As we
could do nothing with the boat, we concluded to walk over that way. It
was many miles distant. Taking everything we had, including our last
lunch, we started our walk, leaving a cloth on a pole to mark the
point where our boat was anchored. But after going four miles it still
seemed no nearer than before, so we returned. It was evening. The
water was drinkable again; that was something to be thankful for. By
ten o'clock that night the tide would come up again. After dark we
found that our boat was being beached. So we ran it down and began
pulling it along over a shoal reaching far out from the shore. As we
tugged I was sure I heard a call somewhere up the river. What kind of
a land was this! Could it be that my senses were all deceiving me as
my eyes were fooled by the mirage? I had heard it, Al had not, and
laughed when I said that I had. We listened and heard it again,
plainly this time, "Can't you men find a landing? We have a good one
up here," it said.
We asked them to row down, advising them to keep clear of the shoal.
We waded out, guided by their voices, in the pitch darkness and neared
the boat.
One shadowy form sat in either end of a flat-bottomed boat. There was
a mast, and the boat was fitted for two oarsmen as well. Evidently the
load was heavy, for it was well down in the water. The sail cloth was
spread over all the boat, excepting one end where there was a small
sheet-iron stove, with a pan of glowing wood coal underneath.
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