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."