From: billc@sextant.Eng.Sun.COM (Bill Courington)
Newsgroups: rec.boats
Subject: Jack Aubrey Goes for a Sail
Date: 18 Dec 1992 18:52:24 GMT
Organization: Sun Microsystems
Distribution: world
Reply-To: billc@sextant.Eng.Sun.COM
NNTP-Posting-Host: sextant


The following is an extended quote from Patrick O'Brian's 
_The Thirteen Gun Salute_, the 13th in the Aubrey/Maturin 
novel series.  The time, it seems, is circa 1820, the 
place is the vicinity of Malaysia. (Where is/was Pulo Prabang?) 
Jack Aubrey is, I'd guess, around 50 years old, and has 
spent all but about 13 of those years in the British navy.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had always appeared to Jack Aubrey, ever since he was a 
little boy, that one of the purest joys in the world was sailing 
a small, well-conceived, weatherly boat: the purest form of 
sailing too, with the sheet alive in one's hand, the tiller quivering 
under the crook of one's knee and the boat's instant response 
to the movement of either, and to the roll and the breeze. A 
more stirring, obvious joy, of course, in a moderate gale and 
a lively sea, but there was also a subtle delight in gliding over 
smooth water, coaxing every ounce of thrust from what light 
air there was: an infinitely varied joy. Yet since he had left the 
midshipmen's berth he had done very little sailing in this sense, 
and almost none for pure pleasure; and as a post-captain, 
usually wafted to and fro in the glory of his barge, he could 
scarcely remember half a dozen occasions. Apart from anything 
else, the life of a captain, even with such a conscientious, 
intelligent lieutenant as Fielding, was an uncommonly 
busy one: at least as Jack Aubrey led it. 

.. at present Jack was directing the Diane's smaller cutter 
at the narrow pass between the cape right ahead and a small island 
just beyond it.  He was sailing as close to the brisk west-south-
westerly breeze as he could; the clinker-built boat made 
little leeway and he thought he could run through the gap on 
the present tack.  

Bonden, who though by right the captain's coxswain had not 
had his hand on the tiller since the boat left Prabang, was sure 
he could. Warren, the master, who was unable to swim, thought 
he possibly could, but wished he would not attempt it; Yusuf, 
who had been brought along for the language and because he 
knew the difference between right and wrong, at least where 
fish and fruit were concerned, was convinced that it was 
impossible; but being a Muslim he took it in good part, since 
what was written was written and there was no arguing with 
fate, and in any case he was a sea Malay, as much at home in the 
water as out of it. ...

The headland, the gap and the island were coming close, 
much closer. Jack, bending and peering forward, saw that the 
high land was deflecting the breeze so that it would head him 
in mid-passage: there was a slight cross-ruffle on the ebbing 
tide. His mind at once began computing speed, inertia, dis-
tance, most desirable course, and presented him with the 
answer in something less than a second, a hundred yards short 
of the rock. A few moments more and he bore up, gathered  
way, and with the greater impetus shot through the gap right 
into the wind's eye, his mainsail shivering, rounded the cape and 
ran down its farther side. The saving of five insignificant 
minutes was no very great triumph; indeed the caper had a 
faint, very faint air of showing away; but it was pleasant to 
feel the old skills unimpaired.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BILL COURINGTON
Newsgroups: rec.boats