Chapter 3 THE FIRST ALARM.

The shack contained a rough board cupboard in one corner and a few shelves along one side and upon these Walter arranged his purchases which made quite an imposing array. He had bought carefully but there had been many things that the four of them absolutely had to have.

There was a change of rough, cheap clothing for each, four blankets, the same of oilskins, four lanterns, a belt and sheath-knife apiece, and a stock of groceries; this was small, containing only such staples as rice, coffee, sugar, salt, beans, bacon, and flour, for he figured that they would get most of their living from the sea.

His packages arranged to his satisfaction, Walter sat down to await the appearance of his chums.

Charley was the first to arrive. He came out from the shore, staggering under a great load of clean, silver Spanish moss.

"For our beds," he explained, as he spread the soft hair-like stuff on the floor in one corner. "It will take a little of the hardness off the boards."

Captain Westfield soon appeared bearing a large box partly filled with sand.

"What is that for?" Walter inquired.

"That's our stove," the old sailor explained. "It will have to do us until we are able to buy one. Chris is coming with some wood."

The little darkey soon appeared, bearing a load of driftwood that he had picked up on the beach.

"I reckon you-alls can fix up things widout me," he observed as he deposited his burden just outside the door and produced a bit of string and a fish hook from his pocket. "Dar jis' naturally oughter be lots ob fish around dese old dock posts. A mess of dem, fried nice an' brown, would sho' go powerful good for supper."

Charley grinned, for Chris loved to fish with all the ardor of his race. "Go ahead," he said, "we will get along without you."

The little negro needed no second permission, and baiting his hook with a piece of bacon, and getting astride of a post, he began to fish earnestly.

The others occupied themselves in trying to make their new home as comfortable as they could with the little they had to do with. They spread their four blankets on the pile of moss, filled and trimmed their lanterns, made a rough table and some benches out of a few boards they found on the dock, and covered the broken panes in the windows with some sand-fly netting Walter had bought at the store. When all this was done and their new garments hung up on nails, the rude shack took on quite a comfortable, home-like appearance.

"It's not so bad," Charley observed. "It will do us very well until we can get better quarters."

"We have cause to be thankful," Walter agreed. "Only a few hours ago we had nothing in the world, now, we have got a dry place to stay, clothes, a supply of food, and a prospect of soon making money."

The chums' further conversation was interrupted by a rumble of a wagon and a hail from the dock. It was the man with their nets.

"Better put them inside your house until you are ready to use them," he advised. "The nets all look alike and some one might steal them from you if you left them outside. I'll be out again in about half an hour with your boats, they are anchored up the beach a way."

The boys awaited his return with eagerness for they were anxious to view their new crafts. Soon they heard the quick snapping of an engine and a large launch swung out from the beach with a string of skiffs in tow.

"My, she can move some," Charley cried as she swept towards them with a froth of foam at her bow.

"She's got good lines," announced Captain Westfield, with the certainty born of his sailor life, "she is bound to be a good sea boat with that shape."

When within a hundred feet of where the boys stood on the dock, the man threw off the switch and the graceful craft glided up alongside. Charley caught the line the man threw, took a couple of half hitches around a post, and the three clambered aboard.

"By gum, she's a beauty," exclaimed Captain Westfield with delight as he finished his inspection.

"You're right," agreed the man, pleased with the old sailor's approval, "she's one of the best in the fleet. There's only two or three that can run away from her, and she is a peach in a seaway-just like a duck. She is thirty feet over all and sound as a dollar. You will find that cozy little cabin will come in pretty nice in bad weather. Few fish boats have one. Which one of you is going to run her?"

"Not me," said Captain Westfield, decidedly. "I've dealt with sailing crafts all my life and I'm not hankering to start monkeying with engines at my age."

"Both my chum and I would like to learn how to run the engine," Charley said, "so if anything should happen to one of us the other would know what to do."

