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- 7598
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 7529
- text
- far aloft, serene in the upper air; so, showed one calm grand forehead
among those of this mob of chieftains. That head was Saturnina’s. Gall
and Spurzheim! saw you ever such a brow?—poised like an avalanche,
under the shadow of a forest! woe betide the devoted valleys below!
Lavatar! behold those lips,—like mystic scrolls! Those eyes,— like
panthers’ caves at the base of Popocatepetl!
“By my right hand, Saturnina,” cried Babbalanja, “but thou wert made in
the image of thy Maker! Yet, have I beheld men, to the eye as
commanding as thou; and surmounted by heads globe-like as thine, who
never had thy caliber. We must measure brains, not heads, my lord;
else, the sperm whale, with his tun of an occiput, would transcend us
all.”
Near by, were arched ways, leading to subterranean places, whence
issued a savory steam, and an extraordinary clattering of calabashes,
and smacking of lips, as if something were being eaten down there by
the fattest of fat fellows, with the heartiest of appetites, and the
most irresistible of relishes. It was a quaffing, guzzling, gobbling
noise. Peeping down, we beheld a company, breasted up against a board,
groaning under numerous viands. In the middle of all, was a mighty
great gourd, yellow as gold, and jolly round like a pumpkin in October,
and so big it must have grown in the sun. Thence flowed a tide of red
wine. And before it, stood plenty of paunches being filled therewith
like portly stone jars at a fountain. Melancholy to tell, before that
fine flood of old wine, and among those portly old topers, was a lean
man; who occasionally ducked in his bill. He looked like an ibis
standing in the Nile at flood tide, among a tongue-lapping herd of
hippopotami.
They were jolly as the jolliest; and laughed so uproariously, that
their hemispheres all quivered and shook, like vast provinces in an
earthquake. Ha! ha! ha! how they laughed, and they roared. A deaf man
might have heard them; and no milk could have soured within a
forty-two-pounder ball shot of that place.
Now, the smell of good things is no very bad thing in itself. It is the
savor of good things beyond; proof positive of a glorious good meal. So
snuffing up those zephyrs from Araby the blest, those boisterous gales,
blowing from out the mouths of baked boars, stuffed with bread-fruit,
bananas, and sage, we would fain have gone down and partaken.
But this could not be; for we were told that those worthies below, were
a club in secret conclave; very busy in settling certain weighty state
affairs upon a solid basis, They were all chiefs of immense
capacity:—how many gallons, there was no finding out.
Be sure, now, a most riotous noise came up from those catacombs, which
seemed full of the ghosts of fat Lamberts; and this uproar it was, that
heightened the din above-ground.
But heedless of all, in the midst of the amphitheater, stood a tall,
gaunt warrior, ferociously tattooed, with a beak like a buzzard; long
dusty locks; and his hands full of headless arrows. He was laboring
under violent paroxysms; three benevolent individuals essaying to hold
him. But repeatedly breaking loose, he burst anew into his delirium;
while with an absence of sympathy, distressing to behold, the rest of
the assembly seemed wholly engrossed with themselves; nor did they
appear to care how soon the unfortunate lunatic might demolish himself
by his frantic proceedings.
Toward one side of the amphitheatrical space, perched high upon an
elevated dais, sat a white-headed old man with a tomahawk in his hand:
earnestly engaged in overseeing the tumult; though not a word did he
say. Occasionally, however, he was regarded by those present with a
mysterious sort of deference; and when they chanced to pass between him
and the crazy man, they invariably did so in a stooping position;
probably to elude the atmospheric grape and cannister, continually
flying from the mouth of the lunatic.
- title
- Chunk 2