vast deal to write. Very
often, the regimental orderly, stationed at our Commodore's cabin-door,
would touch his hat to the First Lieutenant, and with a mysterious air
hand him a note. I always thought these notes must contain most
important matters of state; until one day, seeing a slip of wet, torn
paper in a scupper-hole, I read the following:

"Sir, you will give the people pickles to-day with their fresh meat.

"To Lieutenant Bridewell.
"By command of the Commodore;
"Adolphus Dashman, Priv. Sec."

This was a new revelation; for, from his almost immutable reserve, I
had supposed that the Commodore never meddled immediately with the
concerns of the ship, but left all that to the captain. But the longer
we live, the more we learn of commodores.

Turn we now to the second officer in rank, almost supreme, however, in
the internal affairs of his ship. Captain Claret was a large, portly
man, a Harry the Eighth afloat, bluff and hearty; and as kingly in his
cabin as Harry on his throne. For a ship is a bit of terra firma cut
off from the main; it is a state in itself; and the captain is its king.

It is no limited monarchy, where the sturdy Commons have a right to
petition, and snarl if they please; but almost a despotism like the
Grand Turk's. The captain's word is law; he never speaks but in the
imperative mood. When he stands on his Quarter-deck at sea, he
absolutely commands as far as eye can reach. Only the moon and stars
are beyond his jurisdiction. He is lord and master of the sun.

It is not twelve o'clock till he says so. For when the sailing-master,
whose duty it is to take the regular observation at noon, touches his
hat, and reports twelve o'clock to the officer of the deck; that
functionary orders a midshipman to repair to the captain's cabin, and
humbly inform him of the respectful suggestion of the sailing-master.

"Twelve o'clock reported, sir," says the middy.

"_Make_ it so," replies the captain.

And the bell is struck eight by the messenger-boy, and twelve o'clock
it is.

As in the case of the Commodore, when the captain visits the deck, his
subordinate officers generally beat a retreat to the other side and, as
a general rule, would no more think of addressing him, except
concerning the ship, than a lackey would think of hailing the Czar of
Russia on his throne, and inviting him to tea. Perhaps no mortal man
has more reason to feel such an in