Sam Shipton’s one chance did not seem a bright one, but, with characteristic energy, he proceeded to avail himself of it at once.

 

When the raft was launched over the side, as described, the carpenters had embarked¹ upon it with the rest of the ship’s crew, dropping their tools on the deck beside the mass of unused material of ropes, spars, planks³, etcetera, as they left. Four of the spars were pretty equal in length. Sam selected them hastily and laid them on the deck in the form of a square, or oblong frame. Then he seized an axe⁴.

 

“Unravel some of the ropes, Robin⁵,” he cried. “You two select some planks as near ten feet long as possible. Quick—ask no questions, but do what I tell you.”

 

Sam Shipton was one of those who hold the opinion that every man born into the world, whether gentle or simple, should learn a trade. He had acted on his belief and taught himself that of a carpenter, so that he wielded⁶ the axe with skill, and gave his orders with the precision of one who knows what he is about. His comrades, although not trained to any special trade, were active handy fellows, with the exception, indeed, of John Shanks, whose fingers were usually described as “thumbs,” and whose general movements were clumsy; but Stumps⁷ had a redeeming⁸ quality to set against defects—he was willing.

 

With a few powerful well-directed blows, Sam cut four deep notches⁹ into the two longest of the selected spars, near their ends, at equal distances from each other. Into these he laid the ends of the two shorter spars, thus forming a frame-work.

 

“Twelve feet by ten, not a bad raft,” he muttered, as if to himself, while he snatched a rope from the bundle of those disentangled by Robin. “Take a rope of same size, you two, and

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