At 4 o’clock we returned to harbour, anchored, and took in coal until our bunkers were filled to 97 per cent. Next morning our division landed its ships’ companies for a route march at the Camber. The men fell in in marching kit under their respective officers, and according to the seniority of their ships in the Fleet. (Seniority of ships is determined by the seniority of their commanding officers.) When all were present, and had been duly reported to the officer in command, the band of the flagship led off with a lively march tune, closely followed by her ship’s company. Then the other ships’ companies followed in succession, and soon the whole 1500 men were proceeding along the white dusty road from Portland to Weymouth. Presently an order to “March at ease!” and “Carry on smoking!” was passed down the line, and the men produced their pipes, lit up, and were soon laughing, chattering, and singing as they marched, keeping, however, always in correct sections of four. On entering Weymouth the order “‘Shun! Out pipes!” was given, and the whole column swung along in absolute silence, broken only by an occasional order, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of the heavy marching boots on the dusty road. We marched through the town to the pier, where we embarked on penny steamboats, commandeered for the purpose, which conveyed us back to the Fleet in Portland. On the following day special steamers were run to Weymouth for the convenience of those who wished to go ashore; and, our leave-book having been signed, all of us junior officers who were not on duty forthwith donned our best clothes and embarked for the beach. On arrival the first thing we did was to storm the well-known establishment of Messrs. Gieve, Matthews, and Seagrove, Naval Outfitters (better known perhaps as just “Gieves’s”), and there order tin uniform cases, as already those silly kit-bags had proved most inadequate, as well as highly destructive to clothes. Not much chance of a swanky crease down your best trousers if you have to keep them in a kit-bag! You’ll get the creases all right—plenty of them, but they won’t be in the right place. The Navy is particular about these things, and does not allow slackness in detail even in war-time. It’s the same in the Army—our men’s anxiety to wash and shave whenever possible has been a source of some astonishment to our Allies; but somehow cleanliness and neatness seem to be an essential part of a Briton’s makeup—the outward and visible sign of a heart for any fate.