At Sea

I am enjoying Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian even though a lot is lost on me. I’ll be darned if I know who’s fighting or chasing whom, and I can’t make heads nor tails out of the battles. I keep at the book for other reasons.

I’ve been surprised and spooked to read of a “sin-eater”:

“When a man died Cheslin would be sent for; there would be a piece of bread on the dead man’s breast; he would eat it, taking the sins upon himself. Then they would push a silver piece into his hand and thrust him out of the house, spitting on him and throwing stones as he ran.”

I have been amused:

“In times of stress Jack Aubrey had two main reactions: he either became aggressive or he became amorous; he longed either for the violent catharsis of action or for that of making love. He loved a battle: he loved a wench.”

I love the details about the ship:

“She might not be very fast; she might not look very dangerous or high-bred; but with her topgallantmasts struck down on deck, her guns double-breeched and her hatches battened down, leaving only a little screened way to the after-ladder, and with a hundred miles of sea-room under her lee, she lay to as snug and unconcerned as an eider-duck.”

And there is beauty in the language:

“She was a remarkably dry vessel too, observed Jack, as she climbed the creaming slope of a wave, slipped its roaring top neatly under her bows and traveled smoothly down into the hollow.”