hen it made a supreme effort in two
motions--the first, to roll over; the second, to stand on its head. I
was glad both struggles were unsuccessful, and pleased with the order:
"Slow her up." The disadvantages of too much harbor were evident. The
slow-ups were several, and well timed, and then came the rise and
fall of the frisky launch beside the warship, the throwing of a
rope, the pull with a hook, the stand off with an oar, the bounding
boat clearing from four to ten feet at a jump; the clutch, the quick
step, the deft avoidance of a crushed foot or sprained ankle, with a
possible broken leg in sight, the triumphant ascent, the safe landing,
the sudden sense that Desdemona was right in loving a man for the
dangers he had passed, the thought that there should be harbors less
fluctuating, a lively appreciation of the achievements of pilots in
boarding Atlantic liners. The broad decks of the Olympia, built by
the builders of the matchless Oregon, had a comforting solidity under
my feet. The Admiral was believed to be having a nap; but he was wide
awake, and invited the visitor to take a big chair, which, after having
accompanied the launch in the dance with the whitecaps, was peculiarly
luxurious. The Admiral didn't mind me, and had a moment's surprise
about an observer of long ago strolling so far from home and going
forth in a high sea to make a call. I confessed to being an ancient
Wanderer, but not an Ancient Mariner, and expressed disapprobation
of the deplorable roughness of the California Albatross, a brute of
a bird--a feathered ruffian that ought to be shot.

The Admiral would be picked out by close attention as the origin of
some millions of pictures; but he is unlike as well as like them. Even
the best photographs do not do justice to his fine eyes, large, dark
and luminous, or to the solid mass of his head with iron-brown hair
tinged with gray. He is a larger man than the portraits indicate;
and his figure, while that of a strong man in good health and form and
well nourished, is not stout and, though full, is firm; and his step
has elasticity in it. His clean-shaven cheek and chin are massive, and
drawn on fine lines full of character--no fatty obscuration, no decline
of power; a stern but sunny and cloudless face--a good one for a place
in history; no show of indulgence, no wrinkles; not the pallor of
marble, rather the glint of bronze--the unabated force good for other
chapters of history. It would be ex