are\r\nabsent four years with four barrels; no wonder that to many ship\r\nowners, whaling is but a losing concern; for it is the harpooneer that\r\nmakes the voyage, and if you take the breath out of his body how can\r\nyou expect to find it there when most wanted!\r\n\r\nAgain, if the dart be successful, then at the second critical instant,\r\nthat is, when the whale starts to run, the boatheader and harpooneer\r\nlikewise start to running fore and aft, to the imminent jeopardy of\r\nthemselves and every one else. It is then they change places; and the\r\nheadsman, the chief officer of the little craft, takes his proper\r\nstation in the bows of the boat.\r\n\r\nNow, I care not who maintains the contrary, but all this is both\r\nfoolish and unnecessary. The headsman should stay in the bows from\r\nfirst to last; he should both dart the harpoon and the lance, and no\r\nrowing whatever should be expected of him, except under circumstances\r\nobvious to any fisherman. I know that this would sometimes involve a\r\nslight loss of speed in the chase; but long experience in various\r\nwhalemen of more than one nation has convinced me that in the vast\r\nmajority of failures in the fishery, it has not by any means been so\r\nmuch the speed of the whale as the before described exhaustion of the\r\nharpooneer that has caused them.\r\n\r\nTo insure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpooneers of this\r\nworld must start to their feet from out of idleness, and not from out\r\nof toil.\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER 63. The Crotch.\r\n\r\nOut of the trunk, the branches grow; out of them, the twigs."},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KJNXEDHZCC8DR4EPSQD0QP4P","peer_label":"moby-dick","peer_type":"text","predicate":"derived_from"},{"peer":"01KJNXECF9R1EZKS5Z7J8A8ZSB","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"}],"ver":1,"created_at":"2026-03-02T00:01:15.800Z","ts":"2026-03-02T00:01:15.800Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KJ6WPT018SDDANE6N7Q8E428"}}