Important events were occurring in the east in rapid succession at the time I joined Lalande’s squadron.  The recommencement of the struggle between ancient Turkey and that youthful Egypt which the genius of Mehemet Ali had created, had just ended in the final defeat of the Turks in the battle of Nezib—­a defeat which was closely followed by the death of Sultan Mahmoud, the last of the determined autocrats of the race of Othman.  Action on the part of the European fleet might arise at any moment, owing to these complications and the rivalries thereby excited between England and Russia—­great Eastern powers both of them.  Our sole preoccupation therefore during our cruise in the Dardanelles was to get our ships into such condition that they might make a good show in the event of anything of the kind occurring.  I have related elsewhere how we succeeded, under the powerful will of Admiral Lalande, in reconstituting such a fighting fleet as we had never possessed since the Revolution swept away at one fell swoop the whole of the navy of Louis XVI., with its body of first-class officers, and all that collection of traditions both as to discipline and knowledge which it had gradually acquired.

The admiral’s great merit lay in reconstituting these traditions, which have taken deep root and are carefully treasured still.  And the curious thing, the peculiar trait, about him was that, though he desired certain results, he would have nothing to do with the means to attaining them.  This state of warlike efficiency was not obtained without trouble.  Constantly under sail, and overtaxed with rough and unaccustomed forms of drill as the crews were, demoralized too by accidents—­men killed or arms and legs broken—­the result insisted on by the chief in command was only reached by treating them with extreme severity.  On board the Jena, the flagship, corporal punishment—­nowadays found useless, and therefore very properly abolished—­was of daily occurrence.  But the admiral ignored it, never would have it even mentioned to him.  He left all that to his flag captain, my friend Bruat, a most energetic officer.  I never heard one word of reprimand from Admiral Lalande’s lips, and once I saw him get into a fury with one of his captains, who had appealed to his disciplinary authority.  The scene is worth describing.

This worthy captain (his name was Danican) commanded the ship Jupiter, on which I had taken passage from Toulon to join the squadron, and one of my earliest duties was to present the new comer, with his staff, to the admiral.  These gentlemen stood in a circle in the great cabin round Captain Danican, armed to the teeth, cocked hat in hand, and his sword-belt buckled high up round his little body.  There they waited.  “Pere Danican,’ as he was familiarly called, a veteran sailor, whose name is borne by one of the streets in St. Malo, had the most splendid service record, with this item in particular, that he had been reported as killed in a fight with