They made their way back to camp, laughing heartily over this adventure, and stopping by the way to pick up the wood they had chopped. They found Captain Sprowl all ready for them and a bit alarmed over the shot he had heard, but matters were soon explained. Mr. Chadwick had bandaged and dressed the injured engineer’s foot while they were gone, and he declared that it felt better already.
Not long after their return the call to supper was given, a summons for which all hands were quite ready. It was a novel experience this, of eating in the depths of the dense tropical forest on the banks of an unknown river. The fire blazed up brightly and cheerfully, however, and spread a ruddy glow about the little clearing that chased the dreary forest shadows into the background. After all, their position might have been much worse than it was.
Captain Sprowl was a good rough-and-ready cook, and he had concocted a supper that, while rather mixed as to courses, was heartily enjoyed by them all.
“Well, we won’t starve, anyhow,” declared Dick Donovan, leaning back against a tree trunk after partaking of pea soup and hot crackers, hot pork and beans, jam and two cups of steaming hot coffee.
“No, and to-morrow if we’re lucky, we’ll have turtle eggs for breakfast,” declared Captain Sprowl.
“Turtle eggs,” cried Tom.
“Yes. I saw some turtles crawling out of the water on to that sandy beach above us a while back. I guess they’ll lay their eggs to-night, and in the morning we’ll make a round of the nests.”
“Wonder how some broiled macaw would go?” said Jack, mischievously eying the German savant who was busy skinning the specimen the boy had shot.
“There are many mac-causes why it wouldn’t be good,” quoth Dick solemnly, for which offense he was threatened by the boys with a ducking in the river if it was repeated.
“A macaw,—have you heard this before?—