Next day they took an iron bar with them, and pitched the stakes for the fence or stockade. Between the stakes they wove in willow rods and brushwood, so that thus bound together, it was much stronger than it looked, and no one could have got in without at least making a great noise. The two boards, nailed together for the gate, were fastened on one side to a stouter stake with small chains like rude hinges. On the other there was a staple and small padlock. “It’s finished,” said Mark, as he turned the key and locked them in. “No,” said Bevis, “there’s the bedstead. The ground’s dry,” (it was sand), “but it’s not proper to sleep on the ground.” They put off preparing the bedstead till next day, when they approached on a spanking south east wind--half a breeze--against which they had to tack indeed, but spun along at a good speed. The waves were not large enough to make the Pinta roll, but some spray came over now and then. “It’s almost shipwreck weather,” said Mark. “Just see--” He pointed at the cliff where there was a little splashing, as the waves swept sideways along the base of the cliff. “If you run her against the cliff the bowsprit will be knocked in. Would the mast go by the board?” “Not enough wind,” said Bevis, as he steered past, and they landed at the usual place. The bedstead was made by placing five or six thick poles sawn off at four feet on the floor on the left side of the hut, like the sleepers of a railway. Across these lengthways they laid lesser rods, then still more slender rods crossways, and on these again boughs of spruce fir, one on the other to a foot or more in depth. The framework of logs and rods beneath kept the bed above the ground, and the boughs of the spruce fir, being full of resinous sap, gave out a slight fragrance. On this mattress a rug and some old great-coats were to be thrown, and they meant to cover themselves with more rugs and coats. The bedstead took up much of the room, but then it would answer in the daytime instead of chairs to sit on. “It’s finished now, then,” said Mark. “Quite finished,” said Bevis. “All we have now to do is to bring our things.” “And get wrecked,” said Mark. “These chips and boughs,” pointing to the heap they had cut from the poles and stakes, “will do for our fire. Come on. Let’s go up and look at the cliff where we are to be dashed to pieces.” They climbed up the cliff to the young oak on the summit, and went to the edge. The firm sand bore them safely at the verge. “It looks very deep,” said Bevis. “The sand goes down straight.” “Fathomless,” said Mark. “Just think how awful. It ought to happen at night--pitch black! I know! Some savages ought to light a fire up here and guide us to destruction.” “We could not scramble up this cliff out of the water--I mean if we have to swim.” “Of course we shall have to swim, clinging to oars.” “Then we must get round that corner, somehow.” “The other side is all weeds; that wouldn’t do.”