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.