Owing, I suppose, to the stoniness of the soil, the woods upon the point were less dense than elsewhere, and made an agreeable parade ground for Mr. Tubbs and his two companions—­for he was accompanied in these daring explorations with unswerving fidelity by Aunt Jane and Miss Higglesby-Browne.  Each of the three carried an umbrella, and they went solemnly in single file, Mr. Tubbs in the lead to ward off peril in the shape of snakes or jungle beasts.

“To think of what that man exposes himself to for our sakes!” Aunt Jane said to me with emotion.  “With no protection but his own bravery in case anything were to spring out!”

But nothing ever did spring out but an angry old sow with a litter of piglets, before which the three umbrellas beat a rapid retreat.

The routine of life on the island was now established for every one but me, who belonged neither to the land nor sea divisions, but dangled forlornly between them like Mahomet’s coffin.  Aunt Jane had made a magnanimous effort to attach me to the umbrella contingent, and I had felt almost disposed to accept, in order to witness the resultant delight of Miss Higglesby-Browne.  But on second thoughts I declined, even though Aunt Jane was thus left unguarded to the blandishments of Mr. Tubbs, preferring, like the little bird in the play, to flock all alone, except when the Honorable Cuthbert could escape from his toil in the cave.

What with the genius of Cookie and the fruitfulness of our island, not to speak of supplies from the Army and Navy Stores, we lived like sybarites, There were fish from stream and sea, cocoanuts and bananas and oranges from the trees in the clearing.  I had hopes of yams and breadfruit also, but if they grew on Leeward none of us had a speaking acquaintance with them.  Cookie did wonders with the pigs that were shot and brought in to him, though I never could sit down with appetite to a massacred infant served up on a platter, which is just what little pigs look like,

“Jes’ yo’ cas’ yo’ eye on dis yere innahcent,” Cookie would request, as he placed the suckling before Mr. Tubbs.  “Tendah as a new-bo’n babe, he am.  Jes’ lak he been tucked up to sleep by his mammy.  Sho’ now, how yo’ got de heart to stick de knife in him, Mistah Tubbs?”

It was significant that Mr. Tubbs, after occupying for a day or two an undistinguished middle place at the board, had somehow slid into the carver’s post at the head of the table.  Flanking him were the two ladies, so that the Land Forces formed a solid and imposing phalanx.  Everybody else had a sense of sitting in outer darkness, particularly I, whom fate had placed opposite Captain Magnus.  Since landing on the island, Captain Magnus had forsworn the effeminacy of forks.  Loaded to the hilt, his knife would approach his cavernous mouth and disappear in it.  Yet when it emerged Captain Magnus was alive.  Where did it go?  This was a question that agitated me daily.