Art by Geoff Hunt marine and cover artist, best known for his covers for C.S. Forester’s “Hornblower” and Patrick O’Brian’s “Master and Commander” novels.
When Jack came in he found him sitting before a tray of bird’s skins and labels. Stephen looked up, and after a moment said, ‘To a tormented mind there is nothing, I believe, more irritating than comfort. Apart from anything else it often implies superior wisdom in the comforter. But I am very sorry for your trouble, my dear.’
‘Thank you, Stephen. Had you told me that there was always a tomorrow, I think I should have thrust your calendar down your throat.’
The Commodore, Patrick O’Brian (via currentboat)
‘Good morning, Killick,’ said Stephen. ‘Where’s himself?’
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Killick. ‘Which he’s still on deck.’
‘Killick,’ said Stephen, ‘what’s amiss? Have you seen the ghost in the bread-room? Are you sick? Show me your tongue.’
When Killick had withdrawn his tongue, a flannelly object of inordinate length, he said, paler still, ‘Is there a ghost in the bread-room, sir? Oh, oh, and I was there in the middle watch. Oh, sir, I might a seen it.’
‘There is always a ghost in the bread-room. Light along that pot, will you now?’
‘I durs’nt, sir, begging your pardon. There’s worse news than the ghost, even. Them wicked old rats got at the coffee, sir, and I doubt there’s another pot in the barky.’
‘Preserved Killick, pass me that pot, or you will join the ghost in the bread-room, and howl for evermore.’
The Mauritius Command, Patrick O’Brian (via verecunda)
Aubrey: Do you see those two weevils doctor?
Maturin: I do.
Aubrey: Which would you choose?
Maturin: [sighs] Neither; there is not a scrap a difference between them. They are the same species of Curculio.
Aubrey: If you had to choose. If you were forced to make a choice. If there was no other response…
Maturin: Well then if you are going to push me…I would choose the right hand weevil; it has… significant advantage in both length and breadth.
Aubrey: There, I have you! You’re completely dished!
(Source: justmybones)
‘It was about tea, which they did not choose to pay duty on. They called out No reproduction without copulation and tossed it into Boston harbour.’
Jack frowned, considered, and said, ‘Well, in any event they accomplished little or nothing at sea, that bout.’ He passed on to the necessary allowance for dip and refraction to be made in working lunars, matters with which he was deeply familiar; but as he tuned his fiddle that evening he said, ‘Stephen, what was the Americans’ cry in 1775?’
‘No representation, no taxation.’
‘Nothing about copulation?’
‘Nothing at all. At that period the mass of Americans were in favour of copulation.’
The Thirteen-Gun Salute, Patrick O’Brian (via currentboat)
Mast, by LukaElrik
The only thing this is missing is a look of SHEER UTTER PANIC on Jack’s face.
(Source: rustycrowe)
You will have to stand up. Steady, now - clap on to the cheek-bolt. There! ’ He pointed to the cap, a dark, worn, rope-scored, massive block of wood that embraced the two masts. ‘We cut it out of greenheart in a creek on the Spanish main: it is good for another twenty years. And here, do you see, is my relic.’ On the broad rim of the square hole that sat on the topmast head there were the initials JA cut deep and clear, supported on either side by blowsy forms that might have been manatees, though mermaids were more likely -beer-drinking mermaids.
‘Does not that raise your heart?’ he asked.
‘Why, ’ said Stephen, ‘I am obliged to you for the sight of it, sure.’
‘But it does raise your heart, you know, whatever you may say, ’ said Jack. ‘It raises it a hundred feet above the deck. Ha, ha - I can get out a good thing now and then, given time - oh ha, ha, ha! You never smoked it - you was not aware of my motions.’
When Jack was as amused as this, so intensely amused throughout his whole massive being, belly and all, with his scarlet face glorious and shining and his blue eyes darting mirth from their narrowed slits, it was impossible to resist. Stephen felt his mouth widen involuntarily, his diaphragm contract, and his breath beginning to come in short thick pants.
just jack and stephen being fucking adorable up the topmast (via gwinny3k)
(via sophistory)
STEPHENNNNNNNN
(via currentboat)
A dark form drifted from the sombre cliff-face on the starboard beam - an enormous pointed wingspan: as ominous as fate. Stephen gave a swinish grunt, snatched the telescope from under Jack’s arm, elbowed him out of the way and squatted at the rail, resting the glass on it and focusing with great intensity.
‘A bearded vulture! It is a bearded vulture!’ he cried. ‘A young bearded vulture!’
‘Well,’ said Jack instantly - not a second’s hesitation - ‘I dare say he forgot to shave this morning.’ His red face crinkled up, his eyes diminished to a bright slit and he slapped his thigh, bending in such a paroxysm of silent mirth, enjoyment, and relish…
Patrick O’Brian, Master and Commander (via the-consulting-asgardian)
(Source: fighting-naturalist)
His standard of seamanship being tolerably well-known aboard the Boadicea, no orders were required for his reception: there was not time for a bosun’s chair, but a whip appeared at the mainyardarm; and now, as they tore along together with no more than a few feet of foaming, heaving sea between them, Bonden, poised on the rail of the Pearl, seized the line, made Stephen fast, adjured him “to take it easy’, called out “Heave away, there: cheerly now’, sprang across the gulf and ran up the frigate’s side like a cat to receive the Doctor as he came aboard. He had timed the roll exactly, and all would have gone well if Stephen, with some notion of steadying himself, had not grasped at the Pearl’s rigging. A slack slabline at once took a turn about his dangling legs and jerked him into a maze of cordage that he could neither name nor disentangle. A fairly heavy swell was running, and for a moment it seemed that Stephen must come aboard in two pieces. A nimble Pearl raced aloft and at great cost to the aviso’s rigging cut him free; but this he did at the very moment when the Boadiceas, realizing that they were tearing their surgeon apart, let go; and Stephen therefore swung in a sickening downward curve to strike the frigate’s side a little below the waterline. Now, urged by cries, they heaved again, but he stuck under the chains, and the ship’s next roll plunged him deep. Unfortunately for Stephen he counted none but friends aboard, and a large proportion of these sprang to his rescue; powerful hands pulled him in different directions by the arms, legs and hair, and only the violent intervention of the Commodore preserved him. He reached the deck at last, more dead than alive, oozing blood from scratches inflicted by the barnacles; they emptied some of the water out of him, carried him below, and plucked off his clothes.
The Mauritius Command, Patrick O’Brian (via currentboat)
