"It may truly be said that the Command of the Sea is an Abridgement or a Quintessence of an Universal Monarchy." Sir Francis Bacon. It is a grey morning out on the North Sea, with but little wind. There is no swell, but considerable movement on the surface of the waters, with here and there an occasional tossing of the white manes of the sea-horses. Swimming majestically through the sea comes one of our monster slate-grey battle-cruisers. She is "stripped to a gantline", and in complete and instant readiness for action. The red cross of St. George flutters bravely at her fore-topmast head, for she is the flagship of the squadron of three or four towering grey ships that are following in her wake. Aft flies the well-known White Ensign, the "meteor flag of England" blazing in the corner. Far away on either bow, but dimly discernible on the wide horizon, are the shadows of other smaller ships, the light cruisers, which are moving ahead and on the flanks of the squadron like cavalry covering the advance of an army.
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