“They marched once around the ring, and then Torellas, who was leading them, halted in front of the Mayor’s box and asked permission to kill the bull, and the Mayor, of course, said yes.  Then, marching to the opposite side of the ring, to where was the President of Peru in the biggest box of all, with hangings of red and gold, and two American rear-admirals of the fleet on either side of him, Torellas saluted, and tossed up his hat, then his cloak, to the President.  And as he did so, around the ring the less famous bull-fighters were picking out friends or great people and to them tossing their hats, by way of doing them honor.  Cogan tossed his up among the American blue-jackets, and they, not knowing he wasn’t a Peruvian, didn’t know what to make of it, but they scuffled for it just the same.

“Torellas was in white tights with black slippers.  A small gold cross was pinned to the breast of his fine white shirt.  As he stepped back from the President’s box he touched a white silk handkerchief to his lips, almost like a woman, but those graceful little movements were as much a part of him as were his strength and nerve.  Cogan could hear women in the seats behind him whispering of the beauty of him.  Until then it had never occurred to Cogan that the matador was any professional beauty.  He surely was a finely developed fellow, a good deal of a man to look at, but for the beauty!  No, he wasn’t handsome—­Cogan took another look—­but any man would say a great looking one.

“The ring was now clear, with the bull-fighters hidden behind the stockade, or tucked away in the little places of refuge built against the inside of the stockade.  These places of refuge were for the bull-fighters to run into when chased by a bull; and there were half a dozen of them, of heavy planking and about as high as a man’s chest, with an entrance wide enough for a man, but not for a bull’s horns.  Cogan picked out his particular refuge because just above it, in front seats, were the Rocas and Guavera.

“It was now time for the bull-fight to begin, but this was such an extraordinary occasion that a compliment had first to be paid to the visiting fleet, so the Peruvian band played our national hymn, and at the first note every American blue-jacket there stood to attention.  Cogan felt as proud as could be of them, in their fresh-washed suits of muster white with the beautiful blue collars and cuffs.  Section after section was piled solid with them, and here and there Cogan saw an old shipmate.  Just to look at them made Cogan homesick.  Four thousand strong they stood stiff as statues to attention, right arms across body and caps held to their left breasts, while the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ was played.

“It was all fine; and the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ made such a hit that the Peruvian band played it again.  And fine musicians they were, too, only as they played it, trying to be terribly respectful, it sounded like a funeral march.  But, through it all, our blue-jackets, four thousand strong, stood frozen to attention in their beautiful suits of white with the blue trimmings and their caps held respectfully to their breasts.