By this time the Purser and the Vice had made the island, and joined the first arrivals, who carefully and with professional pride inspected the outward defences of the fort, using technical military terms with a fluency which humbled their civilian companions into comparative silence. At length the Vice, noticing the rotting stockade, the weedy ditch, and other signs of inattention, ventured to let the eagle scream a note or two.
"Just like everything else, that is subject to the decaying influence of monarchical institutions," said he. "How quickly a handful of our brave fellows would take possession of it!"
"Perhaps," admitted the Commodore, "but I'd prefer to risk my chances from the inside."
The Purser immediately patted the Commodore on the back, while the Vice opened his eyes and demanded an explanation.
"Some forts," remarked the Commodore, "are like singed cats; they fight better than they look. This fort is in better condition now, than half the forts were that have become historic."
"But in case of sudden war," said the Vice, "there's nothing at hand to repair a broken-down fort with, is there?"
"Yes; living men; they make and unmake forts," said the Commodore brusquely.
"It's the same way with conventions and caucuses," remarked the Vice, regaining his self-respect as he imagined himself once more the Commodore's equal.
"You've been a soldier," said the Purser to the Cook, "and I am longing to see once more the uniform of my native country. Tell me how to gain admission to the fort."
The Cook replied,