"All right," the man agreed. "All I can teach you are the principles, you will have to learn to run it by yourself. A gas engine is a thing you have to learn by experience. No two engines are exactly alike. Each has its own peculiarities which one has to become acquainted with. The principles are quite simple. There are only three elements, oil, gas and the spark. See this little valve here? You turn that and it lets the gasoline into this little tank-called a carburetter. This other little valve lets air into the same tank to mix with the gas. Now your gas is on ready to start. See these wires, they lead from four dry battery cells to the switch and from the switch to this plug in the head of the engine called the spark plug. Shove on your switch,-that's right. Now your gas and spark are ready. To start, now, all you have got to do is to rock this big fly wheel a couple of times then throw it over quickly. To stop, just throw off your switch. As soon as you stop, shut off your gas. Keep that oil cup filled. It lubricates the engine. Be careful with matches and lights when your gas is turned on-you can't be too careful." He clambered up on the dock. "Good-by and good luck to you," he called.

"Hold on," cried Charley, in dismay. "You are not going off and leave us this way, are you?"

"Boss's orders," grinned the man. "I can't be with you always. You have got to learn to run her for yourself sooner or later."

The boys sat down and gazed at each other in consternation as the man disappeared up the dock, then Charley grinned as the humor of it struck him. "It's up to us," he chuckled, "unless the captain will help us out."

Captain Westfield shook his head, decidedly. "You are the engineers," he said, firmly. "I can't make head or tail of that dinky heap of iron. 'Pears to me though that the man said something about turning one of those things there."

"He did," said Charley, with mild sarcasm. "He also mentioned several other things. Well, here goes for a try."

He rolled up his sleeves and started to work. At the end of half an hour, he was still turning the big fly wheel and puffing and perspiring much to the delight of a crowd of fishermen who had quit work for the day and had gathered at the dock's edge offering free comments and suggestions.

"He'll sure wear that fly wheel out," observed one in a perfectly audible voice.

"Put rowlocks in her and get a pair of oars, young fellow," suggested another.

Charley stood the chaffing nobly but at last he was obliged to stop for breath.

"I'm sure I don't know what's the matter with the thing," he declared. "It had ought to go. I've cranked it until I've got blisters on my hands."

"Maybe, if you put on the switch it will go," Walter observed.

Charley glared at him. "And you have been sitting there laughing in your sleeves while I've been working myself to death," he spluttered.

"Mr. Daniels wants us to find out such little things for ourselves," observed Walter, grinning.

Charley forced a smile. "Well, I'll let you find out a few things, yourself, while I rest."

"Is the entertainment over for the day?" queried one of the fishermen.

"No, it's just going to begin," Charley prophesied with a grin.

"Oh, I can start it all right," Walter declared, confidently. "Just watch me and I'll show you how."

He turned on the switch, rocked the fly wheel a couple of times, then threw it over with a quick jerk. The engine started with a sharp snapping like a quick fire gun.

"There, I've started her," he yelled, proudly, above the din.

"That is not the way she was built to run," shouted Charley, while a roar of laughter went up from the assembled fishermen, for, instead of going ahead, the "Dixie" had started astern full speed. Charley who was standing ready to cast off took a quick turn of the line around a cleat and stopped her in her backward career. "Stop!" he cried, "or she'll break the line."

But Walter was thoroughly bewildered and stood gazing helplessly at the popping machinery.

"Pour water on it, that's the way to stop it," jeered a fisherman.

"Throw your switch," Charley advised. Walter, recovering his wits, obeyed and the popping instantly ceased.

"Well, I made the engine go, anyway," he replied to Charley's jeers. "I'll get her going all right yet."

Again he threw the fly wheel only to have her rear back on the line.

"Don't tow the dock away," begged a fisherman. "We all live here. We don't want to lose our home."

"Tell you what to do, young fellow," advised another, "just change your rudder and put it on the other end."

Walter, very red in the face, threw off the switch.

"Throw the fly wheel over the other way and she'll go ahead," Charley said.

"Hump!" Walter grunted, as he realized his error, "why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Mr. Daniels wants us to find out such little things for ourselves," observed Charley, sweetly.

Walter laughed. "You're even with me now," he said. "Well, I guess, between us, we can learn to run her, but I guess we had better call it quits for to-day. It's getting late. Let's anchor her out for the night."

Charley agreed and they poled the launch away from the dock and cast the anchor, returning to the wharf in one of the skiffs. It was nearly dark when they entered the shack to find a most disagreeable surprise awaiting them.

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