"How long should you want to be gone?" asked the captain.
"About a fortnight, sir."
"Well, I'll give you a week's liberty. You may start next Monday morning, and be on board again the Monday after."
"But that wouldn't give me time to visit Rome," said I.
"I don't care where you go to, but that's all the time you can have," answered the captain.
The next day I went to the Consul, and got him to procure a passport from the minister at Turin, and on the day appointed by the captain I procured tickets through to Rome, although I found the steamers did not connect at Leghorn and I should have to remain there three days. But this would give me time to go to Florence; I also knew the captain's only motive in limiting me to a week was the usual one of discipline, and I felt no hesitation at transgressing a little, if the question to be decided was whether I should see Rome or not.
I went to the captain with my through tickets and told him that I should not be able to return in time. He relented a little and said: "Well, get back as soon as you can."
I took this last remark for my instructions and starting on my journey, visited Leghorn, Pisa, Florence and Rome, spending eight days in the Eternal City, and rushing about over its ruins and through its galleries in a way that astonished the more deliberate travellers whom I met. On the seventeenth day I again entered the harbor of Genoa, in the morning, and being a little in dread of an explosion of the captain's wrath I used my knowledge of his character to concoct a little plan for shielding myself. It worked admirably.
I had made the acquaintance on board the steamer of a gentleman, the U.S. Consul at Venice, and I invited him to go on board the "Dublin" with me and take breakfast, assuring him of a cordial welcome from Capt. Streeter.