- description
- # CHAPTER 97. The Lamp.
## Overview
"CHAPTER 97. The Lamp." is a section extracted from the plain text file [moby_dick.txt](arke:01KG89J198KE6FY8WPVJQQRCZ6). This section, labeled "CHAPTER 97. The Lamp.", spans lines 16501 to 16527 and was extracted on January 30, 2026, by the structure-extraction-lambda. It is part of the [Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW) collection.
## Context
This section is part of the chapter [BOOK III. (_Duodecimo_), CHAPTER III. (_Mealy-mouthed Porpoise_)](arke:01KG8AK83BA227D6NY5BT040FM), indicating its place in a structured literary work. It follows [CHAPTER 96. The Try-Works.](arke:01KG8AMA8ZBTY949CN1GV7YMZ7) and precedes [CHAPTER 98. Stowing Down and Clearing Up.](arke:01KG8AMA8W4WKH3T7WHZXDM9W8).
## Contents
The section's text describes the use of lamps on a whaling ship, contrasting the scarcity of oil for sailors in merchantmen with the abundance of light enjoyed by whalemen. It highlights the whalemen's practice of using lamps, often old bottles, and the quality of the whale oil they burn. The text emphasizes the purity of the oil and its freshness, comparing the whaleman's pursuit of it to a traveler seeking game.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T20:51:11.391Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- CHAPTER 97. The Lamp.
- end_line
- 16527
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:29.272Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 16501
- text
- CHAPTER 97. The Lamp.
Had you descended from the Pequod’s try-works to the Pequod’s
forecastle, where the off duty watch were sleeping, for one single
moment you would have almost thought you were standing in some
illuminated shrine of canonized kings and counsellors. There they lay
in their triangular oaken vaults, each mariner a chiselled muteness; a
score of lamps flashing upon his hooded eyes.
In merchantmen, oil for the sailor is more scarce than the milk of
queens. To dress in the dark, and eat in the dark, and stumble in
darkness to his pallet, this is his usual lot. But the whaleman, as he
seeks the food of light, so he lives in light. He makes his berth an
Aladdin’s lamp, and lays him down in it; so that in the pitchiest night
the ship’s black hull still houses an illumination.
See with what entire freedom the whaleman takes his handful of
lamps—often but old bottles and vials, though—to the copper cooler at
the try-works, and replenishes them there, as mugs of ale at a vat. He
burns, too, the purest of oil, in its unmanufactured, and, therefore,
unvitiated state; a fluid unknown to solar, lunar, or astral
contrivances ashore. It is sweet as early grass butter in April. He
goes and hunts for his oil, so as to be sure of its freshness and
genuineness, even as the traveller on the prairie hunts up his own
supper of game.
- title
- CHAPTER 97. The Lamp.