- description
- # THE HAPPY FAILURE: A STORY OF THE RIVER HUDSON
## Overview
"The Happy Failure: A Story of the River Hudson" is a narrative segment, extracted from the file `billy_budd.txt`. This segment, spanning lines 6566 to 6630, is part of the larger work titled "Billy Budd and Other Prose Pieces."
## Context
This segment is contained within the collection "[Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW)". It is a prose piece that appears after the segment titled "[PICTURE SECOND RICH MAN’S CRUMBS](arke:01KG8AJVQF20TDG1VNRK0Y5XAC)" and before the segment identified by ID `01KG8AJVQF5QGP2RQJ0XJM45P0`. The text was extracted from the file `billy_budd.txt`.
## Contents
The narrative describes an encounter between the narrator, his uncle, and an elderly Black man named Yorpy. The uncle has arranged a meeting by the river to conduct a "wonderful experiment" involving a mysterious, sealed box. The narrator expresses skepticism about the apparatus, which he likens to a "battered old dry-goods box." The uncle insists on its importance, warning that its destruction would mean the collapse of his fortune. The group embarks on a skiff, with the uncle giving urgent instructions to Yorpy to secure the box. The journey is directed upstream towards "Quash Island," a destination that is ten miles away, much to the narrator's dismay given the heat and the effort required.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T20:49:30.578Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- THE HAPPY FAILURE: A STORY OF THE RIVER HUDSON
- end_line
- 6630
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:42.596Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 6566
- text
-
THE HAPPY FAILURE
A STORY OF THE RIVER HUDSON
The appointment was that I should meet my elderly uncle at the
river-side, precisely at nine in the morning. The skiff was to be ready,
and the apparatus to be brought down by his grizzled old black man. As
yet, the nature of the wonderful experiment remained a mystery to all
but the projector.
I was first on the spot. The village was high up the river, and the
inland summer sun was already oppressively warm. Presently, I saw my
uncle advancing beneath the trees, hat off, and wiping his brow; while
far behind staggered poor old Yorpy, with what seemed one of the gates
of Gaza on his back.
‘Come, hurry, stump along, Yorpy!’ cried my uncle, impatiently turning
round every now and then.
Upon the black’s staggering up to the skiff, I perceived that the great
gate of Gaza was transformed into a huge, shabby, oblong box,
hermetically sealed. The sphinx-like blankness of the box quadrupled the
mystery in my mind.
‘Is _this_ the wonderful apparatus?’ said I, in amazement. ‘Why, it’s
nothing but a battered old dry-goods box, nailed up. And is _this_ the
thing, uncle, that is to make you a million of dollars ere the year be
out? What a forlorn-looking, lack-lustre, old ash-box it is.’
‘Put it into the skiff!’ roared my uncle to Yorpy, without heeding my
boyish disdain. ‘Put it in, you grizzled-headed cherub--put it in
carefully, carefully! If that box bursts, my everlasting fortune
collapses.’
‘Bursts?--collapses?’ cried I, in alarm. ‘It ain’t full of combustibles?
Quick! let me go to the farther end of the boat!’
‘Sit still, you simpleton!’ cried my uncle again. ‘Jump in, Yorpy, and
hold on to the box like grim death while I shove off. Carefully!
carefully! you dunder-headed black! Mind t’other side of the box, I say!
Do you mean to destroy the box?’
‘Duyvel take te pox!’ muttered old Yorpy, who was a sort of Dutch
African. ‘De pox has been my cuss for de ten long ’ear.’
‘Now, then, we’re off--take an oar, youngster; you, Yorpy, clinch the
box fast. Here we go now. Carefully! carefully! You, Yorpy, stop shaking
the box! Easy! easy! there’s a big snag. Pull now. Hurrah! deep water at
last! Now give way, youngster, and away to the island.’
‘The island!’ said I. ‘There’s no island hereabouts.’
‘There is ten miles above the bridge, though,’ said my uncle,
determinately.
‘Ten miles off! Pull that old dry-goods box ten miles up the river in
this blazing sun!’
‘All that I have to say,’ said my uncle, firmly, ‘is that we are bound
to Quash Island.’
‘Mercy, uncle! if I had known of this great long pull of ten mortal
- title
- THE HAPPY FAILURE
A STORY OF THE RIVER HUDSON