There was a coarse rumble as the heavy chain of the first warship, an Austrian, followed its anchor to a bed. For a week we watched the Italians and the Austrians rivalling each other in this naval demonstration. An Austrian, then an Italian; then three Austrians, three Italians--at the end of the week nearly a score of foreign ships swung on their anchors in two parallel lines, the torpedo boats close in to the shore and the big ships in deeper water. Neither nation could let the other appear the stronger in the eyes of the Turks or, more particularly, the Albanians. The Turkish flagship, which has swung at anchor in the bay of Salonica for the past ten years, floats an admiral’s colours. The admiral had been warned that there would be a naval demonstration in the bay, but his Government had not informed him that every ship that entered would salute him. In consequence he was unprepared to fire some hundreds of guns, and his ammunition was soon exhausted; so he gave orders to switch his flag up and down twenty-one times to each foreign ship, and for a week the Star and Crescent rose and fell at the Turk’s hind mast. All the peoples but the Mohamedans had rejoiced at the arrival of the foreign ships, but they were all disgusted with them before they left. The Bulgarians had thought they would all be released from prison, otherwise the town would be bombarded; the Jews had thought the sailors would hire their boats to come ashore; the Greeks had thought the officers would dine nightly at their hotels; and the Tziganes had made their children learn enough words of French to beg for small coin. ‘The English float no come?’ asked a Jew bootblack of me with a glance of disgust at a group of Italian sailors passing. ‘What’s the matter with these fellows?’ I inquired. ‘Never get drunk so much as English. Got no money anyhow.’ During the week of sentinels and excitement at Salonica the wife of one of my friends at the American mission died. I had known them only a few months, but I was the only other American in the town, and was asked to be one of the pall-bearers with several of the English residents there. The Vali sent down a detachment of troops to prevent any disturbance, and they accompanied the funeral to the English cemetery to protect a number of Bulgarian women who wanted to follow the remains of their friend to the grave. It was a strange sight--the parade of these peasants whose husbands were dead, in gaol, or in hiding, following the hearse through the semi-deserted streets afoot, surrounded by fezzed soldiers. After them came a train of native hacks, in which the European community followed. * * * * *