It was against such an eventuality that the last of the tinned meats was so carefully reserved: and the last of the coals too, because these latter would be needed for the donkey engine, to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water.
Three times a week, at least in good weather, did a little band set out for the fishing cove, and this consisted of Ransey Tansey himself, Nelda, and little Fitz, to say nothing of Bob.
Now the cove was quite six miles away. Six miles going and six coming back would have been too long a journey for Nelda; but as the child liked to accompany the boys, and they were delighted to have her company, the two lads consulted together and concluded they must carry her at least half the way.
This was a capital plan for Nelda, and quite romantic, for the modus portandi was a grass hammock suspended from a long bamboo pole, one end resting on Ransey’s shoulder, the other on Fitz’s.
Nelda would be talking or singing all the way. But on the return journey she got down more often, because she never went back without a basket well filled with fruit and flowers.
Bob used to trot on in front always. This he deemed it his duty to do. Was he not a guard?
On rare occasions the Admiral also formed part of the expedition, but he preferred not going to sea in that wobbly boat.
When invited to embark, he would simply look at Babs or Ransey with one wise red eye, and say, “No, thank you, dear. A sea life doesn’t quite suit my constitution; and if it is all the same to you, I’ll just hop about the beach here until you all return.”
It did not take a very long time for the children, as I may still call them, to find all the fish they could conveniently carry. Then they returned to the beach, entered the cave, and cooked their dinner.
They invariably started to go back two or three hours before sunset.