01KG8AKG13X2QK2WZ1QPPQAJ02

Properties

description

# Section from Billy Budd and Other Stories ## Overview This is a section extracted from the text file [billy_budd.txt](arke:01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY), part of the [Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW) collection. It is located within a larger [segment](arke:01KG8AJVQF5QGP2RQJ0XJM45P0) of the text. The section spans from line 6876 to line 6950 of the source file. It was extracted on January 30, 2026. ## Context The section follows an [introduction](arke:01KG8AKG13FDANC8D5YAET6KW5) and precedes another [section](arke:01KG8AKG134XQNJQR2GMS7CJ2F) titled "THE FIDDLER" within the same segment. ## Contents This section contains a dialogue-heavy passage involving an uncle, the narrator ("Boy"), and a character named Yorpy. The uncle is persuaded to try assembling "pieces together," possibly of an invention, and the narrator observes a change in the uncle's face. The uncle expresses a sense of failure and acceptance, advising the narrator to "never try to invent anything but--happiness." The section concludes with the uncle's decision to repurpose the invention's box as a wood-box, and a reflection on the uncle's eventual passing.

description_generated_at

2026-01-30T20:49:32.101Z

description_model

gemini-2.5-flash-lite

description_title

Section from Billy Budd and Other Stories

end_line

6950

extracted_at

2026-01-30T20:48:05.323Z

extracted_by

structure-extraction-lambda

source_file

01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY

start_line

6876

text

‘Do, do now, dear uncle--here, here, put these pieces together; or, if that can’t be done without more tools, try a _section_ of it--that will do just as well. Try it once; try, uncle.’ My persistent persuasiveness told upon him. The stubborn stump of hope, ploughed at and uprooted in vain, put forth one last miraculous green sprout. Steadily and carefully culling out of the wreck some of the more curious-looking fragments, he mysteriously involved them together, and then, clearing out the box, slowly inserted them there, and ranging Yorpy and me as before, bade us tip the box once again. We did so; and as no perceptible effect yet followed, I was each moment looking for the previous command to tip the box over yet more, when, glancing into my uncle’s face, I started aghast. It seemed pinched, shrivelled into mouldy whiteness, like a mildewed grape. I dropped the box, and sprang toward him just in time to prevent his fall. Leaving the woeful box where we had dropped it, Yorpy and I helped the old man into the skiff, and silently pulled from Quash Isle. How swiftly the current now swept us down! How hardly before had we striven to stem it! I thought of my poor uncle’s saying, not an hour gone by, about the universal drift of the mass of humanity toward utter oblivion. ‘Boy!’ said my uncle at last, lifting his head. I looked at him earnestly, and was gladdened to see that the terrible blight of his face had almost departed. ‘Boy, there’s not much left in an old world for an old man to invent.’ I said nothing. ‘Boy, take my advice, and never try to invent anything but--happiness.’ I said nothing. ‘Boy, about ship, and pull back for the box.’ ‘Dear uncle!’ ‘It will make a good wood-box, boy. And faithful old Yorpy can sell the old iron for tobacco-money.’ ‘Dear massa! dear old massa! dat be very fust time in de ten long ’ear yoo hab mention kindly old Yorpy. I tank yoo, dear old massa; I tank yoo so kindly. Yoo is yourself agin in de ten long ’ear.’ ‘Ay, long ears enough,’ sighed my uncle; ‘Esopian ears. But it’s all over now. Boy, I’m glad I’ve failed. I say, boy, failure has made a good old man of me. It was horrible at first, but I’m glad I’ve failed. Praise be to God for the failure!’ His face kindled with a strange, rapt earnestness. I have never forgotten that look. If the event made my uncle a good old man, as he called it, it made me a wise young one. Example did for me the work of experience. When some years had gone by, and my dear old uncle began to fail, and, after peaceful days of autumnal content, was gathered gently to his fathers--faithful old Yorpy closing his eyes--as I took my last look at his venerable face, the pale resigned lips seemed to move. I seemed to hear again his deep, fervent cry--‘Praise be to God for the failure!’ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE FIDDLER