In the bright morning sunlight the sight was both picturesque and
imposing, for from every vessel flags were flying, and ever and anon the
great battleship of the Admiral made signals which were repeated by all
the other vessels, each in turn. Lying still on those calm blue waters
was a force which one day might cause nations to totter, the
overwhelming force which upheld Britain's right in that oft-disputed
sea.

A couple of thousand British sailors were ashore on leave, their white
caps conspicuous in the streets everywhere as they walked orderly in
threes and fours to inspect the town. In the square outside the
Consulate a squad from the flagship were setting up a temporary
band-stand, where the ship's band was to play when evening fell, while
Hutcheson, perspiring in his uniform, drove with the Admiral to make the
calls of courtesy upon the authorities which international etiquette
demanded.

Myself, I had taken a boat out to the _Bulwark_, the great battleship
flying the Admiral's flag, and was sitting on deck with my old friend
Captain Jack Durnford, of the Royal Marines. Each year when the fleet
put into Leghorn we were inseparable, for in long years past, at
Portsmouth, we had been close friends, and now he was able to pay me
annual visits at my Italian home.

He was on duty that morning, therefore could not get ashore till after
luncheon.

"I'll dine with you, of course, to-night, old chap," he said. "And you
must tell me all the news. We're in here for six days, and I was half a