232 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



followed their prey to the island where they were 

 known to have migrated, does not seem to have 

 occurred to anyone, but such was, I have since 

 had reason to believe, the very simple construc- 

 tion that we ought to have placed on their 

 behaviour. 



The presence of tunny at Porto Santo was re- 

 ported day after day. Not a boat was to be seen 

 fishing off Funchal, though at the time of Colonel 

 Stead's visit to the grounds I was told the bay 

 was studded with the busy argosies. To follow 

 this recalcitrant mackerel over forty miles of 

 ocean to a small and isolated island, where we 

 should for the period of our stay be cut off, even 

 as regards electric communication, from all the 

 rest of the globe, looked at first sight a hare- 

 brained scheme, but the more we thought over it, 

 the more it liked us. Perhaps, too, our hand was 

 forced by the remarkable kindness with which 

 everyone made the path smoother, Messrs. Blandy 

 by lending us a launch, to take us over on the 

 Tuesday and call for us three days later, and Mr. 

 C. B. Cossart, as keen a sportsman as any in 

 Madeira, by promising to accompany us and 

 bring his tents and men. Clearly, everything 

 pointed the way to Porto Santo, or rather to a 

 little satellite known as the Ilheo de Cima, in- 

 habited only by the lighthouse-keeper, his wife, 

 his children, his goats and his assistant, one who 



