So in contrast to the morning, the afternoon was busy. In the course of it they explored from one end of the island to the other. There was the forest, of course, and by searching it systematically they found that there was plenty of fruit available, although some of it would require some thought and effort to reach. They followed the stream that seemed to be the only source of fresh water on the island from its' source in the rocks above the camp to where it met the sea, amidst a marsh where thousands of insects waited, ready to pounce on anyone who dared brave the treacherous ground. Further round the coastline there was a broad sandy beach of the sort that would normally have had travellers reaching for their bikinis and suncream.
But it seemed that Sophie and Amy's reaction on discovering this pristine stretch of sand had been to reach for long sticks. They appeared to be randomly drawing furrows in the sand, occasionally stopping to look at what they had done.
"What are they doing?" Rachel asked.
"I think," Ruth said, "They're writing."
They went down and stood at the very edge of the ocean, where the waves lapped their feet. From there they could see that Sophie was just finishing the 'E' of 'Help' while Amy drew the rounded part of the 'P.'
"We thought that if there were any planes flying nearby they might see it," Sophie explained, coming over to them.
"Maybe they will," Ruth said. As Sophie ran off shouting to Amy that the L wasn't tall enough, Ruth shrugged. "It won't do any harm," she thought. Anything that made people believe they were more likely to be rescued would help to keep up morale.
They continued exploring the coastline. At one place there were rocks running down to the sea and a series of rock pools. Looking into the clear water, Ruth saw several crabs.
"They might be good to eat," she said, beckoning Alex over. "And they shouldn't be too hard to catch." He nodded. "You two work out a way to catch them. I'm sending some of the others to collect fruit, and I'm going to look for edible roots."
"Edible roots?" Rachel said. "How do you know if they're edible?"
"You eat them," Alex said, grinning.
Ruth went back to the camp to fetch something to use as a net. She found some material among the costumes rescued from the wreck of the plane that would do, and a dented plastic container, also salvaged from the plane to put the crabs in when they'd been caught. It smelled faintly of petrol, and she made sure it was washed out thoroughly in the sea.
"You'll pollute the beach," Rachel protested.
"It's only a tiny bit, there's not even any liquid left," Ruth said. "It's that or pollute ourselves." She half filled the container with sea water, and then the two of them set about trying to catch the crabs. It was harder than it looked to begin with. The crabs scuttled around the rock pools quite fast, and even once they had been caught in the makeshift net, they hung on tightly to the fabric with their pincers and refused to let go and drop into the container. But after a while they began to get the hang of it and soon had quite a few crabs of different sizes crawling around the container.
"How do we know if we can eat them?" Rachel asked.
"I think fish and animals are usually ok to eat, so I suppose crabs are," Ruth replied. "Although I don't know if they'll taste very nice."
Soon the bottom of the container was literally crawling with crabs. "Do you think that'll be enough?" Ruth asked Alex, who'd come to see how they were getting on.
"It should be for now," he said. "Let's take it back to camp."
They carried it up to the shelter and left it in the shade. Nearby was a pile of browny-white tubers. Emily and Charlotte were coming back from the forest, carrying another large container of dark coloured berries. Following them were most of the others, carrying coconuts, bananas and more roots.
"Blue and black berries are safe to eat, white or red ones are usually best avoided unless you know they're all right," Alex said.
"You really are a survival expert, aren't you?" Emma said, reaching them and adding some more fruit to the pile.
"I'm not just a piano man," Alex said, smiling.
"Some say he can synthesise a bassoon," Ernest said. "All we know is that we're lucky he's here."
The story continues...
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