CAPTAIN MACWHIRR, of the steamer Nan-Shan, had a physiognomy
that, in the order of material appearances, was the exact
counterpart of his mind: it presented no marked characteristics
of firmness or stupidity; it had no pronounced characteristics
whatever; it was simply ordinary, irresponsive, and unruffled.
The only thing his aspect might have been said to suggest, at
times, was bashfulness; because he would sit, in business offices
ashore, sunburnt and smiling faintly, with downcast eyes. When
he raised them, they were perceived to be direct in their glance
and of blue colour. His hair was fair and extremely fine,
clasping from temple to temple the bald dome of his skull in a
clamp as of fluffy silk. The hair of his face, on the contrary,
carroty and flaming, resembled a growth of copper wire clipped
short to the line of the lip; while, no matter how close he
shaved, fiery metallic gleams passed, when he moved his head, over the surface of his cheeks. He was rather below the medium
height, a bit round-shouldered, and so sturdy of limb that his
clothes always looked a shade too tight for his arms and legs.
As if unable to grasp what is due to the difference of latitudes,
he wore a brown bowler hat, a complete suit of a brownish hue,
and clumsy black boots. These harbour togs gave to his thick
figure an air of stiff and uncouth smartness. A thin silver
watch chain looped his waistcoat, and he never left his ship for
the shore without clutching in his powerful, hairy fist an
elegant umbrella of the very best quality, but generally
unrolled. Young Jukes, the chief mate, attending his commander
to the gangway, would sometimes venture to say, with the greatest
gentleness, "Allow me, sir" -- and possessing himself of the
umbrella deferentially, would elevate the ferule, shake the
folds, twirl a neat furl in a jiffy, and hand it back; going
through the performance with a face of such portentous gravity,
that Mr. Solomon Rout, the chief engineer, smoking his morning
cigar over the skylight, would turn away his head in order to
hide a smile. "Oh! aye! The blessed gamp. . . . Thank 'ee,
Jukes, thank 'ee," would mutter Captain MacWhirr, heartily,
without looking up.