About nine o’clock Dick said to the captain: 

“I wish it was breakfast time.  I’m starving.”

“Have your breakfast any time you want it.”

“Want it now.”

“All right,” said the captain, who was sculling, and he headed the dingy for shore, where it struck on a reef at the mouth of a stream.

“Now, if you boys will rustle some wood I’ll have your breakfast ready.”

“I don’t see anything to eat round here,” said Dick.

“How would an oyster roast strike you?” asked the captain.

“My, but wouldn’t an oyster taste good?  Do you s’pose there is one within ten miles?”

Johnny laughed and said: 

“What you standin’ on?  Must be a hundred barrels on ’em.”

Dick looked down and was amazed to see that the whole reef was composed of oysters—­oysters of all sizes, oysters single, in small bunches and in great masses.

“Woods are full of ’em,” said the captain, and he pointed to the mangrove trees that lined the stream, the lower branches of which were burdened with bunches of oysters bigger than Dick’s head.  A fire was made and branches of these trees containing bunches of oysters were thrown on it.  A few minutes later the branches were taken off of the fire, with shells bursting open showing hot, steaming oysters ready for the sharp sticks which took the place of forks with the castaways.  After Dick had filled himself with roast oysters, he ate a few dozen raw, by way of a change, and then went back to his roasting, until he was so full that he told Johnny that he never wanted to eat again as long as he lived, at which Johnny grinned.  Only three hours later, as Johnny was sculling over a shallow bank, he stopped work and began to thump the bottom with his oar.

“What is it?” asked Dick.

“Bottom covered with clams.  Reckon I’ll pick up a few for Cap’n and me.  You said you didn’t want to eat again, ever,” replied Johnny.

But both of the boys went overboard and in a few minutes had put more clams aboard the dingy than the whole party could have eaten in a week.

The castaways camped on their second night at the mouth of Lossman’s River, where they had a famous clam-roast.  They found a fisherman’s house where they got fresh water and a can to hold it, also some cornmeal, with which Johnny made an ash-cake, or, as Dick called it, Johnny-cake.  The captain said it was the best thing he had ever eaten, and Dick engaged him on the spot as a camping companion on his hunt for his chum.

[Illustration:  “A SILVERY, TWISTING BODY SHOT TEN FEET IN THE AIR”]