Chapter 6 - Page 2

salary.
I cannot say a great deal, personally, of the Commodore; he never
sought my company at all, never extended any gentlemanly courtesies.

But though I cannot say much of him personally, I can mention
something of him in his general character, as a flag-officer. In the
first place, then, I have serious doubts, whether for the most part,
he was not dumb; for in my hearing, he seldom or never uttered a
word. And not only did he seem dumb himself, but his presence
possessed the strange power of making other people dumb for the time.
His appearance on the Quarter-deck seemed to give every officer the
lock-jaw.

Another phenomenon about him was the strange manner in which everyone
shunned him. At the first sign of those epaulets of his on the
weather side of the poop, the officers there congregated invariably
shrunk over to leeward, and left him alone. Perhaps he had an evil
eye; may be he was the Wandering Jew afloat. The real reason probably
was, that like all high functionaries, he deemed it indispensable
religiously to sustain his dignity; one of the most troublesome
things in the world, and one calling for the greatest self-denial.
And the constant watch, and many-sided guardedness, which this
sustaining of a Commodore's dignity requires, plainly enough shows
that, apart from the common dignity of manhood, Commodores, in
general possess no real dignity at all. True, it is expedient for
crowned heads, generalissimos, Lord-high-admirals, and Commodores, to
carry themselves straight, and beware of the spinal complaint; but it
is not the less veritable, that it is a piece of assumption, exceedingly
uncomfortable to themselves, and ridiculous to an enlightened generation.

Now, how many rare good fellows there were among us main-top-men, who,
invited into his cabin over a social bottle or two, would have rejoiced
our old Commodore's heart, and caused that ancient wound of his to heal
up at once.

Come, come, Commodore don't look so sour, old boy; step up aloft here
into the _top_, and we'll spin you a sociable yarn.

Truly, I thought myself much happier in that white jacket of mine,
than our old Commodore in his dignified epaulets.

One thing, perhaps, that more than anything else helped to make our
Commodore so melancholy and forlorn, was the fact of his having so
little to do. For as the frigate had a captain; of course, so far as
_she_ was concerned, our Commodore was a supernumerary. What abundance
of leisure he must have had, during a three years' cruise; how
indefinitely he might have been improving his mind!

But as everyone knows that idleness is the hardest work in the world,
so our Commodore was specially provided with a gentleman to assist
him. This