Master and Commander (Aubrey & Maturin, #1)

by Patrick O'Brian

was over,

lot. But that child, that youngster Babbington,

would have shown.

and them as was going to run having run

all there, and the rearmost

and the awful hoarse, harsh, animal quality

shipmates with him, along by the huddle

command (‘May God forgive me,’ said Jack,

smother him or scrag him or shove him overboard

others peck him to death. Or an albatross.

unsatisfactory attempts; and under the Sophie

‘Yes, sir: so I took the liberty of reducing

reliable Lascar. ‘Assei, ahoy!’

‘By God,

‘But you had not: it is a sick fancy. Indeed, it is not far from morose delectation: take great care of that sin, James, I beg. As for the rest, it is a pity you mind it so. What does it amount to, in the long run?’ ‘A man would have to be three parts dead not to mind it so; and quite dead to a sense of duty, to say nothing of … Mr Watt, that will do very well.’ Stephen sat there, weighing the advantage of saying ‘Do not hate Jack Aubrey for it: do not drink so much: do not destroy yourself for what will not last’ against the disadvantage of setting off an explosion; for in spite of his apparent calm, James Dillon was on

fox about to do something utterly insane.

have looked ridiculous

been pulling so hard that his oar had broken, flinging him backwards. ‘Jesus, Mary …’ muttered Dillon, at his side. The Sophie was on the hover, with some way on her already, as the jolly-boat came alongside and the drowned boy was passed up. ‘Dead,’ they said. ‘Make sail,’ said Jack. Again the almost silent manoeuvres followed one another with admirable rapidity. Too much rapidity. She was not yet on her course, she had not reached half her former speed, before there was an ugly rending crack and the foretopgallantyard parted in the slings. Now the orders flew: looking up from Ellis’ wet body, Stephen saw Jack utter three bouts of technicalities to Dillon, who relayed them, elaborated, through his speaking-trumpet to the bosun and the foretopmen as they flew aloft; saw him give a separate set of orders to the carpenter and his crew; calculate the altered forces acting on the sloop and give the helmsman a course accordingly; glance over his shoulder at the frigate and then look down with a sharp attentive glance. ‘Is there anything you can do for him? Do you need a hand?’ ‘His heart has stopped,’ said Stephen. ‘But I should like to try … could he be slung up by the heels on deck? There is no room below.’ ‘Shannahan. Thomas. Bear a hand. Clap on to the burton-tackle and that spun-yarn. Carry on as the Doctor directs you. Mr Lamb, this fish …’ Stephen sent Cheslin for lancets, cigars, the galley bellows; and as the lifeless Henry Ellis rose free of the deck so he swung him f...

headed

from the point of view of your friend’s advancement of course?’

business before the water. These amiable weaknesses,