“But it’s very shocking to be like that, uncle,” I said.
“Not at all, my boy. It is the result of ignorance. The more ignorant and uncultivated people are, the greater cowards they seem. They are superstitious, and believe in ghosts and goblins and imps and fairies; and as for savages in far-off regions, they are sometimes the greatest cowards under the sun.”
“I feel very much ashamed of myself, uncle,” I said, and the tears stood in my eyes.
He looked at me very kindly as I spoke.
“I wish I was not so ignorant.”
“For my part, Nat,” he said, “I feel very proud of you, my boy; and let me tell you that you have no cause to be ashamed at all. Now take hold of the sheet here, and give and take as I tell you. Don’t be afraid to let it slip through your hands fast if there is a heavy squall. I’ll steer. The sea is heavier out in this long reach. Tell me when you’d like to put back.”
“I don’t want to go back, uncle,” I said; “let’s go on.”
He nodded, and away we dashed, scudding along and riding over the waves, while he showed me how he steered, and why he did this and that; how, by a little pressure on the tiller, he could check our speed, and even turn the little vessel so that we were facing where the wind blew from, and now the sail flapped angrily; but we made no progress at all, only were tossed about on the waves.
I told him that I thought we could only go along with the wind straight behind us, but he showed me how we could sail with the wind on either side, and sometimes with it almost facing us, by what he called tacking, which I found meant that, if the wind came from straight before us, say at a certain point in front, we could get there at last by zigzagging through the water, now half a mile to the left, now half a mile to the right, a common way of progressing which brought us nearer and nearer every time.