everything. Still he has a notion of staying away until the storm is
over and he can get along without being a spectacle. Why, even the
ladies of Washington are wild about him. If he should appear at the
White House to call on the President, the scene would be like that
when Grant first met Abraham Lincoln.

One rough day on the bay I took passage in a small steam-launch
to visit the Olympia, where the Admiral's flag floated, to call on
him. There was plenty of steam, and it was pleasant to get out a good
way behind the breakwater, for the waves beyond were white with anger,
and the boat, when departing from partial shelter, had proceeded
but two or three hundred yards when 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