Page 259 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

determined to make a sail. ‘The currents are strong,’ said
Rufus Dawes, ‘and we shall not be able to row far with such
oars as we have got. If we get a breeze it may save our lives.’
It was impossible to ‘step’ a mast in the frail basket structure,
but this difficulty was overcome by a simple contrivance.
From thwart to thwart two poles were bound, and the mast,
lashed between these poles with thongs of raw hide, was se-
cured by shrouds of twisted fishing line running fore and
aft. Sheets of bark were placed at the bottom of the craft,
and made a safe flooring. It was late in the afternoon on the
fourth day when these preparations were completed, and it
was decided that on the morrow they should adventure the
journey. ‘We will coast down to the Bar,’ said Rufus Dawes,
‘and wait for the slack of the tide. I can do no more now.’
Sylvia, who had seated herself on a rock at a little dis-
tance, called to them. Her strength was restored by the
fresh meat, and her childish spirits had risen with the hope
of safety. The mercurial little creature had wreathed sea-
weed about her head, and holding in her hand a long twig
decorated with a tuft of leaves to represent a wand, she per-
sonified one of the heroines of her books.
‘I am the Queen of the Island,’ she said merrily, ‘and you
are my obedient subjects. Pray, Sir Eglamour, is the boat
ready?’
‘It is, your Majesty,’ said poor Dawes.
‘Then we will see it. Come, walk in front of me. I won’t
ask you to rub your nose upon the ground, like Man Fri-
day, because that would be uncomfortable. Mr. Frere, you
don’t play?’

For the Term of His Natural Life