While seated on the sand, his wardrobe adorning the neighboring bushes, he reflected on the gravity of their position.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CRUSOE LIFE.
As has been stated, the smoke of a steamboat had been seen at the point above, without the boat coming in view, and during the forenoon another went by opposite. He could hear the beat of her paddles, and see the long, thin line of smoke hanging in the heavens over beyond the low island in the west. But the vessel never came in sight. Evidently the main current set across from the point to a bend, probably miles away, in the opposite shore, and boats going down stream took the current, while those coming up hugged the bend to avoid it. Quite likely the nearest the passing crafts came to the castaways was the point above, at least three miles to the north. It was plainly evident that they could not make their presence known to these.
Once while seated on the sands he thought he heard the faint echo of hounds, baying in the dark grey timbers that stood bold against the sky in the east. But what of that? There was a long cottonwood sand flat between his island's channel and the timbers, and who could tell the number of other channels and deep lagoons that intervened before the timbers were reached? The more he reflected upon the matter the more was he convinced that an escape from the sandbar depended entirely upon their own exertions, and sincerely regretted that he had allowed the plank to drift away the previous night.
What was to be done? That was the momentous question; for whatever was to be done, would have to be done quickly, while strength lasted. All Ben's latent ingenuity was taxed for relief—stimulated by the cravings of his empty stomach. At last he struck upon the following plan,—the only one appearing feasible or practicable. The cottonwood brake that covered the bar, was of two or three years' growth, with the shoots as thick as a man's wrist at the butts, and standing seven or eight feet high. Rather slender poles to use, but with his pocket-knife and the help of Bertha he hoped to get enough of them together to make a raft that would bear their united weights. He knew it would take a large number, but it was their only hope, and they could continue piling tier upon tier, until they made a serviceable float. When their raft could bear them, he would await a favorable breeze from the west, and with a skirt of his coat for a sail, take to the current and try to make the wooded point four or five miles below. Should they miss a landing, there was the open river to be gained, and a chance of being picked up by some boat, while where they were none but Death would come to the rescue.
The sun had mounted to meridian and was on its way to the western horizon before Ben's clothes were dry. In the interim he employed himself in building a hut out of the cottonwoods. With his hands he scraped a hole a foot deep and four feet square in the sandy soil of the brake. Around this he propped up a thick wall of the young trees and covered it with a roof of the same. After placing a heavy carpet of twigs and leaves on the floor, the hut was comparatively comfortable. It would give them a shelter during the day and protect them from the river breeze at night. He now dressed himself, and noticed for the first time an alteration in his person, a sooner discovery of which would have afforded him much comfort. His skin had grown red as a boiled lobster and was painfully sensitive the moment his clothes touched it. While the sun had been drying his clothes it had been baking him. Despite the pain he remembered with a pang of remorseful apprehension the advice he had given Bertha, and was filled with alarm lest she had literally obeyed him, and was now in a similar predicament—only worse.
When they met he cautiously advanced the matter by delicately intimating his own broiled condition, and apologetically inquiring as to her state. But Bertha only laughed and said, "What an idea!" from which he inferred that his unfortunate advice had not been religiously observed.
Then the young couple walked to their new house.
"We will go to housekeeping here," said Ben, pleasantly; and Bertha blushed, that time.