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- # CHAPTER XXXVII.
## Overview
This chapter, titled "Once More They Take To The Chamois," is part of the novel *Mardi: And a Voyage Thither*. It details the characters' efforts to survive after their ship, the Parki, begins to sink. The chapter spans from line 4210 to 4283 of the source text.
## Context
This chapter is an integral part of Herman Melville's novel *Mardi: And a Voyage Thither*, which was originally published in 1849. The novel is a complex allegorical romance that critiques contemporary society and politics through the adventures of its characters in the South Pacific. This chapter follows "CHAPTER XXXVI." and precedes "CHAPTER XXXVIII."
## Contents
The narrative focuses on the precarious situation of the protagonists aboard the sinking ship, the Parki. They work to keep the vessel afloat by pumping out water, while simultaneously preparing their smaller boat, the Chamois, for departure. The text highlights the emotional connection a seaman can have with a ship, describing the abandonment of the Parki as a painful necessity. After ensuring the Chamois is provisioned and equipped, the characters, including the Skyeman, Samoa, and the narrator, make their escape just moments before the Parki sinks. The chapter concludes with the survivors setting sail westward in the Chamois, their spirits dampened by the ordeal.
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- CHAPTER XXXVII.
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- CHAPTER XXXVII.
Once More They Take To The Chamois
Try the pumps. We dropped the sinker, and found the Parki bleeding at
every pore. Up from her well, the water, spring-like, came bubbling,
pure and limpid as the water of Saratoga. Her time had come. But by
keeping two hands at the pumps, we had no doubt she would float till
daylight; previous to which we liked not to abandon her.
The interval was employed in clanging at the pump-breaks, and preparing
the Chamois for our reception. So soon as the sea permitted, we lowered
it over the side; and letting it float under the stern, stowed it with
water and provisions, together with various other things, including
muskets and cutlasses.
Shortly after daylight, a violent jostling and thumping under foot
showed that the water, gaining rapidly in the, hold, spite of all
pumping, had floated the lighter casks up-ward to the deck, against
which they were striking.
Now, owing to the number of empty butts in the hold, there would have
been, perhaps, but small danger of the vessel’s sinking outright—all
awash as her decks would soon be—were it not, that many of her timbers
were of a native wood, which, like the Teak of India, is specifically
heavier than water. This, with the pearl shells on board, counteracted
the buoyancy of the casks.
At last, the sun—long waited for—arose; the Parki meantime sinking
lower and lower.
All things being in readiness, we proceeded to embark from the wreck,
as from a wharf.
But not without some show of love for our poor brigantine.
To a seaman, a ship is no piece of mechanism merely; but a creature of
thoughts and fancies, instinct with life. Standing at her vibrating
helm, you feel her beating pulse. I have loved ships, as I have loved
men.
To abandon the poor Parki was like leaving to its fate something that
could feel. It was meet that she should die decently and bravely.
All this thought the Skyeman. Samoa and I were in the boat, calling
upon him to enter quickly, lest the vessel should sink, and carry us
down in the eddies; for already she had gone round twice. But cutting
adrift the last fragments of her broken shrouds, and putting her decks
in order, Jarl buried his ax in the splintered stump of the mainmast,
and not till then did he join us.
We slowly cheered, and sailed away.
Not ten minutes after, the hull rolled convulsively in the sea; went
round once more; lifted its sharp prow as a man with arms pointed for a
dive; gave a long seething plunge; and went down.
Many of her old planks were twice wrecked; once strown upon ocean’s
beach; now dropped into its lowermost vaults, with the bones of drowned
ships and drowned men.
Once more afloat in our shell! But not with the intrepid spirit that
shoved off with us from the deck of the Arcturion. A bold deed done
from impulse, for the time carries few or no misgivings along with it.
But forced upon you, its terrors stare you in the face. So now. I had
pushed from the Arcturion with a stout heart; but quitting the sinking
Parki, my heart sunk with her.
With a fair wind, we held on our way westward, hoping to see land
before many days.
- title
- CHAPTER XXXVII.