forlorn, nameless, ageless midshipman came to be lying in the
Admiral's garden. He was probably drowned and washed ashore without
anything to identify him, so they buried him where they found him.

The particular white battalion quartered in Bermuda during my first
visit there was very fortunate in its ladies, for it had an unusual
proportion of married officers. I have the greatest admiration for
these plucky little women who accompany their husbands all over the
globe, and who always seem to manage, however narrow their means, to
create a cheerful and attractive little home for their menkind. They
all appeared able to dress themselves well, though, if the truth were
known, they were probably mostly their own dressmakers, and, owing to
the servant difficulty in Bermuda, their own cooks as well; they had
transformed their little white-washed houses into the most inviting
little dwellings, and in spite of having to do a great part of their
own housework, they always managed to look pretty and charming. The
average wife of the average officer of a Line regiment is a wonderful
little woman.

The supper-parties in the married officers' quarters at Prospect Camp
were the cheeriest entertainments I have ever been at. Every one had
to contribute something. My own culinary attainments being confined to
the preparation of three dishes, I was compelled to repeat them
monotonously. The subalterns were made to carry the dishes from the
kitchen, and to "wash-up" afterwards, yet I am sure that the average
London hostess would have envied the jollity, the fun and high spirits
that made those informal supper-parties so delightful, and would have
given anything to introduce some of this cheery atmosphere into her
own decorous and extremely dull entertainments, where the guests did
not have to cook their own dinners.